Page 18 of Blindsided

If he wasn’t going to push me away, I needed to be the one to do so. I lifted my hands to push him away, but as they made contact with his slim waist, my brain forgot all about my plans. Eight years hadn’t been enough time for my body to forget his. Instead of pushing him back, I tugged him closer until he was pressed against me from chest to groin.

One of us groaned, and Lincoln’s lips parted, allowing my tongue entrance. He tasted like gin, and memories of drunken kisses were now all I could think about. Muscle memory took over logical thought and my hand slid down to tightly grip his ass through his slacks.

Lincoln gasped. “Harder,” he pleaded in a whisper. “Fuck, harder.”

My fingers dug into his flesh and the hands gripping my shoulders went slack. “Mmm, that.”

“Yeah? You still like it a bit rough, don’t you?” I asked his parted lips. At his subtle nod, I released his ass to give it a sharp smack through his slacks. “Words, baby.” Somewhere deep in the recesses of my logical brain, I knew I’d crossed a line. Slipping so easily into using his old pet name was dangerous territory, one I should have been avoiding at all costs.

Then he whimpered and pulled back enough to speak. “Yes, Sir. I like it rough.”

Those six words had me forgetting all about my reservations. Every voice in my head that had been reminding me what a bad idea this was went completely silent.

We’d pushed ourselves so closely together I felt the way his cock twitched when I let out a throaty laugh. “I know you do. Such a pain slut.” I landed another smack on his ass, harder than the first, and smirked as Lincoln let out a keening sound.

“Yes, Sir. For you. More.” He pushed his ass back into my hand while his fingers trailed down my body until he got to the bottom of my T-shirt and began to tug it up.

The feel of his fingers along my ribs made reality break through the lust. “Link.” Fuck, another nickname. My brain had forgotten we were no longer in college. I cleared my throat. “Lincoln, this is a bad idea.”

He shook his head, clarity and determination shining in his eyes. “No. Need this. Please, Easton. I need this.” His words trailed off and left only an expression pleading for me to understand.

And I understood. I understood that this wasn’t going to make anything easier or solve any of the problems we were facing. I also understood that I was helpless to Lincoln’s plea. There was no way I was going to be able to say no to the man who had taken part of my heart when he left me. Through my anger, resentment, and confusion, there were still feelings for him and a hope that we could at least be friends.

You can’t be friends if you’re fucking. I ignored my conscience and reached for his suit coat, pushing it off his shoulders and down his arms until it fell from his body and landed on the floor behind him. Moving my hands to his front, I felt wool instead of the cotton of a shirt and looked down to find a vest had been hidden beneath the suit coat.

“Fuck.” The man was bundled up like Fort Knox with more buttons than I cared to count and way more than I wanted to deal with.

Undeterred by my frustration, Lincoln’s slender fingers began working at the buttons of the vest with ease. He had them undone and started working on his shirt sleeves, each movement drawing my focus. He’d managed to get his shirt halfway unbuttoned before I remembered that I could be speeding things along instead of staring at him and reached for his belt.

“So many goddamned layers,” I said, mostly to myself. There was no denying he wore the suit well, but it was taking way too much time to reach my intended target when I kept being met with more and more accessories to remove. Thankfully, the belt was easy to unbuckle and his slacks fell open with a few flicks of my fingers. Thanks to small mercies like the hook and eye closure of his pants, he stepped out of them at the same time his shirt fell from his shoulders.

The sight of Lincoln in just a pair of skimpy briefs made my cock press more persistently at the fly of my dark jeans. I wanted to remove my pants and slide into him, but the desk on the far side of the room caught my attention first.

Wrapping an arm around Lincoln’s body and pulling him closer to me, I whispered into his ear. “Were you a bad sub today?”

Lincoln’s breath hitched, but he nodded and managed to get two small words out. “Yes, Sir.”

“Do you need to be punished?” I asked, my free hand running up the seat of his underwear, my fingertips barely grazing the fabric.

He shivered in my arms and goosebumps pebbled across his shoulders and down his arms. The only word he got out was halting and strained. “Y-yes.”

“Good boy. Go over to the desk and put your hands on it, ass out.”

Lincoln complied without hesitation, his natural submission beautiful. Reality pushed at my senses, reminding me that no matter how perfect the moment was, the man crossing the room did not belong to me, and he might never have belonged to me. The morose thoughts were forgotten when his slender fingers gripped the edge of the desk and he leaned over to push his ass outward.

Looking over his shoulder, Lincoln sought me out from across the space. “Like this?”

“Perfect.” In more than one way. I took my time walking toward him, steadying my breathing and heart rate with each passing second. As I came to a stop beside him, my mind was clear.

I reached around him, my hand gripping the front of his underwear. A damp spot had already formed at the tip of his dick. “So desperate for your punishment.”

His head moved up and down. “Yes, Sir.”

My fingers toyed with the waistband of his underwear before gripping it and beginning to pull it down his body. “Safewords?”

“Green, yellow, and red, Sir,” he said automatically, stepping out of the briefs.

The same system we’d used.

---