Page 133 of Burden of Proof

Another thing I’d learned was how to be rough with Lincoln in the ways that made him feel loved. He truly enjoyed being manhandled, and I trusted him enough to take him at his word. We still talked all the time about what we wanted to try and what we liked or didn’t, but there was a lot ofknowingthat existed between us, and I truly believed that was what kept us going so strong.

Beneath me, Lincoln collapsed on the bed, his hand pinned between his stomach and the comforter. Gently, I eased out of him, a feral sound building in the back of my throat at the sight of his gaping and cum-slick asshole. I gave him a harder smack against the side of his thigh, and Lincoln crawled onto the bed, then flopped onto his back.

“I think I want you to spank me,” he said, eyes bright and clear, not hazy like they sometimes were after he came.

“I can spank you.”

The corner of his mouth twitched. “I know you can.”

I gave one last overhand stroke to my half-hard dick and pulled my pajamas back up. My throat was parched, and I was in desperate need of a drink.

“I was thinking, I’d like to bottom again for you soon,” I admitted, biting the tip of my tongue between my teeth.

Lincoln was a phenomenal top, but on account of the fact I came within seconds, it was something we’d still only done that one time. At my ask, though, he lifted his hips off the bed and stroked his cock, pointing it at me.

“I’ll make it so good for you,” he promised.

“I know. I’m going to go get some water. Do you want anything?”

“Well, now, just to fuck you.” Lincoln laughed and kicked free of his leather shorts.

“Did you and Silas have dinner?”

“We had snacks,” he said.

“I’ll make us a sandwich to share.” I bent over the bed and brushed a kiss against his temple, then headed out to the kitchen.

I didn’t think we’d been fucking that long, but the house was already dark and buttoned up, save for the light spilling down the hallway from the guest room. As quietly as I could manage, I pulled all the ingredients out of the fridge and set to making a turkey sandwich that would hold me and Lincoln over until the morning.

Gathering the plate and a glass of water, I made my way back toward the hallway. The light in the guest room flipped off, but the hall light turned on just as quickly. Smith was there in front of me, clearly on his way to the bathroom, but he’d finally taken off that damn hoodie. His brow knit together over the bridge ofhis nose, and he had his phone in hand, frowning down at the screen. He didn’t even see me.

“You good?” I asked.

Smith jumped, almost dropping his phone but managing to save it against his chest. He blinked up at me like a raccoon caught in headlights, not quite fast enough to make it out of danger.

“You startled me,” he said obviously. “I was just going to brush my teeth.”

He gestured toward the bathroom to my right, and that was when I saw it. The dark shadows, the elegant script, and designs that stretched from my brother’s wrist to his forearm.

“Smith,” I said slowly, not wanting to grab him but also not wanting him to move. “When the fuck did you get a tattoo?”