Full Service : (Franklin U 2 Book 5)

Chapter 3

I’ve made a huge, colossal mistake.

I’m being redundant.

But it doesn’t matter. I seem to like making these mistakes. I keep coming back for more.

My back hits the wall in the crowded room, watching as Everly strips his vest off, showing his hard nipples and his oiled six-pack.

Fuck. Me.

My cock twitches in my pants, and I adjust it discreetly, hoping to behave like someone with an ounce of tact and not a screaming, wild animal like the rest of the patrons here.

But then again, I showed up like the creep I am, didn’t I?

Everly told me after class yesterday that he had a shift at the club tonight, almost like he was coaxing me, tempting me to show up.

“I work Saturday, just so you know. At ten.”

I pretended like I didn’t hear it, like it was just white noise in my ears, but I did. I etched the info into my mind. I even went online when I got home to double-check that he was, in fact, working. And there he was, in all his half-naked glory on my computer screen, beckoning me.

I was doomed from the beginning. I should just lie down and accept my fate.

The crowd cheers, and a woman tries to crawl onto the stage, immediately being pulled back by a large bouncer with a head bigger than my torso. She’s behaving how I feel deep down—a clawing, feral thing.

But then again, Everly knows how to work a crowd. His co-worker up on stage isn’t half bad either. They put on a good show together, and yet I can’t tear my eyes away from him.

From the way his muscles shine under the lights, the way they bunch and move, the cocky smile he wears on his face as he undulates his hips.

Fuck me. What kind of word is undulate? I need to get a grip. I should walk out of here immediately because this is completely inappropriate. I shouldn’t be here watching my TA strip off his clothes and stick his ass out to the world.

And yet, here I am.

With a leaking boner.

The ground must be extra sticky from bodily fluids and alcohol because I cannot get my feet to move. I might have to spend the night here, propped up against the wall, pretending to blend into it. I could probably manage it too. I’m wearing a dark button-up shirt and black slacks. If I don’t move and I close my eyes maybe no one will be able to see me. I’ll become one with the wall. Just a bodyless face.

I glance back up at the stage and my eyes connect with Everly’s.

My breath catches, and I feel my skin break out in goosebumps.

Oh shit. I’ve been caught.

He’s seen me.

Maybe I can slink away and deny this until the day I die. But the way he’s watching me, there’s no point in even attempting this. His gaze is locked with mine. The way he’s moving his body, his hands on his chest and then clutching his groin.

Every move feels like it’s for me.

I know it is.

I can see the way he bites his lip, how he wets his mouth. And when he pulls his pants off and flaunts his ass to the crowd, I know that he’s showing me what I’ve been missing. His head keeps tilting back over his shoulder, glancing in my direction. And I keep staring at him, unable to breathe.

He likes that I’m watching, that I’m debating what I could do to that body of his if I had fewer scruples.

But then again, scruples?

Seems I don’t have any.

Don’t even really know the word.

It’s not in my dictionary.

And if I look but don’t touch, that doesn’t count, right?

That’s how I got myself to come here tonight. It’s just a show, simple entertainment on a Saturday night. Nothing more. It’s not like I’m going to let him touch me, let him get me off again. Not that he needed to touch me to do that.

I reach down and squeeze my dick. It positively throbs, an ache that goes straight down my legs and makes them shake. I’m close and he’s done nothing but writhe on stage.

Imagine if he was naked on top of me…

I’d embarrass myself. I’d put the gays to shame with how fast I’d come.

Shitty Stamina Silas Sinclair.

I should get a jersey with that name on it. Wear it on my nights out so everyone knows to stay away.

I’ll make it red too.

Red flag!

“God,” I murmur as the back of my head thunks on the wall, my dick doing all sorts of inappropriate things. It’s currently waving at Everly and trying to entice him with a wink. And who could blame it? Look at him.

Fucking look at him.

I groan softly at the way he rolls his hips, the way his abs flex into six perfect squares, his hands behind his head as he watches me. No wonder I lost control when I was getting that lap dance. He’s all-consuming. I can feel him in my balls, tingling, drawing me close to release just from looking at me.

He’s sex personified.

I reach down once more, trying to tame my dick into submission, but my palm ends up rubbing against my length instead. I’m basically masturbating in public at this point, and I don’t even care if anyone is looking. Not that they are. Their eyes are focused on the men on stage.

Oh fuck, oh fuck.

I want to stick my hand down my pants and jerk it, to give it some relief, but I don’t know if I need to. This may be enough, this friction of my palm digging into my dick.

Everly turns around and leans forward, his ass on display once more and he does some flick with his waist that has his cheeks bouncing. I squeeze the base of my dick as hard as I can, to hinder any kind of pre-ejaculation, but I just can’t manage to stave it off. The visual before me is too much, too enticing, and without warning, my cock erupts in my pants. I gasp and groan at the sensation, my boxers flooding with cum.

Oh, hell no. I came barely touched, just from the sight of him.

I twitch and shiver, riding it out as long as I can. And as soon as it’s done, shame washes over me and I feel my cheeks heat. Oh my god, what the hell am I doing? What the hell is this?

I need to leave. I need to escape before he sees me. One glance down at the wet patch on the front of my pants will tell him all he needs to know.

He managed to make me come. Again.

And this time, all he did was stand there flexing the globes of his ass.

I punch my leg to get my feet unstuck from the ground and then I’m off, nearly jogging across the parking lot, my coat flapping behind me, my release dripping down my legs. My dick is rapidly softening and feels none of the shame I currently do.

I am a thirty-five-year-old tenured professor. I should not be behaving this way.

Foolish, is what this is. Unhinged.

I scramble to my car and just as my hand hits the handle and a beep signals it’s unlocked, I hear my name called out from across the dimly lit lot.

I am going to get murdered and they’re gonna find me with underwear full of splooge.

“Dr. Sinclair!” the voice calls out again.

A wince takes over my face. Oh god, don’t out me. For fuck’s sake.

I turn slowly, trying to behave naturally, but there he is, shivering in his small jock strap and cowboy boots. He looks positively edible.

“Jesus, Everly,” I say and then clear my throat, peeling my jacket off and handing it to him. When he doesn’t take it, I place it around his bare shoulders and hold it closed. His eyes are shining when I finally meet his gaze.

“You’re leaving?” he asks, and I nod, feeling so ashamed.

“I didn’t realize you’d be performing tonight,” I lie. “It’s inappropriate that I was here, to say the least.”

He rolls his lips between his teeth and nods. “Did you not enjoy the show?”

My eyes fall to the side. I did enjoy the show and that’s part of the problem.

“You are very good at what you do,” I say diplomatically. It’s the least I can do when I behaved so abominably mere minutes ago.

“Good. I’m glad you liked it. But will you wait for me, so I can see you after I’m finished?”

I shake my head, feeling my dick try and perk up in my pants despite having just released a minute ago. It’s ready for more action.

“I really need to get home. This was a mistake.”

Everly’s mouth turns down, and he takes a step back. “Yeah. Of course. I’ll just go. I’m sorry you were disappointed.”

He looks so forlorn that I stop him with a hand to his arm.

“Wait, it’s not…it’s not you. It’s me. I shouldn’t have come tonight.”

Everly’s eyelids flutter. “But I liked dancing for you.”

A small whimper escapes me, and I feel my body grow tense. “It was wrong of me to show up here.”

“I don’t mind. I really don’t. I like that you liked it, that you like watching me.”

“I do,” I admit and then shake my head. “But nevertheless, I need to go. Home. To my fish.”

His chin meets his chest and then he peers up at me. “Okay. But just know that I’m glad you came tonight.” He hands me back my coat and then turns to head back inside.

I want to tell him that I’m glad I came too, but that would be a lie. I’m not glad. I feel like a fool and worry that this is going to affect our working relationship.

That he’s going to tease me relentlessly with that smile, with that ass, and I won’t be able to live it down. So I just watch him go in silence.

But when Monday rolls around, he acts like none of it ever happened. Like I didn’t cream my pants watching him dance on stage. Like I wasn’t ogling him and behaving like a pervert.

“Hey, Dr. Sinclair,” he says softly as he enters my office. It’s the start of my office hours, and I’m feeling like I spent the weekend drinking. Not that I did. No, I spent my time ruminating on the fact that I’ve turned into some kind of stalker creep.

And I also spent an inordinate amount of time jacking off in my room. I did not do it in the living room where Vertebrata could see. She’d shame me, I’m sure.

She has standards and I’m not up to par.

“I brought you a coffee. A toffee nut latte actually.”

“You don’t need to buy me coffee.”

“I know, but I like it, bringing you little presents.”

That is completely inappropriate and I should reject the offer, but the drink does sound lovely and I’m nothing if not a pushover.

I take the cup from him and stare at the opening, worried that if I glug it down I’ll burn my tongue again. But he shakes his head and explains, “It’s not too hot. I knew I’d make it here on time so I got it a normal temp.”

My lips curl around the opening, and I take a small sip, letting my eyes close at the taste of sugar this early in the morning. It’s glorious. I don’t usually let myself indulge like this.

“This is detrimental to my body, just so you know. I can’t drink stuff like this and look the way you do.”

His eyes slash to my chest and then back up to my gaze. “You look just fine to me.”

I don’t move a muscle, not wanting to encourage this, any of it. I need to behave.

There’s an eight percent chance I’ll behave.

“I mean, you’re a bit older than me…” His words trail off. “How old are you, by the way, Dr. Sinclair?”

“Too old for you,” I say, and he lets out a small laugh.

“Nah, I don’t believe in that shit. No one is too old for another. Unless it’s like creepy pedo shit, then that’s nasty.”

I arch an eyebrow at him, and he leans forward.

“So, come on. Tell me. I’m twenty-one. How old are you?”

I should not engage, and yet my mouth decides otherwise. “Thirty-five. Almost thirty-six.”

He bites the corner of his lip and his eyes sparkle, like the blue of the Pacific Ocean in the summer. Blue and glistening. I could get lost in there, just drown in their depths.

“That’s a good age. Thirty-five.”

“Almost thirty-six, and this is not something we should be discussing.”

He clears his throat and sits back, his eyes slipping from me, and I feel the loss of his gaze palpably.

“I didn’t say anything wrong,” he says, a little too confidently. And truth be told, he didn’t, not really, but the innuendo was there. He thinks that thirty-five is a good age for him. But I know something he doesn’t. It’s most definitely not.

I have almost fifteen years on him. A lot can happen in that time.

The truth of the matter is, we have nothing in common. Besides biology and my newfound love of strip clubs.

“I have office hours now,” I tell him, and he nods in understanding.

“Yeah, I get that. That’s why I’m here. To help out. This is why you have a TA, right? To lessen your workload?”

“Correct,” I say as I take another sip of my coffee. Damn, this’s good. It’s something I’d never get for myself, and yet I find my eyes nearly rolling back in my head from the sugary sweetness of it. Today I’m letting myself enjoy the treat.

My usual cup of black coffee can wait until tomorrow.

“Well then, let me help you, Dr. Sinclair.”

The way he says my name, the way it rolls off his tongue, makes my dick perk up in my pants.

Good fuck, I need therapy.

Dick therapy.

“Fine, you can use the desk in the corner and we can split up students if we need to. Sometimes I have a line a mile long.”

He nods and then moves to his spot in the office, setting his backpack down and pulling out an iPad. Within minutes, students start to appear, and just like he said, he helps to mediate the rush of them. I find my eyes straying to him when students are speaking to me, watching the intent way he leans forward and listens to what they’re saying, how easy it seems to be for him to interact with them, and how well he explains concepts.

I wish I’d had that ability early on. There are still times where I want to pull my hair out in frustration trying to explain concepts that are so easy to me and yet students struggle with. But I’m paid too well to do that. Plus, I happen to quite like that I still have all my hair. It’s my best feature at this age.

When my office hours end a few hours later, Everly stands up and stretches, his shirt riding up a bit and showing off the smooth tan skin beneath. I saw that skin the other night, watched it ripple in the lights of the stage, and came in my pants like a rascal.

I need to stay away from him. He’s far too dangerous. In so many ways.

“Alright, I need to get to class. Biostatistics,” he tells me.

I force my gaze to move away from his sexy abdomen. I will speak to his face, I will make eye contact.

“Ah yes, such fun.”

He grins at me, those white teeth flashing. “Yeah, it kinda is. I’m a nerd like that. Anyways, see you tomorrow, Dr. Sinclair.”

And with that, he turns on his heel and disappears from view, and I’m left to sit in my chair and try to fucking control myself.

“You will behave like a gentleman,” I tell my dick.

It just hardens from the reprimand.

I’m fucking hopeless.

My dick does not behave.

Of course it doesn’t. I’m walked all over. I’m unable to stand my ground.

I’m lingering behind the podium in the Intro to Biology lecture hall, going through my slides for my presentation when Everly walks in.

Heads turn, watching as he makes his way down the aisle, a bag slung carelessly over his broad shoulders, his tight gray shirt accentuating his muscles, those jeans clinging desperately to his thick thighs.

My dick instantly takes notice and lifts its head, straining toward him. It’s an unseemly bulge at the worst of times. I really need to get him under control.

My dick. Not Everly.

He needs to stop being so sexy.

“Fuck,” I murmur, hoping that no one is looking at me and reading my lips. It’s so unprofessional, swearing at work. And yet, I can’t help myself. I have a boner in a class with at least two hundred students seated before me. There’s no way I can move away from this podium while he’s here. Everyone will see it. Damn these tight dress pants that Blaise told me I should buy. I really need to take to wearing those baggy jeans they wore in the nineties. At least I could hide my unruly dick.

“Hey, Dr. Sinclair,” Everly says softly and grins at me.

I adjust my tie and force my eyes to move back to my laptop. If I start drooling, there’s no telling what people will think. Perhaps they’ll think the best and assume I have a salivary gland issue. At worst, they’ll know I’m drooling over my TA. Which is completely inappropriate.

“Mr. Winslow. I take it you’re here to introduce yourself and let them know about your office hours and study group?”

“Yep, here to offer the full service to them.”

That makes me peer over at him. “Is that so?”

His grin widens. “Yup. You know how multifaceted I am. A man of many talents.”

I do. I’ve seen what he can do with those hips.

I’d like to see what he could do with his tongue and that dick.

“Right, then go ahead and get class started, and when you’re done, I’ll take over.”

Everly nods and when everyone settles in their chairs, he takes the microphone from me, holds it up to his mouth, and begins to speak.

I watch as he does this, alternating between ogling him and pretending to look at my laptop. But it’s hard to look away from him. The way he speaks, so confidently, so assured.

I wish I’d been like that in my early twenties. It was only a few years ago that I started to really believe in myself. And there are days when I still don’t know what the fuck I’m doing.

Like right now.

Why the hell am I getting a boner over this guy? He’s far too young for me and my TA on top of it. I’m behaving like a wayward teenager.

And yet, my mind knows why. It’s so simple.

He’s hot as fuck.

And I’m a lonely, sad man.

“If you have any questions, you can email me, or here’s my number,” he finishes.

I frown when I see multiple students start scribbling his number down. I would too if I were them. I’d be messaging him at all hours if I were fifteen years younger. Probably would send him pictures of my dick and butthole too.

“You can jot that down, if you want,” Everly says softly to me, and I feel my cheeks heat. “Just in case you have a biological emergency and need assistance.”

He glances down at my crotch, and I shift my hips away from him.

I clear my throat and adjust my jacket. “Thank you for coming in today, Mr. Winslow. I’m sure you have a class to get to.”

He nods, his lips twitching with mirth. “I do. So I’ll see you around.”

I dismiss him with a nod of my head, and if my hand inadvertently writes down his number when he’s gone, it’s not my fault. I may need him at some point.

In a very non-sexual, very platonic way.

My dick does not control me.

I am my own man, thank you very much.

I used to have a nightly ritual of coming home, microwaving a meal, and falling into bed with a good biopic about some long-dead person.

I have no clue why I’m still single. I’m such fun. A true catch.

But now, things have changed. I haven’t gone back inside the club to watch Everly dance because that ended terribly, and I honestly can’t stomach the thought of coming in my pants again. I don’t think I could live down the humiliation. And I don’t want to end up like some kind of stalker featured on a television show a year from now. It was bad enough that Everly saw me cream myself the first time and caught me in the club the second time around. I will not crawl my way into the shoddy little strip club and get off to the sight of him again.

But I have made it a bit of a habit to walk by the club each night after eating dinner. It’s just for the exercise, I tell myself. I’m getting up there in age and The Back Door is close enough. I should really get a dog so I can have the excuse that I need to walk him. Perhaps Vertebrata would enjoy a nice stroll around town.

I should buy some kind of portable fish bowl and take her out. I bet she’d like that. She’s a real social animal. She can scowl at passersby.

I scoff as my footsteps slow outside the club. The bouncer outside waves at me, and I feel my cheeks heat. He obviously knows me by now. I’ve been by here the past four days. Like clockwork.

“How you doing, boss?” the man calls out.

I should really find out what his name is. It would only be polite.

I straighten my shirt and lift a hand in response. “Good, you?”

“Good, man. Nice night. Could rain later though. Better get back before it does.”

“Yeah, I will.”

“Your boy’s working tonight, just so you know.”

I nod, feeling my cheeks flame to epic proportions. I didn’t come by knowing when Everly was working. I forced myself not to look. And it doesn’t matter anyways. I’m not going inside. Not now and not ever. I’ve already crossed too many lines with him. So many lines that have been obliterated and crushed into dust.

And yet, here I am once more, a glutton for punishment, it seems.

I force my gaze away from the club and continue walking. I need to get a grip, need to behave like a grown man. This is slightly unhinged and most definitely unhealthy, and yet I can’t quite let it slide. I can’t quite let him go.

I walk past a few businesses on my trip home. As I glance in the window of Indelible Ink, I wonder if I should get a few more tattoos added to the ones I already have on my forearm. The little biology symbols, my mom’s favorite book, my dad’s favorite quote. Although, perhaps not. It’s time to grow up and behave like an adult.

A feat I’m not succeeding at right now.

Perhaps it’s been too long since I’ve had someone to come home to, had someone who took an interest in me, or maybe it’s simpler and more base than that. Maybe I just need to get fucked.

And fucked good.

The first raindrop hits me as I make my way down a residential street a few blocks from my townhouse. By the time I arrive home, I’m nearly drenched, my hair dripping water into my eyes.

“Well, fuck,” I say as I enter my place and strip my shirt off. Vertebrata is staring at me through the glass of her fish tank, but when I move toward her, she swims away and hides in her small coral cove.

If I didn’t know any better, I’d think she hates me.

Maybe she needs a friend too. I should buy her another fish to spend time with.

I peel myself out of my pants and walk to the bathroom where I shower and throw on some sweatpants.

I should just call it a night and go to sleep. But instead, I find myself on my bed with my laptop, pulling up the strip club website, just to get a glimpse of Everly on the front page. It’s just a photo of him stretched out against a pole, oiled up and positively muscular. I pull my dick out of my pants and jack myself to the thought of him.

It’s become a nightly ritual. Edging myself by walking by the club and then coming home and getting myself off to the mere thought of him. I’ve moved past sad and am in just plain depressing territory.

When I’m done, I mop up my cum and lean my head back and sigh.

“I really need to get a life,” I say just as my phone rings.

I scramble to grab it and grin when I see who it is.

“Hey, Lee,” I say.

“Hi, Silas. This is Lee.”

I roll my eyes and walk out of my room, leaving the stench of cum where it belongs. It definitely does not need to be a part of this conversation.

“What’s up, Lee? You okay?”

“Yep, as good as a dying man can get. But you know what I’d really like? Some fries.”

My eyebrows rise. “Is that so?”

“Yes. The really good chili fries that they have at that Food Cafe place.”

“They’re closed right now. It’s late. Way past your bedtime.”

He sighs. “You need to help out an old man, Silas. I may not be alive tomorrow. This is my last wish.”

I scoff at that. “You’re healthier than me. Quit it. But fine, I’ll take you to a diner that’s open. And we’ll get you those fries you can’t live without.”

“There’s my boy.”

It warms my heart to hear him call me that. It’s been so long since my parents died. The only family I have left are my sister and my niece who live in Florida. Might as well be on another continent for as often as I see them. Or hear from them. I get that it’s a two-way street, but I honestly can’t be bothered.

Seems I’m doomed.

“You ready to go now?”

“Yep. I even have my shoes on.”

“Good man. I’ll be there in fifteen.”

“I’ll wait outside.”

With a flick of my finger, the call is ended and I’m on my way out to my car to pick him up. He lives in a retirement home about ten minutes from me, and after he slides into my car and I stick his walker in the trunk, a quick Google search lands us at an all-night diner with food that will put us both in an early grave.

“Can’t believe you’re still awake,” I tell him.

“Gotta be to keep up with you youngins,” he says as he takes a big bite of his chili fries. I did try to persuade him not to order this because he’s going to regret it later. I don’t think his stomach can cope, or his bowels, but he just glowered at me until I caved.

“Plus my son and grandson are busy people. I have to stay up late so I can chat with them. If I didn’t, I’d never speak to them. Same with you.”

“Lies. I visit you at least twice a week and bring you lunch.”

“True, but then you’re running off to your next thing. When do you have time to relax?”

“Never. I have to work to afford life in California. Not all people can be Boomers with hefty retirement funds and stocks from the 1950s.”

He chuckles at that and then holds up a chili-soaked fry to me. “You’re a little shit. Come on, eat up, sad man. And tell me how you’re going to enjoy life from now on. And don’t lie. You need to tell me the truth. I have to live vicariously through you.”

“Fine. I’ll go on more walks,” I tell him but leave out the incriminating past the strip club to make myself seem a little less creepy. “And maybe I’ll even get a new tattoo.”

Lee’s eyebrows rise. “Is that so? Of what?”

“I have no idea.”

“Seems you need to get out more and find something that inspires you.”

The only thing that seems to inspire me is Everly and his butt. But it’s not like I can tell Lee that. He’d never let me live it down. He’s a bit of a perverted old man when it comes to stuff like that. One time he told me I should snowball men more.

I don’t think he knew what snowballing meant. But then again, I just don’t know. The way he grinned at me told me he may have figured out how to work his phone and looked it up.

We chat some more as I sip on some tea. Lee finishes off his fries, lifting the paper underneath them and licking it clean, like a raccoon. Some paper peels off into his mouth and he actually swallows it. Jesus. But then again, who cares? I used to feel slightly embarrassed by the display he puts on when he does things like this, but now I just shrug it off.

Makes him happy. Who am I to judge?

At least Lee doesn’t lurk outside of a strip club and lightly stalk a student.

When it comes to creepy, I’m winning.

I should come with a warning sign.

After I drop him off, I tell myself to go home. Straight home. Crawl into bed and read a book, but my car drives me right to the strip club, and I find my eyes settled on the back entrance of the club, wishing that Everly would just stride out and take all choice away from me by sucking my dick into his mouth.

But of course, that’s the dream of a crazy person. It obviously doesn’t happen, but the urge to enter the establishment and lurk is making my skin itch.

I really should just go in. Sneak in and watch, see if he’s even performing tonight.

Fuck me. I’m lying to myself now. I know he’s on stage. I checked. I check every night. It’s a ritual.

Get home. Microwave dinner. Check if Everly’s working. Jerk off.

And now I’ve apparently added another thing to my schedule.

Stalking.

I’m a man of many talents.

I lean my forehead against the steering wheel and groan, my hand going between my legs and squeezing my dick. I will not get off here. I just did that at home. Somehow doing it in a dimly lit parking lot seems a lot more unhinged.

So I don’t. I willnot.

Suddenly, a loud bang has me lifting my head up, and I see Everly stride out of the club, wearing a silk robe, his phone held up to his ear. He laughs loudly, a sound so endearing that I find myself shivering as I peek over my dashboard at him.

I should leave, but I’m worried he’ll notice if my headlights flick on.

So I just sit there, my hand on my crotch, my eyes blinking wildly as I watch him. He’s leaning up against the brick building and chatting happily. He hasn’t noticed me, thank fuck, because I really can’t explain this away.

But then my luck runs out. His eyes flick across the parking lot, and I see him freeze. Fuck. He’s seen me. I know it. Trying to scoot down as far as I can, I accidentally honk the horn with my arm and groan.

Way to not draw attention to myself. I try to sit down on the floor but end up stuck halfway between the steering wheel and the seat. My leg starts to cramp from the awkward way I’m sitting, and I realize that in the process of trying to hide, I turned the blinker on and the windshield wipers.

Seems I’m turning left in the rain at the moment, huffing a small laugh because it’s either that or cry.

Knock. Knock.

The tap on my window has me looking up bashfully.

And there he is, grinning down at me.

“Kill me now,” I murmur, trying to sit up but realizing I really am stuck. If he calls the fire department, I will run away and never come home again.

But mercifully, he doesn’t call for help. Instead, he opens the door and pushes the seat back as far as it can go, letting me extend my legs and clamber out of the car. As I do, I fall forward and his strong arms engulf me.

This is the closest I’ve ever been to him, besides the night of the lap dance. But this time my hands are on his strong chest and my face is smashed into his shoulder. I can smell the sweat of his skin, feel the frantic way he’s breathing.

It’s overpowering.

A drug.

“Easy there, Dr. Sinclair.”

I wince and pull away, feeling suddenly ashamed. I’ve never behaved so dreadfully.

“Thank you. I had a bit of a mishap.”

“Seems you did,” he replies, placing his hands in his robe pockets and cocking his head at me.

I run a hand down my chest and glance away from him, trying to regain my composure. Seems there’s none to be found.

“Would you like to come inside?” he asks, and I say no far too quickly. Even I don’t believe myself.

“You’d prefer just to stay outside?” he asks, biting down on his bottom lip, trying to contain a grin. “I mean, the view is better inside.”

“Pfft. I know that.” I run a hand through my hair and sigh. “But, really, I need to go home. I have an early meeting tomorrow.”

He takes a step toward me, and I stagger back, needing to keep my distance.

“Are you sure? I could give you another lap dance. On the house.”

The way his eyes twinkle makes my heart throb. And by heart, I mean dick.

“That is a terrible way to do business, Mr. Winslow. You should never give anything away for free.”

He grins at me, showing me those perfectly white teeth. “Yeah, but I can if I want to. So, do you want to come in and let me show you some of my new moves? I have a new routine, one I created just for you.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Why? Is it because it’s unprofessional?”

“Yes. It is.”

“So is walking past the club every night.”

I gasp and glower at him. “I do not.”

He reaches out and gently touches my chest. It’s just his finger, but it makes me lose my ability to breathe. I need a lung transplant. I have some kind of breathing condition.

“Bruce told me.”

“Bruce is wrong.”

“Nah, he has eyes like a hawk. Says you come by like clockwork every night.”

If my face gets any hotter, my cheeks are going to melt off. A puddle on the floor. Who needs them anyways? The ground can have them. Stupid things.

He fiddles with the tie of his robe, and my eyes lock onto it. “Come on in, Dr. Sinclair. No one needs to know. Just between you and me. Our secret.”

But I’ll know. I’ll know, and I will feel like shit about it.

I think.

There’s a four percent chance I’ll feel bad about it.

“I have a private room ready for us.”

Well, that’s entirely too tempting.

“I refuse,” I say, even though my dick is disagreeing. It completely accepts the offer. We should go in, sit in that private room, and let Everly rub all over us.

Make us come our eyeballs out.

“Yeah, no pressure,” he says as he pulls his robe open and shows me the jockstrap he’s wearing. My mouth drops open and only closes when he reaches out, his fingers pressed under my chin, snapping my jaw shut.

“Take a good look, Professor. See what you’re refusing.”

He turns around and lifts the robe far too sensually and shows me that ass.

Well, shit.

And then he’s sauntering off, like a goddamn king, and I’m left staring after him.

I will not go in.

I cannot.