Chapter Five
Wes
I’m only a few minutes into my lecture when I hear the double doors open at the back of the classroom. I don’t look up right away. Late arrivals happen, and I try not to let them distract me.
“Today we’ll be discussing problems that are currently affecting or likely will affect the future of the hotel in…dus…” When I do look up, I wish I hadn’t.
Panic seizes my insides as Adam and Troy slide into the nearly empty back row with mischief on both their faces. The only other person up there is a student who’s barely passing the class. He’s already fallen asleep.
I grope around on the lectern for the bottle of water I keep with me, forcing myself to take a swallow. Nothing seems to clear the heat and tension that’s suddenly clogging my throat and squeezing my entire body.
After another drink I manage to get my bearings, and that’s when I realize I’ve got eighty freshman and sophomore students staring right at me.
Because I trailed off mid-sentence.
“Sorry about that. Dry throat.” I clear it for good measure, as if anyone who actually cared would buy my performance.
My gaze is drawn to Adam and Troy again, sitting with studious expressions at the long tables that line the tiered room, pretending they’re actually here to learn. Meanwhile. I’ve forgotten my entire lesson plan.
Looking down at my notes helps refresh my memory, but it doesn’t alleviate the thrumming in my body. “S-uh. Wh-who wants to get us started? Problems in the hotel industry. Go.”
I call on the first student to raise their hand, an eager-looking kid in the front row wearing a BAU basketball shirt. He says something about wage gaps and labor shortages, but I can barely make sense of his answer.
Because Adam and Troy are making out in the back row.
“Interesting. Who’s next?” Did anyone else hear the way my voice went up an octave? I hope not.
That echo in my ears must be steam pouring out. How dare those two come in here and screw with my job, my livelihood, when I’m already forced to deal with them at the hotel where they fuck rich men while I pretend to look the other way?
I try another throat clear. This one because I can’t seem to swallow.
“Uh, okay. I think someone mentioned economic conditions. Someone say more about that.” Did they?
I have no idea who’s saying what at this point, only that Adam is sinking his teeth into Troy’s throat as if they’re auditioning for one of those vampire shows Gina loves.
All the same, when Adam tips his head back and Troy runs his tongue from Adam’s collarbones to his chin, my blood surges to my cock so suddenly I feel as if I might pass out.
What on earth is happening to me?
A brunette with Greek letters on her shirt says some things about sustainability that may or may not be correct. I make a show of shuffling the papers in front of me, attempting to make sense of my notes while I gather my thoughts.
Don’t look. Do not play their game . If students notice I’m looking too hard in a certain direction, they might turn around to figure out why the hell I’m so fixated.
If they did, they would see what looks an awful lot like Troy’s hand between Adam’s legs.
Given the design of the seating and the way each long desk has a front panel that hides most of the students’ lower bodies, I can’t say for sure.
It’s the angle of his arm and the smirk on his face when he looks my way as my cock betrays me?—
Jesus fucking Christ. I’m hard. In front of an entire lecture hall. God forbid one person notices or turns around and sees what’s happening in the back row. If they do, I’m done.
Another hand goes up. “Y-es, uh…” Where the hell did my seating chart go? “Did you have something to add?”
The young man in question asks a question about short-term vacation rentals. I’m trying to rein in my shallow breath—is Troy jerking Adam off back there?
Troy shoving me down onto a bench while Adam presses his hands to my shoulders. Troy unzipping my slacks and pulling out my cock. Adam telling me my cock is pretty.
The same cock Gina used to ridicule.
“Uh. Well.” Fuck.
I chug more water. “That’s a good question.” What the hell did that kid ask me again?
Even from the front of the classroom, I can see Adam’s lips parting. His head tilted back.
I should call them out. Call security. They’re not students. They don’t belong here. At the very least I need to stop fucking watching .
Think. I force myself to return my focus to the student who asked the last question. “The, uh, answer, uh…” Dammit, Wes . “It comes down in part to county laws. In the state of Florida…”
Whew. Thank fuck I’ve taught this class enough times that I manage a semi-coherent answer. I hope. The rest of the lecture passes in a blur where I desperately will my hard cock to go down and even more desperately try to not look a single student in the eye.
Getting through the lecture with an erection is bad enough. Watching the two men in the back row as if it’s a private performance? So much worse.
I dismiss class early. Did we go over everything on today’s agenda? Or even any of it? Probably not. There’s supposed to be a quiz next class, and I couldn’t begin to say if I covered the necessary material. More likely, I spent the entire lecture sounding as if I was having a stroke.
As soon as I escape into the hallway, I’m searching for someplace to hide. My office is two floors up. Right now that’s way too far. I duck into a room with a “staff only” sign on the door, only to find myself in a custodial supply closet.
Well. At least it’s quiet in here.
Hugging my notes to my chest, I press myself against a metal shelving unit stocked full of paper products. I attempt to catch my breath, taking giant gulps of pine-scented air.
The throbbing in my pants is as enraging as it is unbearable. I can’t jerk off in here. God help me if the actual custodian comes in. I’ll never survive the shame if I’ve got my dick out when some poor employee shows up looking for a mop.
As if my thoughts have power, the door creaks open. No sooner have I straightened up and covered myself with my folder of lecture notes than I realize I’m not looking at someone wearing coveralls and a name tag. I’m looking at two someones who are amused as hell to find me. Again.
And once again, they’ve got me cornered.
“Hey there, Kitten,” Troy practically croons.
“Kitten?” Adam raises one eyebrow at Troy.
“He likes it. Don’t you, Kitten?”
“No, I do not fucking like it,” I whisper-yell. “I sure as hell didn’t like that shit you pulled in my classroom. Are you trying to get me fired?”
“Fired?” Adam looks confused. “Nobody even noticed.”
“Yeah, teacher. Except for that one dude in the back sleeping off his hangover, all eyes were on you.”
“Probably all hot for the teacher.” Adam nods.
“Who wouldn’t be?” Troy adds with a grin.
“Hot for—no. Stop fucking around.” Nobody in my life has ever called me hot, not even the woman I married. I take a step, but they’re blocking me in. “Let me out of here.”
“You really want us to do that?” Troy’s the one who speaks, but they share a look of genuine confusion.
Adam’s the one who addresses the situation in my pants. I may not be the most well-endowed, but apparently these slacks don’t hide much. Not exactly something I thought I’d need to worry about when I bought them.
“Looks like you could use some help,” he says.
“I think you both have helped enough.”
“Have we?” Once again Troy comes forward. It always seems to be Troy. Is he the ringleader? Is it still considered a “ring” if there are only two members?
He presses me against the shelf, sliding his palm over my chest and between the top two buttons of my shirt, popping them open. The gentle sensation of his nose running up the side of my neck gives me the shivers.
“Mm. You smell good. Freshly showered from the gym. Spicy. And are you saying if Adam were to get down on his knees right now and suck your cock into his mouth, you’d have an objection?”
I am absolutely supposed to be objecting right now. Aren’t I?
“Y-y…”
Great. I’ve forgotten how to make words.
Tell them you object, goddammit . They’re sex workers. I’ve got twenty years on each of them. For now at least, I’m still married. Oh, and we’re in a goddamn janitorial closet with no lock on the door.
“Speak up, Kitten. Couldn’t quite hear you.”
“There’s no lock on that door.”
Nice one, Wes. Way to put your foot down.
Adam chuckles as he grabs a yellow floor sign that says “Cuidado! Piso mojado” and wedges it under the doorknob. Then he turns back to me and drops to his knees.
Just like the first time these two cornered me, my tongue thickens and refuses to work. This is completely unprofessional. If we’re caught, I’ll get fired.
And yet…
Instead of pushing away, I lean into the press of Troy’s palm against the side of my neck. My tongue slides over my lower lip as Adam’s gaze finds mine.
Somehow, all I can do is stare with eyes that must be bulging out of my head as Adam slides down my zipper and reaches inside.
All the usual insecurities run through my head. Too small. You don’t know how to please anyone. All the criticism sounds suspiciously like Gina, but this time I don’t have time for the shame to take hold.
This time, when I try to cover myself with my folder again, I’ve got Adam looking up at me with dark, liquid eyes. When he gently pushes my hand away and closes his mouth around me, he moans as if he’s actually fucking enjoying himself.
“Oh fuck, that feels good.” The words come out without my permission, on a jagged, unsteady puff of air.
There’s a man— a man —sliding his lips and tongue up and down my dick with sooty lashes fanned across the most perfect looking warm-toned cheekbones.
His dark, wavy hair is pulled into a bun as it so often is.
A few tendrils have escaped down the back of his neck.
I realize this when the fingers of my left hand somehow grab hold, tangling with the loose strands.
No man has touched me this way. Nobody has touched me this way. Blow jobs went the way of the dodo after my first year of marriage. Even when Gina was willing, it was never with this level of enthusiasm.
This is how he makes money. He’s probably pretending. Gina used to pretend, but with Adam I don’t know how to tell.
Why would he, though, when I’m not paying him?
Voices and hundreds of footsteps echo in the halls outside, full of laughter and loud discussion as students are released from their classes and move on to wherever they’re going next.
“Christ, we can’t do this here.” I barely manage the protest.
Troy pops open the rest of the buttons on my shirt. His palm caresses my chest, stimulating my nipples, which seem to have a direct line to my dick. Tiny shivers follow the path of his hand, over my sternum and down my stomach. Every muscle jumps under his touch, trying to get closer.
“God. This is—” I’m gasping for air, not that it helps. “We should stop.”
Even as I say it, my fingers push farther into Adam’s hair. Clenching. Pulling. Dragging him closer until the tip of his nose presses against my pubic hair.
Troy was right, I’m a filthy fucking hypocrite. A liar.
My cock glides across the ridges on the roof of his mouth, wrapping me up in a pleasure-pain that’s brand new. Followed quickly by my tip getting squeezed in his throat. How is he doing that?
I don’t know what the hell this is, only that I’m not supposed to want it. I also don’t know what I’ll do if he stops.
Even as I moan when Adam swallows around me, I hear Gina’s comments the last time I tried to initiate sex. I think it’s time we stop pretending we please each other, don’t you?
I don’t know what to do when tears press at the backs of my eyes. Especially when, at the same time, to my horror, my orgasm is bearing down on me. “You might want to… I-I’m going to…”
I try to pull my hips back, shocked when Adam’s grips my ass, tugging me forward. Sucking me back into his mouth.
It’s all over too soon. For a moment I forget myself and cry out when I come, only to have the sound stifled by Troy’s lips on mine. As I’m coming, he pinches one of my nipples hard enough to make me cry out again, but he’s there to swallow my pleasure and pain.
My shoulders press painfully into the shelf behind me as Adam drinks me down. I’m trying desperately to keep my footing. Fuck knows my sanity is long gone.
The back of my head smacks against a case of hand towel refills as I catch my breath.
I can’t bring myself to open my eyes. Not sure I can handle the way they’re probably looking at me.
Probably thinking it’s funny as hell that they’ve once again manipulated me into a compromising position. That they’ve gotten a straight guy to?—
Okay, that’s too much right now. I’m going to have to think about that part later.
Much later. Alone.
Not sure it still makes sense to think of myself as straight after I came into Adam’s mouth. Or after I looked Troy in the eye while he jerked me off. After I salivated watching him lick my cum off his hand.
I don’t open my eyes until lips press against mine. A tongue pushes its way inside. This time it’s Adam. I can taste myself on him.
“Later, Kitten.” His expression is as grim as Troy’s is gleeful. What am I supposed to make of that?
I’m still wondering as they move the sign away from the door, and they both leave me here.
All I can do is watch them go. What do I even say? Thanks for the blow job? What the hell are you two trying to pull?
A glance down reminds me I’m a fucking mess. Used and spent. Shirt hanging half off of me, zipper undone, softening cock out. I’m burning with humiliation, but why am I still so fucking turned on?
For the first time since I was Adam and Troy’s age, I’m not sure it would take much to get hard again.
I hurry to pull myself together, cleaning off with some stolen paper towels. God forbid I’m caught in here like this.
My phone buzzes in my pocket. Hoping for a text from my brother, I hurry and fish it out, only to see it’s from the housekeeping manager at work:
Any chance you can swing by when you come in for your next shift? Need to run something by you.
Great. On the upside, I’ve been meaning to talk to him. Downside? Well, I’m kind of busy having an identity crisis.
Are drive-by orgasms a thing? Because I think this is the second time I’ve gotten one.