Chapter 14 #2
“What did I say was the hardest thing in your first year?” he asked me.
“It’s boundaries, Avery. You love your job and you love your kids, but you can’t let that take over your life or you’ll burn out.
You have to have a life outside the classroom.
I mean that. You need to build connections that have nothing to do with school.
Like, it’s great socializing with other teachers, but if they’re the only people you socialize with, pretty soon every single get-together turns into a bitch session about the administration, or other teachers, or the students you hate, or—”
“I don’t hate any students!”
“That’s because you teach five-year-olds,” he said wryly.
“They don’t stay that cute. The point is, school can’t be your whole life.
You need to maintain those boundaries for your own mental health, or it sucks you in like a black hole and within a couple of years you’ll turn into one of those bitter asshole teachers who hate everything. Trust me, I’ve seen it happen.”
I chewed on my thumbnail for a moment.
“How much work did you bring home to do this weekend?” he asked me.
I gave a guilty jolt. “Not much! My lesson plans for the week. And I have to write my class newsletter. And I told Dana I’d help her start planning this year’s school concert. Do you know anything about choreography?”
“Avery.”
“Oh, yeah. How hard can it be to teach seventeen five-year-olds how to dance anyway, right?” I took a sip of my beer. “I just want to be the best teacher I can.”
“I get that,” Dallas said. “But you can’t be that guy if you’re burning out, you know? You have to learn how to say no.” He waited until I’d hummed my agreement before he said, “So how are things going with your worst parent?”
“Who?” For a second I had no idea who he was talking about.
“Your eternally late single dad neighbor?”
Oh. I realized I hadn’t updated Dallas on that front.
“He turned out to be okay,” I said. “He just needed some time to adjust. But he’s great now.”
“Great, huh? That’s quite the turnaround. What did he do, buy you booze?”
“No, he’s…” I thought of the way Wilder wrapped himself around me in his sleep, hungry for touch, and how open and eager he was once he got past those initial shy-boy nerves, and how he trusted me to take the lead every single time. “He’s great,” I repeated faintly.
Dallas hummed. “Are you doing okay living on your own, Avery? Real talk. Because I know how you get in your own head.”
“I’m fine,” I said. “It’s just been a long couple of weeks.”
“Promise me you’ll relax this weekend, okay?” Dallas said, and the way he said it, bossy and affectionate all at once, he reminded me of our dad.
“I promise,” I said, thinking of my plans to fool around with Wilder later. If that didn’t relax me, nothing would.
Dallas was silent for a long moment before he said, “Okay. Talk to you soon.”
We said our goodbyes and I ended the call.
I always felt better after talking to Dallas.
I wondered if I’d feel better if I told him about Wilder and immediately rejected the idea.
I could just imagine the lecture I’d get.
Hadn’t he just reinforced the need for boundaries?
Although to be fair, he’d also said I needed to have a life outside the classroom, and teaching five-year-olds had nothing in common with guiding Wilder through his first gay sexual experiences.
Okay, fine, apart from giving him a gold star.
I wondered what he’d suggest tonight. Whatever it was, I usually said yes without making a big deal about it, just so Wilder knew it was fine to explore different things.
To be honest, I was hoping he’d finally worked up the nerve to ask for a blow job.
I’d seen him looking at my dick and licking his lips, and I sure as hell wanted to get my mouth on him if he’d let me.
But I’d said all along that he could set the pace, and I wasn’t going to pressure him.
I finished my beer, then went inside. I did some work on my lesson plans before stopping for dinner, then started putting together the class newsletter as a way to fill in time before Wilder came over.
I got so involved in what I was doing that the knock at the door had me jerking upright in my chair.
I hurried to the door and opened it, and Wilder gave me his usual grin, but it was strained around the edges and his brow was creased. “Hey.”
“Hey,” I echoed, stepping aside to let him in and closing the door. “Did you want a beer?”
Usually he said no, preferring me to lead him straight to bed. Tonight, though, he said, “Yeah.”
I went and grabbed a couple of beers from the kitchen, and we settled on the couch.
Wilder took his with a soft, “Thanks,” before stifling a yawn.
He caught me watching and gave me a rueful smile.
“Sorry. Had an early start and Steve insisted that we get this job done today, so I worked my ass off.”
“Hey, if you’re too tired, we don’t have to do anything tonight. We can find another time.”
Wilder raised one eyebrow at me. “Who said I was too tired? Been thinking about this—about you—all day.”
“Yeah?” I couldn’t keep the pleased smile off my face. “What exactly were you thinking about?”
His cheeks flushed pink, and a lock of blond hair fell forward as he examined the back of his hand intently and said in a low voice, “Blow jobs?”
“Sure,” I said easily. “Giving or receiving?”
He looked up and caught my gaze, and his blush darkened. “Um, both? But maybe receiving first?”
It was so freaking endearing how tongue-tied and shy he got around asking to try new things.
But at the same time, it made my chest ache as I tried and failed to imagine what Wilder’s upbringing must have been like for him to instinctively approach talking about sex—wanting it—like a landmine that might blow up in his face at any minute.
I never wanted him to feel like that with me, ever. I reached out and pushed his hair back behind his ear, letting my fingertips graze the side of his neck, and he shivered. “I would love that,” I said softly.
The apprehension melted from his face, and he took a drink from his beer before putting the can down on the coaster and leaning in for a kiss.
Usually I was the one who took the lead, and to see him doing it was both sexy and reassuring.
As always, Wilder melted into the kisses, the tension leaving his frame as we made out.
There wasn’t any urgency tonight, maybe because we both knew he didn’t have anywhere else to be after this, but kissing Wilder was still incredibly hot, and my cock stirred in my sweats.
He pulled back, lips red and swollen and eyes dark, but that crease between his brows was back. “So, um,” he said and stopped, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to say what he wanted to say.
“Just ask me, Johnny.” Was it cheating to call him that, knowing it made him go all soft and gooey? Probably, but how was I meant to give Wilder what he wanted if he wouldn’t ask?
He cleared his throat. “I was wondering… could we maybe watch a movie or something? Something for over-fives? I know this is meant to be a hookup, and I still wanna do that, but…”
“You need some downtime from being a parent first,” I finished for him.
He nodded. “I love Gracie to the moon and back, but being a dad is a lot. Sometimes I feel like just hanging out and not thinking, you know?”
I leaned in and kissed his cheek, then handed him the remote. “I get it. Find something to watch and I’ll get us some snacks.”
“And it’s okay if we suck dick later?” he asked, biting at his bottom lip.
I grinned. “Oh, I’m gonna suck your dick so hard you’ll see stars.”
He grinned back. “Gold stars, right?”
“Is there any other kind?”
Wilder laughed, his relief clear, and I went and got some chips from the pantry and a couple more beers.
Is it a problem that you’re looking forward to this almost as much as the blow job you’re giving him later? a quiet voice whispered.
I wasn’t going to dignify that with a reply.
We settled in on the couch and found an action movie that was definitely rated for over-fives, and as we drank our beers and snacked and laughed at the over-the-top explosions and cheesy dialogue, Wilder’s head somehow settled on my shoulder.
I lifted my arm and said, “Hey. Lie down.” He glanced up at me, heavy-lidded, and grinned and shuffled along the length of the couch while I guided him downward until he was lying with his head in my lap.
I gave in to the temptation to run my fingers through his hair, teasing out a few stray tangles, and he gave a satisfied hum.
Warmth settled in my chest as I kept stroking his hair, his head a solid, comfortable weight against my thighs. I was only half watching the movie now, too busy glancing down at Wilder. I could tell the exact moment he fell asleep. His eyes slipped closed and his whole body sagged against mine.
I turned the volume on the TV down to a whisper, and I let him sleep.
We stayed like that for maybe half an hour, with the TV silently flickering in the background as I stroked his hair and lost myself in watching him.
Cradling his face in my lap, I drank in the way the soft light of the lamp lit up the golden strands of his hair and highlighted the dark shadow where stubble decorated his jawline.
The earlier tension had left his face, and I caught a glimpse of how he might look if he didn’t have the weight of the world on his shoulders.
It was somehow more intimate than sex, and I was almost sorry when Wilder let out a low, grumbling noise and blinked awake.
He levered himself up into a sitting position and his voice was rough when he said, “Shit. I must have been more tired than I thought.” He ran a hand through his hair, then stretched his arms over his head, making his shirt ride up. “How long was I out?”
“Not long,” I said absently, my gaze caught by that strip of bare skin. I reached out and ran a fingertip down his side, and he shuddered as his mouth curled up in a slow, lazy smile.
“So I guess you’re still up for fooling around?”
I straddled his lap, looped my arms behind his head, and kissed him hard, and he got with the program immediately, kissing me back with a passion that surprised me.
Wilder tasted of beer and potato chips, and the scent of his cedar bodywash filled my nostrils, making me moan.
I pulled back but only so I could cup his dick and ask, “You still want me to blow you?”
Wilder let out a breathy, “Yeah,” his eyes wide.
I shimmied off his lap and knelt in front of him, unbuttoning his jeans and sliding the zipper down. I ran a hand over the length of his dick where it was straining against his underwear and tapped his thigh. “Up.”
Wilder raised his hips obediently, and I tugged his jeans and underwear down his thighs. His dick sprang free, already damp at the tip, and I leaned in and ran my tongue over the head. Wilder jerked like he’d been shot, then let out a shocked, breathless laugh.
Grinning up at him, I went back to what I was doing.
Wilder had a pretty dick, and I took a second to admire it before I wrapped my lips around the head and sucked, savoring the tart tang of precum against my tongue.
I closed my eyes and concentrated on making Wilder fall apart, taking as much of him as I could manage and setting up a rhythm, soaking up all the desperate little sounds he made.
It took barely any time before his breathing hitched and Wilder’s dick pulsed in my mouth, telling me he was close. Then his hands were gripping my hair and pulling me off his cock, and seconds later warm stripes hit my skin as he came all over my face.
It was incredibly hot.
Wilder let out a groan, his head thrown back, but when he opened his eyes and saw me, his mouth dropped open and he stammered out, “Shit, Avery, I, I didn’t—”
I cut him off. “That was so fucking hot.” I ran a finger down my cheek and licked it clean and gave him a lazy smile.
Wilder’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “You’re not mad?”
“Why would I be mad?” I pulled my shirt up, wiping my face, and settled back on my haunches. “It’s not like I didn’t know it was coming.”
“I didn’t know it was coming,” Wilder grumbled but he was grinning, so I guessed he was over his embarrassment.
He slumped back against the couch and I sat next to him, leaning into his shoulder with my own dick hard and aching in my sweats. Wilder reached out and slid a hand inside the waistband, pausing to ask, “This okay?”
“Yeah,” I said. He wrapped a calloused palm around me and jerked me off fast and messy, and I was still so turned on from blowing him that I came in about four seconds flat, pulsing across his fist and making a mess of my underwear like I was fifteen all over again.
It was fantastic.
I sagged against Wilder’s side, panting, and let out a soft laugh. “That was awesome.”
“I didn’t blow you, though,” he said, that tiny, worried crease appearing between his brows.
I gave a lazy shrug. “Next time.”
“Yeah,” he said and kissed my temple. “Next time.”
We sat there, both of us fucked out and hazy, until I started to fall asleep, and this time it was Wilder who led me to bed.
He helped me undress, both of us laughing at the mess I’d made, and then he tucked me in before sliding in next to me like he belonged there.
He wrapped an arm around my middle and pulled me back toward him, making me the little spoon, and I liked it way more than I should have.
And I knew getting comfy like this was a bad idea, okay?
This was edging into boyfriend behavior and the smart thing to do would be to put a stop to it before it got out of hand.
The problem was, I didn’t want to.