Chapter 4
“Relax, man,” Christian said, dropping into the seat next to him.
“What do you mean?” Shawn said, glancing around the lecture hall before looking at his hands.
“You’re tense as hell. Are you nervous about your grades? Didn’t you say you talked to Rutledge and convinced him to give you a second chance?”
“Yeah, I did. He didn’t fail me yet—I just found out he gave me a D.” And god, it had been such a relief. Shawn didn’t think he had ever been so happy to receive a D.
“Congrats,” Christian said with a grin, patting him on the back. “I’m still amazed you managed to convince him.”
Shawn studiously avoided his friend’s eyes.
“Speak of the devil,” Christian muttered.
The instant hush that fell over the lecture hall was almost amusing. Almost.
Shawn glanced at Rutledge’s tall form before dropping his gaze.
“The midterm grades are in,” Rutledge said, without preamble. “I reported the grades of thirty-eight students whose grades were below C-. The reports were sent to the Office of the Registrar, which distributed them to the individual students.” He paused. “If you have any questions, ask.”
Silence.
Some guy lifted his hand.
“Yes, Mr. Taylor?” Rutledge said, walking toward the student. Shawn didn’t look; he just saw it in his peripheral vision.
“I don’t understand,” Taylor said. “I got an F, and apparently that’s it!
I can’t even improve my grade? In every other class, midterm grades don’t affect our overall GPA.
They’re pretty much there to tell us where we are in the class, and whether or not we need to work harder, but apparently, not in your class. What the—I don’t get it!”
Shawn cringed.
“Poor guy,” Christian muttered.
There was a pause.
“Mr. Taylor,” Rutledge said at last, his voice dangerously soft. “Have you read the syllabus?”
“Well, yeah, sure.” Taylor sounded anything but sure.
“If you read the syllabus, you would have known that in my class midterm grades do affect your final grades. In other words, if you receive a failing midterm grade, you will not get a passing final grade. No exceptions.”
“But it’s not fair!” Taylor said. “That’s not how things are done!”
“That’s how things are done in my class.
” If possible, Rutledge’s voice became even softer.
“I will not pass a student who had an abysmal attendance record for half of the term and failed to turn in his assignments or turned them in late. If you read the syllabus, as I told you all to do on the first day of the term, you would not be in this predicament. You can thank only yourself. Do you have other questions? Intelligent questions?”
“No,” Taylor grumbled.
“Now are we done with that, or does anyone else want to waste my time with pointless questions you’re supposed to know the answers to?”
The silence was almost eerie. No one dared to breathe.
“Good.” Rutledge returned to his desk.
“Wow,” Christian whispered, barely audibly. “What crawled up his ass and died?”
Probably pissed off he couldn’t fail me.
His skin prickled. He looked up and found Rutledge giving him a look of such loathing it made him feel like he was being repelled from the room.
Shawn lifted his chin and met his gaze firmly.
Seriously, what was the guy’s problem? It wasn’t like he had forced Rutledge to put his dick into his student’s mouth.
The thought—the memory—made Shawn blush and shift in his seat uncomfortably. Looking at Rutledge’s stony face, it was hard to believe it had really happened.
But it happened.
Shawn glanced at Rutledge’s hands—gripping his face as Rutledge pushed his cock into his mouth—
Shawn licked his lips, his skin uncomfortably hot, and fixed his gaze in front of him.
He wouldn’t think of it.
He wouldn’t.
* * *
He had thought he could put the incident out of his mind. He had thought Rutledge would just ignore him after the incident.
He had been wrong on both counts.
Shawn sighed and stared moodily at the assignment in front of him. Rutledge had been incredibly difficult the past few days, giving him brutally difficult assignments and constantly scolding him in front of everyone when Shawn failed to complete them to Rutledge’s satisfaction.
“Are you done, Wyatt?” said a familiar cold voice, and Shawn tensed. He glanced at Christian to his left, but his friend eyed the book in front of him with exaggerated interest. Traitor.
“I’ll be done soon,” Shawn lied. He stiffened when Rutledge put a hand on the desk and leaned down to look at the blank piece of paper in front of him.
“I see,” Rutledge said.
Shawn turned his head to glare at him and was taken aback by how close the other man’s face was.
Inches away. Dark eyes locked with his for a moment before their owner’s lips twisted derisively.
Rutledge straightened up to his impressive height and said, “Your assignment is due in ten minutes, Wyatt.”
“But you said—”
“Ten minutes,” Rutledge repeated.
He walked away, and Shawn glowered at his back.
He returned his gaze to the paper in front of him and stared at it sullenly.
It wasn’t fair. How was he supposed to complete this assignment in such a short time?
The questions were ridiculously difficult and barely reflected what they’d learned in class.
Why couldn’t the asshole just leave him alone?
It felt like Rutledge was determined to make his life a living hell—and he was succeeding.
Shawn scowled, trying to keep his temper in check and failing. He was tired, sleep-deprived, hungry, and angry—never a good combination.
Later, he would blame everything on his sleep-deprivation. He would blame his sleep-deprivation for writing what he would have never written had he not been so damn tired, hungry, and angry.
Shawn turned in his “assignment” exactly ten minutes later and walked back to his desk. He wasn’t even halfway to his desk when Rutledge said, his voice very soft, “Mr. Wyatt, my office after your classes.”
His mouth dry, Shawn nodded.
Idiot, he told himself. He shouldn’t have let his temper get the better of him.
* * *
When his classes were over, Shawn headed to Rutledge’s office, as ordered.
Taking a deep breath, he knocked on the familiar door.
“Enter.”
Shawn went inside and closed the door carefully.
Then he walked to Rutledge’s desk.
“Well?” he said, crossing his arms over his chest.
Slowly, Rutledge looked up. The expression on his face was positively stony as he moved a piece of paper towards Shawn—the “assignment” he had turned in. “What is the meaning of this?”
Shawn picked up the paper and reread the single sentence written on it, as though he didn’t know what it said.
Do you want to fail me so I have no choice but to suck your dick again?
Inwardly, Shawn was cringing a bit. He couldn’t believe he’d lost his temper and actually written that.
But aloud, he said, “Can’t you read, sir?” Only a few days ago, he wouldn’t have dared to use this cocky tone with Rutledge, but apparently having had the guy’s dick in his mouth did wonders.
Rutledge stood up and walked to him.
He came to a halt only a few inches away.
Shawn didn’t move, refusing to be intimidated.
“I can have you expelled for this,” Rutledge said.
“Sure, but it will get you fired and your career tarnished when everyone finds out you’re trading grades for sex.”
Rutledge grabbed his neck. “You little shit.” His hand tightened on his throat. “Are you threatening me?”
“No,” Shawn croaked out. “I just really dislike being bullied. I didn’t force you to shove your dick into my mouth, Professor.”
Rutledge’s nostrils flared. He didn’t say anything, the muscles in his jaw working.
“Seriously, what’s your problem with me?” Shawn said, struggling to breathe through the pressure of Rutledge’s grip. “I can’t be the only student you used. I’m not proud of what I did, but it was a fair deal: we both got something out of it. Why are you always on my back?”
“I never trade grades for sex,” Rutledge ground out. “You were the only exception.”
Shawn blinked. “What? But I heard—”
“Yes, I get offers all the time, but I report everyone who’s stupid enough to suggest it outright. Do I look like someone who would trade grades for anything, Wyatt?”
Well, no. That was why Shawn had had trouble believing it when Christian had told him the rumor.
“But then…” Shawn studied Rutledge. “Then what about me? Why me?”
The silence stretched. And stretched. And stretched some more.
Oh.
Shawn licked his lips. “You want me.” He let out an uncertain chuckle. “Wow. I’m—I’m kind of flattered, I guess.”
Rutledge glowered at him, his grip flexing on Shawn’s throat. “It’s just lust, nothing more. I won’t give you special treatment.”
“You’re already giving me ‘special treatment,’ Professor.
You’ve been a total asshole lately—even more than you usually are.
” Shawn held his gaze. “Let’s be honest, man.
I needed not to fail your class, so I sucked you off.
I didn’t force you to accept my offer. You wanted your dick sucked and you got what you wanted.
It’s not my fault you couldn’t resist it.
And it sure as hell isn’t my fault that I turn you on.
So please stop taking it out on me. I get it: you’re sexually frustrated, but go jerk off, or fuck someone—”
“I don’t think so,” Rutledge said, very softly.
Shawn didn’t like the gleam in his eyes. “What?”
“I always get what I want,” Rutledge said, his soft tone at odds with the hard grip on Shawn’s throat. There would probably be bruises. “If I want your mouth, I’ll get your mouth, not someone else’s. Get on your knees.”
Shawn stared at him. Was this guy for real?
“I don’t think so, Professor,” he said, just as softly. “You’re the one who wants his dick sucked. I’m straight. What’s in it for me?”
Rutledge’s eyes narrowed. “I won’t repeat my mistake again. You’ll have to work for the final grade like everyone else. I won’t give you a grade you don’t deserve.”
“Then it looks like it will be the first time you don’t get what you want. Sir. Let go. Now.”
Rutledge didn’t let go, his gaze assessing. “Two thousand,” he said.
Shawn frowned. “What?”
“Two thousand dollars a month.”
Shawn laughed, an incredulous, hard edge to it. “You’ve got to be kidding me. I’m not a whore.”
Rutledge raised his eyebrows.
Shawn scowled, though he felt his cheeks grow hot. “It’s different.”
“How is that different?” Rutledge’s lips curled, but Shawn would never call it a smile. “It’s actually far more honest and straightforward than whoring yourself for a grade. You need money, Wyatt.”
“How do you know that?” Shawn said sharply.
“I have eyes. Most of your clothes are worn out and old.”
Rutledge’s tone was matter-of-fact, yet Shawn suddenly felt very conscious of the shabbiness of his appearance compared to Rutledge’s immaculate suit. “Don’t you have better things to do than study your students’ clothes?”
Rutledge stroked his thumb over the pulse in Shawn’s neck. “Two thousand a month. Just for sucking my dick. Think about it, Wyatt.”
Shawn didn’t want to think about it. He wanted to laugh in Rutledge’s face and walk out, but…
But.
He thought about the empty fridge and cupboards at home.
He thought about the rent, due next week.
He thought about the winter coming soon—and the heating bills.
He thought about Mrs. Hawkins’s wages. He thought about the fact that he barely saw Emily and Bee, because he had to work two jobs and still barely scraped a living.
He was tempted. Fucking hell, he was tempted. It didn’t exactly make him proud, but Rutledge was right: he needed money and he was in no position to be picky about the source of the money.
“Three thousand,” Shawn said. If he was going to whore himself out, he wasn’t going to be cheap. Rutledge wasn’t married, had a cushy job, and had published multiple award-winning books. He could easily afford it.
Rutledge snorted. “You can’t be serious. I can find fifty whores for that money.”
“I’m sure you can. But it’s me you want. And I’m not a whore.”
“You could have fooled me.”
Shawn ignored the jab and said softly, looking Rutledge in the eye, “It’s not like you can’t afford it. Three grand for fucking my mouth any time you want.”
Rutledge’s nostrils flared. His face was hard to read, but the hunger in his eyes as he looked at Shawn’s lips was harder to conceal.
It made Shawn feel weird. He was straight, but he was honest enough with himself to admit that it was flattering as hell that this man—this powerful man everyone feared and respected—wanted him so badly.
“Any time I want?” Rutledge said, lifting his gaze to Shawn’s eyes.
After a moment’s hesitation, Shawn nodded. How often could Rutledge possibly demand for him to do it? Probably a few times a week, at most. About ten times a month. And he’d get three thousand dollars for that. He would be able to quit one of his jobs and spend more time with the kids.
It would be worth it.
“Very well,” Rutledge said, letting go of his throat. He returned to his chair and looked at Shawn. “What are you waiting for, Wyatt?”
Shawn swallowed and looked down at the impressive bulge in the man’s pants. He could totally do it. Just ten times a month and three thousand dollars for his trouble. He had already sucked Rutledge’s dick once and it wasn’t revolting or anything. He could do it.
Shawn locked the door and then sank to his knees in front of the most hated professor in school.