Chapter 7 #3
I spread my legs wider on the bed, digging my knees deep into the soft mattress for leverage.
Noah’s lips dust mine as I replay the memory, the last line of his review breezing through my subconscious as I grind and moan.
He is, quite simply, one of the finest professors I have ever had the pleasure of knowing.
Completely naked, my entire body is already covered in a thin sheen of sweat as I start slowly rolling my hips, drawing them back and rutting them forward, over and over, feeling the heavy weight of my balls press down as my cock digs into the mattress and slides.
My moans are heavy and thick, only partially muffled by the pillow as my pace increases, the tension balled at the base of my spine unwavering.
Every muscle in my body engages, obliques tightening, lower abs contracting into sharp ridges as I push forward again, harder this time.
A low groan leaks from my throat. It feels so fucking good, this full-body, all encompassing pressure, and for a moment I envision my cock sliding into him, not against my bed, and picture him pushing back against every inch of me as we lose ourselves to this. To each other.
Sweat gathers at the base of my neck and trickles down my shoulder blades.
Bracing my forearms on either side of my pillow, lifting my head up, I lift my torso just enough to increase the angle.
My back arches, lats flaring wide, as I urge my hips down in long, deliberate strokes.
The head of my cock catches in the plush terry towel and I hiss through my teeth, the sensation heady and sharp.
Precum leaks steadily, beading and bubbling, a clogged fountain waiting to erupt.
The towel is slick from the abundance of precum, making each grind smoother, but no less intense.
Noah’s lips on mine in that dark, crowded closet come rushing back.
I pick up my rhythm, glutes tightening with every thrust, powerful muscles igniting the motion while my quads and hamstrings keep my legs steady.
The mattress shifts on the wooden frame, and it squeaks gently beneath me as I continue to thrust, hump and fuck.
I’m panting now, chest heaving, nipples hard as sweat traverses my temples, stinging my eyes, blurring my already spotty vision. But I don’t stop.
I grind faster, hips snapping forward in fleeting, hungry bursts, then long strokes, dragging my cock against the mess I’m making, my toes curling.
“Fuck.” The word slips out raw. My mind is hazy, filled only with the slick heat building in my groin and the way every muscle in my body is working for this pleasure.
Shifting my weight onto one forearm, I reach back with my free hand, sliding a palm over one globe of my ass, pulling myself apart, pulling myself open.
I continue this torrid scene, grinding and humping, heavy moans rattling between my ribs, tugging myself apart, one finger dusting the soft ring of muscle as I do.
My balls draw up against my body, tight and warm, full, the evidence of them being at capacity slick against the terry towel.
Sweat coats me entirely now. My shoulders burn from holding this position.
I love relieving myself this way, when I’m no longer able to abstain.
There’s something so raw and erotic about rutting my entire body against the mattress in unperfect, messy strokes, like I can’t control myself. I’ve always preferred this to my hand.
My hips roll in waves, grinding tight circles that make my cockhead swell, sensitive and leaking. I know when I tug this towel off of my mattress after, the sheets will be soaked. The thought only makes me grind harder, clench tighter, and want release even more.
My eyes fall closed, and I imagine private, dirty, secret things. Things I want, and don’t know why. Things I’ve never explored, because they’re not mine to have.
Him.
Noah.
I envision my fingers wrapping that tattoo on his wrist as I pin him beneath me. I imagine his knees up and apart, and my lips against his.
My breathing turns ragged, deep groans vibrating in my chest as I push up to my hands fully now, nearly plank position. My arms shake as I thrust, sweat flying off my body from somewhere, maybe everywhere. My cock is rock-hard, veins pulsing, slick head swollen and so sensitive.
A deep ache erupts from somewhere low and hidden in my belly.
I chase it, hips pistoning faster, muscles burning beautifully.
My thighs tremble from the tension, and I drop back down, pressing my chest to the mattress, raising my ass so I grind in short, quick movements.
Without hesitancy, I moan loudly, mouth hanging open like a starved animal as pleasure spikes in my brain, biting and hot.
Every part of me is alive, awake, and vividly alert.
I know what I want. At this moment, dripping and aching, it’s so surprisingly clear.
My hair is plastered to my forehead, and my entire bedroom smells like sex and sweat.
I lose myself in the feeling of it all, the chaos of the day, the kiss, the review—thrusting, grinding, rolling my hips in filthy, sloppy circles.
My cock slides through the growing mess beneath me, the wet sounds obscene but fucking perfect.
I’m standing on the edge, I can feel the explosion building beneath my skin like a pack of fire ants lying in wait. I’m moments from toppling over, from exploding into a million glittery pieces of need and desire.
My orgasm hits like a wave crashing down against the calm shore.
I cry out, my voice hoarse, as the first powerful spurt shoots, pearling along the terry towel.
My cock pulses hard, over and over, flooding the fabric while I grind through it, chasing the high, milking every last throb.
Pleasure whites out my vision. My whole body shakes, muscles twitching and contracting uncontrollably as I fuck through my climax.
Though I’ve already peaked, I don’t stop, not yet.
My body is still so full of crackling energy and uncharted desire that I continue driving my hips into the mess, enjoying the electric aftershocks rolling through my muscles.
My sensitive cock twitches against the warm, sticky mess.
My chest heaves as I wrestle to steady my breath.
Turning my head to the side, I press my cheek to the cotton pillow, lids leaded with bliss.
Minutes pass.
My heart still hammers. My limbs are heavy and satisfied, every muscle deliciously exhausted. The wet warmth clings to my now softening cock as I sink against my towel, against my mess. My skin cools slowly, but the fire inside me is only banked, not gone.
Sometime later, I get up and change my sheets, putting fresh ones on like nothing ever happened. I toss the sheets into my open washing machine, and slip into the shower. I don’t let myself think about anything but my upcoming lecture, to get my head back in the game.
After getting dressed, I guiltily give my bed a second glance, fix myself something to eat, drink water, read two chapters from my buddy read with Zennie, then head back to campus, to my office, wondering if Noah will be there or not.
“Did you tell Noah that we said he could come to the wedding?” Kat asks the moment after I answer her call.
I scrub a hand down my face as I pull open the heavy door to the English annex. “I sent him the invite.”
“You know, a little verbal invitation goes well with that. Just sending a photo of the invite is kind of cold, Cade.”
My breath catches when I see our office at the end of the hall… and the door is open, lights pouring onto the tile. He’s here.
Of course he’s here. He just had class. This is his busy day, in fact. His busy day falls on my least busy day, and I have to think it’s by design. “He invited himself to a wedding,” I say quietly. “I don’t think my manners are the ones that should be questioned.”
Kat huffs. “Just verbally check in with him, okay? Because we rearranged the seating chart one last time so he has a spot. If you don’t tell him and end up not bringing him, and I have to look at this seating chart one more time, Cade, I might actually lose my mind.
And not in a cute way but in a way where I’m in a straight jacket rocking back and forth. ”
“Yeah, okay. I’ll talk to him.” There’s a beat of silence and I slow my pace, not necessarily eager to face Noah after earlier.
It’s the kiss that has me nervous, sure. But more so, the guilt. The way I went home, stripped down and fucked my bed while thinking about that kiss. Thinking about his lips, the review he wrote, and all of the things about myself that I don’t know.
My mind is a mess, and right now, avoidance is king.
“Fine. My couple is here for the showing. Gotta go. Call me later.” She hangs up, and I shove my phone into my pocket, touch the edge of my glasses, and head inside my office.
Noah has a student when I slip in, and thank God for Bracken DiColuso and his one million questions. While he peppers Noah with questions that could be answered by reading his syllabus and talking to any other student in the class, Noah still takes his time, answering slowly, patiently.
I slip my bag off after pulling my laptop out, and quietly fiddle with the cords and my lamp as I get situated at my desk. Just as I’m about to launch into the pool of emails that compiled in the few hours I’ve been at home, Bracken DiColuso decides he’s suddenly okay, and gets to his feet.
He takes his notes and thanks Noah, and a moment later, with my eyes hovering on the same line in the email that I’ve been unable to read, we’re alone.
Noah sinks into his chair, and I focus on that same sentence, the letters illegible as my mind works overtime. His fingers skitter against the keys for a moment, and a new email pops up over the one I’m reading.
NEW EMAIL. RYAN, NOAH.
Heat flanks my forehead and back, and it seems as if the oxygen in this office is slowly dissipating. I click on the email. There’s one sentence.