Ethan

I wonder when he's going to fuck me again.

Sitting in class, I can pay attention. I take notes, even answer questions. It's hard, though. It's difficult to concentrate. William fills my thoughts the way I want him to fill my body, and if I don’t laser focus on what I'm doing, I start drifting off into la la land. I can still taste him, roll him around in my mouth like the memory of a fine wine.

I'm in Media Aesthetics—it's a 100 level course. For media arts majors. It's also a requirement for history majors because we take a Methods in Historical Documentary course.

The instructor is one of three professors in the Media Studies department, which is small but surprisingly robust, with its own computer lab.

She also has a reputation as a huge bitch. She certainly runs her classroom sharply, that's for sure. She reminds me of a Harry Potter professor, the lady that did prophecies, if that woman were ripped and had implants. Professor Harriet Finlay is a bodybuilder in her spare time. No, really.

I hear some of the guys around me mutter to themselves, freshmen mostly, when she stretches to grab something off a shelf and displays a ripped set of abs. Glancing their way, I wonder if Finlay is the straight guy version of McDonough, the guy that's so hot you don't care if he makes you feel like an Egg McMuffin that's been stepped on fifty times.

Looking at them, I wonder if I look that desperate, mooning over William.

Whatever, I'm bored as hell, and this class has the weirdest syllabus I've ever seen. There's no quizzes or assignments, just a midterm and a final and a paper, each counting for 30% of the grade with a 10% for attendance. I've heard mutterings about how weird she can be on grades before, something about the exams being, basically, vocabulary tests.

She drones through a PowerPoint, expounding on “key terms” from the book. This is like listening to paint dry. It's a ninety-minute Tuesday-Thursday course, too.

Thursday. I'm looking forward to that. McDonough's Thursday night class. Three and a half hours of American history and we'll be walking out of the building together in the dark. I've never taken one of his night classes, but they're scheduled from 5-9:45 with a lunch break, and I know William. He'll give them their money's worth.

Somehow I manage to scrabble down all the notes. I don't know why; she puts the PowerPoints up on the class web board. I've never seen someone so simultaneously bored with and snippy about the material they were covering.

I'm going to go see if he's in his office.

When class is dismissed, I saunter down to the third floor, in no particular hurry, looking for him. His door is closed and there's no answer when I knock. No light on in there, either. Frowning at it, I turn to leave.

William rounds the corner and looks at me.

“Go home,” he mutters, “I don't need you today.”

I follow him into his office anyway and close the door.

“What did you do?” I ask, sensing something.

He steps behind his desk, loosens his tie artfully to signal that the day's teaching is done, and sits down. His chair creaks terribly. The back lets out a loud pop of fracturing plastic and cants to one side. He sits up, as if on a stool, and looks over his shoulder to glare at it.

“Can't you get a new one?” I ask.

“Like there's money in the budget to give me a new chair,” he mutters. “I'll steal one from one of the classrooms.”

He eyes me for a moment. I fold my arms and lean against his bookcase.

Unable to lean back and look at me, he stands. When he does, the back of his task chair pops off and falls to the floor with an audible thud. Angrily, he kicks it into the corner, though not hard. He scrubs his fingers through his hair.

“I could help you relieve some stress,” I offer, my voice almost a purr.

“No,” he says sharply. “Enough of that.”

I frown.

“I talked to Carol.”

I wince.

“She's making me keep you on.”

Then I grin. “Is she. I bet you fought so hard to get rid of me.”

“I did,” he says, annoyed, “I even had an excuse. I've been asked to sponsor some students trying to start a chapter of the historical honor society on campus. It's more work.”

“More I can help with,” I say.

“Rebecca—you know her?”

“Becky? Yeah, she's a year behind.”

He rolls his shoulders. “She's bringing me the information. We'll have to go to a conference. New York.”

“New York City?” I breathe.

He looks at me sharply. “What?”

“I've never been there,” I say, hurriedly. “I've always wanted to go, but even if I had the money I never had the time. This is great!”

“Don't get excited,” he says. “You should stay here.”

I feel like I've been punched in the chest.

“Why?”

“I can't get rid of you, but we can't do this. There can be no relationship. It has to be professional. I've already broken important ethical barriers, Ethan. Twice. I can't let that happen again. You may not realize it, but I'm hurting you every time we…indulge ourselves.”

I touch my fingers to his chest. “I like it a little rough.”

“More than a little,” he says, grasping my hand. “Too rough. No, it needs to stop. I need you to understand.”

“Understand that you can use me and discard me?” I snap, a little too loudly.

Heat flares in my chest. I'm not going to play a game like this with him. I'm not giving up, either. Not after what I felt, the way he makes me feel.

Suddenly he has my wrists, standing in front of me, looking down into my eyes. I'm against the bookcase.

“Do you know what you do to me?” he whispers, grazing his lips along my jawline. “Just the sight of you.”

His voice is so soft I feel it more than hear it, a deep basso rumble that shakes my chest.

“When I look at you I feel like an animal. I want to fuck you like an animal. Bite and scratch you and pump you full of my cum and mark you like my territory.”

I shudder against him, instantly hard. Again. I need release so very badly, even though it's only been, what, less than a day since he blew my mind once to start?

I mold against him.

“I'm not going to hurt you,” he says.

“I know,” I whisper, molding my body against him.

When I go to kiss him he pulls back, so I attack his neck instead, savoring the warmth of his skin, his stubble prickling my face. He has my wrists still, pinned back over my shoulders. I can feel him getting hard, his cock rising with each pulse. I spread my legs a little and grind against him.

“There's more than one way to hurt you. I have your whole future in my hands.”

“I like being in your hands.”

“I'm in a position of power over you—”

“I know,” I purr, “and I like it.”

“You think you do, but if this gets out—”

“I know, your tenure. I'll be—”

“It's not about my damn tenure,” he snarls, louder than I expected. I flinch from the shock.

“It's about you,” he goes on. “You'll be ruined. You'll forever be the subject of mockery and derision. They'll always find another reason, but you'll be turned down admissions and appointments because no one wants a student or a faculty member who sucks his way to the top.”

“That is not—” I start, but he cuts me off.

“It doesn't matter what it really is, it only matters if it's seen that way, and I'm telling you, it will be. It will be.”

I writhe against him, strain my wrists against his iron grip.

“Why do you do this to me? Why do you torment me like this?” I beg. “You make me want you and you try to say no. You let me give you pleasure and you push me away—”

“Ethan, don't be so dramatic. Yesterday was the first time. We can stop this before—”

“We can stop it if I tear my heart out,” I say. “You're…you're everything I've ever wanted.”

“Stop,” he says.

“I wanted you from the minute I saw you.”

“I said stop,” he pleads.

“When I first laid eyes on you that was enough, but the first time you spoke to me it was like cracking a whip.” I pump my cock against him for emphasis. “I felt the sting, and then the caress of the leather. I knew I wanted to please you. Impress you. Submit—”

“Stop,” he snarls, drawing back. He rakes his hands through his hair and stares at me. I'm not sure if it's lust or fury in his eyes, or some mixture of both, but it makes my ass clench at the thought of how hard he'd invade me with that monster tool if he just cut loose.

I strut across the room and put my hands on his chest.

“I want you.”

He pushes me back—not hard, even gently, like he's afraid I'll snap in half if he pushes too hard.

“You're a succubus,” he hisses.

I laugh. “Well, technically, I'd be an incubus.”

He gives me a hard look, and I shrug.

“Well I would, succubi are girls.”

I step up to him again.

“Maybe I should put on a little costume for you,” I tap the top of my head, “Little devil horns and a tail. On a butt plug. We haven't even started with that. Don't you want to see my toys?”

William turns red—from embarrassment, from fury, I can't be sure. Playing with him like this feels like playing with fire; my hands are already singed from it, but I grip tighter. Burn me, I don't care. Let the heat wash through me. My blood sings. I'm alive when he's touching me.

He does touch me. He slips his arms around me and draws me close, tilting my head back to kiss me. Oh, he's taller, just tall enough that I can slump in his strong arms and savor him as he feasts on me, his kisses rough invasions.

Then he pulls me away from him, roughly gripping my shoulders, digging in fingers with his powerful grasp.

“This is why I wanted you to quit. I can barely keep my hands off you.”

I grab him with both hands. He's hard. I lick my lips and ask, “How is that a bad thing?”

“Are you not hearing me when I tell you that if anyone finds out—”

“Do you think I'm going to have t-shirts printed up?” I hiss. “I'm going to hang a banner during rush week that says Professor Dr. William McDonough fucked me up the ass and all I got is this t-shirt?”

He flinches.

“I can keep a secret,” I say. “I wasn't out until after high school. Nobody has to know. No one will suspect, either.”

He grimaces.

“Think about it. Sure, I'm as queer as a seven-dollar bill, but you,” I poke his chest with my finger, “You're straight as an arrow. Or so everyone thinks. Who'd ever suspect you of sleeping with a student, much less a male student?”

“You almost make sense,” he says, “and that's what frightens me. I don't know if I'm starting to accept what you're saying because it makes sense or just because I want it to. Because I want you.”

I tug on his tie. “Nothing would feel better than hearing you say you always wanted me from the moment you saw me, too.”

He doesn't answer that.

“You need to go. Being in here too long with the door closed will start people talking, no matter what you think.”

I sigh. “Alright.”

He suddenly grips my head in both hands, his thumbs pressed against my throat as his fingers press into the sides of my head.

He kisses me fiercely.

“There will be rules,” I say.

“Oh, I like that.”

“I'm not fucking joking, Ethan,” he whispers, using my name like a riding crop. “No…nothing like what we did today in my office. Too much risk.”

“Fine,” I say.

“Nothing in my apartment, or your dorm. If we…we can meet off campus.”

“Where?” I purr.

“I don't know yet. I'll let you know. One more rule.”

“Which is?” I say.

He lets go, but grabs me through my jeans, lightly squeezing my erection and my throbbing balls.

“Your little ass is mine. Mine alone.”

“No problem,” I say.

“You don't play without me. Not even alone. Understand?”

I raise an eyebrow.

“What happens if I do?”

“Do you want to find out?”

He squeezes again, and I rise up on my toes.

“Oh—okay, fine, fine. I agree. I accept. Whatever.”

He lets go and strokes the back of his hand down my cheek. I grab his wrist and rub my face against it, savoring the rough callouses on the back of his knuckles, wondering where they came from.

“So, in the office, we are professionals,” he says. “Understood?”

“Understood.”

“I must be out of my mind,” he mutters.

“We'll be okay,” I promise, spreading my hands over his chest. “You're not hurting me, or exploiting me, or taking advantage of me.”

“What if I am, and you don't know it?”

I kiss him. “You'll know it.”

“You should go.”

“Yeah, I've got work. I guess…I'll be in class tomorrow morning?”

“Yes,” he says. “See you then. Leave the door open.”

He arranges himself and his tie and checks a mirror he keeps in his desk before I leave and almost falls on his ass trying to lean back in a chair that has no back.

Before I leave the building, I walk into an empty classroom, grab one of the cheap metal and plastic chairs, and walk it back to his office. He looks at it after I set it down.

I wink and strut off, feeling his gaze follow me, glued to my ass.