Ethan

I had to wait for my advisor's office hours. So for the last twenty minutes, I've been pacing back and forth outside of her door, occasionally ducking around the corner to watch for William, but his office door remains firmly closed and, so far as I can tell, he isn't in there.

My pacing continues until my advisor emerges. Carol is a woman of middle height, she has a mischievous smile and looks younger than her years, given away more by gray hair than the lines on her face. She always looks at me playfully, like she's challenging me to figure out some secret to which only she is privy. She opens the door and steps out, then locks eyes on me.

“Come on in,” she says.

I step into her office. Long-occupied and cozy, it's halfway between a scholar's nest and an older woman's sewing room. She has Amish quilts for wall hangings, a huge collection of history books that she loans to students from time to time, her own carpet, an antique steel tanker desk and mismatched chairs from flea markets and garage sales, and a little candle burning on her desk that makes the room smell like vanilla. She smiles at me warmly.

“So, what can I do for you?”

I open my mouth, then close it. I know why I'm here: William told me to. The force of that, like an invisible hand on my shoulders pushing me along, kept me moving until I got here. Now that I'm sitting in her office and it's time to do the deed, my own willpower reasserts itself in a contest going on behind my eyes that leaves my mouth dry and my voice caught in my throat.

She leans forward, resting her arms on the desk.

“Is he giving you a hard time?”

I swallow. You have no idea.

“I thought he might be a little rough on you. He's never had a TA before. I wasn't sure he'd know what to do with you. I did think he'd push you hard, but it's only been what, two days?”

I nod. “It hasn't been long.”

“So, tell me what the problem is.”

“I don't think it's going to work out,” I say. “I have a lot on my plate.”

She nods, full of reassuring understanding.

“I know. I know you're on your own and you have to take care of yourself without anyone to help you. Classes, resident advisor duties, your job, and this on top…I worried it might be too much.”

I give a short, sharp nod. It's all I can manage, as if my muscles are rebelling against the idea of going through with this.

“I worried,” she says, smiling sweetly, “but I know you can handle him, even if things are tight.”

I flinch. What did she say?

“Tell me what's going on?”

I open my mouth and close it again. She doesn't seem to be willing to fill the air this time.

“We just get on each other's nerves, I guess.”

She tilts her head, considering. “Is he getting under your skin, or the other way around?”

“It's both,” I say, wincing.

She nods slowly, leans back, and pulls out a can of Diet Coke from the little cooler she keeps on her shelf.

“Want one?”

I shake my head.

“So, it's mutual.”

“I think so,” I say, my voice drifting a little. “I don't know. I thought I needed this for my career, you know? Then I realized I have to survive it first.”

She snorts. “I know he's demanding, but he doesn't bite. I'm sure you'll survive.”

I shudder, half from the effort of not shuddering, and half from thinking: Does he bite?

“I want you to give it another try,” she says, sipping from her soda before she goes on. “I think you can handle anything he can throw at you. You're flexible and you know how to handle yourself. Think of it as a challenge. I know you can take more than this.”

I blink a few times. What?

“I don't know,” I sigh. “There's just so much to do. Maybe I bit off a bit more than I can chew.”

She snorts. “Swallow your pride and buckle down, kiddo. I'm telling you, you've got this.”

He did say I might have to argue, and that he would step in if I couldn't do this.

“I don't know what to do,” I confess to her. “I don't know what the right thing is here, or how to handle this.”

She puts her chin in her hands, her elbows on the desk, and eyes me.

“I've never known you to act like this before. You've never had a confidence problem.”

I say nothing but look down at my feet as if the answers might be found on the tops of my shoes.

“I want you to go back to him and try to sort things out. Go on.”

Nodding quietly, I stand and trudge out of the room. My head snaps up on the way out, and relief washes over me in a cold wave. She probably thinks I was in there for reassurance. It wouldn't be the first time I needed a pat on the head to keep going. I'm not a robot, after all.

Grumbling, I walk past William's office and stop. The door is open. I start towards it, gliding with silent steps, toe-first. Stopping to listen, I hear only very light breathing and the sound of an ink pen scratching across paper. I step inside and there he is, seated at his desk, tie loosened, working as if nothing in the world is amiss.

He doesn't look up.

“Did you do it?”

“Well, I tried,” I say.

His head snaps up sharply. He looks at the door. I reach over and close it and stalk to the desk. He sits up to his full height and stares me down.

“How hard did you try?”

“I told her what you told me to tell her. She didn't buy it. She thinks I can handle you.”

His eyes narrow.

“I think I can handle you,” I say, stalking closer, moving around the desk.

“Stop,” he says. Not loud, not sharp, not a barked command, just a single word quivering with such will that my feet seem to sprout roots and stick to the carpet.

“I have to take a firmer hand, I see,” he says.

In response, I lick my lips.

He picks up his desk phone, pausing to glare at me before he angrily stabs the buttons with his finger, speed dialing my advisor, who is also his boss.

“Carol? Yes, it's me…yes, I know, we discussed this. I'm fine with it. I think he's overloading himself, too. I'm concerned about his health. What? No, I am not underestimating him. Yes, I said I believed in…I did say that, yes. I said it! I admit it! I thought you'd take him on, or someone that could really use him. I didn't ask for this. What do you mean my image needs rehabilitation?”

He looks like he's about to bite the end of the handset clean off. He holds the phone away from his ear for a moment, staring daggers at the speaker.

“No, I did not tell him to say those things. What? I am not trying to break him down. Yes, I think he can handle it…of course not. Just because…will you listen to me?”

Heat rises from my neck, creeping up my face. It's bizarre to hear them argue like this, and even more bizarre to see William without the upper hand, William on the edge of losing control.

“Yes, I know how much it mattered that you believed in me, I never said…of course he deserves the same chance… I…fine, another week. Goodbye, Carol.”

He slams the phone down and stares at it, and his hand, as if the phone had just leapt up and slapped him. His mouth works, but no sound comes out. After a few moments he twitches sharply and sits up, his face returning to his normal, imperious composure. He looks at me.

“She wants us to give it another week. I agreed.”

I stare at him.

“Then what was all that, earlier?”

“That was the right thing to do. So, we wait a week and try again. I want this to go as smoothly as possible for you, despite the uncomfortable position you've put me in.”

“The position I put you in?” I snap, surprised at the heat in my own voice. I lean in and lower it, so no one will hear. “You're the one who showed up at my job and had to be driven home, remember?”

He looks me in the eye and moves closer—only a few inches away from my face.

“That was a mistake, but you were the one who crawled onto my lap.”

“I don't remember forcing your dick down my throat,” I whisper sharply, my voice quivering. “The way I remember it, you grabbed my head and went and shoved it in there.”

I run my fingers down my neck for emphasis.

“You seduced me,” he snarls.

“You fucked me up the ass,” I growl back.

He surges to his feet, seizing me by the shoulders, and I'm against the wall.

My heart pounds. I run my hands down his side as I peck forward, trying to kiss him, but he remains just out of reach until my hands sweep around the front of his pants and I run my palms down the sides of his cock as it strains through his clothes. As I feel the hot hardness there, I go instantly rigid and squirm and struggle, trying to bring my lips to his.

“I am not going to fuck you in my office,” he growls, his voice so soft, like cloth tearing. “I'm not going to go that far.”

He gets closer even as he says it until his body is pushing mine into the wall and we're molded together, hot breath mingling. As he kisses me, I pinch his bottom lip with my teeth, hard, and his eyes flick open.

He thrusts against me, grinding.

“These are my office hours,” he murmurs, “I need my door open.”

“I need you inside me,” I whisper back, “Fuck office hours.”

He growls like an animal, whole body flexing. God he's huge, and I want him bad. I attack his throat with my lips, his stubble scratching my chin and cheeks. He grabs my head, knotting his fingers in my hair to pull me away, but holds me instead.

“I can't meet students like this,” he says, pumping his hard cock against me for emphasis. “Get on your knees and take care of it.”

I slide down, gliding against him until I'm kneeling and he's roughly pulling open his pants. His cock springs out and actually smacks me in the face. I grab his balls, gently, and lift them out, too. With them cupped in my hand I push his cock up and tongue them, savoring, then sweep my tongue and lips up the underside of his shaft.

“You can't make a mess,” he says, so softly. “I don't want you walking out of my office with cum on your face.”

“Don't worry,” I purr, “I'll swallow.”

Ripples of lust shudder through my body as I take him into my mouth. He puts both hands on my head and holds it against the wall, pushing down my throat until his balls touch my chin, then back again. I gasp and struggle for breath between each stroke as he gets harder and harder until I grab with both hands as he starts going too fast.

Looking up at him, I meet his eyes and furiously stroke and suck. The tension in his body thrums in my hands, on my tongue, between my lips. I try as hard as I can to make him come and he holds back until his face is red, veins standing out, and he grips my shoulders so tight I fear he'll bruise me.

I think I want him to bruise me. The contained power of him, mine now, all mine, is intoxicating. I always knew I preferred my partner take charge, but I can sense a savagery in him, almost smell it, and I long for it to cut loose.

Mark me, claim me. My cock throbs as I suck his, desperate to feel him inside me, ready to beg him to fuck me over his desk and come in my ass.

His head lolls back and his body tenses. I take him in deep and clamp my hands on his ass, digging my fingers into the powerful muscles as he explodes in my mouth. I rock with the movements of his body. He can't stop himself from thrusting as he comes, the heat of him unbearably filling me. It's intoxicating. I feel drunk.

I swallow. I gulp. I take it all and stroke him for a while longer, savoring his gasps and shudders as I make sure I got it all.

When I stand he crushes me with a kiss, his lips hard and savage, his tongue everywhere in my mouth. Like he wants to swallow me whole. He grabs my cock through my jeans and I almost come just from that.

“You walk around like this,” he says, squeezing. “You let this remind you of who your boss is.”

“Yes, sir,” I murmur, pressing against him, feeling him, touching him. He strokes his hand back and forth, torturing my cock and balls with promise. My ass clenches and he stops me before I can turn around and present. I don't care about protection or even pain. I want him.

William pulls me into an embrace, tenderly kissing the top of my head, shocking me like cold water pouring down over my body. I press into him hard, hugging him tightly, his heart thrumming against mine. I feel like I'm floating away and he's the only thing that holds me down.

Then he turns me against the wall. He tugs my jeans up, pulling on my belt, and slams his hand into my ass—not a slap, a hard grab that jiggles my butt.

“Out,” he snarls, “You have class.”

“I want to see you later,” I whisper.

“None of this in front of anyone,” he says. “Be a good boy and I'll make it up to you.”

I spin around and kiss him again, and almost skip out of the room. I stop myself, glad no one saw me, and swipe at my lips and chin to make sure I'm really clean.

Dazed, I check my schedule; I have a class in fifteen minutes. I'd better run, but I feel like I could fly there.