7. Vincent

SEVEN

Nod and blink.

Nod and blink.

Nod and blink.

Nod and blink.

Each time, my eyes close when my chin is closest to the floor, not on the upswing, never on the upswing. Kent doesn't seem to notice; if he does, he doesn't mind. Yet.

I'm not married to it, but I definitely have a type. A sweet face. Older. A soft, cozy, furry body. A scrumptious cock. Kent Lester. People often wonder why I'm into older men. They assume I must have daddy issues. Nope. I have a healthy relationship with my father, who seems more confused by my OCD than my sexuality. My parents are still married, going on forty-eight years together—and, from what I can tell, still happy. I simply prefer men who have some experience. Wisdom. Warmth. Patience. Give me something to grab on to and get lost in. My dick pulses, remembering Kent's silver chest hair poking out from the V-neck. Stop. Focus on the task at hand, Vincent. This isn't the time to get distracted.

Crash!

Pulling his hand back, Kent knocks into his coffee, sending it tumbling to the floor. Thankfully, he's guzzled most of it, and only small splashes paint the carpet, splattering like a Jackson Pollock.

"Oy, I'm such a clumsy crab." Kent grabs the wipes from the shelf. Behind the tube he now holds, I notice a stockpile of them and my skin sizzles.

"Kent, it's okay," I say. He crouches down and wipes the floor and then moves to the legs of the table and chairs.

"No, it's not. I'm the principal. I shouldn't be such a hot mess."

Seeing him on the ground, swiftly wiping, doing his best to clean up, my throat tightens. I swallow hard. I'm not sure what I can do to help, but I worry my presence caused some of this.

"Kent, please, it's fine."

I stand, wanting to help but not sure what to do. When I crouch, Kent pops up and knocks into my face with the back of his head. Hard. A burst of pain flashes, and my nose throbs and burns from the brunt of the force. I fall back into the chair, dizzy, and cover my face with my hands.

"Oh shit, your beautiful face. I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to, crap, I mean crap, sorry, I shouldn't curse at school," he blathers, and he's over me, grabbing at my hands. Beautiful. He called me beautiful. Well, my face, anyway. Pulling back, I do my best to avoid his hands, but his compliment, mixed with the smells of the citrus and bleach from the wipes, soothes me, and I let him make contact.

"Let me look, please."

His fingers clutch my chin, and he tilts my face up. Looking at the ceiling, I'm fairly certain he's staring straight up my nose. Wonderful.

"Is it broken?" I mumble.

"No."

"Bleeding?"

He gets closer, his eyes only an inch from my throbbing nose. Static from his beard tingles my chin.

"I don't see any. I should probably get the nurse—or at least an ice pack. We have tons. She hands them out like candy."

His breath, a mix of coffee and mint, travels right up my aching nose, and—clean mouth or not— I'm under Kent Lester's spell. My fingers, suddenly with a mind of their own, grab his collar and pull him in for a kiss. His lips are tentative, but I wrap my arms around his torso, and he quickly softens into me, letting my tongue play in the whiskers around his mouth before entering it and sending a jolt of adrenaline to my core.

Kent Lester covers me. Between my nose, which still pounds with each beat of my heart but seems to settle, and the smell of cleaning products overtaking the room, I forget to worry about, well, everything. Kent's moved a hand to my face. He caresses my cheek, and then his fingers travel to my ear, taking the lobe and gently massaging it.

"You're so beautiful," he murmurs.

Again. Beautiful. And this time not only my face, but "you." That has to mean all of me. My belly rumbles with a pang of desire. But a sharp exhale out of my nose, followed by a glob of snot, causes me to pull back.

"I need a tissue." I turn away and pull my forearm up to shield my face. The reality is, I need a complete scrub down from the neck up.

He pushes himself up and heads to the box of tissues on his desk.

"Uhhh, I'm out. Crap. Don't move."

Opening the door, he sticks his head out.

"Helen, do we have any extra tissue boxes?"

"We're out. I can grab some in the supply closet."

"No, I'll go," he says and turns toward me. "I'll be back in five."

Hearing Helen's voice and the chatter of other people in the office agitates the flickering desire in my belly.

"Wait, I'll come with you." I follow Kent into the hallway, covering my nose with my elbow.

Kent unlocks the metal door with a key from Helen's desk.

"The light's here somewhere … there," he says, illuminating the space with a long flickering fluorescent bulb hanging from the ceiling. I hold the heavy door with my shoulder as he enters.

Shelves line the long and narrow room, covering them with random supplies. Boxes of pencils, crayons, paper, glue, and anything needed to run a school crowd the space. Kent scans the area and finally shouts, "There we go!"

He moves toward the far end and reaches for a box. I follow, and the door slams behind me with a bang. Kent jumps, slips, and the crowded shelf rains tissue boxes down on him.

"Are you okay?" I mutter through my arm. I've got snot on my sleeve, and I'm grateful I keep extra clothes in my car. When will there be time to fetch them?

"Good, all good," Kent says, bending down and retrieving a box, ripping off the top, and handing me a clean tissue. "There you go."

"Thank you."

I blow and attempt to clean my nose, and Kent walks past me, turning the lock on the door. He takes another tissue from the box, pulls my face toward his, and wipes right under my nose, carefully cleaning it. "There we go. Now you're good. No, better than good."

Without hesitation, he kisses my nose. Right where the snot was a second ago. I take a deep breath, trying to discover the moment again.

"But I thought," I say, "we're supposed to be professional."

"We are. I mean, supposed to be." He's back at my lips, his soft beard capturing the wetness of the kiss and encouraging me to forget we should be working. "Your lips. They're so damn perfect. How am I supposed to ignore them?" he asks.

My career may be on the line but still, the only thing I can think about is his mouth on mine. Fuck. Hopscotch can wait. For now.

I remove Kent's glasses, carefully placing them on a nearby shelf covered in boxes of pencils.

"Vincent, how are you so damn sweet and sexy?"

His mouth lands on mine, and I grab at his belt. His smell. Earth. Pine. Embers. He's fucking intoxicating. It's hard to unbuckle without looking. My fingers pull and poke, and finally, his hands leave my face, and with his tongue twirling with mine, he undoes it himself. The swoosh of his pants falling to his ankles prompts me to reach and take hold of his thick cock. I stroke with my right hand while my left lifts his shirt enough so I can rub his furry belly. My heart thumps faster, and I'm not sure how this will play out, but I can't stop myself. We're in a supply closet. The door is locked. His pants are off. My dick stands at full attention in my khakis.

"No. It's my turn," he whispers.

Taking my hand from his stomach and pulling me, Kent sits on a short stepladder in the closet's corner. Naked from the waist down, he doesn't seem to mind sitting on the metal. Interesting.

With my stomach at his eye level, he draws me closer. His fingers find the buttons, and he works at them. "Now, be a good boy."

My pants open, but Kent only yanks them down mid-thigh.

"Tighty-whities," he says.

A small wet spot gives away my excitement, and the tip almost escapes the waistband. I blow a deep breath out as my shoulders drop. "Please," I plead. His fingers peel back the fabric enough so the head of my cock can breathe, and his index finger touches the tip, pulling back a small bead of precum, forming a long band.

"There we go," he soothes. "Such a good boy."

He takes the sticky liquid between his finger and thumb and rubs it gently before putting both fingers in his mouth. What in heaven and earth?

"You okay?" he asks, licking his lips, and I'm not sure how to answer. "Okay" doesn't capture it. The door locked … but the bustle of the school outside … the fact that we should be working. What magic does this man have over me? "Okay?" Euphoric would be a more accurate word choice, so I simply nod.

He leans in and, without removing my underwear, gently kisses the exposed tip of my cock. The tickling from his beard is undeniable as I shudder. I tilt my head back and attempt to breathe through it. Taking the first inch in his mouth, Kent slowly begins sucking and licking and then gently pulls my underwear down to free me.

"Bald?"

"Excuse me?" I ask.

"You shave everywhere?"

"Yeah, it's just cleaner that way, I don't like …" and before I finish, he's taken my cock in his mouth, at least half of it, wrapped inside his warm mouth, and his whiskers titillate in a way I've never experienced before. I poke my fingers in his thick hair, grateful there's no product, and slowly massage his head.

He pulls off and says, "I haven't done this—" A gasp, he sounds out of breath. "—in a very long time, so please tell me if I do anything wrong."

"No, nothing wrong. Just keep talking and telling me …"

"You're a good boy," he finishes for me. My dick fills at the phrase. "Letting me suck your cock in the middle of the day. Such a clean, good boy."

He looks up at me, his eyes glistening, and opens wide, waiting for me. I plunge back into the warm dampness of his mouth, and he resumes. His whiskers tickle the sensitive skin of my cock, creating more pleasure. Once more, I give myself over to Kent Lester. Seated, Kent reaches down, and begins stroking himself, and after I rushed him out last night, I'm hopeful he'll come.

"Jerk yourself. Nice and slow," I say, hoping he enjoys my voice as much as I do his. He slows down on himself, but the slurping speeds up. Soft groans escaping through his lips wrapped around my hard cock give me a hint he's enjoying this.

Still stroking himself, he pauses and looks up at me. There's desire written in his eyes. "I'm close, Vincent."

Without thinking, I lower myself to a squat, careful not to touch the floor, and we swap roles. I stroke myself faster to speed up my orgasm and savor his irresistible dick—my mouth instantly thrilled at the familiar sensation of him filling me up. As he thrusts into me, I grab his waist, letting myself fall completely under his charms.

"Keep sucking. You've got my cock rock hard."

His words prod me to move faster, harder, making a sloppy mess of myself.

"You look amazing with your lips around my dick. Such a beautiful, good boy."

There it is. Again. That word. Beautiful. Me? Spit, and lord knows what else, drips down my chin, and I couldn't care less. Who am I, and what happened to the real me?

"Vincent, I'm, I'm …" he warns, attempting to push me off, but I resist, burying my head further, the glorious fuzz on his belly shoved against my forehead.

"You want it?" Kent's breath quickens with small gasps.

I bob my head and moan as he fucks deep into me. I want to taste him. Swallow him. Maybe if I keep a part of him inside me, I'll feel this free forever.

Eruptions of warm pleasure jolt to the back of my throat. The closeness, the heat, and the thick texture send shivers down my spine. He leans over and begins rubbing my back through my shirt. I swallow his salty seed quickly, knowing the warmth came from inside him. It's perfectly pasteurized.

"Fuck, Vincent, you take my cum like such a good boy," he purrs, and my dick, throbbing in anticipation, takes it as a cue to unload. With Kent still in my mouth, I shoot all over the floor, avoiding my pants or shoes.

My legs wobble beneath me, and I topple backward and land on the closet floor, the cool tiles providing an unexpected shock to my bare ass. My heart races, and I don't even pull my pants up or care about being on the filthy floor. That's what Kent Lester has done to me—cracked me open.

Kent stands over me, lifts my face, and drags his thumb across my chin. "Look at my cum dripping off your lips." He licks it off before kissing me gently. "You're going to be trouble, Mr. Manda," he says, and I'm fairly sure he's right.