14. Cam

"Oh shit." I groaned at Professor Lusk's strong grip, my eyes falling shut as I lost myself in his touch. God, I'd wanted this so badly for weeks, hadn't been able to stop fantasizing about what it'd be like without a wall separating us and knowing damn well that the biggest barrier keeping us apart wasn't anything I could touch.

"Wanna touch you, too," I rasped before tugging at the waistband of his pants, fingers scrabbling until they found purchase and unzipped him. The air between us was charged with tension, and I could feel the heat of his body against my fingertips as I tugged his pants down far enough to reveal his hard dick, so familiar and yet not. The hot flesh pulsed beneath my touch, a testament to the desire that had been smoldering between us for weeks.

Professor Lusk groaned softly. Though he didn't resist my touch, I could see the jumble of emotions play across his face, even in the weak light. Desire. Fear. Maybe even regret. But his eyes were pure hunger, drowning in the euphoric high of finally letting go of our inhibitions as I began to stroke him.

The muscles in his jaw tensed, and then his mouth slammed against mine. He let go of my cock and gripped my waist, a smooth undulation of his hips sending waves of pleasure racing up my spine when his shaft rubbed the length of mine.

We kissed like gluttons, our tongues intertwining as if trying to capture every last drop of passion and hunger between us, a counterpoint to the sensual, serpentine roll of his hips against me. Every little movement was a jolt of electricity that pooled in my groin and gathered momentum.

I shoved my hands beneath his shirt, fingers digging into his flesh and the firm muscle beneath that glided with his movements.

"Jesus, you're so fucking hot," I whispered, and he let out a ragged moan into my mouth that seemed to reflect back the sentiment. His hands delved behind my jeans to grip my bare ass roughly.

Another curse broke free from my lips when he let go and planted a palm to my chest, pushing me away enough to meet my eyes.

"You want this, yes?" His voice was hoarse with the same need for release that was pummeling me.

"Yes, fuck yes. Don't stop. I—" I trailed off, struggling to form a coherent sentence as his gaze locked onto mine, the lust burning within it hypnotic. "I don't want to stop," I barely finished, my brain fried by desire and what felt like a thousand tiny earthquakes sending warning tremors through my limbs.

He reached down and, with one swift motion, pushed my pants lower on my thighs, my stiff cock bobbing in the air.

I ducked my head, burying my face in his neck to inhale the faint spice of his aftershave. I tasted salt on his skin, then clamped my teeth down as he started moving against me.

He slid a hand between us and gripped us both, our combined precum making his fist slick. My cock twitched, hard and aching, and I gritted out a cry of pleasure at the increased friction. He kept a steady pace, head drooping forward so that I could feel every quiet hitch of his breath spill against my neck.

"So fucking sexy," he whispered. "So fucking good." The praise rolled through me, a dizzying, intangible kind of gratification I'd not experienced. I was almost certain no one I'd hooked up with before had ever spoken to me this way, so tender and confident at once.

The need inside me rose to fever pitch, making my breath catch in my throat and come out as a low, feral growl. My awareness of our surroundings faded into a background blur as we moved together, sweaty and shuddering. His grip around us tightened, fingers slick with precum and saliva. The heat pooling between us made everything else insignificant. I knew only the taste of him on my tongue and the warmth of his body enveloping me completely, while tingles of pleasure raced through my body and catapulted me toward the edge of coherence.

"Cameron." His lips brushed my neck, the syllables a guttural, primitive sound, thick with arousal. He was going to come. I could hear it in his tone, feel it in the way his thrusts grew more chaotic, and that alone was enough to send me careening over the edge.

"Oh fuck." I bucked wildly against him, like my body had detached from my brain and gone fully feral. I rutted into his hand, chasing the heat and wetness of his grip. Jesus, if this was what frotting felt like with him, I couldn't even begin to imagine fucking him.

A second before my orgasm exploded out of me in thick spurts, Professor Lusk shoved my shirt up so that the hot splashes landed on my bare skin.

He bit out a curse, and the heat on my abdomen spread as his seed joined mine.

Despite the nip in the air, we were both damp with sweat, Professor Lusk leaning heavily against me as we caught our breath. The weight of him felt satisfying, but it was short-lived. A handful of seconds later, he straightened, belt buckle clinking as he tucked himself away. I glanced down at the mess on my stomach.

"Hold on, I think I've got something." The professor fumbled in his pocket, but I was two steps ahead.

"I've got it." I was already reaching into the front pocket of my backpack for one of the tissue packs I'd stuffed in there the last time I'd caught a cold.

I quickly cleaned up my stomach, offered him one, then stuffed the used tissues back in my pack, not wanting to litter.

"So, Professor." I sank back against the wall of the little utility building, unsure of how to finish. A current of tension still ran between us, but now there was an additional layer of awkwardness. I had no idea what came next.

"Grady," he corrected me, not unkindly.

"Grady," I echoed softly. It was both odd and comforting to call him by his first name.

His fingers traced the contours of my face, one thumb brushing away strands of hair that had fallen against my forehead. The tenderness in his touch was unexpected, and it melted away the fear inside of me, leaving behind rough fragments of raw vulnerability. "This can't happen again, you realize," he murmured low, the words gentle but firm.

I nodded, light-headed with post-orgasm adrenaline still coursing through me, because what the hell else was I supposed to do? Disagree?

It must have been the response he was looking for because, with one more squeeze to my shoulder, Grady picked up his bag, straightened his shirt, and walked off, leaving me leaning against the building, still half-undressed and a hot mess from outside in.