7. Jonah

CHAPTER SEVEN

jonah

I lose count somewherearound the fifteen mark. Dalton’s so vocal as I move in and out of him, but he’s right about not being a talker. It’s not words but downright sinful sounds.

He feels so good, his ass so tight, but I don’t focus on me. I only focus on what makes him moan. Slow but hard thrusts, short and shallow ones, what he’d do if I grip his ass cheek so hard it’ll leave bruises in the form of my fingertips. All of it draws out specific noises, not only moans. His grunts are addictive, his harsh breaths give me a high, and when he fists the comforter and begs for me to put him out of his misery, I stop exploring his different sounds and focus on getting us both off.

I push him harder against the mattress, holding him down by the middle of his back with one hand while the other clings to his manbun at the base of his neck.

“This going to get you there?” I thrust deep inside him.

Another moan. “Yes. Keep going.” He cries out. “Don’t stop.”

I need him to come soon because there is no way I can keep this up without coming.

Sweat drips down my body, the rhythmic sound of our bodies slapping together fills the room, and just as I think I can’t take any more, Dalton stiffens and cries out once more.

It only takes two more thrusts for me to follow him over the edge, unloading inside him. His ass contracts around my cock, milking everything I have.

When I still inside him, he lets out a small laugh. I try not to be offended, but then he says, “It’s been a really long time for me, so there’s a lot of, umm … yeah, I might have ruined your comforter. I would be sorry, but I’m really, really not.”

I laugh with him this time. “Eh, cum stains are easy to get rid of. It helps that my bedding is white.”

“Smart.”

I’m still inside him, unwilling to pull out yet, but if I don’t soon, my body will give out, and then he’ll be trapped under me all night. I wouldn’t complain, but he probably would.

Reluctantly, I force myself to stand on wobbly legs and duck into my bathroom to get rid of the condom. When I come back into the room, Dalton’s sitting up on the edge of the ottoman, still naked and looking wrecked.

He smiles over at me. “I really needed that.”

“Same.” When I think about how frantic this year has been, I realize I haven’t even had a date since before school started. I’ve been too worried about being a good professor and impressing my new bosses that I haven’t even been to a bar or looked at an app.

Dalton stands. “I guess I should⁠—”

I run my finger down his impressive bicep, landing on an intricate tattoo inside his elbow on his forearm. Two triangles, tangled together. “Do you have to go?”

“Isn’t that what we agreed? One night?”

“The night’s not over yet.”

He pouts. “You mean, I still haven’t earned that A?”

“Ugh. I hate what that does to me. You know I’d never cross those kinds of lines with actual students, right? I’m sick just thinking about it, but with you …”

He grips my shoulders. “I’m not a student. It’s like … watching porn. I have a thing for stepdaddy porn, but would I actually ever have sex with West’s husband? God no. Eww. Gross. But porn gives me the fantasy of it in a safe way. If that makes sense.”

“I guess.” It does, but I can’t wrap my head around Dalton being young enough to be a junior in one of my classes yet not acting like any of the ones who email me stupid shit.

“We didn’t do anything wrong,” he says, trying to persuade me.

“I know.”

“But it can’t happen again.”

That’s the suckiest part, honestly, but it was the deal. “I know that too.”

“I really should go before Ben wonders where I am.” Dalton collects his clothes from the ground, so I do the same with mine.

“I’ll walk you out.” I only get my underwear on.

“You don’t need to do that. Crash. It’s what I’m going to do as soon as I get home. I think we both earned it after that.” He steps close to me and brings his lips to mine for a soft kiss.

“Guess I’ll see you at hockey practice tomorrow.”

Dalton nods. “Where we will never speak of this again.”

“Agreed.” Even if I’d bring it up every chance I had if I were allowed.

That was explosive. Amazing.

Best sex I’ve ever had.

Yet all I can do is watch him leave my apartment and close the door behind him.

Professor Brooks,

I won’t make it into class today. I have a mad case of pink eye. Photo attached.

Regards,

Malcolm Reids.

Mr. Reids,

I am sorry to hear about your pink eye, but for future reference, photo evidence is not necessary or wanted. Thank you for saving me money on breakfast this morning as I can no longer stomach it. Also, you should really get a doctor to look at that.

Professor Brooks.

I thought I was going to wake up refreshed and happy before that email came through and gave me a dose of reality.

I’m still sated. Still boneless from orgasmic bliss, but the real world is knocking.

From the outside, I shouldn’t have been so turned on by someone who doesn’t take his college education seriously—you don’t get kicked out of school for doing nothing—but I get the impression that whatever he did wasn’t his fault. Or, if it was, that it was an accident. Throwing away two years of college would be a waste of his and the school’s time and money.

But he never did end up telling me what it was. That doesn’t mean I’ll let it go.

He said we’re not allowed to speak of sleeping together ever again, but that doesn’t mean we won’t be seeing each other.

This afternoon, I’m dropping Cullen off at practice again, and maybe I’ll stick around so I can see his coach. No sex. Just friends.

Or maybe he’ll see that similar to tracking him down and banging on his window, and no one wants to be that guy.

Ooh, maybe that’s why he left San Diego. Maybe he had a stalker. No, wait, then why would he get kicked out and not the stalker? Hmm … He could’ve been the stalker. Maybe I shouldn’t have invited him back to my place last night.

Or maybe I could be reading into this way too much.

I’ll go, I’ll say hi, I’ll act friendly, but I’ll let him lead the interaction. If he’s standoffish, I’ll back off, but I do hope we can be friends.

I’d love to break down his walls, find out what makes him tick, because even though we covered the topic of families last night, we didn’t really talk about much else.

As an academic, I’m intrigued by his nonchalance over school. How did he become a coach of hockey for kids? Was hockey his first dream? Was he trying to make it to the NHL?

I also still haven’t worked out if Dalton is his first name or last. There’s so much I want to know about him, and I have to hope I get the chance.

Everything about him that I already know shouldn’t interest me to know more, but for some reason, he has a hold on me. I have fallen victim to his charisma, exactly the same way Cullen has.

And there’s still that nagging familiar feeling I can’t shake but have resigned myself to believing it’s because I’ve probably seen him or his brother around campus. Or maybe on my way home from work the same as last night, but I didn’t know who he was then.

I’m sure that’s it, but it still doesn’t stop the niggly feeling.

Either way, I’m excited to see him this afternoon. So much so that time moves agonizingly slowly. It’s like Christmas Eve as a kid. I swear that was always the longest day ever.

I move through my classes on autopilot, and when it’s time for my last class, I dismiss them all early and head for my car.

Usually, I walk to and from campus—save the environment and all that crap—but on days I have Cullen, I take my car so I can head straight to his school to pick him up.

I swear he’s the slowest dawdler on the planet and is last out of his school every time. “Come on. You’ve got hockey practice.”

His brown, floppy hair falls in his eyes, and the backpack he’s carrying bounces up and down, with his legs moving as fast as they can.

Before Cullen came along, I never pictured having kids. I was only nineteen when he was born, so I hadn’t thought about it too deeply. It wasn’t until I was holding my nephew in my arms that I started thinking about my own future and what it would look like.

At twenty-five, things aren’t any clearer, but I do know I’d like to be a dad someday.

Cullen finally reaches me and gives me a big hug.

“How was school?” I ask.

“Good.”

“What did you learn?”

“Nothing.”

“As long as you had fun. That’s the main thing.” I think. Eh, it’s first grade. He can focus on school later.

When we pull up to the rink, we’re both eager to get inside. He jumps up and down by the trunk of my car when I grab his gear bag for him, and as much as I want to tell him to calm down, I’m practically buzzing out of my skin myself.

I’m suddenly nervous Dalton’s going to blow me off and pretend he doesn’t even know me.

When we walk inside, I lead Cullen to the locker rooms so he can get changed into his gear, but my head swivels around, hoping to lay sight on the dude I totally didn’t have sex with last night.

Nope.

Not even a little bit.

Dalton’s coming out of the staff locker rooms in his skates at the same time Cullen’s done changing and runs out, forgetting his helmet. I chase after him and almost bowl into the back of Dalton.

He’s in jeans, a black sweatshirt, and his blue hockey cap. Don’t ask me what team it is. It’s the blue team. Obviously.

He turns at the commotion, and when his eyes meet mine, they widen slightly before they relax, and his lips turn up. “Professor Brooks.”

I glance around the practically empty skating rink. “You should probably call me Jonah if we’re going to pretend you didn’t use my name highly inappropriately last night.”

He tsks me. “Already breaking the rules. I wouldn’t have taken you for a rule breaker.”

“I’m not. Usually. I guess the guy who did something so bad he got kicked out of college is a bad influence on me.”

“You really should get better friends. Here, I’ll take that.” He holds out his hand for Cullen’s helmet. When he goes to walk off, he pauses. With his skates on, he’s my height, and he says, “You can still call me Coach Dalton.”

I laugh.

It’s a shame there won’t be a next time because I’d totally be down for some “coaching.”