I must be staring too long because Jude suddenly glares at me. “What?”
“Nothing.” I return my gaze to my notebook. I’ve completed three questions since the start of class and am currently forcing myself not to draw a F’s hands. Again.
“Sorry,” he says after a moment. “That was rude. I’m sensitive about my middle name. I know I shouldn’t be.”
I give him a small smile. “It’s okay. And don’t worry. Mine’s worse.”
“Oh?” He reaches for my slip of paper and I grab his wrist.
“Nuh-uh-uh. If you found out what it was, I’d have to kill you.”
“Mine’sFitzwilliam. There’s no way it’s worse than that.”
“Sorry. It’s a secret I’m taking to the grave.”
Jude chuckles, and I was right — he’s much more handsome when he’s smiling. But I’m not remotely interested in him; all of my spare thoughts are dedicated to only one guy.
I’m still holding his wrist, which is slimmer than mine but still strong. His skin is smooth and warm. I quickly let go.
Once I’m in the closet, the door blocked behind me with a chair, F yanks me down so I’m on top of him.
“I’m going to crush you,” I manage to say under his barrage of kisses. After Jude saw my hickey in maths class, I told F to avoid leaving marks on my neck. Now, he gently kisses my neck, and reserves the hickey for other places.
“You’re not that heavy,” he murmurs. He’s massaging my lower stomach, and I’m already sporting a massive erection. “And besides, I like the weight.”
He tugs on my tie, loosening it, and unbuttons my shirt. At a graze of teeth against my chest, I hiss.
“I like how big you are,” he continues. “But I’m not weak either. I could take you.”
That startles a laugh from me. “Yeah, sure.”
He sinks his teeth on one of my pecs as punishment.
“I’m just saying,” I begin, and his fingers slide dangerously low, “I’ve felt you. You’re strong, yes, but I’m still heavier. I could easily throw you around.”
“I doubt that.” He plays with one of my nipples until it hardens. His other hand grazes my pubic hair.
“Do you play sport?” I ask.
“I go on walks.”
“Only walks? And you’ve got a body like that?”
He makes a noise that’s the vocal equivalent of a shrug. “Genetic predisposition or something. I don’t know.”
“Whatever. If we had a fight, I’d win.”
“But I have a secret weapon,” he says, sounding far too smug.
“What?”
“This.” He lets go of my nipple and twists a hand in my hair, and a humiliating gasp escapes me.
“That’s right,” he whispers. “Just one pull, and you’re like putty in my hands.”
He pulls his hand out of my pants, spits, and less than a second later, he’s jerking me fast and hard. It takes an embarrassingly short amount of time for my body to tense, already on the edge. He leans in and kisses me roughly, his tongue sliding into my mouth, and all I can manage is a grunt of warning before I come.
I hold myself up, not wanting to collapse and flatten him, panting hard. Carefully, he slips his hand out of my pants and wipes it with a few tissues.
