I traced a slow line along his shaft, letting my lips linger just long enough to make him shiver.
“Not yet,” I whispered.
His answering groan was half frustration, half worship. Holding him right there, on the edge, felt almost as good as letting him fall.
I could feel the pull between them all, the rhythm building, an unspoken understanding that nothing was forbidden here.
Brock was next, and the second our eyes locked, something in my stomach tightened.
He didn’t look at me the way Cam did. There was no impatience or bounce of youthful eagerness. Brock watched me like a man who knew exactly what he wanted and exactly what I would do to him. That look alone made heat pool between my legs.
I shifted toward him, and his gaze tracked the movement as if it cost him something not to touch me. His breath came deeper, heavier, his whole body tightening as I settled in front of him.
“Come here,” he murmured. It was barely a whisper, but thick enough to light every nerve along my spine.
I leaned in, letting my lips brush his thigh first, soft and slow. His breath stuttered. God, I loved that. Loved the way a man his size could still unravel in the smallest ways.
When I finally took him into my mouth, the sound he made hit me low and hard. A deep, rough groan. Raw enough to make my thighs clench. His hands slid into my hair immediately, anchoring himself. His fingers tightened each time my tongue dragged along his hard length, every small reaction thrumming through my whole body. I could feel his control strain, feel him fighting not to give in too fast.
The power of that, of him trying to hold steady for me, sent a rush of heat flooding through me. Especially as I glanced beyond him at all the empty seats, a reminder that we were doing thisin my classroom.
But after breaking so many taboos, doing it here filled me with a thrill of excitement, not fear.
I pulled back just enough to breathe against Brock’s crown, my lips still brushing his skin. His grip on my hair tightened, hips shifting like his body betrayed him.
“Oh, fuck…” he warned, voice dark and frayed at the edges.
I gave him one last, slow, lingering stroke of my tongue. Enough to make his breath catch. Then I pulled away.
Brock exhaled hard, like I’d punched the air out of his lungs. His jaw flexed. His hands fell from my hair, the restraint almost painful to watch.
I met his eyes, heat simmering between us.
“Not yet,” I whispered, still tasting him on my lips.
His answering curse was soft, reverent, and full of promise.
“I need to feel you all inside me,” I said, voice hoarse. “Like we talked about.”
Cam grinned. “That’s why we’re here.”
We moved together, an intricate, impossible puzzle of limbs and heat and friction. The world became nothing more than the feel of their bodies and the heat of their skin meshed with mine.
By the time the four of us moved to the desk on the lecture platform, my dress was discarded, a tangled heap on the floor, and all three of them were pressing against me in turns, hands and lips and teeth tracing over every inch of exposed skin. My mind was only half present, half lost in the wave of sensation, my body moving with them almost of its own accord.
“I need to feel you. All of you,” I breathed, and it came out ragged. A confession I’d been dying to make.
Everything after that blurred into heat and hands, my body pulled gently then insistently between them. Like we were too far gone for anything but instinct.
“We came prepared,” Brock said, retrieving a bottle of lube from his pants on the floor.
Jace sank into the chair behind the desk, broad shoulders relaxed, but his gaze locked on me like he couldn’t look away. I climbed onto his lap, the head of his cock nudging me, and when I lowered myself onto him, the stretch knocked the air right out of my lungs. He filled me slow, deep, until my thighs were trembling and his fingers dug into my hips like he needed the grounding as badly as I did.
“Oh my God,” he exhaled.
“Yeah?” I asked.
“It’s just wild being up on stage instead of out in the audience,” he said, jaw tightening.
