Yes, I was right.
“Now, do you think you can write your paper?”
He lets out a breathy laugh. “I don’t know. I guess we’ll see.”
“Okay, get to work.” I try to sound authoritative, but there’s a smile in my voice. I love seeing him like this. His inhibitions thrown to the wind and a sexy flush on his cheeks because I’m filling him up.
We have to wheel ourselves a little closer to the desk. Even this small movement sends thrills through me, and I can tell it affects Ben too. He bites his lip and wriggles in my lap.
“Hey.” I grip his hips … tight. “No moving, remember?”
“Mm,” he hums, closing his eyes and letting his head fall back again.
I give him this moment to adjust and enjoy the sensation. Stroking a hand over his smooth throat.
“You look so good right now.”
“Everything you say in that accent sounds sexy.”
I laugh. “No one finds the German accent sexy.”
“They must be crazy.”
“Get to work.” I manage a more authoritative tone this time and am rewarded with a filthy moan.
He flips his laptop open and logs in. I hadn’t considered the fact I’d be watching him type out his password, open up his word document and research tabs. It makes the moment even more intimate.
At first, he opens his word document with about five hundred words already typed out and just sits there staring at it. The cursor flashing as his fingers pause over the keyboard.
He’s breathing so hard he clenches slightly around my cock and I have to bite my lip to hold in a moan. I’m supposed to be still. Silent. It’s hell not being able to touch him except to hold his hips still. Not being able to kiss theback of his neck now we’ve started the game. I’m sure I can hear him wriggling his toes in his socks under the desk.
I think he’s about to tell me he can’t do it. That we need to have sex before he can focus. Or he needs to leave and go back to the frat house.
But then he starts to type.
Hesitant at first. And then with a steady rhythm. Only stopping to consult something in an open tab every now and then.
He sits ramrod straight, rolling his neck a few times, the way you would if you were sitting in a library. Sometimes he’s typing so frantically, the pressure of his fingers on the keys makes the rest of his body move. It’s a miniscule movement, but being inside him like this, completely still, means I can feel every miniscule movement as if it’s enormous.
He doesn’t even seem to be in a rush. His breathing has calmed and I wonder if he’s forgotten I’m even there.
I worried I might get bored or restless, just sitting there, not able to move while Ben writes a paper on economics. I had thought I wouldn’t be able to keep up with what he was writing. He’s writing a top level paper on a subject I’ve never studied, and he’s doing it as a senior at an Ivy League school. But I’m surprised to be able to follow everything but the tables and charts.
When he speaks to me, it’s like I’ve been dragged out of a trance.
“Are you bored?”
I swallow. “Definitely not bored.”
I catch his smile. He wriggles a little and I grip his hips to keep him in place.
“Keep writing.”
“Do you understand it?”
“Actually, more than I thought I would.”
“Good. If a layman can’t understand any of it, it means it’s far too convoluted.”
