"So we should probably not—"
I don't know who moves first. Maybe him. Maybe me. Maybe the three feet of air between us just gives up.
His backpack hits the floor. His hands are in my hair and my hands are on his waist. His mouth is on mine and the relief almost takes me out at the knees. He tastes like coffee and chapstick and under that he tastes like mate andmine.I've been starving for this for a week without knowing what hunger was.
He makes that sound again. That little hitch of breath from the hotel. I swallow it. Push him backward until his hips hit my desk and he hops up onto it, scattering papers, and wraps his legs around me and pulls me in tight.
"This is so stupid," he says against my mouth.
"Incredibly stupid."
"Your door doesn't even lock."
"I know." I kiss his neck, right next to the bite, and he gasps and his whole body arches into me. "We should stop."
"We're not stopping."
"We're definitely not stopping."
His shirt comes off. Then my button-down and the t-shirt underneath, and his eyes catch on the tattoos again, his fingers tracing the geometric lines across my ribs while I mouth at his throat. "I keep thinking about these," he mutters. "In class. When you roll your sleeves up and I can see the edge of the ink. It's very distracting."
"Sorry."
"No you're not."
"No I'm not."
I pull his jeans open. He lifts his hips so I can drag them down and he's already hard, his cock straining against his briefs, a wet patch spreading at the tip. I mouth at him through the fabric and he groans, his hand fisting in my hair, his heel digging into my back.
"Off," he says. "Now."
I pull them off. Take his cock in my hand and stroke him slow, rubbing my thumb through the slick leaking from the head. He's thick and hot in my fist and the sounds he makes when I twist my wrist are the best thing I've ever heard in this office. The best thing I've ever heard in any office. I drop to my knees.
"Oh fuck," he whispers. "In your office. You're going to blow me in your office."
"I'm going to do more than that."
I push his thighs apart and lick a stripe up his cock, base to tip, and he slaps a hand over his mouth. I take him in, sucking the head while my hand works the shaft, and his hips buck off the desk. He's trying to be quiet because the walls are thin and there are other offices on this floor. Anyone could walk by, but the noises leaking through his fingers are obscene and desperate. I want more of them.
I pull off his cock and push his thighs wider. He gets it immediately, bracing his hands behind him on the desk and tilting his hips up. He's soaking. Slick dripping down his thighs, pooling on the papers underneath him, and the smell of it, sweet and musky and purely him, makes my alpha snarl. I press my face between his cheeks and lick him open. He bites down on his own fist to keep from screaming.
"Fuck, Rhys, your mouth, god, right there, don't stop—"
I eat him out until he's trembling, tongue-fucking him, sucking at his slick, my hands gripping his thighs hard enough to bruise. He's leaking all over my desk and I don't care. I'll buy a new desk. I'll burn this one. Nothing in this office matters except the sounds he's making and the taste of him on my tongue.
"I need you to fuck me," he pants. "Right now. I need your cock inside me right now or I'm going to lose my mind."
I stand up. Undo my belt. Shove my jeans and briefs down far enough and push into him and his mouth falls open in a silent moan, his eyes rolling back, his legs wrapping around my hips.He's so wet I slide in to the hilt in one stroke and the clench of his body around my cock makes my vision blur.
"Move," he says. "Hard. I want to feel it."
I fuck him hard. The desk creaks under us. Papers scatter to the floor. His hand is over his mouth again but it's not doing much because with every thrust he's making these sharp, choked-off sounds that go straight to my cock. I grip his hip with one hand and brace the other on the desk and pound into him, watching his cock bounce against his stomach with every stroke. Watching his face, the flushed cheeks and glassy eyes and bitten lip.
I can feel my knot starting. That hot, heavy swell at the base building with every thrust. In the hotel I gave it to him. Here I can't. We're in my office with an unlocked door and no way to explain a 30-minute knot to anyone who walks in.
I pull out.
The sound Jude makes is furious. "What the fuck—"
