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It may be insane, but Rory doesn’t stop me from devouring him. He barely sits still, his hips arching and then pulling back when he remembers where he is. His thighs are clenched around my shoulders, tense and tight, his hips angled toward me at the very edge of his chair. I want him to fuck me. I want him to fuck my mouth raw. Rory refuses. It’s too much of a giveaway, I suppose, rutting beneath the table like a needy stallion. But I’d do anything for him to slip further inside me, his hips canting insistently, his cock pressed deep against my throat.
From my position between Rory’s legs, I lift my hand and tug at his blazer sleeve. He releases a ragged breath but doesn’t resist, his hand coming to rest on my head. It’s an act of mercy. His hands bury into my hair possessively, fingernails clawing lightly into my scalp. He’s overpowered here and he knows it. His thighs tighten around my hips as I slide him in and out. The pressure is sweeter the deeper I take him, and I relish the sounds he tries to suppress. Every once in a while, Rory swipes a gentle finger down my cheek and I shudder, my eyes closing as I consume all of him that I can.
His cock is icy-slick beneath my tongue, almost pouring from my mouth, and I push myself closer to him to ensure we remain joined. My mouth works feverishly over his length, my tongue darting out to taste the salt of his skin. Rory’s fingers fist desperately in my hair and he moans softly as I work him. We’re flushed together, caged by wood and books and the pleasure slicing up our stomachs, pleasure embedded like splinters, pricking like paper-cuts. Painful, entwined, wrong — necessary.
“Whatever happens,” Rory mutters above the table, dazed, and I picture him glassy-eyed with a parting mouth, teetering on the brink of blessed, beatific destruction, “you do not stop.”
I raise an eyebrow, watching Rory shudder beneath my mouth, and slide his slippery-wet cock away from my lips. Still trying to give orders, even now… “If I didn’t know any better,” I murmur into the library hush, against the hot wet length of him that grazes my cheek, “I’d say you wanted to be caught.”
To answer, he pushes my head firmly down onto his cock, and I grin, victorious. I’ve made him transgress beyond the smartness of his blazer, beyond the power his polished Head Boy badge represents. One touch of my mouth on him and he’s no longer the upstanding king of this castle, no longer the vision of the ideal male student. He’s aching and bargaining, horny and wanton, messy and craving all that my tongue can drag from him.
Just a boy, burning.
Rory’s legs open further, capitulating to my control, as if having realized that it’s impossible trying to contain me. He knows I won’t stop. As his hand pushes down and strokes my hair, I breathe out a silent sigh. Being pinned, being forced to give pleasure… It brings a peculiar sense of peace. I love this. I love loving Rory. And even as the blood rushes through my head and my heart punches unsteadily out of my chest, it’s Rory’s firm palm that secures me, that grounds me, to the only thing that matters: getting him off. For my own bonus satisfaction, I intend to do this as noisily and destructively as possible.
Already Rory’s skirting the edge, his pleasure glancing across the waves like skimming stones. I devour the pointed arrow of his shaft until he throbs against my throat, flesh thick and weighty and wet against my tongue. My fingers dig like shovels into his thighs as I press ever forward, sucking him down to the root, urging Rory to split and spill his hot secrets, his blasting euphoria, down my hungry, waiting throat.
And then comes a piercing squeal of outrage.
“What areyoudoing here?”
I freeze. It’s a vicious snipe from Arabella, and she sounds ominously close. “You aren’t supposed to be out of your room outside of class. Your presence is making the library unsafe!”
22
Rory lifts his hand from my head, returning it casually to the table. I grip the thick base of Rory’s cock, removing it from my mouth with a soft pop, as I glance over my shoulder in trepidation. Beyond the fence of wooden chair legs, a pair of polished black shoes with neat silver buckles are pointing straight at our table.
Oh, fuck.
Oh,fuck.
It had beenfinewhen it’d been fantasy, when we’d joked about wanting to be caught. But this. This is not—
Rory’s hand settles again on top of my head, stroking my hair calmly.
Whatever happens, you do not stop.
“I’m trying to study, Belly.” His voice is admirably steady, but it’s laced with scathing underneath — and no wonder. After weeks of minimal contact and sheer, needy longing between us, he’d been so very close, mere moments away, to spurting his desperate release down my throat. “It’s what you do when you want more than a B-.”
His hand slides down the back of my neck, his warm palm a hook that guides me closer to his cock. I goggle at him. Really? This is what he wants? My lips hover above his bobbing length, concentrating on the shiny wet tip, willing Arabella to please just fuck off and then fuck off again, as I breathe a light, cooling breath over the white pearl leaking from Rory’s flushed, angry cockhead. His cock jumps yearningly, caressing my lower lip.
I suckle the tip, tentative.
“Look,” Arabella says, and she sounds awkward. It can’t be more awkward than the way we feel. Then again, Rory shows no sign of softening — if anything, from the regular tick-tocking of his cock, the swelling of it against my cheek, he craves fulfillment more than ever. “Things have gone badly between us this year. For the good of Lochkelvin, we should take the time to discuss official head business.”
To my horror, Arabella suddenly pulls out the wooden chair behind me.
“No!” Rory barks, and the chair legs stop scraping. “Do you understandnothing? I said I’m studying! For fuck’s sake, Belly, the last thing I want to do is talk—” My tongue slowly, experimentally, lowers onto his wet slit. For a sick, lurching moment, I think it’s too much stimulation and I’ve just given the game away “—toyouof all people.” These final words are clipped, cold, and utterly callous. To anyone else, they’d be words of cruelty spoken in an eerily calm tone, but I know better. I know Rory’s barely holding himself together, and that these are the few short words he’s able to choke out.
I suck Rory down to the root again as a reward. His fingers flex desperately in my hair.
“Excuse me,” a pleasant voice says, and takes the chair from Arabella.
I lift my mouth from Rory’s cock again, giving his pulsating tip one final teasing suck before I check behind me. Sure enough, I see the lemon-yellow hues of cartoon lightning bolts across Danny’s cotton socks. He carefully pulls out the chair at a narrow enough angle to protect me from Arabella’s searching gaze, but even so, I find myself automatically pressing myself deeper into Rory’s front for protection, so that my neck is trapped by his thick thigh muscles and my lips caress his soft golden waves.
Danny is an angel. He’s a goddamn beautiful angel, and I find myself gradually relaxing.
But despite Danny’s cheerful disposition, Arabella is determined to hover beside us like a vengeful black thundercloud. “You two aren’t supposed to be together!” Her voice is high and outraged. “The chiefs have beenbannedfrom interacting!”
