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And I’d never crushed so damn hard or so damn quickly in all my life. I loved everything about him. His swarthy, Italian looks. His perfectly lean yet muscular build. His unwavering stare that promised confidence—a man who knew his mind. I expected his way around a bed too.
But did he like dick?
And even more, would he be interested in becoming acquainted with mine?
I hadn’t been able to get a read on the man throughout class, but he’d reminded me of the Prince Charming I’d dreamed about when I was a kid. That was before I’d been introduced to the joy of sexual freedom and a plethora of dick. I wanted Professor D’Angelo in any way shape or form. Under me. On top of me. Sideways, upside down—fucking hell, I lusted like I’d never done before.
And when he’d finally turned his back on us after class introductions?
Goddamn.
I’d had no choice but to shift to ease the ache in my groin. The man’s backside was even finer than the front, more than I could have imagined or hoped for. A perfect bubble butt I lusted to grasp and squeeze. Bury my face in. Bite and suck on.
I was going to fail his class if I couldn’t get my mind off sex. But the man was so damned delicious. I salivated. Couldn’t stop myself from staring as his mouth moved, forming words I hadn’t heard. I’d drooled, desperate for a little taste.
Okay, who the fuck was I kidding? I wanted more than a sample. An all-you-can-eat D’Angelo buffet sounded more like it, and I wouldn’t mind having my fill.
He didn’t wear a ring, so he was probably unmarried. But was he straight? He’d given pronouns but no indication of his sexual orientation, and as the minutes had slipped past, I hadn’t gotten a read on him.
His eyes didn’t reveal a goddamned thing either.
Somehow, I’d managed to jot down a few notes, but when the class ended, I quickly exchanged numbers with Jazzie because I was going to need all the assistance I could get to pass the class.
But first, I needed some questions answered because patience was not one of my strong suits.
I took my time packing up my stuff, lingering long enough I was the last student in his classroom.
Quiet settled over us, and Professor D’Angelo eventually lifted his focus off whatever he’d been looking at on his desk. His eyebrow quirked, same as it had earlier when he’d silently told me to get on with it and introduce myself.
A yummy shiver pebbled my arms with goose bumps.
I grinned.
He didn’t. “Can I help you with something, Mr. Fox?”
“Sean.”
He didn’t reply, simply waited, those dark eyes of his unmoved by the obvious vibes I was putting out like the desperate little cock whore I was. Even if the man was straight, he had to know I was interested in getting my freak on with every inch of him.
To hell with it.
I leaned forward, my gaze flicking down his neck to the opened top button of his shirt that didn’t reveal a damned thing to my inquisitive mind. Smooth or hairy? Either way, he would be perfect beneath, no fucking doubt. “So, Teach—you’re kinda hot. Make my day and tell me you like dick.”
Professor D’Angelo blinked. “C-come again?” he sputtered.
I chuckled, unable to help myself over cracking his shell with bluntness that usually turned people off or made them laugh. “You’ve had me on the verge of blowing my load since I walked through that door, but I promise I’m good for two if that’s what you want. Three if you’re lucky.”
The gorgeous man cursed under his breath—a deeper fissure in his facade. But he didn’t demand I get the hell out of his lecture hall. Lips pursing, he studied me until I shifted, still grinning like a damned dork, my balls throbbing.
“Mr. Fox?—”
“Sean,” I insisted.
“—I’m going to pretend the last few minutes didn’t happen, and I suggest you do the same. There is a level of professionalism expected in my classroom, and if you can’t comply, I will have you removed for the rest of the semester.”
My fucking heart fell to my toes, but I sighed dramatically rather than showing my disappointment. It was too bad he hadn’t said something along the lines of wanting to spank the brat out of me because the man’s hands looked like they would easily put me in my place…
Since when did the idea of being over a man’s lap—not fucking—make my cock buck in my jeans?
