Efrain and Cory Ch. 17

"Got your running shoes on?"

I slipped a hand up his back and jerked his body to me. His eyes narrowed, but he didn't pull away. If he wouldn't back down, neither would I. I brushed my lips over his moistened pout. He shivered, and I found myself compelled to do it again. The tip of my tongue teased his pillowy bottom lip.

Preston's hands came up to rest on my arms like he was going to push me away, but he leaned into me and that was all the invitation I needed. My mouth slanted across his, and I kissed him in full. His fingers dug into my arms and a small whimper escaped his throat.

I told myself that my reaction probably had more to do with the fact that this was the second time I'd kissed anyone since Jameson, and not any actual desire for the man currently parting his lips for me. I would later wonder why I wasn't worried about him luring out my tongue so he could bite it off, but my dick was currently doing all the thinking, and its only thought was on assessing the touchability of his skin.

I bunched up his cardigan and shirt until I could reach my hand underneath. I stroked over the soft skin I found. Touchable, hot. His breath caught when my fingers splayed out across the small of his back. I used his momentary surprise to deepen my exploration of his mouth. It was soft and warm and, despite all its filthiness, very inviting. I pressed him until his back rested on the desk and continued to massage his tongue with mine.

He moaned into my mouth and tangled his fingers in my hair. His legs wrapped around my hips, rubbing his hardening member against me. Hell, that could have been his zipper, but my blood-engorged dick didn't care. Thrusting against him was a far cry from the bluff-calling that I originally intended, yet I couldn't stop. My hips flexed into him, grinding my dick against his hips, and he arched up to meet me. His low moan spurred me on, and I was soon grinding into him over and over until I was on the cusp of spilling into my own boxers.

I probably would have embarrassed myself if Mike hadn't called at that exact moment.

"Dr. Collins and I are almost to the office," he said. "You there yet?"

"Yeah," I said, pulling away from Preston. I was almost annoyed with my reluctance to do so.

"Good deal. See you in a few."

Preston appeared to have heard the conversation on the other end because he sat up and tried to make himself presentable. I took in his flushed cheeks and heavy breathing as he discreetly adjusted his package. I looked down. Knowing that he had indeed been grinding his hard-on into me made it more necessary that I fix myself. His eyes widened when I rearranged my dick and I couldn't help grinning at why (I know what I have. What's the point of modesty?). Preston noticed my grin and glowered.

"This isn't over," he growled.

"No, it's not."

"But, you'll still run before finishing things."

I simply smiled and flicked my finger over his poorly disguised erection.

Preston left my office in a huff.

Mike and Professor Collins swept in a minute later. I had managed to get my breathing under control, but was pretty sure I still looked disheveled. I hoped my hard-on wasn't that noticeable, as I was still trying to get it to go down. I tried to school my features and pay attention to my graduate advisor, but I was still drunk off a pair of honey-brown eyes and kiss-swollen lips.

Dr. Collins chatted with us for a few minutes, grabbed a couple books, then remembered he had a meeting to attend.

When he left, I sagged into my chair and laid my head on the desk blotter. I'd been rolling Preston around on stacks of student papers that I would now have to make excuses for wrinkling (throw the papers in the fake snow and hope that distracts them?).

I'd been so caught up in everything that went down from the time I walked into the office that I failed to notice the box in the middle of the blotter. A string of USB-powered lights in the shape of icicles and snowflakes. I had a port on my monitor, so they'd be perfect there. Then I saw the attached note.

You're still an asshole.

Preston's handwriting was prim and neat, but still very masculine. He signed the note with what had to be the most sarcastic cartoon heart ever penned in the whole history of human writing and his name in a well-flourished script. He was probably that guy that practiced signing his name for hours at a time until it was perfect. A small post-script sat underneath his name: Who the fuck else would it be?

"So, how screwed would you have been if I hadn't called?" Mike asked. An evil grin spread across his face.

"What do you mean?"

"What do you mean?" he scoffed. "Heard you and Preston in here, so I went for coffee."

I groaned and put my head back on the desk. God, he's going to tell Laurel.

"Caught Dr. Collins on his way here when I was walking back," he said. "You owe me, man."

How much could I owe him so he wouldn't tell Laurel? I eyed Jon Snow and almost cried. I fucking regretted letting them hook-up.

"Yeah, yeah," I said, waving my hand weakly without bothering to lift my head off the desk. "I owe you."

I listened to Mike typing and clicking away at this computer. I willed the blood to flow back out of my lower regions, but my dick was reluctant to calm the fuck down. I banged my forehead against my desktop once, twice, again, yet I couldn't shake it off. Is it possible to go rabid from kissing? Mike fucking snorted from his computer. I had a good idea why, but I didn't want to give him the satisfaction of looking over. I couldn't bring myself to even ask what he heard, but I knew I'd hear about it eventually.

"La Virgen de Grad School," he chortled over his coffee.

See?

I tried to not groan out loud again. I was so screwed when Laurel found out.