Page 89 of Racing Hearts

Pulling back, he licks his raw lips. “You taste good, rich boy,” he murmurs, licking the tip of my cock again as my hips jerk, my balls drawing up. “I want more of it. Fill my mouth with it until you’re all I taste.”

Fuck!

That thought is enough to have me tumbling over the edge, and he opens his lips wide as I slam into his mouth before pulling back, reaching down, and pumping my length for him.

“Stay like that,” I demand breathlessly, working my cock hard and fast until I come.

Groaning deeply, I shoot ropes of cum into his open mouth, watching as it hits his tongue and slides down my hand. I massage his throat. “Swallow me,” I order.

His mouth snaps shut as he swallows, letting me feel it, and then his tongue darts out to lick his lips. He catches every single drop of cum before he leans back to sit on his heels. “Well, is the teacher happy with my performance?”

All I can do is nod jerkily, my legs weak, and he grins.

Sliding up my body, he kisses me softly, letting me taste my release. It might have started with me playing with him, but we both know it ended with him getting what he wanted—me.

“Good boy,” he purrs against my lips. “Next time someone looks at you, remember me on my knees for you, that you are mine, and this”—he grips my softening dick, making me gasp—“is mine.”

I nod. “Yours.”

“So what year should I start on?” I glance over, my mind still locked on what he just did to me. My eyes drop to his lips, and he smirks. “Focus, pretty boy.”

Coughing, I rub my neck. “Maybe start five years ago? I think that’s when her brother graduated.”

“Got it.”

I continue to stare as he searches through the boxes on the shelves, and he must feel my gaze because he turns and winks at me. “Keep looking at me like that and I’ll bend you over that desk. You wanted to catch a killer, remember?”

Turning away before I order him to do just that, I wiggle the mouse and bring the computer to life. I plug in my ID and password and wait for the slow system to load. I hear him muttering as he searches. We decided to divide and conquer, with him on the physical papers and me on the system. It finally loads, and I almost groan at the system’s organization. It’s dated, but there isn’t much more than that.

I click on the year I want and start to scroll, losing myself in each newspaper.

“Look at this,” Alek calls, making me jump. Turning, I see him bent over the middle desk, newspapers spread out before him. Getting to my feet, I stretch and head his way, reading through the article he’s pointing at.

SUICIDES ON CAMPUS SHAKE PINE VALLEY

It’s a tiny article, almost hidden, and labels them as a suicides. I meet Alek’s eyes, and he points at the box.

“The next few are missing, almost a month of articles just gone.”

“How? Why?” I frown, looking back at the article. “Is someone still trying to cover up what happened?”

“Maybe. Why else would they get rid of them? You said this is the central storage for all news in Pine Valley. Aside from the journalists, no one else would really have them, right? Unless it made national news, but I don’t remember seeing it.”

“Me either,” I murmur as I reread the article. “Maybe they didn’t erase them from the online system.” I hurry to the computer, hoping I’m right. We could use a lead.

“What’s the date?” I call.

He reels it off, and I search for those around it and load them up.

“Okay, there are only two left,” I tell him as I read through one. “Nothing in this one. It must have been before it happened. Wait—” I load the second, my eyes widening at the article hidden at the bottom. If you weren’t looking for it, you wouldn’t have a clue.

“A female student, Clarissa Wright, admitted that she was worried about walking on campus before the suspected murders even took place at Pine Valley, stating she felt unsafe, and there was a worrying pattern of stalking and abhorrent behavior,” I read out loud. “This is before they called it suicide. It doesn’t say much else, but it’s something.” Leaning back, I grab my phone.

“What are you doing?” Alek murmurs as he peers over my shoulder.

“We have a student and teacher directory, and alumni are included too. I’m searching for her.” I type in her name and wait. There are only two people with that name, and one graduated ten years before. The other has a student ID but no alumni information.

“That’s weird,” I mutter.

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