Page 46 of Teacher of the Year

“God, no. Nothing’s wrong. But, are you sure?” I ask, nodding toward my pants, unable to hide my rock-hard erection.

“Affirmative.” His voice trembles and he points to his own tented pants.

“Sit,” I command.

With his permission, Mr. Block takes over. Olan swings his legs off the couch, and as soon as his feet hit the ground, I’m up, straddling him. On top, my view shifts. I’m now almost a whole foot elevated above him, and he squirms for a second. Taking charge feels necessary, and being in control makes my skin crackle with pleasure.

“Okay?” I ask.

“Uh, yes. Yes. More than okay.”

His hands land on my hips, and mine explore his neck and back. Grabbing at his glorious hair, my fingers knead like a baker working through dough. The noises he’s producing increase in volume as my lips investigate his neck and ear. I continue using my tongue to paint the inside of his ear with affection. He whimpers louder and I suddenly worry about Illona upstairs, hearing her teacher going to town with her dad.

“Illona, I don’t…”

“Hold, please.” He puts a finger up, wiggles out from under me, and shoots up the stairs like a roadrunner zipping through the desert. He flies back to his spot and I give a little laugh at his eagerness and speed.

“She’s out cold. I shut her door. We’re good.”

With this welcome news, I grab his hand and drag him back to a seated position so I can climb back on top and go back to work. He resumes the low moans, and whimpers vibrate through his throat into my mouth, turning me the fuck on. As I work on his ear and neck, I raise my hands in a “put ’em up” position, cupping each of his firm pecs. With his groaning and occasional lick to my neck, I’m confident this is turning Olan the fuck on too.

“Are you sure? I don’t want to pressure you.” I’ve paused because, based on his earlier comment, this might be the first time Olan’s been with a man, and it’s important he wants this. I’ve not only stopped the kissing, but my bottom has come to rest on his lap and based on what pokes my ass from his pants, he’s more than into this.

To answer, he takes my right hand off his chest and moves it to the rigidness in his pants. Lord, that’s one way to reply. He’s rock hard, his poor joggers stretched to their limit. This was most definitely not on my agenda for the evening. The surprise in Olan’s pants sends a shock of bliss up my arm, straight to my heart, up to my head, and zips directly to my groin.

“You’re so fucking hard,” I say with glee.

He replies by licking and sucking my neck. I begin to apply pressure, slowly at first, pausing from kissing and shifting my attention to teasing the head of his cock through his pants. Lower noises rumble out of him.

“Olan?”

He lets out a sound that resembles “unh,” and I take it as verification.

“Um, the thing is, well, this will be more challenging with your pants on.”

He angles his head up and replies, “Well, if you’re adept with your hands, you can always make magic happen.”

“Are you being naughty?” I let out a little chuckle.

He grabs my hips and gently lifts me up, not entirely off him, just enough so in one sweeping motion, he can pull his pants and underwear down around his ankles. He gently pushes me back down and places my hand back where it was, now unrestricted by fabric. He’s solid, firm, and the heat from his dick makes my palm sweat. To continue properly, I need to move down to the ground, so I begin to kiss Olan’s chin, progressing slowly down, caressing his entire neck as I lift up his sweatshirt. He lifts his arms to assist, and I pull the damn garment off entirely. I pause for a breath, numb for a moment, taking him in.

“Is something wrong?” he asks.

“No. You’re just fucking beautiful.”

I put my hands back on his chest, my fingers now touching his deep ebony skin, and secretly wish I could keep my hands here forever. As I continue my descent, kissing his neck and moving lower, my fingers play with his chest. Finding new ways to titillate him thrills me. My mouth moves to assist my hands. I lick my thumb and slowly tease his left pec. My tongue mirrors the motions on his right nipple, and they promptly respond to my touch, sensitive and alert, eager for attention. He writhes under me and grabs the back of my head, massaging my scalp as I taste the sweet saltiness of his skin.

“Holy fuck, Marvin,” he breathes out.

“Do you like that?”

“No, I love it.”

By his reaction, I’m almost positive no one has ever paid attention to Olan’s chest this way, and I make a mental note about his fondness for it. I continue down, sampling his stomach and licking the small patch of hair surrounding his belly button. The nearness almost overwhelms me. He twitches under the heat and wetness of my mouth.

“Am I tickling you?”

“Um, a little. But please don’t stop.”

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