Page 72 of The Boy Who Loved Wicked
“I still appreciate some quality alone time.” We were semi-whispering as the space was confined and people around us were enjoying the show. He subconsciously leaned in closer to hear and to be heard, and his cologne nearly pulled a whimper from me. Idle chit-chat would’ve been impossible. We’d spent too many months ripped from each other’s arms, only to be placed together again but still so far apart. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t talk about the weather, or assignments, or play the we-shouldn’t-be-doing-this game. It was dark. We couldn’t be seen. We were safe in this place. “Bash…”
“This is hard. I know.”
“What are we going to do? I need to be with you. I can’t do this any longer.” I cupped his cheek, and he rested his head against mine. “It’s been too long. I need you.” We were panting now, his glass rattled on the table as his hand shook. The need burning through me wiped away all logic and reason. All it knew was that I had the object of my repressed desire in my bare hands. It was like being healed from the inside out. The thought of going our separate ways left me ill, and the way he whispered God’s name said doing so would kill him too. “How much longer? Tell me you see a way out?”
“I—”
I kissed him before he could tell me no, and he let go of his glass to grab the sides of my head and maneuver me to his liking before taking over. He crowded me into the corner, his tongue invading my mouth and demanding all that he’d missed. I fisted the front of his shirt as he bit and sucked at my lips. His tongue crashed into my teeth and when I opened wider, he aimed for the back of my throat. When a hand dropped to my cock my knee knocked the table, rattling our drinks and drawing attention. He jerked back, scanning the room and wiping his mouth. I sat there wrecked, hard within my jeans like melted candle wax after its flame had been blown out. Cold after the abandonment of his heat.
“Let’s go,” was all he said, and like Pavlov’s dog, I followed. Once outside, the cold air hit us, bringing back some of our good sense. We observed each other out there on the desolate street, waiting to see if the other was prepared to make a bad decision. “I took an Uber,” he said. “In case I drank too much.”
“My car is in the parking lot.”
His eyes lit from within, and he ground his teeth together. After he scanned the block, tapping his fingers against the side of his thigh, he said, “We can go to my place.”
“Okay,” I said, and my pain agreed.
I hadn’t made it to the driver’s side when he spun me around and took my mouth again. I ended up lying half on the hood of my car, pushing at his sport coat as he rubbed his hardness between my legs, forgetting where we were, who we were, and what that meant we couldn’t be.
“Phoenix?”
Ice replaced the fire in my veins, freezing us. Sebastian snapped out of it first and turned away from me and the voice, getting himself together. I slid off the car and faced our visitor. “Safrin? Wha-what are you doing here?”
“The party was a bust, and this place was up on your browser.” He peeked over at Sebastian who still had his back to us. “Thought I’d come hang with you. What’s going on?” He lowered his voice for my ears alone. “Is that Professor Wicked?” he asked with a combination of confusion and betrayal.
I didn’t know what to say to fix this, and Sebastian couldn’t slip away without passing us.Shit.Safrin was my roommate and a sort-of friend, but not one I would trust with my secrets. Not one this big.
“Mr. Jamal,” Sebastian said, and Safrin’s eyes widened, moving between the two of us. “Can we trust you to keep this to yourself?”
“You’re sleeping with our professor?”
I recalled earlier that week when he expressed his concern for failing the class. It didn’t count toward our GPA, but it would still sit on our transcript as either an eyesore or a bragging right, depending on our career path. What he must think now to see us in this position after knowing that I’d passed every test and every assignment. “Safrin—”
“Forget it. Yeah, no problem, Professor. Your secret’s safe with me.” And then he was gone without a backward glance.
“Dammit,” I shouted, hanging my head. I kicked my tire. “I’m sorry—”
“It wasn’t your fault.” He wrapped a hand around my nape and brought my head into his chest. “It wasn’t your fault.”
“What now?”
“I don’t know. If he doesn’t say anything we should be fine.”
“Are you suggesting we go back to how things were? After tonight?”
“What areyousuggesting, Phoenix?”
“I-I don’t know.” We were in an impossible situation. One that just got a whole lot worse.
“Can you make it back okay?” he asked, running a hand up and down my back.
“Yeah. Do you need a ride?”
“I’ll be fine.”
Except he wouldn’t be. And neither would I.
Chapter 23
