Page 38 of Kiss-Fist
I can barely move my limbs from how hard I came, but I do manage to bring up my fist to my chest and circle it in an apology.
Robbie swipes at his messy face and sighs, looking at my naked form spread across the desk before eyeing the door.
He shakes his head, signing something with one hand as he trudges over to it and flips the lock. Then he turns toward me and grabs the tissue I’m holding out to him.
He swipes at his skin, and I can do nothing but watch him as I halfheartedly mop up the cum I got on myself. His eyes meet mine, and I give him a small smile.
He doesn’t smile back, but his lips twitch slightly, and then he pulls his phone from his pocket, typing something on it.
Robbie: I need to find friends and explain. You ok?
I nod, and he types something else.
Robbie: Any cum on me still?
I let my eyes rove over him, taking him in. Those flushed cheeks, those plump lips.
Fuck, he’s delicious. My dick gives a valiant jerk between my legs but can’t get up. Not yet.
I hold my thumb up, and Robbie runs a hand through his messy hair. And then he’s biting his bottom lip and typing out another note.
Robbie: Btw you look hot in backward cap.
And then he reaches out and taps it before sneaking out of the office, shutting the door quietly behind him.
Holy hell, I need to get my shit together and go talk to him. Or at least try and explain that my dick doesn’t normally explode like that. I usually have more stamina, damn it. That was so embarrassing.
When I finally get dressed and move out to the main workout room though, Robbie is nowhere to be found, and neither are his friends.
God damn it, he’s run off again. Not that I blame him.
That was fucking humiliating and super hot all at the same time. I have never experienced that before, but honestly, I would do it again if it meant I got to have Robbie that close to me once more.
Ten out of ten, would recommend.
I sigh and put my hands behind my neck, feeling slightly despondent, and then my phone chimes, and I pull it out, fumbling with it like a maniac. It’s from an unknown number.
Unknown: It’s me. Robbie.
Unknown: Wanted you have my number
I stare down at it, trying to figure out what to say. But it’s hard when I’m too excited and my brain is mush.
Before I can formulate something—anything—to text back, another message comes in.
Unknown: We should do that again.
Ohshit.
CHAPTER EIGHT
ROBBIE
I beginto take a slow bite of my sandwich when a hand waves in my periphery. I turn slowly and offer a half smile at Fayid, who usually joins me on Wednesdays for lunch. He was one of the first Deaf teachers brought on to teach a class unrelated to ASL or Deaf studies. They’d poached him from a residential school after seeing his PhD in art history.
Well, that and the fact that he was one of the leading experts in the area who studied the life and works of Leonardo da Vinci. The school wanted to expand their art program to allow students an easier transition into art-focused studies at four-year universities.
That, of course, had been Fayid’s dream.
