Page 39 of Kiss-Fist
For me, teaching at the college level is an inevitability. My parents were teachers at the Deaf residential school, and my siblings all got jobs there after our mom and dad retired.
My sister teaches kindergarten, the eldest of my two brothers is a gym teacher for middle and high school, andthe other one is a school counselor. They consider this line of work the family business.
I was the odd one out, going for a degree in ancient history and classics. But being that we didn’t live on the East Coast and nowhere near the only Deaf university in the country, it was the assumption I’d just do what my dad did: spend a shitload of money on a graduate degree that I’d never be able to use beyond high school education and pull it out for bragging at family reunions.
And then Fayid sent me an email with a job listing and the proposition to participate in this little experiment. Teaching at a hearing college. Which is turning out fine.
Really.
It’s absolutely fine most days.
‘How long are you going to make him wait out there?’
I glance at the silhouette in the window. Rhett is in a chair in the hallway, and I can picture him sitting there, glaring at the end of the corridor, arms folded, plotting revenge. He’s really only pissed off because Mellie’s food truck is at the museum today instead of campus. He would have borne his punishment better if he could get a nice dicking during break.
But he can’t.
He gets to feel the same complete and utter frustration tormenting me at the moment. Maybe it’s not as bad as the half-ruined orgasm he gave me, but still. It’ll do.
I turn and shrug at Fayid. I haven’t told him why Rhett’s being relegated to the hallway, but he knows me well enough not to ask questions. I stuff a huge bite into my mouth, then lift my right hand. ‘When he’s really sorry.’
I see his nostrils flare with a snort-laugh, and he spoons the rest of his yogurt into his mouth before leaning over and throwing the container into the bin. ‘Okay, but I do want to talk to him about the meeting on Friday.’
I groan loudly, knowing he can’t hear it since he’s not wearing his CIs but hoping he can see the frustration on my face. I fuckinghatedepartment meetings. But more than that, I hate all-hands meetings, and they always seem to call one when I’m going through it.
And goddamn if I’m not going through it.
I’m in the middle of an actual sexual crisis here. This is worse than realizing I was gay and needing to come out to my parents and friends. This is a hearing guy, and realizing that I don’t want to do it just one time…
I want to do it a lot of times.
Many times.
Allthe times.
I maybe even, kind of sort of, suggested that in the last text I sent him.
But god, how could I help it? With those lips? That tongue? His powerful hands and arms that could probably deadlift a car?
I had speed walked—no, I didn’t run because I’m done running—to the car after our little tryst was interrupted, ignored Mellie and Rhett’s bullshit on the drive to my place. Then I spent an hour and a half in bed jerking off until my wrist was sore. I pictured Thom in every situation I could think of, and the one that got me off the most was the thought of him literally lifting me into the air and railing my ass until I couldn’t breathe.
For a while, I’d regretted the texts I’d sent him. Not as much as getting caught, but still. Growing up a gay nerd, it’s not easy to hurt my feelings, but my pride is sensitive and easily breakable. Thom put me in the position where I had to lay it right on the table in front of my closest friends.
But the things he did—the things he could do? The things hemightdo?
I shudder and swallow thickly, trying not to let any of that show on my face because I do not want Fayid asking questions. Not that he’d judge me for wanting Thom. He comes from a hearing family, and he hasn’t had the same disaster experiences in dating.
But I’ve eaten crow before, and it tastes like shit. I’d rather not do it again.
‘Can I let him in now?’
Shit. I forgot he was waiting for an answer. I wave at him, and he stands up, flicking the lock. I see Rhett’s head perk up, and he turns so I can see his profile. His hands move, but through the half-closed blinds, I can’t make out what he’s saying.
Fayid turns and sits back down, and Rhett shuffles into the doorway, giving me a sheepish look. I’m not actually upset with him about the cock-block. Or…half cock-block. Whatever that was. It was the smarmy-as-fuck smile he’d given me when he strolled into my office.
And the emojis and GIFs he and Mellie sent to my phone the night after he caught us.
Even if some of them did make me grin. Fuckers.
