Page 34 of Hot for Teacher
Basically, he and Burke had fallen into a routine the past month or so. Friday evenings, Burke would text him. Chase would show up. Burke would make him see God. Chase would stay the night. Burke would cook Chase breakfast. Chase would leave, stomach full and body well used.
They kept it to one night a week, and for some reason it was always Friday night, and that had been working fine. Chase only thought about the alpha professor 90 percent of the time otherwise, but he’d been making do with fantasies and anticipation.
Until today, when Burke had texted Chase, notI’m waiting, butI’m unavailable this evening. You owe me double orgasms, sweet boy. I’ll wring them out of you one way or another.
And yeah, the last part of the text had made Chase’s belly swoop and his dick fill, but still, what the fuck?
It was Burke’s damn fault Chase had developed a Pavlovian response to Fridays, anyway.
As soon as Chase woke up Friday mornings, his skin was hot and sensitive, and he only ever barely made it through classes without drifting off into horrifically explicit daydreams that had him fighting erections in public.
And now tonight he was all worked up with nowhere to put it. And Spence was being Spence, and Noah was clearly missing his own omega professor, and everything was just … not ideal.
“What did Mr. Whiskers ever do to you?”
Chase pulled himself out of his sulky thoughts to find the host of the party—Carter Bishop—standing beside him, red plastic cup in hand.
“What?” Chase asked.
Carter gestured to a small white porcelain cat on a floating shelf that Chase had apparently been directing his gaze toward. “Mr. Whiskers. You’re glaring at him pretty intently.” He sipped his drink thoughtfully. “I don’t think I’ve ever even seen you look angry before, so he must have done something bad.”
Chase cocked his head, studying the little feline. It was beyond out of place in what was essentially a frat house. “Maybe I was just shocked by the big, bad lacrosse captain having a secret porcelain kitty-cat fetish.”
“Former captain,” Carter corrected mildly. “And I have layers.”
Chase huffed a laugh. He liked Carter. He always had. The alpha had been a good captain until he’d been taken out by an ACL tear shortly before Chase had quit the team. Carter hadn’t seemed as angry about his fate as he could have been, but maybe that was because his athletic scholarship had been protected against injuries.
“I was never going to play professionally,” he’d told Chase once with a shrug, his postsurgery knee thick with bandages. “And classes will be easier now that my schedule’s open.”
So yeah, Chase liked him. Everyone liked him though. Carter was a classic all-American alpha catch, with thick brown hair and sharp blue eyes and an honest-to-God dimple on his chin. He was friendly to everyone without being a pushover, and he was generous with his time and money. He didn’t have to be captain of the team to have social clout.
Which meant any moment …
And sure enough, a gaggle of omega sorority sisters suddenly materialized in front of them, giggling to each other as one of them asked Carter if he’d mix them up some drinks.
Chase flipped his cap back to the front and gave Carter a nudge. “Good party, man. Catch you later.”
He sidestepped Spencer sucking face and slipped out the front door. The night was comfortably cool, and Chase let out a relieved breath, making his way to the side of the house and taking a seat on the dry grass. He set his half-full beer on the ground.
Why had he come here, anyway? He should have asked the guys to stay in tonight, maybe have a movie night and order pizza. That probably would have been more his speed with the mood he was in.
Except it would have been just the same, wouldn’t it? Because that still wouldn’t have beenright. It wouldn’t have been the Friday night Chase had become accustomed to. He wouldn’t have been fucked or held or told he was good and perfect and beautiful.
Jesus.
Chase pulled out his phone, but there was nothing. Of course there wasn’t. Burke had already backed out—he had no other reason to text. Chase frowned down at the blank screen.
But what gave Burke the right, anyway? Shouldn’t he have given Chase a little more notice? More explanation? Chase had—he hadneeds. And if Burke was going to bail on him, who was to say Chase wasn’t going to try to get those needs met elsewhere? This whole situation was a … mutual compulsive attraction thing, not a dating thing. Chase didn’t owe Burke anything. He could go back to the party now and try to find someone else to scratch this incessant itch.
Except it wouldn’t be what he’d come to expect, if Chase found it elsewhere. Not the sex and not the moments after. It wouldn’t be the same with anyone but Burke.
Unless it wasBurkewho was getting his needs met elsewhere.
A wave of nausea hit Chase out of nowhere. Burke wouldn’t do that to him, though … right? He’d said they’d be exclusive until this thing ran its course.
Was tonight Burke’s way of saying this thinghadrun its course? Maybe he’d gone to the club he used to go to, no longer satisfied with Chase’s performance or something.
Maybe he was fucking some obedient omega right now, as Chase wallowed by himself in the grass, none the wiser.
