Page 13 of Crown of Thorns
Anonymous: I know you’ve read my messages. Did I wake you? I can’t sleep. I keep thinking of what you did in that bathroom stall.
Well, that makes two of us, but he doesn’t need to know that. My fingers hover over the keyboard, but I keep on deleting my message.
Anonymous: It was so fucking hot to get sucked off, knowing that you were hiding in there.
Noah: I wasn’t hiding.
I remove the words. I shouldn’t write back. Shouldn’t give him any ammunition to continue this…whatever this is.
Anonymous: You were typing. What did you want to say?
I don’t realise I’m holding my breath until he’s typing again.
Anonymous: Were you thinking of the club? Of how you loved watching me dance? How it made you hard just seeing me move like that, while you stood there imagining your hands on me?
He might be young, but he’s got a filthy mouth. Too bad for him, I won’t lower myself to that same level. Throwing the phone back on the floor, I try to ignore the incoming message, but now my dick is tenting my sleeping pants.
I shut my eyes and try to ignore the tingling in my balls. It lasts maybe ten seconds before they snap open again. This is not going to work.
My hand trails down my stomach, leaving a wake of flutters before I dip into my briefs and grab hold of my cock. Hissing at the first touch, I slowly start stroking my rapidly growing erection.
“Hmpf...” I’m back in that room, back on that chair. Ari’sBabydollechoes through my head and I feel Louis grinding his hips against mine, his aching dick against mine. The way he smoothly went down to his knees, unpacked me as if I was a gift, teased my leaking cock, smirked at me with that haughty, stunning smile.
My back arches off the bed, and I shudder, hips rolling against my hand. The room is now gone, but Louis is still on his knees, the music’s still there, reverberating in my head, driving me crazy.
“Fffuuu…” I moan, my fantasy capturing the next scene. Louis’s lips, stretched around my cock. He smirks when he takes me deeper down his throat.
My hand flies over my shaft, collecting precum at the tip and smearing it over my girth for more slickness.
Louis pops off my dick, jacking it while smiling up at me.
‘I own your world now, Professor.’
My balls throb at those words, and my eyes roll back when I pick up the rhythm of swiping, jacking, swiping… ‘No one owns me.”
‘Wrong.’
I hate that I want him like this. That even my own hands can’t forget the way he sounds.
Behind my squeezed shut eyes, Louis licks my crown. I shudder when he suckles it back into his mouth, his palm stillfondling my balls. My toes curl in pleasure, and I curve my throat and stroke myself furiously, coaxing an orgasm, needing to be wrecked. It does, raging through me as I spurt all over myself, leaving me a panting, shameful mess.
I hate myself for letting him get to me. Again. For needing it. For craving him.
Picking up the phone, I read his final text.
Anonymous: Next time I’ll make those sounds for you, Professor.
It’s busy when I head to the canteen for some lunch.
On my way in, I pass one of the teachers from the older faculty buildings. He glances at me strangely, then says under his breath, "You have your grandfather’s eyes. Let’s hope not his sins."
I turn to question him, but he’s already walked off. While waiting for my order, I flinch hard when fingers clamp down on my shoulder. A rush of heat—fight or flight—before I hear the voice I dreaded.
“Bad conscience, Professor?” When I turn around, I find Louis leaning against the display case, hands folded in front of his chest, smirking like a Cheshire cat. “That’s because you’ve been ignoring my messages.”
“Not here,” I bite.
Dark eyes peer right into mine, their challenging flare a dangerous seduction. “Then where?”
