Just Like That - Cole McCade Page 0,43

this to him with just the simple touch of sweet lips; with the slow needy way Summer teased at his mouth with hot sounds in the back of his throat, practically begging Fox to taste him, to seek inside him, to take control.

Against the desk, their pinky fingers overlapped, interlaced, curling together.

And Fox gave in, letting Summer’s magnetism draw him into letting go of his tight control of himself.

Summer’s sweetness was in every honeyed wet taste of his lips, in the slickness of his tongue, in the depths of his mouth. Absolutely indecent, in his wanton willingness, in the way he opened for Fox—the way he leaned into him, eager hands reaching up to cup Fox’s face, teasing back into his hair, threatening to send it ripping free from its tie.

Fox nearly arched into the sensation of fingers against his scalp, letting out a little groan that melted between their lips, his body vibrating with Summer’s warmth. And he couldn’t help leaning into that lean, strong body, the soft sounds of their slacks and shirts sliding together as he pressed chest to chest with Summer, caught him about the waist, jerked him in close just to feel how Summer shivered and tensed and then melted so liquidly; bit his lower lip just to hear Summer’s soft, erotically pained hiss, just to taste the bruising of his flesh.

God, Fox couldn’t remember feeling this kind of heat in far too long. It had receded to just a memory, buried in the fog of time, but now it came flaring to life until he thought he would scorch apart from the inside out, and the only thing that could ease the burning, hurting tension inside him...

Was also the thing coiling him tighter and tighter, until this raw, unexpected burst of desire was almost too painful to endure.

It was like this flood had been building for decades, and now his walls could no longer contain it, that last bit of pressure sending him spilling his banks, crashing over everything that tried to restrain it, to tell him to calm down, to move slower, to remember they were in a public classroom and he wasn’t meant to need this, to want this, to crave this so deeply that he nearly devoured Summer’s mouth until the enticing young man actually whimpered, his tongue flicking and stroking with soft, helpless hunger against Fox’s.

If his dam was going to break...

Then let it break.

He leaned harder against Summer—then tumbled him back, spilling him against the desk, pushing him down onto his back. Summer hit the desk with a startled sound, eyes widening for a moment, their lips breaking apart as Summer stared up at him with his chest rising and falling sharply, his hair tumbled against Fox’s desk blotter, textbooks toppling aside and a pencil cup spilling over.

Fox didn’t care.

He raked his gaze down that agile body spread beneath him, Summer’s thighs parting around Fox’s hips.

Slid his hands up Summer’s arms, coaxed them over his head, pinned his wrists with gripping fingers that clasped tight to the sensation of Summer’s pulse fluttering out of control against his fingertips.

And locked his body against Summer’s, heat to heat, fitting them together in perfect contours as he bent to once more seize Summer’s mouth for his own.

This—this was heady, perfect, enticing, Summer arching beneath him, willing and submissive and so very warm as he pressed his body eagerly to Fox’s; as he opened himself entirely for him, letting Fox take and plunder and claim his mouth as if he could leave a permanent mark if he just kissed him hard enough, deep enough, hot enough, searching down inside Summer as if he could touch him in ways no one else ever had.

Did he want that, he asked himself?

Even as he slid his tongue in velvet-wet strokes along Summer’s, leaning into the suggestion of it, the lasciviousness of it, the mimicry of the slow, shuddering movements of their bodies, the rushes of sensation spearing up inside him and making him throb, want, need something more than the sensuous grind of hips to hips...he asked himself.

Did he want Summer, and not just this wild reawakening of any feeling at all?

The answer seemed to lie in the rush of Summer’s breaths, in the way he moved so wantonly beneath Fox, in the strong slink and flex and flow of his body, and Fox—

Fox froze, ice crystallizing in his gut, as someone rapped imperiously on the door, before a mockingly acerbic voice floated over the room.

“I