Power Plays & Straight A's - Eden Finley Page 0,37
lap, Foster hugs me to him and flips us.
My back hits the mattress and he covers my body with his.
“Fuck, Zach.” He attacks my mouth. His lips are insistent, and he pushes his tongue so deep into my mouth it makes me dizzy. Need zaps through me, and I return the kiss as best I can as everything else blurs for a moment.
Everything except Foster and his mouth and—
He grinds his erection into mine.
Oh fuck.
He does it again, and suddenly, I’m vibrating for a completely different reason.
Too much, too much, too much.
“Stop.” I try to scramble out from under him, sure I’m about to come if he touches me one more time.
Thankfully, Foster sits up, giving me room, and blinks in a dazed sort of way as I curl into a ball against my headboard. “Are you okay?” His voice is hoarse.
“Me? Yes, fine. That was, umm, very nice. Thank you for the kisses and the, umm, the lovely …” I need to immediately stop talking. “You have a very nice mouth, and ah, hair. I think your hair is …” My voice is strained and higher-pitched than when I was going through puberty.
“Again, Zach. Breathe.”
“Really, I’m fine. It’s suddenly only now occurring to me that …” That maybe this was a booty call? And maybe I would have been fine with that if my balls weren’t about to explode like Mentos in a Coke bottle. “I’m your TA!” I blurt, with exactly zero finesse but a truckload of conviction. “You said it yourself. Friends is fine, but, umm, more … Definitely not more.” And while I’m using this as an excuse I’ve pulled from nowhere, the sinking in my stomach makes me aware that actually, I could be in a little trouble here.
“Shit …” He shifts to the side of my twin bed. “I didn’t even think.”
“Neither did I. Which is saying a lot for me. You are incredibly distracting.”
“Normally, I’d find that to be a good thing but”—his face falls—“how much trouble could you be in?”
“My TA job pays for my tuition and housing. I can’t risk it.”
“Damn.” He reaches down to adjust himself, and I can’t help watching the movement and wishing I could see more through his pants. His hand suddenly stops.
I jump and look up to find him watching me. “I-I wasn’t—”
“Yeah, you were totally looking at my dick.” He reaches for my foot and uses it to drag me closer. “How long does this class last again?”
“Just one semester.”
He groans. “At this point, one more kiss isn’t going to hurt anything, right?”
My throbbing dick disagrees with that statement, but I shift closer anyway. “I don’t suppose it would.”
“Make it last until the end of the semester.”
Okay, no pressure.
This time when he kisses me, it’s soft. His hands cup my face and each sweet kiss burns into my memory. Soft and everlasting, like a promise of what’s to come. He reluctantly pulls back and takes a moment to watch me before finally climbing off my bed. His normally perfect hair is a sinful mess. “I guess I’ll see you in class.”
He … didn’t fight me on it, or make things awkward, or even try to argue.
He’s perfect.
I swear it makes me harder.
“You’re a really nice person, Foster.”
He winks and moves to the door. “Don’t tell anyone.”
He’s barely out of my room when I scramble from my bed and into the bathroom, looking for some much-needed relief.
All it takes is a couple of strokes and the brief memory of him against me before I’m spilling over my hand. The want is relieved but not sated, and it makes one thing very clear. I need more.
15
Foster
Walking out of Zach’s room is possibly the hardest thing in the entire world. No, wait, that’s my dick. My dick is the hardest thing in the entire world.
Zach doesn’t know how sexy he is, and for some reason that turns me on even more. The noises he makes are involuntary. They’re genuine. I can tell because he tries to hold them back.
I want more.
A lot more.
But I know his financial situation isn’t great. He needs his TA job.
Considering I know and understand the fundamentals better than the actual TA, our relationship shouldn’t theoretically affect anything to do with the class, but I get how hooking up with Zach could be seen as possible nepotism. People will question my grade and how I got it.