Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 79892 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79892 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
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 assume this isn’t part of the lesson plan.”
Fox sighed, letting go of Summer’s mouth to instead drop his forehead to Summer’s shoulder, slumping in exasperation.
He knew that voice.
Insufferable authoritarian prick.
And he gathered his dignity around himself as he released Summer’s wrists, straightening and smoothing over his suspenders and his shirt, lifting his chin as he stared down the man watching them from the door with one platinum blond eyebrow sardonically lifted, glacially blue eyes hard with disdain.
“Assistant Principal,” Fox said flatly, and almost dared Lachlan Walden to say a single word.
While Summer went scrambling up, making distressed noises and clumsily fumbling his way off the desk, knocking over a stapler, a stack of Post-it notes, before he managed to find his feet. He was red all the way down to the collar of his shirt, his mouth bruised to a lush dark fullness as if he was wearing lipstick, his hair a mess.
He looked exactly like what he was.
Completely debauched, and Fox felt an unexpected flare of possessive irritation that Assistant Principal Walden was even allowed to see Summer that way.
Summer stood at rigid attention at Fox’s side, clearing his throat. “M-Mr. Walden!”
His voice actually cracked.
The corner of Fox’s mouth twitched.
He shouldn’t find that so amusing.
Walden, however, clearly didn’t. He stared at them over the rims of his glasses, his mouth a forbidding line as sharp-edged and stiff as his crisp navy blue three-piece suit.
“Are the two of you done?” he bit off.
Fox arched a brow. “Quite,” he said firmly, only for Walden’s eyes to narrow, locking on Fox rather sternly.
Fox only held his gaze and waited.
Walden had only been hired two months ago to bring some sort of order to the chaos the school frequently fell into, and was a good ten years Fox’s junior.
He had a long way to go before he could outfreeze Fox, when Fox had been the resident ice queen of Albin Academy for decades.
After several moments, Walden let out an irritable sigh and adjusted his rimless glasses, then smoothed back the close, neatly-glossed sideswept part of his hair, transferring his gaze to Summer.
Who squeaked.
“I came,” Lachlan said haughtily, “about your request to repurpose one of the empty reading rooms, Mr. Hemlock.” He pursed his lips. “Are you licensed to act as a psychotherapist?”
Summer cringed, shoulders slumping, and he bowed his head, pure hangdog sheepishness as he peeked through his hair at Lachlan like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “No, I...n-no.”
“Then your request is denied,” Lachlan retorted. “Stick to teaching. After-hours student counseling is for studying only.” His mouth creased downward in a disapproving frown. “You could get us sued.”
Then, without giving Summer or Fox a chance to respond...
He turned and swept out, gliding as if trailing a royal train in his wake and slamming the door quite firmly behind him.
Summer flinched when the door hit home hard enough to echo, then peeked one eye open at Fox. “...could I really get us sued?”
“No,” Fox said, eyeing the door in disgust, before turning his gaze back to Summer. “And a license is not required to fulfill the role of a school guidance counselor. Your teaching certification is quite enough.”
Summer sputtered, then trailed into a groan, slumping to lean against the desk. “So you were bluffing.”
“And you,” Fox pointed out, “fell for it, because you were embarrassed.”
“...he, uh...caught us...um...” With another flustered sound, Summer scrubbed the heel of his palm against one eye, fingers weaving into his hair, and let out a nervous little sound that wasn’t quite a laugh. “You know. I just... I guess I’m still working my way toward being brave with people other than you.”
With a sigh, Fox settled to sit next to him once more, just looking down at Summer—how he slouched, how his breaths came in little short pants that told Fox Summer was doing everything he could not to give in to the anxiety trying to rise through him, making his pulse flicker erratically until it stood out against his throat, making his eyes dilate long after any lingering desire could account for the expansion of the pupil.