Power Plays & Straight A's

by Eden Finley

  “Okay,” I say and turn to the room. “How does this people-watching thing work?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Do we just stand here and judge people for their poor decisions?”

  Zach smiles. “No. I’m not that judgmental.”

  Someone, clearly intoxicated, stumbles into the room and trips on who knows what, faceplanting into the ground.

  “Not even for that?”

  “My professional opinion would be one of two things there. He’s either intoxicated because it’s the thing you’re supposed to do and he’s trying to fit in, or he’s a momma’s boy with little penis issues.”

  I snort my drink and cough.

  He smiles and takes another sip.

  “This is fun. Okay, over there.” I point to a guy and girl clearly flirting their asses off.

  “Ugh. The usual mating ritual between hormonal college students. Nothing special going on there.”

  “Mating ritual?” I ask.

  “Here, I brought you a drink that is basically an offering of my penis.” His voice goes higher to mimic the girl. “Mm, penis drink. Thank you so much. You’re so generous.”

  I blink at him. “Penis … drink.”

  “They should just fuck already.”

  We should just fuck already.

  “Natural progression,” I agree. “Penis drink, fucking, walk of shame.”

  “That seems to be the cultural expectation.” He gulps down the rest of the beer in his cup.

  “So … was that my penis drink, and can I drag you upstairs yet?”

  He tenses a little, but maybe his one beer was enough to take the edge off, because while he smiles at me nervously, he’s the one who takes my hand to lead me upstairs.

  I ditch my drink and follow him.

  He pushes his glasses up his nose and looks a little unsure once we reach the top of the stairs.

  I wrap my arms around him from behind. “Bedrooms are to the left. Bathroom to the right.”

  He hesitates before going right. “Bed might be too tempting, and I’m not going to break my own rule.”

  The bathroom is empty, and as soon as I have the door closed and locked, I’m on him.

  I cup his head, and our mouths collide.

  He grunts.

  My body vibrates with weeks of pent up need, but I have to remind myself to take this slow. I promised we’d make out and that’s all. After years of denying my attraction to him, I can hardly believe it’s Zach I’m making out with.

  I angle his head and kiss him hard, all the while telling my dick not to get too excited.

  It doesn’t listen.

  The way Zach tries to keep up with my demanding tongue, the way he clings to me and pushes his tight little body against mine, it’ll be lucky if I don’t walk out of here with a wet patch in my jeans.

  Hmm, I wonder if coming in my pants counts as sex?

  I nip at his bottom lip, and he lets out a yelp. My hands travel down his back to grip his ass while I grind my cock against his through way too many layers of clothing.

  He rocks his hips, and I don’t know if he realizes he’s doing it.

  I break my mouth from his but keep holding him close and rest my forehead against his.

  We both breathe heavy.

  “About that blowjob,” I say.

  His head snaps back, and his eyes widen. “I … I-I, umm …”

  I cup his cheek. “I mean for you. Let me …?” I glance down at the obvious bulge in his tight jeans. “That really can’t be comfortable.”

  He huffs a small laugh and nods, but it’s so subtle I can’t be sure.

  I rub over the front of his pants. “Is that a yes?”

  He shudders in my arms. “Y-yes.”

  Walking us backward, I push him against the vanity. “Grip the edge so you have something to hold on to.”

  With one last touch of my lips to his, I sink to my knees.

  His eyes shine with maybe something close to excited hesitance. If that’s a thing.

  “I …” He swallows hard. Something I hope to do in about five minutes.

  “I’ve got you, okay?”

  Zach nods. “You locked the door, right?” He saw me do it, but I placate him.

  “Yep.”

  I work his pants open and pull them down enough to rest on his thighs. They’re too tight to try to wrestle them to his ankles, and he’s probably more comfortable like this.

  I run my finger over the waistband of his sexy as fuck jock strap. “You’re full of surprises.”

  “It’s new. And so uncomfortable. I don’t know how people are supposed to wear these.”

  I smile up at him. “I can fix that.” I pull them down, and his cock springs free.

  I lift the hem of his long shirt, and notice red, angry marks on his hips where his underwear sat. I run my finger over them, and he hisses.

  “I think you got a size too small,” I point out.

  “I may have ordered it online and assumed I was a small because of my size.”

  My gaze goes to his cock. Hard and mouth-wateringly long. “There’s nothing small about this.”

  I wrap my fingers around his shaft and give a hard pump. Precum dribbles out the tip, and I bite back a moan.

  His hand suddenly grips mine. “I won’t … I’m not going to last long.”

  “That’s kinda the point for a bathroom hookup. We’ll get kicked out of here any minute.”

  He releases me and takes hold of the vanity again.

  As much as I’d love to tease him and take my time, I wasn’t lying about someone interrupting. There’s always one asshole.

  I lick my way along the trail of precum and suck the head into my mouth.

  Zach’s intake of breath is so loud I hear it from where I’m kneeling.

  I move my mouth over him slowly, trying to ease him into this, but his hips thrust forward, and I almost gag.

  It must’ve been a reflex because when I look up at him, he seems as surprised as me.

  “S-sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

  I pull off him. “It’s okay. I can deep-throat with the best of them. I just … you know, need warning.”

  Before he can reply, I wink and show him exactly what I mean by engulfing his whole cock in my mouth in one go.

  “Fuck!”

  If I didn’t have a mouth full of cock right now, I’d smile arrogantly.

  I grip his hips hard so I can control how far he goes. His knuckles turn white on the vanity, and I love it.

  My own cock is aching and hard as fuck, but I want all my focus on him right now. I want to see his face when he spills into my mouth.

  I want to see what he looks like when I taste him.

  It doesn’t take long.

  The first spurts hit the back of my throat, and I hold him in place as he grunts and moans like he can’t catch his breath.

  While he continues to come, I swallow him down and bob my head, drawing out his orgasm until his entire body sinks against the vanity.

  I go to move his underwear back up when I remember the red marks.

  So instead, I pull them down along with the jeans and take them off.

  He steps out of them and then back into his pants.

  I stand and redress him while he watches me with a look of satisfied awe on his face.

  I break into a smile. “You okay?”

  He shakes his head.

  “Why not?”

  “I mean … yes. More than okay. Umm, I’m good.” He averts his gaze.

  I put my finger under his chin and pull it up so he’s giving me eye contact again. “Can I kiss you?”

  “I will never say no to that.”

  “Some guys don’t like it after … uh, yeah.”

  Zach twists my shirt in his fingers and pulls me close. “I will never say no to that.”

  I press my mouth against his, and he kisses me back with new confidence.

  His hands weave into the back of my hair, holding me to
him.

  My hips grind against him, my cock screaming for attention.

  Zach pulls away and looks down. “Oh. I should maybe—”

  Bang, bang, bang. “Hurry up and finish fucking in there. Some of us need to piss.”

  I laugh.

  So romantic.

  “You can make it up to me later.”

  “Uh. Yeah. Right. Umm, later.”

  I kiss Zach’s forehead and step back, trying to think of something that will deflate my cock.

  It’s not possible when I catch Zach’s flushed skin and satisfied smile.

  I throw his too-small jock in the wastebasket in the corner of the bathroom and use Zach as a boner shield as we make our exit. Even though I can’t see it, I know his face is burning brighter at the long line of people waiting.

  “Sorry not sorry.”

  Some of them laugh. Some look pissed. In their defense, they’re probably about to wet themselves.

  We head downstairs, and I’m about to suggest to Zach we get the hell out of here earlier than planned, but Cohen cuts us off.

  “Thank fuck you’re here.” His eyes are wide, and he looks slightly panicked.

  “What’s up?”

  “Dumbass freshman players are fighting over some girl.”

  “And that’s my problem how?” I want to get laaaaid.

  “Oh, I don’t know, Captain. Why don’t we let them beat the shit out of each other, possibly injuring one or both of them and be down two more players for the season opener next week.”

  “Fuck,” I hiss and turn to Zach. “I know I promised I wouldn’t leave you—”

  “Go. It’s okay. I’ll … uh … get another drink.”

  I lean in and kiss his cheek. “Thanks. I’ll be right back.”

  20

  Zach

  Okay. That actually happened.

  Foster had his mouth around my cock.

  His mouth.

  Around my cock.

  I had my first orgasm produced by something other than my hand, and it was better than I’d dared to imagine.

  I run my hands through my hair as Foster heads off, and I’m still a little too dizzy from him sucking me dry to even consider following. Now that the dumb jockstrap has been left for someone else to deal with and the beer has set a pleasant hum in my veins, I’m nowhere near as freaked out by the concept of this party as I was.

  The concept of returning the blowjob on the other hand … sweet Jesus, why didn’t I think to research oral stimulation?

  I’d have liked nothing better than to sink to my knees and pull down his pants like he did to me. To wrap my mouth around his cock, to lick and taste, to see Foster completely lose control.

  Later, he’d promised.

  But I’m no closer to knowing what to do with a dick once I get it near my mouth.

  The basics obviously, but how do you manage to lick and suck simultaneously while trying to take it all and using your hands?

  I’m sure Foster has had countless competent blowjobs …

  Before the bitterness can take hold, I derail that train of thought.

  Foster is easily the hottest guy here, and tonight I’m the one he’s taking home with him.

  I move off to the side of the kitchen and lean against a counter, far away from the couple groping each other by the fridge. While I don’t feel comfortable here and I wish Foster hadn’t run off, I’m also determined not to be his shadow. If I’d been here with Seth, we’d have been stuck to each other’s sides, but Foster didn’t think twice before leaving me.

  I like it.

  Sort of.

  I mean, I feel like I might suffocate under the weight of my anxiety at being solo in this kind of setting, but I appreciate that he assumed I could handle it.

  There’s a commotion by the door and a very large, possibly very drunk Christopher Jacobs walks in. The sides of his head are shaved, but his hair is so long on top it falls in his eyes.

  “Oh, hey.” He drags out his words. “It’s the TA.”

  “Zach.”

  “Right.” He ambles over to me and grabs a bottle of something clear from behind me. “Where’s my boy?”

  “Foster?”

  “Yeah, Foster. Figured you two would be glued together tonight.”

  “There was a situation with some freshmen.”

  “Fucking freshmen.” Christopher pushes a cup into my hand and knocks his own against it. “Cheers!”

  “Oh, no, I … shouldn’t accept drinks from strangers. That’s college partying 101.”

  He laughs. “Strangers? You’re dating my best friend. He’d murder anyone who hurt you. Including me.”

  “We’re not dating.”

  “Hanging out. Whatever.” Christopher nudges my cup back toward me. “It’s your standard, run-of-the-mill lethal tequila.”

  “That doesn’t exactly fill me with confidence.”

  “I disagree, Zachy-boy. That’s exactly what tequila does.”

  Confidence, eh? Given my finite supply, I figure a little help can’t hurt. I tip the drink back and cringe dramatically as it snakes a path down my throat. I start to cough. “What the … fuck?”

  “Yes!” He tips a small amount into my cup. “Took it like a pro. This time, aim for your throat. The goal is to taste as little as possible.”

  That sounds suspiciously like advice I could utilize in other areas of my life.

  I stare into the cup at the liquid taunting me, and a full-body shudder rips through my limbs.

  “Like this.” Christopher tips his head back, and the liquid disappears. “Now you. One … two …”

  Alright then.

  “Three,” I say, and throw the drink back sloppily. It splashes into the back of my mouth and my head immediately twitches at the taste. Why do people do this to themselves?

  Christopher stays with me, words a bit choppy as he dips in and out of focusing on the conversation and the people who pass by. We have another shot. And another.

  “Don’t you have friends to get back to?”

  He waves a big hand. “They’re somewhere.”

  “Then why are you in here?”

  “Eh, why not.” He pours us more drinks, this time not straight tequila, which makes them easier to drink.

  After a couple of minutes, I have the answer to my question.

  Why do people do this to themselves? I look down at my tingly hand and start to laugh. “Do you know Foster’s smarter than me?”

  Christopher raises his eyebrows. “There’s no way that’s true.”

  “Nope. It is. He knows things. About humans. Things I will never understand.”

  “Grant’s really good at reading people. That’s why he’s our captain. He knows exactly what we need when we need it.” He leans heavily into me. “He’s the best.”

  I blink up at the heavy jock using me to stay on his feet and wonder when my life did this complete one-eighty. And how long I can possibly stay upright when my knees feel like they might buckle. “You seem heavily intoxicated.”

  “And you don’t seem intoxicated enough.”

  I beg to differ. The room won’t stay steady. I blink at the couple still by the fridge. “I don’t understand,” I say, fixing my glasses that he keeps knocking askew. “Why wouldn’t they find a quiet place upstairs?”

  “Are you saying they should get a room?”

  “I-I suppose—”

  “Yo, Jenkins!” Christopher shouts. The guy comes up for air, looking completely dazed. “Sawyer here thinks you should get a room.”

  Jenkins throws up his middle finger and goes back to kissing.

  Christopher leans in. “Sometimes the anticipation is equally as fun.”

  I wrinkle my nose. “I can a-assure you that’s not the case.” There is no amount of anticipation that could live up to how Foster took control of me. Reliving that moment reminds me of what’s to come later, and I quickly polish off my drink.

  Though … I’m struggling to remember what I was nervou
s about. Yes, it’s all a little overwhelming, but I want, so badly, to see Foster naked. I want to taste him and feel him against me … I pour myself another drink because this stuff is clearly working.

  “—still can’t believe he went apeshit on Morris.”

  The name catches my attention, and I tune in to what Christopher is saying. “Morris is a dick.”

  Christopher roars with laughter, finally releasing me to cup his hands around his mouth. “Morris is a dick!” A few cheers answer him.

  I join them and take a drink.

  “You’re not so bad, Zach Sawyer.”

  “And I think you’ve successfully intoxicated me, Christopher Jacobs.”

  “No. God no. No, with the Christopher.”

  “Well I refuse to call you Jacobs. I don’t buy into the, umm … the concept of … the last names.”

  “Everyone calls me Jacobs.”

  “Not me.” I shake my head and my glasses shift. “Am I not meant to address you at all?” I step closer and laugh. “Oh, excuse me, exceptionally large, ah, hockey person.”

  “Cute nickname, but a few of us would answer to that.”

  “Behemoth?”

  “I think that one’s been taken.” He sways.

  I laugh. “Kitten?”

  “I will crush you.”

  “Of course. It needs to be something exceptionally masculine.” I put on my deepest voice. “Me hockey player. Like to crush people.”

  Christopher laughs so hard he doubles forward. “Please. I beg you. Put that voice on when you talk dirty to Foster later.”

  “Talk … dirty? I have a feeling you don’t mean hygiene.”

  “Please tell me you’re joking.”

  I shoot him a sly smile. “I’m inexperienced, not completely naïve. I’ll have you know I’ve amassed a sufficient porn collection—”

  “Wait. Just how inexperi—”

  “Topher!” I shout. “Yes, Christopher is too old and stuffy. I’ll call you … wait. What was it?”

  “Topher.”

  “Yes, Topher!”

  “Who’s Topher?” A warm voice asks as arms snake around my waist.

  I squeak—squeak? What was that?—but as soon as I register it’s Foster, my whole body relaxes, and I point at Topher. “My new friend Topher. It’s his name. The one I made up for him.”

  “I like it.” Topher grins. “Shortens my name to the best part. Top. Her.”