by Sierra Hill
“Good one, Kyler. You should’ve been a comedian instead of a bartender and dancer.”
My laughter suddenly dies and my head pops up as my gaze volleys between Roarke and Kyler, who gives his co-worker a stern WTF stare down, clearly telling him to shut up.
“Dancer?” I pry, curious now what he means.
But Roarke suddenly has other things to do and goes off in the direction of some patrons in the corner of the bar, where I hear him holler ‘last call’ as Kyler continues his closing duties.
“Cat got your tongue?”
Kyler looks around for what I assume to be a way out of this and just about gets there until Roarke comes back and says, “Kyler has the moves like Jagger. You should see him sometime. It’s pretty fucking impressive.”
“Oh really? Well, this I have to see.”
I swivel in my barstool and lock gazes with Kyler, who to my surprise looks mortified.
He shakes his head adamantly. “No. No way. Not happening.”
Slipping out my wallet, I pull out a ten and slap it on the bar top. “Ten-bucks to show me your moves.”
I know I’m crossing the line. Now I’m overstepping and shadowing that gray area between professor and student, doing exactly what I promised I wouldn’t do.
But it’s only a dance, right?
What could it possibly hurt?
Kyler stares at the bill on the counter like a starving man looks at a piece of meat, but then looks away with a shake of his head and a “pfft.” So, I up the ante.
With a fifty on the table on top of the ten, I sit back in my chair and grin smugly.
“Your call. It’s all yours if you just dance one song for me. Any song, your choice. But…” I dig my finger into the bar top, tapping it in quick succession. “It has to be right here, tonight before I leave.”
Kyler looks at the bills and then around the room at the only two tables of people remaining. It makes me curious as to whether he’s uncomfortable dancing in front of others or just me.
As if in resignation, he grabs the bills and shoves them down his front pocket. I may salivate a little as I envision me stuffing them down his pants instead. I realize we’re not talking about him stripping for me, but it sure does turn up the heat of my fantasies to watch Kyler move and sway his hips in front of me wearing only a thong.
I swallow down my remaining gulp of drink to cool my parched tongue.
“You’re unbelievable,” he laments, rolling his eyes, to which I reply with a saucy chuckle.
I raise my hands in protest. “Hey, I wasn’t the one who brought it up. Your friend over there did.”
We both turn to see Roarke smiling with the innocence of a school kid. Kyler growls at him – a cross between a tease and irritated.
“I’ll get you later, my pretty,” Kyler cackles and then walks without hesitation over to the stereo system at the DJ booth.
Roarke returns behind the bar, leaning over with elbows propped on the counter, fingers steepled toward me. “You want something else to drink while you enjoy the show?”
I thoughtfully consider another drink but decline with a shake of my head.
“Nah, how about just a water. I need to sober up.”
He produces my water and I return my attention back to Kyler, who has now selected a song. At first, I don’t recognize it, mostly because I’m not much of a pop music fan. But as the first few slow and sensual beats repeat and pound through the speakers, the musical notes floating on the air, I realize it’s a song made famous by Ginuwine, about riding a Pony.
The lyrics, which are explicit and exploitative, seem to blend into the walls as my entire attention becomes wrapped up in and around the sexy man who begins to move and dance in the middle of the dance floor. The sensuality of his movements, of his body, is like a living piece of art, fluid, and visceral.
Kyler’s eyes close, his lips parting slightly, as he tips his head back, arms gracefully extended into the air like a sculpture on display. He looks so fucking sexy, his thigh muscles working under the cotton of his shorts, which tightens with every move and sway.
I’m entranced as he turns away from me, the beautiful shape of his back displayed against the material of his see-through mesh tank top, as he stops and then bends forward at his waist, legs splayed wide, hands wrapping around his ankles giving me the most sensual pose I could ever envision. And then his body rolls, spine bending and contorting so effortlessly to the rhythm of the music, as my mouth drops open and I let out a pant of lust.
He continues to hypnotize me with his poetic gyrations, my cock stiffening with every shimmy and sway he shares with me. And although he has a small audience, I know Kyler is dancing for me, and me only.
I’m uncertain how long the song lasts but I’m disappointed when I see Kyler make a final pirouette of sorts and finish his dance with a sexy flick of his wrist in the air. The remaining patrons clap and wolf whistle as Kyler bends to bow with a flourish of his arms before he stands and walks with a knowing grin toward me.
My entire being sizzles with an electrical current produced by the arousing performance he gave me. The way I burn for him makes me feel stupidly eager and careless as I reach for his hips, dragging him forward between my opened legs, pulling him in hard so he can feel what he’s done to me.
How hard he’s made me.
How much I want to touch him and have him ride me like a pony, rules, and lines be damned.
I don’t wait to get his answer to my unasked question, I simply take.
Crushing my mouth to his, I slip my hands over his neck, sucking on those pouty lips like they’re melting ice cream. I suck in his gasp of surprise, drowning out all the eventual crisis that will undoubtedly rear its ugly head, in favor of just living in the moment. Being with this man right now in this very moment is the only thing I want. Consequences be damned.
My lips engulf his in needy bursts of pleasure, his mouth turning pliable and opening for me so I can slip my tongue inside, gliding over his as I devour his taste.
Tequila, lime, and something altogether Kyler. His taste is what blurs my vision and makes me want things I’ve never wanted from anyone else before.
“I can’t stand it anymore,” I wheeze against his mouth. “I want you, Kyler. I want you with everything I have and I don’t give a fuck about the consequences.”
Kyler pulls away, catching his breath with a long inhale as he rests his palms on my chest, whether to keep his distance or gain his balance, I’m not sure.
There’s no doubting the flicker of lust that flashes in his eyes, and as I peer down not so furtively, there’s no denying the stiff erection in his pants that says more than words about how he enjoyed that kiss.
He grabs my wrist and looks at the time on my watch before dropping it. I allow my palm to slink around his hip and settle on his ass, giving it a squeeze just for the hell of it.
“I have thirty minutes before close. Wait for me.”
And then he slips out from my grasp and heads back to the stock room, leaving me with my dangerous thoughts and one hell of a hard-on.
Thankfully, both should be easily managed after closing time.
16
Kyler
The thirty minutes until closing time is the longest half hour I’ve worked in ages.
Every time I look up from what I’m doing, I catch Lucas staring at me with those sexy eyes of his and I picture him coming behind the bar, caging me in from behind, his hand sliding the length of my torso down my abs and to my groin where he’d take my stiff cock out of my shorts and jack me off.
I think Roarke feels sorry for me, though, and finally puts me out of my misery.
With a swing of his arm, he grabs the rag out of my hand and swats me on the ass.
“Go…get out of here, kid. Don’t make that hot man wait any longer than he has to.”
My eyes grow wide in question because he has never insisted I leave early for a hookup. “You sure? I can stay…”
He
shakes his head and nudges me in the back. “If you don’t leave right this instant, I’ll see about riding that pony myself. Now go…”
I laugh at his reference to the song I danced to which was obviously meant to arouse Lucas, who literally asked for it. By all accounts, it seems to have done the trick, but also backfired and left me in a state of horniness. I had a fucking semi the rest of my shift and I found it extremely difficult to concentrate on anything other than Lucas.
“Okay, fine. I’m going. I’ll owe you one.”
Roarke shoos me off with a wave. “Just get enough action tonight for both of us.”
He lifts his brows salaciously and then takes the till into the back room where he’ll count and deposit the night’s profit. I fish out my tips from the box under the bar and shove it down the front pocket of my shorts where the money I earned from Lucas is still tucked away.
Running a hand through my hair, I take a quick sniff under my arm and decide I should probably freshen up in the back before I head out to meet Lucas, who said he’d be waiting out in the parking lot for me.
It’s not as if I’m nervous about being with him again, but I didn’t ever expect it to happen. Or rather, didn’t anticipate how much I would fantasize and crave the idea of sleeping with my professor. I knew the minute he made things off-limits, I would find a way to defy it.
And quite frankly, I’m just honestly surprised he decided to break the rules after all. The serious, studious, and sexiest professor alive has ditched convention and decided to throw caution to the wind in favor of getting down and dirty with me.
I shake my head as I leave the bathroom, flipping off the light as I go, wondering what in the world Lucas Mathiasson sees in me. I have nothing to offer him. I’m a broke college student, up to my eyeballs in debt, working two minimum wage jobs and living with a roommate. While he’s an educated, accomplished professor who wears fancy clothes and has his life already established.
And holy fuck, his car.
I step out into the dark night, the heat in the air still lung crushingly hot, the cold air vanishing the minute the front door of the bar shuts behind me. And my feet stop the instant I see his car in the parking lot, the faint light of the dome illuminating the side of his face as I stand in stilled silence.
He has a black Tesla Model S.
Unbelievable.
My gaze locates my beat-up truck in the corner of the backlot, the rust spots covering it like it’s been through a paintball game field. This only serves to highlight how extremely different we are and the veritable truth of our lives.
And it only serves to remind me of the similarities between Max and Lucas – only in that they are both older and have their own money. I remember being so enamored with Max when we first started dating, thrilled by the prospect that he took me to nice places and treated me like a prince, providing for me financially because I never had money.
And look how that turned out? Because of his wealth and the influence he had over me, Max also believed that he owned me. Assumed that I should be grateful for the way he provided for my every need and that I should live my life to please and repay him in whatever manner he saw fit.
The memory sickens me. I hated who I’d become when I was with Max. I couldn’t stand on my own two feet back then, dependent on a man when I should have seen the warning signs. It wasn’t love that I felt. It was obligation.
And it now only highlights why I am no longer interested in relationships. Although there is no denying my attraction to Lucas, and the deep thrill I get because he’s older and so incredibly hot – which is my kink – I will not allow it to change me or dictate who I am when I’m with him.
This is just a fling. A hookup. A quick interlude as we get our rocks off together and then reset, putting this behind us so we can move forward strictly student and teacher.
But tonight, none of that has to be discussed. We’re just two men looking to bone down and get laid.
“Hello, Kyler.” Lucas’s voice holds a dark suggestive tone as if he’s about to tell me something dangerously naughty. My eyes flick to his face now completely visible from inside the car interior, the window rolled down on the driver's side.
“Hi.” One syllable is all I can squeak out in my hasty rush to pick up where we left off inside the bar.
Lucas tilts his head back and forth, a pendulum of concentration. I’m not sure why he’s looking at me so intently or what he’s searching for, but his eyes assess me as if I’m an undiscovered work of art.
I can feel a blush cover my cheeks, filling in all the dots and spaces between my freckles. I instinctively cover my face with my hand and give a shy burst of laughter.
“What are you looking at?”
“Does it make you uncomfortable?” he inquires, removing his dark-rimmed glasses that have left a crease over the bridge of his nose. “You don’t seem like the kind of guy who shies away from attention. Especially after that dance in there.”
In only the few interactions I’ve had with him since meeting him, I notice he does this often. He takes off his glasses, letting them dangle between his thumb and finger in one hand, and then absently rubs that reddened spot. Whether it’s irritating him or just a force of habit, I find it endearing and so provocative.
I shrug at his comment because sure, I do love being the center of attention, especially dancing for an audience. It feels good to have all eyes on me, knowing I’m giving them something sensual and with an artistic flair.
But to have the scrutinizing gaze of the handsome professor on me is a completely different animal. Because unlike an audience, who I tune out while I dance, Lucas’s assessing gaze does weird things to my belly, as if he’s judging a piece of art.
“I guess. I’ve just never had anyone look at me the way you are right now.”
Like you’re reaching inside my soul.
He leans forward, placing his elbow on the window frame, and shakes his head with pursed lips.
“That’s a pity. You are one of a kind, Kyler. From my position, you’re flawless.”
I’m taken back by the compliment and suddenly we’ve turned a corner from pleasantries and moved right into something far more intense and serious.
I think this conversation needs to get back on track.
Lifting a suggestively wicked eyebrow, I say, “If you want to see flawless, we should go somewhere more private where you can see all of my flawless perfection.”
I step forward, placing my hands on the door frame, and lean over so our eyes connect. There’s heat dancing in his eyes as I take his hand and run his finger over my clavicle and then circle my nipple rings visible through my mesh tank, tugging a bit so they pierce through the material. It feels deliciously sinful and instantly garners Lucas’s attention, his eyes growing heavy lidded and nostrils flaring.
“God, I remember the feel of those against my tongue.” He says this more to himself than me as he circles his upper lip with his tongue. “Get in.”
Lucas gestures with his chin toward the passenger side but I hesitate.
“Mmm, while I’d love to feel those leather seats against my legs, I should probably follow you in my truck. I’ll need to get to campus tomorrow morning.”
“Fine. But keep up. I’m going to drive fast.”
I follow his gaze back to my clunker and smirk. “Oh, I’ll keep up with you old man. Don’t you worry.”
17
Lucas
I signal for Kyler to park in my visitor’s spot in front of my condo with a flick of my hand out the window, as I drive around and into the parking garage. Quickly locking up, I sprint up the stairwell to the front door of the building, where Kyler stands waiting for me to let him in.
It’s late and no one else is around, but the building is monitored with surveillance cameras, so I choose not to do what I want to do with Kyler the minute he steps into my presence. Which is to shove him against the glass door and cover his mouth with mine.
Kyler licks his bott
om lip as we enter the elevator carriage as if reading my mind and I use my key fob to unlock the keypad and push the button for the sixth floor. Standing on opposite sides of the car, Kyler stretches out his arms on either side of him, his hands gripping the rail and he crosses an ankle one over the other in a pose that reads alluring and seductive.
And I remind myself how we got here. It was all my doing. I’m the one that crossed the line tonight the minute I went back to his bar hoping to find him. I’m the one who made the decision I could no longer go without having another taste of him.
Each time I’m in his presence, the need is fueled, like a car on an empty gas tank that is refueled and back to running on all cylinders.
We step off the elevator into a quiet hallway, my neighbors long since in bed on a Monday night. I unlock the door, side-stepping, and allowing Kyler to enter my home first. Flipping the light switch, the room and hallway illuminate with a soft incandescent light, and I hear the deep inhale of breath coming from Kyler’s chest.
When he finally turns to face me, his mouth has dropped open in awe.
“Damn, professor. I knew you would have an extensive art collection, but I didn’t expect this.” He spreads his hands wide and turns in a circle, admiring all the art hanging from the walls and adorning the floor and tables.
It fills me with pride to be able to share this with someone who appreciates art as much as I do. My mother never did, and to only a small extent did my Grandmum and auntie. And certainly never my friends from college or Garrett. This love of art was intrinsic and something I inherited from my grandfather.
“You like it?”
He gives me a wry grin. “You know I do.”
The way he smiles at me makes me wonder if it’s the art we’re still talking about. Suddenly, I’m overcome with a need to share all of this with Kyler. I want to take him with me to gallery openings and to museums around the world. To talk about art and life. Beauty and aesthetics.
