Page 5 of Full Service

I’m a scoundrel.

“Fine,” I amend and open the door a little further. Everly doesn’t even hesitate, just moves into my office, setting his bag down on the ground and taking a seat. He looks good sitting there, that swimmer’s back wide at the shoulders and arching down to a narrow waist. I wonder if he swam in high school or even here at the university.

Not that I’m going to try and find out. I would never do that. Probably.

There is a ten percent chance I won’t be looking this up.

I move around my desk and settle in my chair, trying not to look at his thick thighs. They’re huge up close, muscular, like he spends his afternoons squatting.

Which he does. On a pole.

I scoot my chair up to the tabletop but move a little too fast and end up knocking into it, making me wheeze.

“Speed racer, huh?” Everly says, and I frown at him, rubbing at my bruised abdomen.

“The rollers on the chair are extra oiled.”

“Hm, I do love oiled things.”

I stare at him, imagining his oiled chest before reaching for my pen and twirling it in my fingers. I need to do something with my hands so I don’t do something inappropriate, like reach across the desk and desperately grab for his crotch.

Or that butt. The one currently in a chair in my office.

It’s not my fault that I have some sort of obsession with his ass. He was wearing only a jockstrap that night in the strip club and it was glorious. I’ve never seen anything like it.

It should be featured in a gallery for all to admire.

My dick gives a precarious twitch, and I give it a very stern mental talking-to. I’ll give it a good spanking later.

With my lubed hand.

While not thinking of him.

“Anyways, thank you for letting me in,” Everly says, biting down on his bottom lip, wetting it in the process. That should absolutely be illegal. I’ll have to tell him to never do that in my presence again.

My dick wholeheartedly disagrees.

It wants him to open wide and lean forward.

“I mean, I think you letting me in here means you’re not gonna fire me.”

I nod, a clipped tilt of my chin and then set my pen down. It clacks noisily on the desktop and I stare at it. It’s either that or stare at him.

Why does the most handsome man I’ve ever met have to be a student here and my fucking TA? Life is laughing at me. Thinks I’m a fucking joke.

I mean, to be fair, it kind of is. A kind of boring joke, but one nonetheless.

“Thanks, man. I mean, Dr. Sinclair. I really promise I can be professional about this.”

I nod again and peer up at him, my hands clutching the arms of my chair. The leather squeaks under my sweaty palms. Sounds a bit like an animal whining, like a whimper. Hm, or maybe that’s just me.

“That’s good. I just want you to know that?—”

He raises a hand, interrupting me. “It’s fine. You don’t need to explain. We can just put it behind us.”

That’s easy for him to say. He’s not a lonely, sex-deprived professor with a hot as fuck TA. I will not be putting any of this behind me. Unless it’s my fingers in my behind.

“And I’m really good at what I do. I understand biology. I can do whatever you need. Grading, tutoring, study halls. Whatever.”