Page 57 of Full Service
I want to rub my face in it.
“What are you doing?” he asks as I stare at him, drooling. I force my gaze up to his eyes, and I make myself behave.
Well, mostly behave. I do whip my shirt off and watch as he sputters and chokes.
I do have a nice chest, if I do say so myself.
I constrict my abs, and he wheezes.
“Put your damn shirt back on, Mr. Winslow.”
Oh god, when he calls me that… It’s unhelpful and doesn’t make me want to put my shirt back on. No siree.
It makes me want to get even more naked.
“No thanks,” I say and then grin at him. “It’s getting hot in here.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” he says, even though his dick is hardening in his pants. I can see the outline through his pressed slacks. I want to rub my face against it again and feel it pump its release against me.
“I will throw you out on your ass, young man,” he says, his voice raspy.
I just stare at him and start to unbutton my pants. When he talks like a strict teacher, I get all hot and bothered.
“Keep going,” I say as I slide my zipper down.
Dr. Sinclair sputters, and his cheeks redden. “Keep your pants on.”
“Fuck off. Not when you’re going all dirty professor on me.”
He gapes at me as I kick my shoes and pants to the side, leaving me clad in only my boxers. I know I said we would keep this professional, but that ended the moment he stuck his face in my ass and licked my hole.
There’s no going back now.
“Put your clothes back on,” he says, even though his own fingers are unbuttoning his shirt and showing me that magnificent chest.
I grab on to my dick as he pulls it open, and I feel my balls draw up. I’ve never in my life been so obsessed with a guy. There have been a few flings here and there that did it for me, but nothing like this man.
Dr. Sinclair is in a league all his own.
“Fuck yes. Take it all off,” I say, sounding like the people who stand in the crowd while I’m stripping off my clothes. This is what this man has reduced me to.
The minute he sat in my chair and I watched him come untouched, just from a shake of my ass, I knew I was a goner.
“I’m not taking off a thing,” he says as he tosses his shirt aside. I take in the dark hair on his chest, the way his waist tapers down into narrow hips, the dip of his belly button. And then my eyes settle on a sleeve of tattoos lining his forearm.
Oh hell, why is that so hot? Of course he has secret tattoos under all that buttoned-up goodness.
I let out a low groan, and Dr. Sinclair reaches between his legs and cups his cock.
I want to sink to my knees and rub on him, mark him like some animal, but I stay where I am. I think if I approach, he’ll call the whole damn thing off.
“Please. Take it off. Take it off,” I beg as I reach my hand into my boxers and start to stroke my leaking length. Dr. Sinclair is watching me, his eyes nearly black, his cheeks bright red.
I want him on top of me. I want him to grind.
“I’ll be so good,” I say. “I’ll stay over here. Just show me. I want to see it all.”
He lets out a shaky breath but hesitates long enough to let me know that he’s thinking about it. And I know that I’ve hooked him when I hear his zipper slide down and watch as his thumbs hook into his waistband of his pants and slowly peel them off.