Rutledge’s nostrils flared, his eyes roaming all over Shawn’s face. He pulled out and thrust back in. Then again. And again. All the while looking at him. Shawn was sure he was blushing, because it felt incredibly filthy. It was his professor—the most feared professor in school—that was using his mouth to get off. Everything felt too much and overwhelming: the taste, the weight, the feel of Professor Rutledge’s cock in his mouth, the strong hands holding his face firmly as Rutledge thrust in and out of his mouth, Rutledge’s breath becoming more labored, his dark, intense eyes fixed on Shawn’s—
Rutledge bucked his hips and Sam nearly choked, but he rode it out, feeling hot come hit the back of his throat, spurting in quick succession. Coughing, he let the softening cock out of his mouth.
“Swallow,” Rutledge ordered.
Shawn glared up at him but did as told, albeit with some difficulty. Thankfully, it didn’t taste as gross as he had expected.
Looking down at him through heavy-lidded eyes, Rutledge took a deep breath. The next moment, his face closed off. He removed his hands and tucked himself in. “Passable.”
Shawn didn’t know whether to laugh or punch the asshole in the face. He got to his feet, wiped his swollen lips and said, “Thanks, Professor.” His voice was hoarse and scratchy—from sucking his professor’s cock. “So, what about that grade?”
A muscle pulsed in Rutledge’s cheek. He looked downright pissed off. “Dismissed, Wyatt.”
Shawn left.
As the door to the professor’s office closed behind him, Shawn breathed out. He couldn’t believe he’d actually done it. He had sucked another guy’s dick. He had let Derek Rutledge, of all people, fuck his mouth in exchange for a grade.
Shawn flushed and looked around, suddenly paranoid that everyone could guess what had happened just from looking at him. But no one was paying him any attention. No one knew.
Everything was fine.
What was done was done. He could put the incident behind him and pretend it had never happened.
Now he could only hope Rutledge would keep his end of the deal.
Chapter 4
“Relax, man,” Christian said, dropping into the seat next to him.
“What do you mean?” Shawn said, glancing around the lecture hall before looking at his hands.
“You’re tense as hell. Are you nervous about your grades? Didn’t you say you talked to Rutledge and convinced him to give you a second chance?”
“Yeah, I did. He didn’t fail me yet—I just found out he gave me a D.” And god, it had been such a relief. Shawn didn’t think he had ever been so happy to receive a D.
“Congrats,” Christian said with a grin, patting him on the back. “I’m still amazed you managed to convince him.”
Shawn studiously avoided his friend’s eyes.
“Speak of the devil,” Christian muttered.
The instant hush that fell over the lecture hall was almost amusing. Almost.
Shawn glanced at Rutledge’s tall form before dropping his gaze.
“The midterm grades are in,” Rutledge said, without preamble. “I reported the grades of thirty-eight students whose grades were below C-. The reports were sent to the Office of the Registrar, which distributed them to the individual students.” He paused. “If you have any questions, ask.”
Silence.
Some guy lifted his hand.
“Yes, Mr. Taylor?” Rutledge said, walking toward the student. Shawn didn’t look; he just saw it in his peripheral vision.
“I don’t understand,” Taylor said. “I got an F, and apparently that’s it! I can’t even improve my grade? In every other class, midterm grades don’t affect our overall GPA. They’re pretty much there to tell us where we are in the class, and whether or not we need to work harder, but apparently, not in your class. What the—I don’t get it!”
Shawn cringed.
“Poor guy,” Christian muttered.
There was a pause.
“Mr. Taylor,” Rutledge said at last, his voice dangerously soft. “Have you read the syllabus?”
“Well, yeah, sure.” Taylor sounded anything but sure.
“If you read the syllabus, you would have known that in my class midterm grades do affect your final grades. In other words, if you receive a failing midterm grade, you will not get a passing final grade. No exceptions.”
“But it’s not fair!” Taylor said. “That’s not how things are done! ”
“That’s how things are done in my class.” If possible, Rutledge’s voice became even softer. “I will not pass a student who had an abysmal attendance record for half of the term and failed to turn in his assignments or turned them in late. If you read the syllabus, as I told you all to do on the first day of the term, you would not be in this predicament. You can thank only yourself. Do you have other questions? Intelligent questions?”
“No,” Taylor grumbled.
“Now are we done with that, or does anyone else want to waste my time with pointless questions you’re supposed to know the answers to?”
The silence was almost eerie. No one dared to breathe.