I’ve never liked coming too fast. I don’t chase it. Orgasm always brings up something weird that ends in tears. It’s embarrassing. I hate having to explain it.
So I try to slow things down, give myself space to keep that flood of emotion in check. Yet, I can’t escape the fact that it’s not supposed to be Martin. It should be someone else, someone I actuallycareabout.
But it’s not.
So the sob starts to grow in my chest as I try to ride it out. Push through the wave of all those wrong, hollow feelings, and try to hold myself together, always failing.
Martin’s good enough to aim for my prostate. I clench my eyes shut, desperately focusing on the sensation. No thoughts. Just the physical.
Thrust. Thrust. Another. My fingers grip the edge of the desk, which is rattling in rhythm with his thrusts. Yeah, there, ram it there…
My breath starts to hitch. I’m close…
But right then, I feel the pulse of his cock inside me. Martin groans. Three more thrusts, and the fucker is done.
And fuck me, I was this close!
I reach for my cock, trying to finish it off, but right then—
—I hear voices out in the hallway.
Someone’s coming!
The doors in this dorm are paper-thin.
I abruptly push Martin off me, yanking my pants up with a frustrated growl. I hate being left like this, one fucking step away from release.
But I know who’s coming. I’d recognize that voice anywhere.
"Shit, Martin. That’s my dad. I swear to fucking Fate," I mutter.
Martin’s face is flushed, dazed, but he snaps out of it fast. He zips up and runs a hand through his hair.
"Damn, I thought now that you moved into the dorms, we’d finally be rid of your nosy-ass family."
"Yeah, me too," I growl. "Now get out. Best if you two just pass each other in the doorway."
"But we still need to talk—"
"Later. Go," I hiss.
He heads to the door, opens it, and walks out fast, almost crashing into my dad, who’s already six feet away.
"Good afternoon," he mumbles stiffly and bolts down the hall.
My dad stands frozen mid-step, staring after him, then at me. His eyes scan my flushed face. He swallows. Yeah. It’s obvious what just went down here.
He’s holding a pot. And right behind him is that beta from reception, clearly decided to escort my dad all the way here just to catch the show.
Fucking weasel. I see that smirk. Sure, Martin paid him, but clearly not enough to keep my dad stalled downstairs like he should have.
I open the door wider.
"No point standing in the hallway," I mutter through clenched teeth.
Dad steps inside. The beta spins on his heel, shoots me a smug look, and leaves.
Now it’s just the two of us in the room, and the whole place reeks of sex. I see my dad’s nostrils flare as he sets the pot down, right on the desk I was justgetting railed on.
