Page 126 of Connectio

He’s so wild and ravenous and easily the single most sexy thing I’ve ever seen.

Getting to his knees, nose and beard glistening, he licks his lips then slowly strokes his cock, his hand firm but delicate. My throat goes dry, and I draw in a much-needed breath, panting as he confidently palms his shaft, a bead of precum pumping to the tip to his crown.

He looks so… so beautiful. Beautifully rough and rugged. Beautifully raw and sensual. Beautifully virile. He’s so damn beautiful that tears sting my eyes.

I blink them back. “I don’t want this to end.”

He grins. “Neither do I.”

“No. Us. I don’t want us to end.”

His brows pinch. “Neither do I.”

“But what if it does? My life is a ticking bomb, remember? And bombs explode.”

He stops milking himself and leans forward, hands firm on the mattress on either side of my head. “If it explodes, I’ll be there to pick up the pieces.”

“And if it doesn’t explode? If it just ticks and ticks and tortures us?”

“Then we’ll set our own tick.” Will seals my mouth with a kiss so soft and passionate that I no longer care about the what ifs and maybes. I no longer care for the perfect path I always thought I would take. Perfect paths are overrated. They don’t allow for what’s hidden on the side. And life is, after all, all about discovery.

Lifting me to the tip of his cock, he says, “Tick,” before pushing inside me then rocking back and pushing again. “Tick.” And again and again. “Tick, tick.”

I smile and brace for the ride.

“You forget I’m a drummer, sweetheart. I create my own beat.”

Boy, oh boy, does he ever.

* * *

The followingday is both exciting and hectic. The kids all tell me about their Easter holidays and what they did during their two weeks off—some camping, some chilling at home, most gorging themselves on chocolate.

Evan is quiet, which isn’t unusual, but it certainly unsettles my stomach, given the fun topics we discuss and activities we do, but more so when he refuses to remove his jumper as the day grows warmer. I can tell he’s uncomfortably hot, his cheeks red, his hair sticky with sweat.

My gut tells me something isn’t right, so when the final bell rings, I head outside the classroom to speak to his mother, but she isn’t waiting where she normally does.

“Where’s Mum today?” I ask him.

He shrugs. “She’s late.”

“Okay. Well, wait here with me until she arrives. I need to speak with her.”

The schoolyard grows quiet as children run from the grounds, and parents drive away. It always reminds me of the aftermath of a tornado.

I take a seat on the bench beside him, facing the carpark. “Did she tell you she might be late?”

“No.” He sits on his hands and swings his legs.

“Hm… maybe I should give her a call.”

He doesn’t answer me, and my concern amplifies tenfold.

Looking up, I see Will enter the office building, so I wave and hold up my hand as if to say I’ll be five minutes. Truth be told, I don’t know how long I’ll be.

“There she is!” Evan blurts and darts off.

“Evan, wait!” I jog after him when he stops by a Holden Commodore parked across two parking spaces.