Page 2 of Flying Colors (The Porn Chronicles #2)

But in reality— people often described me as handsome but shy .

I spoke softly and, too often, my voice trembled, and I stumbled over my words.

I was amazed I’d forged a career as a college professor.

In front of a class, though, I was fine.

I spoke clearly and concisely, my voice strong and steady.

But one on one—especially in a personal situation—I became the timid boy, too shy and awkward to say what I really felt, what I really wanted.

That’s just as well—in this case, anyway—the quarterback has a young, hot pussy to fuck. You’d just humiliate yourself if you admitted your fantasies.

It was true; I knew it. So, best get this over with so I could deal with my flaming libido manually.

“You need to make time for your assignments, don’t you think?” By focusing on the matter at hand, I was able to inject some of my professor “persona” into my voice and words. “Your scholarship depends on it.”

Bradley leaned on his arms, placing him an inch or two closer. I swore I could smell his breath, though he wasn’t that close. Still, I imagined it smelled like spearmint. He was chewing gum, so perhaps it wasn’t my imagination.

“I would love to oblige , Mr. Lange,” he said, putting an odd emphasis on “oblige” that sent another rush of heat cascading through me.

“But like I said, practice takes up most of my spare time right now. Can’t I catch up after the game?

” He squinted again, almost playfully, a delicious smile dancing across his lips. “Pretty please?”

Though I had never announced my sexuality at the college, I was fairly certain most of my students were aware. Had Bradley noticed me noticing him—and decided to use it to his advantage? How far would he take it? The possibilities filled me with excitement, and I nearly burst in my pants.

Glancing at his gorgeous face, I bit back a whimper. I would pass him for the entire semester right now if he would just fuck me. Unprofessional, I know, but my hungry cock was calling the shots at the moment. Everything about him was infectious, and I started to smile back, then caught myself.

“You know the rules, Mr. James. You must keep your grades up if you want to keep your scholarship—”

“Call me Bradley.”

“What?”

His smile stretched, and he perched on the edge of my desk. “You always call me Mr. James. It’s so… formal. All the other professors call me by my first name. Why not you?”

Because I need our relationship to remain formal.

I quietly cleared my throat. “I prefer formal. I care about my students and want them to know I’m here for them, but…

when things become too relaxed, it’s easy for them to take advantage of our friendship and think it’s okay to slack off.

Therefore, I need to maintain a modicum of boundaries. ”

Bradley leaned back, eyes narrowing once more, his smile holding. “So, you think if you call me Bradley… I’ll take advantage of that?” He eased forward, his eyes relaxing, opening a fraction wider, awarding me a clear glimpse of his sparkling blue irises. “How might I do that?”

I was lost in the sea of blue, my fevered body desperate for a quick dip in those cool depths. I blinked when I realized we’d both gone silent and were just staring at one another. “Uh… I-I don’t know. I don’t necessarily mean you… specifically.” Fuck. I was losing my poise. What little I had.

“You know…” He spoke with a slightly rough voice, and I shivered from my scalp to the tip of my toes, which curled a bit inside my dress shoes. “You’re a lot different now than when you’re lecturing.”

“How so?”

“You’re less… assertive.”

I avoided his eyes, unsure how to answer; he was right.

“You’re so confident when you’re lecturing.

” He inched around the end of the desk. “But here, like this…” The smile that graced his features drove me to my knees— figuratively.

The hot and horny slut-boy inside me was ready to literally go down.

Bradley paused at the last corner of the desk.

“… you don’t like confrontation, do you? ”

I fidgeted and lightly tapped my short, manicured nails on the desktop. “No, I… I don’t suppose I do.”

The quarterback let out a soft, throaty laugh that ignited every nerve ending in my body. My nails ceased their tapping and my eyes crawled lustfully to his face. Could he detect the slut within?

Of course, he can—he’s a man, for god’s sake! They’re all born with a functioning slut radar—even when it comes to gay sluts.

“I’m not a confrontational guy.” He shrugged.

“Except on the field. But I’m not on the field.

” He eased around the last corner of the desk.

I felt trapped, though I wasn’t… not really…

except by my own want of him. Bradley flattened his palm on the desk just inches from my hand and supported himself on his arm, head tilted as he stared at my face…

close enough I could for sure smell his spearmint breath this time.

“Since neither of us likes confrontation… maybe we can work out a little arrangement.”

My belly button tingled… as did my inner thighs… and my inner ass muscles quivered. “What… arrangement?” I couldn’t keep the sexual rasp out of my voice and stared down at my hands rather than look into that sea of blue and become transfixed.

“One that I think you’ll be in favor of.” His tone dropped to just above a whisper and he seemed to breathe his words at me. I desperately longed to face him and inhale those breathy words, draw them into my lungs—into my inflamed body.

My own words stammered when I asked, “What… what do you mean?”

Bradley reached out and fingered my wavy hair, playing with a short strand, curling it around his index finger.

I shivered—he’d never touched me before; not outside my fantasies.

Fuck—I ached to lean into it, encourage him to run his hands through my hair, grip it even…

and force me to my knees before him. If he knew that’s what I wanted—would he do it?

Was he that kind of guy? Good God, I hoped so.

“A little exchange of favors.” He slowly ran a single knuckle down my slender neck. Could this be real? I shivered too hard for him to miss. “I give you something you want… and you give me something I want. Simple as that.”

I knew what he wanted; his grades fudged.

I was fairly sure he knew what I wanted as well; to be fucked.

As much as I wanted it, though… the “teacher” in me balked at the notion of tampering with grades. “What is it you want?” I asked, for sake of clarification.

He smiled. “To pass this class.”

“So… rather than applying yourself, you want me to change your grade?”

Bradley stroked a fingertip along the tendon in my neck. “Oh, I intend to apply myself for a passing grade. Or… parts of myself, anyway.”

“I-I can’t do that.” Who said that? The words were foreign to the flaming desire burning through me. Why would I turn him down? I’d been fantasizing about the quarterback for two weeks—I could hardly think of anything but fucking him. Now, when he offered it to me—I tell him no? Why?!

I understood why an instant later when Bradley closed the small space between us and brushed his knuckles down my arm; I wasn’t actually telling him “no”…

I simply wanted him to come after me. I wanted him to insist on fucking me.

I wanted to feel wanted by the object of my fantasies… desired… lusted after.

“You’re an independent… man.” Bradley dipped his head and grazed his mouth across my ear, the tip of his tongue darting out, probing. “You can do anything you set your mind to.”

My breath caught and my dick jumped as his wet, slick tongue flicked my earlobe, his fiery breath sifting down my neck. I felt his fingertips on my back, dancing along my spine… lower… lower… his palm curving around the gentle swell of my firm ass… squeezing.

I gasped softly and his lips touched my neck, dropping steamy kisses.

“We… shouldn’t…” I whimpered.

To my horror , he backed off, apparently taking me at my word, and walked to the door.

No… no-no-no! Fuck no! I didn’t mean it—it’s just part of the game! DON’T GO!

Bradley James halted at the door; had our “telepathy” kicked back in? He grabbed the handle, and I whimpered inwardly, furious with myself for not simply being straightforward with him and begging him to fuck me—leaving no room for confusion or misunderstandings.

FuckFuckFuck—

A barely audible click stalled my erratic thoughts. A familiar click.

The “click” of the door lock.

The Quarterback turned on his heel and faced me from across the room. I stared back; eyes wide. Bless the gods of whores—he was still in the game.

“We should .” He emphasized his delayed response by kicking my chair, rolling it out of the way, then stepping behind me and pushing his crotch to my ass, pinning me to the desk. I hadn’t “imagined” his erection—his cock was hard as granite, grinding through the thin fabric of my slacks.

A shaky “Uh” popped out of my mouth and my fingers splayed across the top of the desk, palms pressing firmly to the cool, hard surface. I didn’t move as he ever so slightly rolled his hips.

The ache assaulting my dick and balls nearly drove me mad as it webbed into my loins and lower stomach, surging up into my chest, my throat, and my face. I felt like a virgin about to get fucked for the very first time—the excitement, anticipation, and lust spiking through the roof.