Just a Bit Twisted (2 page)

“Oh, I’ll show you, princess!” Shawn got him into a headlock, both of them laughing.

“Mr. Wyatt, Mr. Ashford, if you are quite done?” came a cold voice from behind them.

Shawn froze before letting go of his friend and straightening up. He didn’t dare look at Rutledge as the man moved past them to his desk. The lecture hall suddenly became silent.

“Fuck,” Christian whispered when Rutledge stopped in front of his desk and remained silent.

Shawn bit his lip hard and stole a glance at the professor. Rutledge’s dark eyes were fixed on Christian, his dark brows furrowed and his lips pursed in displeasure. Even when he wasn’t unhappy with someone, Professor Rutledge’s gaze could make anyone squirm. When he actually
was
unhappy, no one wanted to be on the receiving end of his heavy stares. Shawn thought he looked like a hawk, ready to swoop down and catch its prey.

Rutledge’s eyes moved from Christian to him. If possible, he looked even more displeased now, a muscle pulsing in his cheek. Shawn’s stomach tightened into a knot. He wet his dry lips and tried to look as respectful as possible, forcing himself to meet the professor’s eyes firmly. He wasn’t a coward, dammit. Rutledge was just a man.

Rutledge’s lips thinned. “Mr. Wyatt,” he said quietly.

Shawn swallowed convulsively. There was something about Rutledge’s voice that made it more menacing the quieter it got. “Yes, Professor?”

“If you and Mr. Ashford are not interested in what I am here to teach, you may leave.”

Looking at the man’s hard expression, Shawn suddenly remembered Christian’s advice and nearly laughed out loud—so ridiculous it was.

“No, sir. I mean, we’re very interested.” When not a single muscle moved on Rutledge’s face, Shawn added, “Actually, I wanted to talk to you after class about my grades.”

Rutledge looked at him for a few moments before offering a cool response, “I don’t have office hours today.” He sat down behind his desk and started his lecture.

Shawn looked at him blankly, unsure what Rutledge’s answer was supposed to mean. Was that yes or no? As in, “I don’t have office hours, so you may come” or “I don’t have office hours, so you can’t”?

Great. Fantastic.

Shawn sighed.

Chapter 3

The door to Professor Rutledge’s office was dark and very shiny.

Shawn stared at it, trying to ignore the uneasy feeling in his gut. His palms were beginning to sweat, so he wiped them against his jeans.

Don’t be ridiculous
, he told himself. Rutledge was just a man, not a monster. The worst thing the guy could do was say no.

He would just talk to him, explain his situation and hope Rutledge wasn’t the asshole everyone thought he was.

“Did you want something, Mr. Wyatt?” a smooth, low voice said.

Shawn nearly jumped. Turning around, he tried to find something to say.

“Mr. Wyatt?” Rutledge was frowning, a crease between his eyebrows.

“I wanted to talk to you, sir.”

“It’s not an office hour,” Rutledge said, unlocking his office and going inside.

He didn’t swing the door shut behind him, and Shawn hesitated, unsure if he was meant to follow him inside.

Rutledge sat down behind his massive desk and turned on his computer. “I don’t have all day, Wyatt,” he said without looking at him.

Shawn entered the room hurriedly. He closed the door, walked to the desk and stopped. He looked around, but there wasn’t much to look at.

“Well?”

Shawn forced himself to look at the other man.

Rutledge was studying him with a hint of impatience.

Shawn gripped the back of the chair in front of him. “As I said, I wanted to talk about my grades.”

Rutledge’s lips pressed into a thin line. “I’m not certain what there is to talk about. I don’t give seconds chances to students who don’t deserve them. You don’t bother to attend most of my lectures, the quality of your coursework is abysmal, and now you want a passing grade. The policy concerning class attendance is clearly stated on the class syllabus; students should read this policy carefully and should plan on complying with it. Frankly, I’m surprised you’re a scholarship student. If you’re worried about your scholarship, I’m afraid the only thing you can do is drop the class.”

“I can’t drop your class—it’s a co-requisite for another class I’m currently taking and I can’t drop both without losing my scholarship. So I can’t fail your class and I can’t drop it. I need a passing grade, sir.”

The look Rutledge gave him was unimpressed. “You can blame only yourself, Wyatt. You don’t deserve a better grade. Your attendance, assignments, class participation, and test grades have been below expectations for the course. If you came here to tell me some sob story and beg me for a better grade, save your breath. I’ve heard it all: sick elderly mothers, little children to look after, working three jobs, and so forth. If you can’t or don’t want to study and learn, do both of us a favor: stop wasting our time and drop out of college.”

Shawn’s heart sank. A part of him had hoped Rutledge would take pity on him if he told him about his situation and let him turn in his assignments late. But apparently, Rutledge didn’t care and didn’t want to listen to “sob stories.”

Shawn’s jaw tightened. His pride urged him to turn around and leave, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t lose the scholarship. His sisters depended on him.

Suddenly, he remembered Christian’s ridiculous advice.

…says Professor Rutledge has a weakness for pretty boys… I’m just saying you can be all flirty and shit without actually doing anything with him…

“Mr. Wyatt?”

Shawn flinched, flushed and looked back at the man.

“What are you still doing in my office? You’re dismissed.”

Looking at Rutledge’s hard expression, Shawn couldn’t for the life of him imagine flirting with him. “Flirting” and “Professor Rutledge” shouldn’t even be mentioned in the same sentence, period. And Shawn didn’t have much experience with flirting, anyway: the few girls he’d had sex with hadn’t required any seducing. Truth be told, he usually didn’t have to make any effort at all.

Shawn took a deep breath in and met Rutledge’s eyes. “Sir, I…” He swallowed. “Is there any way I can get a better grade? I’ll do anything. Anything.”

Rutledge stared at him.

Then, his eyes narrowed.

“Mr. Wyatt,” he said at last. “Are you suggesting what I think you are suggesting?”

Shawn swallowed again. Was he? He wasn’t sure himself what he was suggesting. “Um, yeah?”

Rutledge’s nostrils flared. He leaned back in his chair and studied him intently. “Please clarify to avoid confusion.”

Shawn swept his gaze around the room before looking down at his feet and shrugging. His sneakers were worn, but he couldn’t afford new ones. “I think you know, sir.”

Silence.

Seconds ticked by.

“I see,” Rutledge said. “Lock the door and come over here.”

Shawn’s stomach lurched. His legs unsteady, he walked to the door and locked it, all the while trying to ignore the panicked little voice in his head that was yelling at him,
What are you doing?

Looking anywhere but at Rutledge, he rounded the desk and stopped next to his professor, his heart pounding in his throat. Rutledge turned in his chair so that he was facing Shawn now. Shawn focused his gaze on the dark fabric of the professor’s suit.

“On your knees,” Rutledge said softly.

Dropping to his knees was almost a relief, as unsteady as his legs were.

Rutledge took his chin with his fingers and tipped his head up, forcing Shawn to meet his gaze.

“I can have you expelled for this,” he said.

Shawn’s eyes widened.

Rutledge cast him a look of such loathing Shawn flinched. “I have students who never miss classes and work very hard just to get a C. And then there are pretty, empty-headed boys like you who think if they suck my dick, they’ll get a good grade.”

Shawn felt his face heat up. Hearing the word “dick” from Professor Rutledge was weird as hell. Weird and downright obscene.

Rutledge’s grip on Shawn’s chin tightened. “Do you think it’s fair, Wyatt?”

Shawn swallowed, but he forced himself to meet the man’s gaze firmly. “If you’re going to report this to the board, remember that I didn’t say a word about sucking your dick, Professor. You did. If you report me, I’ll report you.”

A muscle in Rutledge’s jaw twitched. “You little shit.” His other hand sank into Shawn’s hair and yanked him closer to his crotch. “Fine. You want a passing grade? Go ahead. Try to impress me.”

Shawn sucked a breath in.

Rutledge smiled. It wasn’t a nice smile. “Backing out already?”

“No,” Shawn said firmly and reached for the guy’s zipper, telling himself it was just a dick. He would suck the guy’s dick and get a passing grade. How difficult could it possibly be? It would probably taste disgusting, but it wouldn’t kill him or anything.

Right.

Slowly, he unzipped the professor’s pants and then… then he stopped. No matter what he told himself, he couldn’t move, staring, transfixed, at the bulge under the man’s black boxers.

Rutledge let out an irritated noise. “As I thought. Get out, and if you bother me again—”

“No.” Shawn shoved a hand into Rutledge’s boxers and grabbed his cock.

A beat passed.

Shawn was torn between laughing hysterically and panicking. He had a hand on another guy’s cock.
Professor Rutledge’s
cock.

It was warm in his hand. That was his first thought. It was growing and becoming thicker with every passing second. It freaked him out a bit, but it also gave him confidence. No matter what Rutledge said, he wanted him.

Shawn gave it an experimental squeeze and looked at the guy. Rutledge’s face remained impassive. For some reason, that pissed Shawn off. He smiled. “Looks like you have a thing for ‘pretty, empty-headed boys,’ Professor.”

Rutledge’s lips pressed together. Otherwise, he looked almost bored. “It’s just a physiological reaction to stimuli and a pretty face. You are not responsible for your physical appearance, so it’s hardly something to be proud of. Now, if you really intend to do it, stop wasting my time.”

Glaring at him, Shawn stroked the cock to full hardness, watching a subtle change in the man’s breathing. The angle was awkward, so he pulled it out. It was big and thick—and very close to his face. Inches away. Shawn licked his lips nervously, unable to look away. It had to be at least eight inches long.

Rutledge sighed, as though disgusted with his own body’s reaction, and shifted slightly. The head of his cock pressed against Shawn’s lips. “Suck.”

Shawn inhaled carefully. It didn’t smell that bad. Tentatively, he licked the head. The taste was…strange but nowhere as terrible as he had expected. He licked again.

The professor grunted, his hand gripping Shawn’s hair tighter. “Open your mouth.” It was an order.

Shawn did as told, and the fat head pushed inside his mouth. Shawn sucked gently. A part of his mind was still stuck on the fact that he had Professor Rutledge’s dick in his mouth and couldn’t quite believe it, but the warmth and heaviness of the cock stretching his lips wide made it very, very real.

Rutledge’s eyes were fixed on his face as he pushed his cock deeper, his hand heavy on the back of Shawn’s head. Shawn met his gaze, flushed, and closed his eyes, determined to just focus on getting the job done. The sooner Rutledge came, the sooner it would be over and the sooner he could forget about it.

But with his eyes closed, his other senses came to life and he could feel everything more acutely.

It was…so strange. Rutledge was hard and thick in his mouth, tasting like skin and something else. It was strange, but it wasn’t terrible. Shawn pulled off, took a breath and sucked the head in again, going down a bit further, testing it out. He had a brief moment of worry that he wasn’t doing this right, but told himself not to be silly: there was no such thing as a bad blowjob, right?

Shawn went down a bit more, trying to take as much of the big cock in as he could. He went down, then back up, setting up a rhythm, trying to get used to it. He was focusing so hard on this, trying to count in his head, that it took him a while before he realized Rutledge was telling him something.

Shawn pulled off the cock with a little pop and looked up at Rutledge, still tasting him all over his tongue. He blinked up at him and had to suppress the ridiculous urge to ask if he was doing okay, like a pupil eager to please his teacher. “What?” he said instead. As usual when he was nervous, his voice came out a bit cocky. He tended to overcompensate sometimes.

Rutledge just looked at him for what seemed like forever, his dark eyes heavy-lidded and glazed over. Eventually he said, “Is this your first dick, Wyatt?” Rutledge’s voice was rough and guttural, as though he was the one who’d just spent the past few minutes with a dick in his mouth.

“Does it matter?”

Rutledge’s lips twisted. “No. But that explains why you’re so bad at it.”