Professor’s Rule 01 - Giving an Inch (4 page)

All James had to do was say the word and Carson would switch tacks, seamlessly, without complaint, without attempts at manipulation or punishment. Their play would continue. He’d have James finger himself, maybe, or call him and dirty talk to him within earshot of the other shoppers and Satish, or make him jerk off and come on the mirror, then lick it up again.

But it wouldn’t be the same. James would be left with the lingering sense of having
failed
the Professor.

And that,
that
was the most dangerous thing of all. That was the trap, the reason he had never been able to refuse in the past. Not because Carson would chastise him for setting a boundary, but because James couldn’t bear the idea of letting him down.

It hadn’t been Carson who had pushed him too hard, not entirely. It had been James pushing himself.

He couldn’t trust himself to respect his own boundaries. Couldn’t trust himself not to jump off a cliff at Carson’s say-so, maybe even jump off a cliff without Carson’s say-so, but just because that was what James
thought
Carson wanted.

Another text while James hunched there, trying to decide his next move.

James, what’s your safeword? Do you remember it?

How could he forget?
Bonnie
, he typed.

Short for Bonnie Prince Charlie, of course, because who could maintain an erection thinking about that catastrophic rebellion and thousands of dead Highlanders?

Well done. I will never hold it against you. You know that.

James’s eyelashes fluttered, because they were wet all of a sudden. A tear shook off and rolled down his left cheek.
I know. But it’s a moot point now, Professor. I’ll do what you want.

The next text stunned the hell out of him.

Bonnie.

James stared incredulously. What the fuck? Did the Dom get to safeword?

Is it what YOU want? Do you want any of this? If not, we stop now. Stop everything, if you like, or just this particular game.

Carson’s hesitation only increased James’s determination. Did the old know-it-all asshole really think James didn’t know his own mind? Couldn’t think for himself? Couldn’t handle this? Was afraid of saying no?

But wasn’t that what he’d been concerned about—that he
was
afraid to say no? And God, hadn’t that been why they’d broken up, because James had thought it over and decided he
couldn’t
handle it? Couldn’t handle Carson and his games anymore? The problem was that he coerced himself into letting Carson push him too far. So how was he to know what he wanted and what he was agreeing to because he didn’t want to refuse and, and, and . . . Christ, he was going in circles.

All right. Yes or no, idiot. Do you want Satish in here or not? Forget Carson. Do
you
want it?

He thought of Satish’s full, lovely mouth and that slightly sweet, slightly knowing smile. Satish’s hand on his lower back, as if he wanted to lead James somewhere.

Yes.
Fuck yes, he wanted it.

Don’t stop anything. I don’t want to stop anymore. Tell me what to do, you old bastard.

Brat. Give your bollocks a hard tug for your insolence.
There went that tone-in-text thing again, because James could have sworn there was a little bit of amused affection in there.

Affection or no, James did as he was told. Gave himself a hard enough yank that fresh tears pricked up in his eyes, then snapped a picture of his pained face as proof. Not that Carson would disbelieve him; after all, the man always, always, always knew when James was lying. But James in turn knew Carson would enjoy the picture for its own sake.

Such lovely lashes. I’ve missed those tears.

James’s reply was full of that unabashed honesty that pain always brought him to.
Me too, strangely enough.

Well, I’ll give you as many as you need to make up for lost time. Later. But first, call your Satish back. Seduce him into the room.

Ok. I’ll try.

You’ll do more than try. You’ll succeed. I know you will, my sweet. I believe in you. Call me before he gets here, and leave the phone on. I want to hear you proposition him. You can hang up after that. No need to compromise the lad’s privacy, after all.

Yes, Professor.

Strangely calm, James obeyed.

Once you’ve ensnared him, get on your knees and suck his cock. He’s not to get you off. You’re not to touch yourself. You’re saving yourself for me now. Once I’ve had you for myself, perhaps I’ll let other men pleasure you again.

A spark of rebellion fired and then faded at that, gone before James had an opportunity to assess why he’d felt it in the first place. He’d think about it later.

The “perhaps” was mostly for show, anyway. Carson would most definitely let James get off with other guys; after all, watching him with another man, even just
knowing
he was with another man—especially if he was dictating the terms of the encounter, like now—never failed to get the Professor off.

Set up according to Carson’s instructions, James dialed the phone. He didn’t say a word, though. He wasn’t ready to hear Carson’s voice again. He’d fall apart entirely. Then he pushed the call button on the changeroom wall.

Satish was there in record time. His knuckles rapped on the door politely. “Need a size?” he asked.

“Not exactly,” James said, and was surprised by how rough and pitchy his voice was. He unlatched the door. “Come in? Please?”

Just before the door opened, he pulled his underwear back up; probably not a good idea to flash the guy, just in case.

“Um, you didn’t like any of the slacks?” Satish asked, giving him an almost furtive once-over, clearly unsure whether or not he was crossing the line.

Oh. Shit. James wasn’t wearing any. He was standing here in his fucking underwear and—

Just go with it.

James swallowed hard. Dropped his voice to a whisper, or as close to one as he could manage and still allow Carson to hear him. “I didn’t invite you in here because of the slacks. I mean, if . . .”

“A new shirt then, maybe? Or a vest? I found another style in your size if you’d like to try it. Or if you’re really not keen on the vest, I found a blazer that might look sharp on you.”

Wow. Had he totally misread Satish earlier, or was Satish being shy or playing dumb now? He’d thought his hint was rather blatant. Maybe his aim was off.

God, why was this so fucking
hard
? He was always so confident in his desirability, his ability to seduce, when Carson was around. But without Carson, it was back to the same flailing as always, trying to find the words when it was so much easier to type
25/5’3”/130lbs/uncut/bottom
and send a picture of himself fresh out of the shower and wait for a reply.

“I actually don’t need help with clothes at all.”

That seemed to work as well as any string of text gibberish. Satish’s pupils dilated, black overtaking rich, deep brown and darkening his gaze.

Fuck. He was gorgeous. James would have wanted this without Carson, definitely. But Carson’s involvement certainly made it, if not sweeter, then much more volatile.

“Come in?” he asked, stepping back, and Satish tossed a look over his shoulder and followed.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” he said, but he locked the door behind him anyway. “You’re lucky my boss knows you need a lot of help, because otherwise this would look seriously suspicious. In fact, it probably still looks seriously suspicious.”

“I don’t want you to lose your job.” Even as he said it, James reached out, wanting to touch that curly black hair. A ringlet fell over Satish’s ear, and James’s finger slipped into it like it was a wedding band. So soft. It fit him perfectly.

“I appreciate that,” Satish murmured. “I swear I don’t usually— But— Well. It’s not
that
great a job.”

James wasn’t sure kissing was supposed to have been part of the deal, but there it was: their lips were pressed together, James’s hand still tangled in Satish’s hair, and it was
good
. Satish tasted good, smelled amazing. James used the opportunity to end the call on his phone before pressing closer. Satish’s tongue slid against his, slick and soft and strangely soothing, like a balm rubbed on the rawness Carson had left him with. James felt calmer, less ambivalent. These weren’t Carson’s desires playing through him. He wasn’t a puppet. This was his own.

His
desire. And Carson’s, and Satish’s, in perfect harmony.

His lips tugged and sucked at Satish’s, feeling their plushness, the way they softened against his own, the way they seemed to grow even fuller, plumper against his the more he nipped and nibbled and sucked. Imagining those lips wrapped around his cock made him buck and moan into Satish’s mouth, which in turn made Satish draw him closer, arms wrapping around his back and tugging him forward until his dick nudged Satish’s thigh. Could he come like this, just rubbing against that hard length of muscle and bone?
Should
he? Hadn’t he and Carson had a deal? Would he really disobey this early in the game?

“Let me suck you,” he said into Satish’s mouth, the words as hot and moist as the breath he spoke them with.

Satish nodded, leaning back against the wall of the changeroom, reaching down for his own fly. His eyes were hooded, dazed, and his hand was gentle but insistent as he guided James down. Not like Carson. Not dominant.
Giving
, if anything. Offering himself up for James’s desire. Whatever you wanted to call it, Satish knew what he wanted and wasn’t afraid to go for it, without being pushy. And
fuck
was that hot.

He wore bright teal briefs that perfectly complemented his skin tone. James found himself sucking on the ridge of Satish’s cock through the fabric, darkening the cotton-lycra blend to a color that resembled a tropical ocean. Even through the fabric, James could tell Satish was cut, with a defined vein running up the underside, the kind of feature on a dick that demanded special attention. Lots of licking, oh yes, following that line.

And he had dark hair, too, curly but neat, that came out from underneath his shirt and thickened below his navel. James pressed his nose to it and breathed in, the scent earthy and spicy all at once, so powerful, so masculine and immediate it nearly overshadowed the potency of Carson’s words.

He took the head of Satish’s cock in his mouth through the fabric, sucking and tonguing, making it wet, so very wet, before he peeled down the briefs and released it.

“Yes,” Satish whispered, and James looked up to see him watching attentively. He’d thought maybe Satish would have thrown his head back and given himself over, but no. His eyes were fixed on James, taking in everything James did. His hand was gentle on James’s hair, urging him on without demanding anything. “You’re so sexy down there.”

James answered by licking a slow, broad stripe up the entire length of Satish’s dick, tracing that beautiful vein. His eyes rolled up to meet Satish’s, never breaking contact. He reveled in it shamelessly, let Satish watch him savoring his cock. Bad haircut or no, he knew he looked fucking gorgeous this way. Maybe this was his destiny, to live on his knees, naked and sucking dick.

Sucking Satish’s dick was different from sucking Carson’s, though. He didn’t feel abject and obedient. But the experience was powerful, nonetheless. New. He had no idea why, but he liked it.

“Please,” Satish begged when James’s tongue had well and thoroughly wet his dick, leaving it glistening. James’s face shone as well, where that spit-coated shaft had brushed his cheeks and jaw. But James wasn’t ready, yet, to move on to the next obvious step. Instead, he peeled the underwear down further and turned his attention to Satish’s balls. Bigger than his own. Darker. Soft to the touch, and the smell of them when he pressed his face against them—God, it was a powerful drug, and if that made James a pervert, well, he didn’t care.

James thought he heard Satish stifle a moan when he began to paint Satish’s balls with saliva as he had Satish’s cock. The rough hairs there rubbed James’s lips as he nuzzled and sucked, one side, then the other. Those hairs began to make a rough, crisp sound the wetter they got.

James didn’t care if he was making a mess. He wanted to be messy, wanted to gobble this whole experience up, literally and figuratively. His mouth grew rougher, more urgent. He reached back as far as he could with his tongue, stroking Satish’s taint, before drawing away to suck his way back up Satish’s dick once more.

“Please,” came another breathy whisper, and though James knew what Satish wanted, he still drew it out. He caught the salty-clear drop welling at the slit, then tried to worm the tip of his tongue inside that opening. Wouldn’t fit, of course, but the trying was a pleasure all its own.

Satish’s hand tightened in James’s hair at that, his undemanding acceptance unraveling a bit as he grew desperate. James’s hands likewise fisted the fabric over Satish’s thighs, holding on, wishing he could drag his nails down Satish’s skin.

Maybe next time
. James opened his mouth, wrapped his lips around the wide ridge, and slowly sucked Satish in.

A soft sound, a whimper that wanted to be louder but didn’t dare, and
fuck
did it sound good. James’s hand drifted down into his lap and slipped into the opening of his boxers, where Carson had forbidden it to go. Part of James didn’t care, and another part thrilled at the terror and the fierce, heady rush of defiance. He didn’t fool himself that Carson wouldn’t know—somehow, he’d know, as he always did—but it would be done by then, and worth whatever the cost wound up being. Carson couldn’t dictate what James did right now, here with Satish.

He gripped himself and sucked harder. Pressed onward. Slid down that salt-and-spice-and-musk flavored skin until it nudged his soft pallet, forcing him to withdraw. Not that he couldn’t take more—Carson had long ago made sure he could—but not yet. Now he just wanted to
taste
and
feel
and let the veins bump along his lips, let the muscle twitch against the flat of his tongue.