Seducing Professor Coyle (3 page)

Ben laughed. “In the mood I’m in, I won’t be upping anyone’s cred tonight, trust me.”

Dom pouted. It should have looked ridiculous on a brawny, masculine guy like him, but it was somehow incredibly cute, and Ben felt his resolve weakening. “Don’t give me that face.”

“Please? I can’t go wandering in alone like a big loser. Benny, you need to get out of the house. I mean look at this place.” He gestured to the piles of paper trash strewn about from Ben’s frantic search. “You just Beautiful Minded the shit out of everything here, you need to go out and let off some steam.”

“I have nothing to wear.”

“Your dark jeans and that green ribbed tee shirt that matches your eyes. I already thought about it.” Dominick grinned.

Ben shook his head. “For a big guy, you can be such a girl.”

Dom stood, grabbing Ben’s arm and pulling him to his feet. “I’m not a girl. Now go get in the shower while I pick out your shoes.”

“I’ll go but I’m not gonna talk to anyone. I reserve the right to be a wallflower.”

Shoving him toward the bathroom, Dom snickered. “That’s what you say now. But you’ll see. You’re gonna have the time of your life tonight. Trust me.”

Ben gave him a look over his shoulder that told Dom exactly how much he
trusted
him, but grudgingly dragged himself into the shower. He appreciated what his friend was trying to do, but these days Ben rarely indulged in sex. The few intimate liaisons he’d had in the past four years had been disappointing, so he wasn’t exactly raring to give it another go. He’d encountered bad breath, poor grooming, peanut-sized cocks, and even a surprise wooden leg. Then there was the guy who sobbed after they fucked because it was ‘just so beautiful’. It wasn’t. It wasn’t remotely satisfying with most of them. He’d gone to the meat markets because he wanted something quick and dirty, expecting such a sordid tryst would provide intensity at the very least. He craved someone who would take his control from him for a change, be dominant, or at least show some damn passion.

But most of the men he’d met just lay there like potatoes while he did all the work. He’d experienced the ‘quick’ he was looking for a few times, but unfortunately quick was usually attached to selfish: closeted rednecks who hated being gay and were shooting their load and out the door in minutes, without a thought to Ben’s pleasure, not even bothering to wait until he came.

He showered and dressed, then went through his mail as he waited for Dominick to finish getting ready. He tore open the bills from school, scowling at them.
Just a little longer
, he told himself. He’d graduate and get a job before his money could run out. He
had
to. Opening a third envelope from the school, he laughed. An invitation to a party at Dean Yarboro’s house. Tammy Albert, his department head, had invited him as an honor for his nearly perfect grade point average.
Yeah, sounds like about as much fun as a root canal
. He tossed the invitation in the trash, then filed the bills. His gut twisted with anxiety over his financial situation, peppered with worry about that damn lit class.

Perhaps Thorn’s party was just what he needed: something sleazy but a bit more upscale than he was accustomed to. He didn’t really feel like hooking up with anyone, but if he was surrounded by eye candy all night, it might take his mind off of the coming Monday, and whether or not Dr. Coyle would decide to accept his late, ungraded test. Or if he’d calmly and casually destroy Ben’s life plans with one stroke of the keyboard.

Chapter Two

Freshly showered, Dr. Peter Coyle stood before his closet, nude except for the towel around his waist. Most of his clothes were still in boxes stacked against the wall. Though he hadn’t even come close to unpacking all his things, he was happy and content. There was something uniquely satisfying about that first hot shower after moving into a new place.
My place. My own
.

Flicking through the hangers, he chose a pair of expensive black dress pants, with a simple, but tight fitting silk shirt. He brought the clothes to his bed and set them down, then removed the towel, glancing irritably at the erection jutting out below his hips. Out of control. This was what he got for denying himself pleasure in his quest to keep his personal life invisible to prying eyes. There was masturbation of course, but it didn’t scratch that deeper itch, and still left him restless and hungry for the real thing. It got to the point where every little thing set his lust afire.
Like that damn kid in your office today
. That sexy, angry, completely terrifying kid.

Attempting to think unsexy thoughts, he carefully dressed, then moved into the bathroom to put in his contact lenses. Usually he wore his glasses for social outings, especially if he was looking for companionship. The hot professor look had always served him well. But tonight he was going to one of Thorn Beverly’s parties, and he planned to get messy. Very messy. With that thought, he pocketed a handful of condoms and headed downstairs.

Thorn was one of his oldest friends, one of the few people in his life he trusted completely. They’d met in college, back when he’d been
Thornton
Beverly, the closeted gay son of a very wealthy, and very homophobic property owner in southern Vermont. Peter had helped Thorn come to terms with his sexuality, to accept himself as he was, instead of the obnoxious, misogynist frat boy he was trying to be. He’d also helped Thornton hide his sexuality from his overbearing, emotionally abusive father, at least until he turned twenty-five, old enough to receive his ample inheritance from the family. Thorn had wanted to come out to his father after college, tired of the charade, itching to offer the man a final
fuck you
after years of taking his shit.

But Peter had convinced him that it would be far more satisfying flipping the old man the bird once Thorn’s money was in his account; being disowned and rich was far preferable to being disowned and poor. It was sound advice, and Thorn was forever grateful. Now, years later, Thornton Beverly was simply Thorn, disowned, but happy at his palace in the hills. While his frat boy ways hadn’t waned much over the years, he was no longer angry, and his parties were of a very different sort, the beer bongs and cheerleaders replaced with fruity cocktails and half-naked boys. Thorn was determined to provide an outlet where others could come and be themselves, and do as they pleased without judgment—something he’d been denied in his own youth.

Strolling through his study, Peter smiled, admiring the gleaming bookshelves that ran all the way up to the high ceiling, and the classic leather furniture and thick rugs scattered about the hardwood floor. He’d lived in a one bedroom apartment near the campus for a long time after taking the job at Kelsingford, unwilling to put down roots. He’d been afraid his past would come along and rip them up. But he was settled now, and had finally purchased a home: a gorgeous little colonial just a mile from the school. He loved it. Loved everything about it, especially what it represented. He was home. He was safe. And no one was going to ruin it this time, not like they’d done when he worked at the University of Vermont.

Peter had sweated blood to get where he was in his career, and he’d come close to losing all of it. Because of a boy. A stupid, greedy, arrogant boy. But
that
would never happen again.

Never again
. He’d been unconsciously repeating those two words to himself ever since that afternoon. Ever since beautiful young Benjamin LeClair left his office. But there was no threat there, he assured himself. Things were different at Kelsingford College. He kept himself discreet. His social groups were elite and tight knit, and he trusted them. And unlike his younger, more naïve self, declaring smugly that every gay person should be out and proud, scorning those who weren’t, he now kept his personal life hidden. Even from the close colleagues he’d earned in the past four years at Kelsingford. As open and accepting as others claimed to be, he’d learned the hard way that declaring his sexuality made him a target to certain people.

With his carefully guarded life, he now felt secure, but all that quiet caution kept him bottled up most of the time. So when he did let go, he went hard. It had been far too long since he’d been to one of Thorn’s parties, and he needed it badly tonight. With Benjamin LeClair in his office earlier, his past had come crashing back to him. Only his practiced calm had kept him from gasping when the boy sat down, complaining about the grade and making accusations. One name dominated his thoughts through the entire meeting:
Reggie Cutler
.

But Benjamin was not Reggie Cutler. He didn’t even look like him, aside from the perfect body. Benjamin was like pure light: the sandy brown hair, sparkling green eyes. Reggie had been dark through and through: dark hair, dark eyes, dark soul. While Benjamin carried his own angry intensity, Peter didn’t sense deceit from him, only passionate determination. Reggie’s anger had been smug, spiteful, fueled with lies and a near sociopathic sense of entitlement. But as different as Benjamin seemed from the other one, their plea had been the same:
Change my grade
.

A single moment of compassion had nearly been Peter’s downfall all those years ago, and had unraveled his life badly enough that he’d left it behind. He’d been teaching a Shakespeare class that final semester at UVM, and when he went through the students’ first completed papers, Reggie Cutler’s had been a pile of nonsensical crap; it was obvious he hadn’t even tried. Reggie was a rock star on campus, an ice hockey player, so Peter assumed him to be dismissive of academia, and gave him an F on the paper.

But then Reggie came into his office after class that spring day, tears in his eyes, and begged him to change his grade. He claimed his mother had been diagnosed with a life-threatening illness the week he’d had to write it, and swore that he’d prove with his next paper that he’d kept up in class. The papers were a good portion of the semester grade, and Reggie couldn’t afford the F, he said.
Please. Change my grade.
And Peter had. He’d bumped it up to a C, on the condition that the boy’s next paper would be stellar.

But his next paper wasn’t stellar. It was another piece of toilet trash that looked like he’d written it in his sleep, was half the length the assignment called for, and partially covered with a sticky substance that looked like ketchup. Peter gave the paper an F, and washed his hands of it. Or so he’d thought.

Reggie had shown up in his office yet again, and had the audacity to ask him a second time to amend his grade. When Peter refused, things took a dark turn.
“My last paper was the same quality and you gave that a C. How are you going to explain to the dean why this one gets an F? Especially when I tell him you made me suck you off for the C, and this time I refused, so you failed me.”

Peter could still picture his smirking face, the pure hatred in his eyes.
“Everyone knows what you are, Dr. Coyle. Who do you think they’ll believe? A star athlete or some cock-muncher?”

Peter had stood firm, refusing to be intimidated, even when Reggie’s mother—who incidentally was in perfect health—reported him, believing every word of her son’s bogus story. The university had stuck by Peter, and ultimately Reggie’s parents decided to drop the lawsuit they’d filed against him, asking for an exorbitant amount of money for pain and suffering. Peter had often wondered if they’d come to suspect their son was lying, or if Reggie himself couldn’t stomach the thought of a public trial where he’d have to claim he sucked off a professor for a grade.

Either way, Peter had won. Or so he thought.

But the rumors made their way through the university, among teachers and students alike, and there was no putting that ugly cat back in the bag. Regardless of his vindication, there were those who still wondered if something untoward had happened with the student. The stain of that suspicion was forever fused to him, so he left. He’d stayed with Thorn for a time, struggling to get himself back together, and took the job at Kelsingford when a position became available. No one at this school knew anything about his personal life, whether he was gay or straight, and that’s how it would stay. As for the students, well, he dealt directly with them as little as possible. He no longer trusted those shining, eager young faces he used to love lecturing to and interacting with. He could barely stand to look at them now.

As he smoothed down his clothing, checking himself one last time in the mirror, he was pleased to find his erection ebbing.
Thank God
. He grabbed his keys and headed out of the house, anxious to get to the party so he could have this boner tended to promptly.

His conscience was troubling him over this state of unanticipated arousal he’d been in ever since Benjamin LeClair left his office. The boy had fascinated him in a way he was unaccustomed to. He’d never been attracted to a student before, and hadn’t even allowed his mind to go there. Yet something about Benjamin’s green eyes, the way they watched him...something else was there, behind the anger. There was a vague sexual tension in the room, despite the boy’s obvious annoyance with him.

To his shame, Peter had found himself analyzing the student after he left, noting his perfectly ironed clothing and his manicured nails, wondering if he was straight.
Student!
It was unthinkable to have these feelings, yet his cock kept reminding him it didn’t give a damn what he thought, it wanted to fuck Benjamin LeClair, with his sandy hair falling over those wild green eyes.

More shameful still, he’d looked up Benjamin’s profile to find out his age. He was twenty-three, older than most students. And there was something in his eyes that made him seem older still, a hardness suggesting life experience, something Peter rarely saw at Kelsingford.

It doesn’t matter
, he thought as he pulled his car out of the driveway and headed down the road toward the party.
He’s still a student, and he’s still too damn young for you
. Peter decided he’d simply find a similar looking young man tonight at Thorn’s—there were always a bevy of willing young prospects to go around—and he would safely, and without risk, fuck Benjamin LeClair out of his system.