God, Fox couldn’t remember feeling this kind of heat in far too long. It had receded to just a memory, buried in the fog of time, but now it came flaring to life until he thought he would scorch apart from the inside out, and the only thing that could ease the burning, hurting tension inside him...
Was also the thing coiling him tighter and tighter, until this raw, unexpected burst of desire was almost too painful to endure.
It was like this flood had been building for decades, and now his walls could no longer contain it, that last bit of pressure sending him spilling his banks, crashing over everything that tried to restrain it, to tell him to calm down, to move slower, to remember they were in a public classroom and he wasn’t meant to need this, to want this, to crave this so deeply that he nearly devoured Summer’s mouth until the enticing young man actually whimpered, his tongue flicking and stroking with soft, helpless hunger against Fox’s.
If his dam was going to break...
Then let it break.
He leaned harder against Summer—then tumbled him back, spilling him against the desk, pushing him down onto his back. Summer hit the desk with a startled sound, eyes widening for a moment, their lips breaking apart as Summer stared up at him with his chest rising and falling sharply, his hair tumbled against Fox’s desk blotter, textbooks toppling aside and a pencil cup spilling over.
Fox didn’t care.
He raked his gaze down that agile body spread beneath him, Summer’s thighs parting around Fox’s hips.
Slid his hands up Summer’s arms, coaxed them over his head, pinned his wrists with gripping fingers that clasped tight to the sensation of Summer’s pulse fluttering out of control against his fingertips.
And locked his body against Summer’s, heat to heat, fitting them together in perfect contours as he bent to once more seize Summer’s mouth for his own.
This—this was heady, perfect, enticing, Summer arching beneath him, willing and submissive and so very warm as he pressed his body eagerly to Fox’s; as he opened himself entirely for him, letting Fox take and plunder and claim his mouth as if he could leave a permanent mark if he just kissed him hard enough, deep enough, hot enough, searching down inside Summer as if he could touch him in ways no one else ever had.
Did he want that, he asked himself?
Even as he slid his tongue in velvet-wet strokes along Summer’s, leaning into the suggestion of it, the lasciviousness of it, the mimicry of the slow, shuddering movements of their bodies, the rushes of sensation spearing up inside him and making him throb, want, need something more than the sensuous grind of hips to hips...he asked himself.
Did he want Summer, and not just this wild reawakening of any feeling at all?
The answer seemed to lie in the rush of Summer’s breaths, in the way he moved so wantonly beneath Fox, in the strong slink and flex and flow of his body, and Fox—
Fox froze, ice crystallizing in his gut, as someone rapped imperiously on the door, before a mockingly acerbic voice floated over the room.
“I assume this isn’t part of the lesson plan.”
Fox sighed, letting go of Summer’s mouth to instead drop his forehead to Summer’s shoulder, slumping in exasperation.
He knew that voice.
Insufferable authoritarian prick.
And he gathered his dignity around himself as he released Summer’s wrists, straightening and smoothing over his suspenders and his shirt, lifting his chin as he stared down the man watching them from the door with one platinum blond eyebrow sardonically lifted, glacially blue eyes hard with disdain.
“Assistant Principal,” Fox said flatly, and almost dared Lachlan Walden to say a single word.
While Summer went scrambling up, making distressed noises and clumsily fumbling his way off the desk, knocking over a stapler, a stack of Post-it notes, before he managed to find his feet. He was red all the way down to the collar of his shirt, his mouth bruised to a lush dark fullness as if he was wearing lipstick, his hair a mess.
He looked exactly like what he was.
Completely debauched, and Fox felt an unexpected flare of possessive irritation that Assistant Principal Walden was even allowed to see Summer that way.
Summer stood at rigid attention at Fox’s side, clearing his throat. “M-Mr. Walden!”
His voice actually cracked.
The corner of Fox’s mouth twitched.
He shouldn’t find that so amusing.
Walden, however, clearly didn’t. He stared at them over the rims of his glasses, his mouth a forbidding line as sharp-edged and stiff as his crisp navy blue three-piece suit.
“Are the two of you done?” he bit off.
Fox arched a brow. “Quite,” he said firmly, only for Walden’s eyes to narrow, locking on Fox rather sternly.
Fox only held his gaze and waited.
Walden had only been hired two months ago to bring some sort of order to the chaos the school frequently fell into, and was a good ten years Fox’s junior.
He had a long way to go before he could outfreeze Fox, when Fox had been the resident ice queen of Albin Academy for decades.
After several moments, Walden let out an irritable sigh and adjusted his rimless glasses, then smoothed back the close, neatly-glossed sideswept part of his hair, transferring his gaze to Summer.
Who squeaked.
“I came,” Lachlan said haughtily, “about your request to repurpose one of the empty reading rooms, Mr. Hemlock.” He pursed his lips. “Are you licensed to act as a psychotherapist?”
Summer cringed, shoulders slumping, and he bowed his head, pure hangdog sheepishness as he peeked through his hair at Lachlan like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “No, I...n-no.”
“Then your request is denied,” Lachlan retorted. “Stick to teaching. After-hours student counseling is for studying only.” His mouth creased downward in a disapproving frown. “You could
