Dale swept out of class, not thinking about the students, or the musk, or Greg. His cheeks burned. He needed to pull out that plug in his bottom drawer, the one he’d hidden away in a cardboard box. His body ached to be filled.
Because he’d ended class earlier than usual, the hallways were empty. Dale hurried through the whitewashed corridors, his shoes clicking on the floor tiles. Disgust roiled in his stomach. Which professor fled from his students? Which professor secretly hoped for a student to spread him open?
Halfway to the office, Greg said from somewhere behind, “Professor.”
Dale’s heart stumbled, and his cock was so hard he thought it would spear through his pants. Dale slid his papers over his hips, lengthening his strides.
“Professor!”
Dale kept up his pace. Who was he fooling, trying to run? Greg was the star on his basketball team. Dale could never outrun him. Except he tried anyway, climbing the stairs, striding down the hallways until he reached the sanctuary of his office.
Two paces from the door, Greg closed the distance between them, snagging his arm.
“Professor.”
Greg spun him around in a dizzying whirl, meeting his eyes. He smelled like musk, like arousal, and his warmth burned through the space between their chests. Then Greg looked down, and Dale realized that his sheets of papers had slipped, that the line in his pants stood tellingly between them. Greg licked his lips, his eyes boring into Dale’s. Like he meant I want to taste you.
Dale’s throat went completely dry.
“W-What?” he gasped. They were leaving their scents in the hallway. A telltale mix of hibiscus and aspen and musk, and anyone sharp would identify that as sex.
And Dale knew they weren’t stopping here, not right now.
“I need to—to get into my office. Please,” he said.
Greg released his arm. Dale fumbled with the key from his pocket, his fingers shaking. He needed Greg. Needed Greg pressing him down on his desk. Needed Greg shoving his legs open, pushing his cock inside.
The key turned in the lock. Dale swung the door open, and he was four steps into the room when Greg followed him in. Then Greg shut the door, turned the lock, and the click rang through the air like a deadbolt sliding home.
Dale leaked through his briefs, his body throbbing. He couldn’t refuse Greg. He didn’t want to.
“Your alpha isn’t taking care of you,” Greg said behind him. And he stepped closer, so his chest was inches from Dale’s back, his heat brushing through Dale’s shirt.
Dale dropped his papers on his desk, leaving them to flutter across the floor. Their hips were so close. All Greg had to do was to slide his cock out, rub it up against Dale. Push it between Dale’s legs. Dale’s heart pattered. “My—my alpha. Um.”
He chanced a glance over his shoulder. Greg’s nostrils flared. Then Greg looked over the photo frames on his desk, the photos on the wall, and sniffed at Dale again. “Where’s June?”
The question hung between them: Where is your alpha when you need someone?
Dale closed his eyes. He knew he could lie, or tell the truth and forever hold his peace. His heat sluiced through his veins, whispering, Tell him the truth, and you’ll get what you want.
More than anything else, Dale wanted this alpha, wanted Greg’s touch on him. Wanted Greg to look at him like he mattered.
“She’s on vacation,” Dale mumbled. “She’s proposing to her girlfriend.”
Greg sucked in a sharp breath. “Her girlfriend? So your bonding marks...”
“I’m divorced,” Dale said, closing his eyes. He had no wish for Greg to scrutinize him, asking why he’d been discarded.
“You’ve been smelling like June.”
“I asked her to mark me.”
Greg growled, stepping closer, his shoes bumping into Dale’s. “You don’t have an alpha?” he asked, his voice rumbling, his fingertips trailing lightly along Dale’s waist.
“No,” Dale choked. Shame scorched through his face.
And Greg moaned softly, his warm breath rushing out across Dale’s neck, his fingers twitching against Dale’s hip. “Damn it.”
“What?” Dale turned, and a wall of musk crashed into his nose, smelling like aspen and Greg and need.
Dale’s cock throbbed so hard it hurt, and his hole quivered.
“My rut,” Greg muttered, reaching down with his other hand, grinding his palm against his bulge. He panted. “Just—just triggered.”
4
Dale
For a moment, Dale stared, trying to figure how Greg’s rut had begun. It had to be a coincidence that it happened here. Or maybe it was because of Dale’s heat.
But Greg met his eyes, his gaze burning into Dale’s, and Dale realized Greg wanted him. And Dale’s lack of an alpha had sent Greg into a rut.
His body throbbed, slick soaking through his clothes, his hole squeezing. He needed Greg inside.
“I’m your professor,” Dale whispered. His pants gripped his hips, and his cock was still a little tender from the weekend. Every movement sent a little tendril of pleasure-pain down his nerves. “I can’t—can’t possibly—”
Greg leaned in, brushing his soft lips over Dale’s. Dale tensed, and Greg pulled away slightly, watching him.
But every instinct in Dale’s body said to grab Greg’s collar, yank him close. Dale whimpered, tipping his face toward Greg’s, offering him his lips.
Greg’s eyes glinted in triumph. He leaned in, caught Dale’s lips with his own, and kissed him hard, nipping on his lower lip. Greg felt good. Inviting. Better than Dale had dreamed, with his broad chest and hungry lips. Dale moaned, parting for him, a primal need shooting through his veins. He needed Greg closer. Needed Greg devouring him, plunging inside him.
Greg slid his tongue into Dale’s mouth, forceful and hungry, stroking Dale’s tongue like Dale was his. And Dale opened wider for him, leaning into his alpha, completely pliant. Greg walked Dale backward, grasping his hips. Then he pinned Dale to the desk, ground their hips together, his cock on Dale’s, separated by layers of clothing. Pleasure whispered through Dale’s body.
“Fuck,” Greg muttered, pushing their cocks together. Dale throbbed, a dark thrill shooting up his spine. He’d dreamed of this, jerked off to this,
