Professor Adorkable

by Edie Danford

  I let him pull me up. I think he’ll tug me toward the open door of my room. I’ve already decided I won’t fuss about taking care of the dishes or point out we’re skewing his data set by having two make-out seshes in two days. So I’m surprised when he leads me down the hall and into the townhouse’s front living room. The only time I’ve ever spent in the formal room with its fancy fireplace, silk-covered wing chairs, and Victorian-style couch, is when I clean it occasionally. The room doesn’t get any use—I’ve never once seen Mar using it—and so it’s an easy clean job.

  “Sit here,” he says, after stopping at one of the wing chairs. He lets go of my hand and flicks the switch to start the gas flame going in the fireplace.

  I raise my brows at him.

  “For a few minutes. While I arrange the next phase of the surprise.” He pulls his phone out of his pocket, jabs at the screen, and then hands it to me. “Look at this if you don’t feel like staring at the fire.”

  After taking it, I check out the screen. I laugh. “Cat videos?”

  “Yes. I’m thinking of getting a cat. I want one like this.” He points at the screen. “And since you would likely help take care of it, you get a say.”

  “Um, Mar…”

  “Just watch. Zoe showed it to me. The videos are very relaxing.”

  “Okay.” Hard to argue. My full belly is making me drowsy and the stress of the day is finally catching up with me.

  Ten minutes later he comes back, and I’m being mesmerized by a pudgy calico cat named Maru.

  “See?” Marek says. “He is cute, right?”

  “He’s cute, for sure. But cats are weird. There is zero chance that if you got one, it would be mellow and fun like this.”

  “Maybe there is a cat-finding agency the same way there is a housekeeper-finding agency? Does Domesticated do, um…pets-ticated?”

  I laugh. “No. But I can bring it up with Cal at our next meeting.”

  He takes my hand and the phone, then leads me back toward the kitchen. It’s spotless.

  “Mar—”

  “No. No scolding. You don’t work on Wednesday nights.”

  “Yeah, but you fed me—”

  “I am taking care of you. And if you don’t come this way very quickly, I’ll have to ask for your help in cleaning up a very big mess.”

  “Uh-oh.”

  “Follow me.”

  I have no choice because he’s still holding my hand and moving very fast, all long legs and intense energy.

  Halfway across my room, I figure out where this is going. I hear water splashing against cast iron, catch the scent of my favorite bubble bath. He’s right to think messes might happen—I know the sound the water makes when it’s nearing the top of the tub.

  I let go of Mar’s hand and rush into the bathroom.

  “Too much?” he asks from behind me.

  I smile up at him after cranking off the taps. “Just in time.” As I straighten, I noticed a drift of bubbles clinging to my arm.

  “I went overboard with the bubble mixture, maybe.”

  As I look down at the tub, I laugh. The bubbles float along the surface—about ten inches of dense, frothy white. “Looks like meringue.”

  “Meringue?”

  “Yeah. Like on a pie.”

  “Mm.”

  I can tell he doesn’t get it. Judging from the look on his face, he won’t be interested in hearing about a pie recipe at the moment. This is flattering to know—in a Pete-versus-pie faceoff, I’ll be the winner.

  “Do you want to get in first?” I ask.

  “Me?” The word comes out as an uncharacteristic squeak.

  I laugh. “Yeah, you.”

  “I ran the bath for you.”

  “And your plan was to…what? Hang out and scrub my back?”

  His cheeks flush. “Well. Yes.”

  “I think it would be more relaxing if we got in together.”

  “Get in this tub together?”

  “Yeah,” I say, my brain and body totally getting on board with the idea. If he’s never experienced the pleasure of mutual bathing before, he needs to at least try it. “Take off your clothes. It will be fun.”

  “Fun.” He eyes the mixture of steamy water and creamy white bubbles like it’s an experiment in his lab gone horribly wrong.

  “C’mon, Mar-mar.” I wipe off my arm on my sweater and start to unbutton his shirt.

  There’s affection and a lot of other good stuff in his eyes as he looks down at me. “Don’t call me Mar-mar.” There’s affection in his voice too, but I can tell he means business.

  Finished with the buttons, I slide the shirt off his shoulders. “What should I call you? Professor Janos? Boss? Doc?” I ease my thumbs under the short sleeves of his tee, making him shiver.

  He grunts, sucking in a breath as I begin unbuckling his belt. The T-shirt can come off last. “None of those things, please.”

  “What was it you called me before? Pu…something.”

  “Pusinko.” His gaze lands on my lips.

  “Right. Little kiss. Can I call you that?”

  “You could. But I like big kisses.”

  I chuckle. “Okay, big-sinko.” I try to say it in an accent like his. It makes him laugh. An excellent sound. “Take off the rest.” After his khakis drop to his knees, I start in on my own clothes.

  The sound of the popping bubbles and our quickening breaths accent the plop-plop of our clothes hitting the tiles. Sexy sounds. My dick is thick, hard, and it makes a good sound too as I straighten after removing my socks. It thwacks my belly, a bead of moisture already pooling in the slit.

  One of his deep, raspy breaths turns into a moan as his gaze slides over my body. The bathroom is brightly lit and I indulge my desire to check him out the way I’ve always craved. No tats, no manscaping, no tan. Just Marek. Intense, alive, making the air around us hum with need.

  “You’re gorgeous,” I murmur, stepping toward him.

  “Mm. No. You are.”

  I gently place my hands on his hips, curving my fingers over the jutting bones before sliding my palms up his sides and over his pecs. So slim. So sensitive. Silky skin and crisp hair that makes my mouth water. Tiny circles of color—the size of pennies and close to the same shade—around his hardened nipples. Unable to resist, I lean in, touching one jutting nub with the tip of my tongue.

  His whole body shudders. Smiling, I give his cock a quick stroke. My fingers want to cradle, weigh, grab, but I make my touch light.

  In the past—with another guy in another place—I would’ve moved things forward fast at this point, my mind on the next thing: getting off, going for blast on the best orgasm possible, and then, depending on my schedule and the mood of the guy I was with, going immediately for round two or settling for a quick clean-up and an even faster getaway.

  I spare these thoughts from my past a few seconds. Then I let myself get lost in Marek’s blue eyes and reach for his hands. I want to go slow. I want to savor.

  “It’s okay,” I whisper. “You can touch.”

  “I want to, but…” He glances down at his dick. The head, shiny and red as a ruby, is poking from his foreskin.

  “You about to go?”

  He nods.

  I drop to my knees. Take him in my mouth.

  “Pete!” he gasps. “Oh God.”

  I let him sink deep, suckling gently, easing him into the sweet spot at the back of my throat. Yeah, he’s about to go. The tension along his shaft is ripe, his veins taut. I cup his balls—he’s tight and hard here too. I love giving head and it would’ve been great to let my tongue swirl and delve and taste the way it wants to. But that kind of exploration will have to wait for another time. Right now he needs swallowing and bobbing and spit and, since he’s gorgeously long and thick, the help of a jacking hand at his base.

  He’s still gasping, deep groans punching from his mouth along with word fragments. “You don’t have… God, so good. But…”

  I pulled off a sec and look up at
him. His eyes blaze at me from under heavy lids, his teeth digging in to his lower lip. “Hands on my head,” I command. “Grab if you need it.”

  I take him deep again. My gag reflex is a little rusty and I choke once. I pull back, my eyes watering, my spit beginning to flow freely.

  Mar’s fingers tighten on my hair. “Pete!”

  “Mmm.” I try to make the noise sound as close to “I’m okay” as possible. Because, God, I am so okay. I love this. The challenge, the flavors, the scents, the sounds. Often in the past, this was a power thing. A look-what-I-can-do kind of a thing. But right now I don’t give a fuck about skill.

  I’ve been skirting the edge with Mar for so long now, walking slowly along the surf line, letting the lapping waves of attraction between us occasionally reach my toes before quickly jumping away. Tonight, I’m all, Fuck it, I’m diving deep and getting us both soaking wet.

  Mar’s dick is digging this plan. His hips jerk and thrust, like his cock is trying to drag his whole body into my mouth. The rhythm is awkward and I have to fight to make it mine, but, Jesus, it’s so fucking sexy. Nothing like making a guy totally lose it.

  I suck hard with my mouth, soothe gently with my hands, and, five or six seconds later, he’s groaning and I’m moaning and gulping, taking his load exactly where I want it—down my milking, hard-working throat.

  Pulling off so I can take some much-needed deep breaths, I press my forehead against his thigh. My tongue catches stray drops of jizz from my lips and from his still-twitching dick.

  I slowly become aware of Marek’s hands—palms cupping the back of my head, fingers carefully carding through my hair. “Pete, are you… Did I hurt you?”

  I look up at him again. Smile. “No. You didn’t hurt me.” I sit back on my heels and swipe my mouth with the back of my hand. “I was kinda lost in another world there.”

  “Another world?” He strokes my temple with shaky fingers.

  “Yeah. The world of your dick and my mouth.”

  “Oh.” A smile creases one pink cheek.

  “Now that we have you primed, we have to relocate to the world of warm water and bubbles.” I tip my head toward the tub. “Or that shit’s gonna get cold.”

  “Right. Yes.” The look he casts toward the tub seems doubtful.

  As I begin to stand, he takes my hand. I give his fingers a squeeze. “You get in first. Rest your back against this end.” I point to the smooth slope farthest from the faucet.

  “I might not fit,” he says as he carefully steps over the side.

  “You might have to bend your knees. But, believe me, your skinny ass will totally fit.” I give said skinny ass a smack.

  “Hmm.” He eyeballs my ass. I’m not sure if he’s measuring or considering giving me a wallop.

  “Sit,” I say.

  He sits. And goes down hard. Water and bubbles slosh over the tub’s steep sides. “Glag.”

  I laugh and take a towel from my neat stack on the rack behind the door.

  “I will clean it up,” he says, trying to lever himself up.

  “Nope, nope, nope.” I drop the spread-out towel on the worst of the puddle. “We’re leaving this one till later.” I put my hands on my hips. His gaze immediately focuses on my dick, which is acting all needy and neglected. “Ready?”

  He nods, licking his lips. “Yes.”

  I wave my hand toward his legs. “Spread ’em.”

  He laughs hard at that one. The water shifts under the bubbles. I step in, exhaling as the still-hot water encompasses my cold feet and calves. I turn so my ass faces Mar and then slowly lower myself, bracing my hands on the tub’s sides. “See?” I say. “Watch my technique.”

  “I am watching,” he says, his voice husky. “Very, very closely.”

  “Good,” I gasp with a laugh, finally sinking my ass into the silky-feeling water. Mar is also silky-feeling. He doesn’t need any coaching or demonstrations on how to do what he does next, which is to draw me close against him, settling my ass into the vee of his crotch, my back against his chest.

  “Mmm.” My groan echoes off the tiled walls as his arms come around me. Okay, so this is not going to be a relaxing soak. His thumbs find my wet, hard nipples, and his hot mouth finds the side of my neck. “Oh fuck.” I arch, making the water slosh. “Marek…”

  “You feel so good,” he murmurs between nibbles and licks. “Taste so good.”

  His left hand stays on my left nipple. His right sinks between my legs. He cups and strokes. “I want to do what you did to me. Take all of this into my mouth.” His thumb smooths over my cockhead and then down the rigid shaft. “Suck and tug and pull.” He cups his palm around me, holding me tight, creating suction under the water that felt, yeah, a lot like a mouth. In the meantime, his actual mouth is sucking hard on my neck, pulling at my sensitive skin with teeth and lips, consuming me. “Make you explode.” After a few strokes, his fingers dive downward, exploring my balls.

  “Oh yeah. There… Please, Mar.”

  “You like this?”

  “Yes. God. Harder, lower.”

  He presses the heel of his hand against my sac and rubs. My hips jerk, sending the tip of my cock above the surface of the water and dwindling bubbles. My laughter sounds strangled. Marek’s sounds jubilant.

  Then one of his long, strong fingers dips and finds my hole and I can’t make any sound at all. I’ve always been greedy as fuck about touches there. I want all the touches. Tongue and teeth and raspy chins and cheeks. Dildos and dicks, beads and plugs. I’ve denied myself lately for a lot of reasons. I wouldn’t called it self-punishment, but now I’m realizing maybe it has been.

  Because, Jesus, just the light, tentative touch of Marek’s fingertip is making me want to shoot through the roof—up three stories and into the cold January sky.

  I laugh silently, helplessly, wondering what he’d do if I suddenly surge up, part my cheeks with my shaky hands, and offer my greedy hole to his mouth.

  “You do like this.”

  “Oh yeah.” I squirm.

  “Inside?” His finger dives through the tight ring of muscle.

  “Please. Yes… You don’t have to be—” I take a breath, preparing to give him instructions. He doesn’t need any though, thank God, and starts up a careful, but sure-fingered stroke.

  “You do this to yourself?” I ask, turning to look at him. His head dips. We kiss, hot and steamy. Lots of tongue, the rhythm matching what he’s doing with his finger.

  “Yes,” he breathes when we finally pull back for air. “I like…ass play.”

  “Oh God,” I mutter, bending my arm, reaching up to grab his head with a wet hand. “That is awesome news.”

  He gives me three hard kisses with tongue and then says, “I like gadgets. I like to experiment. You will benefit from this research.”

  I laugh, thrusting harder against his stroking finger. “Yeah,” I breathe. “I think I will.” The water sloshes, popping more bubbles.

  “You are so beautiful,” he whispers against my hair. His other hand cradles my shaft—it’s deep pink from the warm water and from need. “Show me how you like it. Put your hand over mine.”

  I obey him, but I’m not thinking about technique or teaching. He’s found my prostate and my head falls back against his shoulder. “Mar,” I pant, gripping his fingers. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. There. So there.” My thrusts get wilder. The pleasure has been everywhere, drifting around me in the soap-scented air, moving behind me in the hard, solid presence of Marek’s body, lapping against my limbs. But now it’s concentrating, centering in my lower back, my balls, getting ready to blow.

  I groan long and low.

  He kisses my temple, grips my cock firmly. “I’ve got you, pusinko. Let it come.”

  I close my eyes, giving myself over to both of his hands.

  “Ohhhh.” I suck in a breath, feeling the whoosh and the whirl and God, yes, yes, the plunge. The first ribbon shoots high and hard. My eyes flare open, my abs crunch, and I see the head of my cock�
�out of the water, out of Mar’s hand—jettison another curling ribbon. It shoots high and lands fiizzt, fiiizzt in the water. Then Mar’s fingers are there, his thumb, catching what I’m giving him, cradling me, encouraging me, and the sight is as good as all the heat coming together in that one greedy spot—literally coming—the water, my jizz, his skin, my twitching dick.

  “Good,” he whispers praise into my ear. “That is so perfect, so good.”

  My head drops to his shoulder again, the tension in my muscles skedaddling, leaving me weak. His finger eases out of my hole and starts up a slow, soothing stroke around the relaxing muscle. His other hand strokes my belly, moving away from my sensitized dick and giving me space to recover.

  His mouth finds mine, and, God, the kisses are so sweet. Hot and sweet. As good as the orgasm. Maybe better. I love his flavor, love the rhythm of our tongues, the sound of our melding breaths.

  “Relaxed yet?” he asks as we pause for breath.

  “Um. Yes.” Chuckling, I reach up to stroke his chin, trace the line of his jaw. So awesome to be able to touch him like this. I play with his ear, test the nap of his whiskers, judge the slope of his nose. He puts a stop to my explorations with his teeth. “Ow.”

  He smiles awesomely and kisses my finger. “We need to move to the bed. Or refill. The water is getting cold.”

  “You don’t feel cold, though.” I wiggle against him. “You know that little space heater that you got me for my room? Back in November? When you thought the radiators wouldn’t be good enough to heat the space.”

  “Yes. I remember. You argued.”

  “Right. And I never have used that heater despite all your product research. I like sleeping in a cool room.”

  “And why do you bring up this failure of my mine to keep you comfortable? Tonight when I am feeling filled with success?”

  I laugh. “Because your dick reminds me of that heater. It’s column-shaped. Fiery red. Hard to ignore.”

  “Mmm. And when you plug it into your socket, you get turned on?”

  I laugh harder, twisting to look back at him. “That is a very naughty joke, Mar.”

  “Not my first.”

  “Well, I think it’s the naughtiest one I’ve ever heard you make.” I shift and wiggle until I’m facing him, my knees between his spread thighs. “Maybe you make them all the time in the lab? Or say them in Czech?”