2

Fuck my life.

Fuck today to Sunday and back.

Fuck Principal Churchill’s boyfriend for being such a blind dunce.

Choking my steering wheel and gasping in horror, I gripped the steering wheel tight, weighing the gravity of what I’d just done. Shit. Shit. SHIT! The hunk of a man sprawled in front of my jalopy, eyes closed and unmoving didn’t leave any room for doubt. I’d single-handedly sabotaged and ruined my last shot at a career prospect. Worse still, I’d become a murderer.

Oh god.

Ignoring my fight-or-flight adrenalin probing at me to hit the gas, assume an alias, flee to Mexico and change my name to Rico, I reluctantly got out of the car and trudged to the body still lying stiff on the floor. I knelt beside it, dipping my head to listen to his faint heartbeat.

How was I ever going to pay for the funeral? Was there a chance he would live if I rushed him down to the hospital? Principal Churchill was going to kill me.

Everyone couldn’t help but be up to date with Principal Churchill’s love life. The lady was a hypocrite, not permitting sexual relations between teachers or allowing their spouses to visit the school premises but she allowed her boos to walk the school property whenever they pleased. That’s how we got to know who the new boyfriend of the week was; they always visited her in school.

But the man lying right in front of me couldn’t be more than twenty, around my age but much younger. He fell out of pattern for Principal Churchill’s preference for sexy, old baldies, leading me to believe he was either a sibling to a student or just some random passerby.

I pushed the blonde silky locks that fell over his eyes back and cussed in horror.

No fucking way. Principal Churchill’s eldest son!

“Oh, no, no, no…” I chanted breathlessly.

Before I had cause to inspect my supposedly dead accident victim anymore, I was whirled over with my full back on the interlocked floor. Strong, capable hands struck out on either side of my head, cerulean blue eyes pinning me in place with a hypnotic glare.

I’d only seen Ryan Churchill in a picture in Principal Churchill’s office – a gangly teen with dirty blonde hair with a face blotchy with big pimples. But the Ryan Churchill scowling as he took in every feature of my face was a stark contrast to that picture. The real-life and very accurate version of Ryan Churchill looked like a lovechild of Ryan Gosling and Brad Pitt, and I’m not making this shit up. Wild, blonde, shiny hair styled back into a low, neat bun, piercing blue eyes, and the lean muscled body of a sex god. I probably should be sued for noting the warm press of his manhood against mine and the electricity that contact left me with but it wasn’t my fault. Besides, I’d known I liked cock for some time now so that should be a good enough excuse in this situation. It was one of the main reasons why Sarah dumped me aside from the fact that I was eternally broke. I just couldn’t get the damn thing up for her anymore. Ryan was a walking, talking cliché of a prom king in a 90s movie. I bet it wouldn’t be so hard for him to woo even the very married and faithful Cardi B and risk a rift with a very jealous Offset.

He leaned in close so his breath tickled my cheek as he fitted his face in between my neck and the side of my face. He hummed softly as he bit on my earlobe, nibbling it aggressively in such a way that had fireworks erupting in my pants. My cock responded as he slid his tongue out just a little bit.

Fuck.

I pushed him off and got to my feet at the speed of lightning. What the fuck was he doing back there?

Now with his back on the interlock, he shot me a lopsided smile as I took in his dressing. He was wearing a tight blue Henley shirt hiked up to display his taut pecs glistening with sweat, slim dark denim, and high-top shoes that cost more than me and my dad’s old jalopies put together and looked so expensive and tasteless you just knew Louis Vuitton personally designed that himself. His biceps heaved admirably as he got to his feet, dusting himself off. His symmetrical nose was broken, an imperfection that made him all the more tempting.

Well, it seemed Pretty Boy had no limbs broken, thank goodness. Otherwise, I might really be taking up that idea of Mexico a few minutes back.

“Well, I’ll be a monkey’s uncle.” He had me halting in my sick attempt to flee the scene. I whipped back around, flushed and annoyed. His goddamn face exploded into a sly grin as he held up my glasses. I sighed in frustration as I marched up to retrieve them from him. He raised it an inch, mocking my shorter height capacity and I groaned, practically jumping now to snatch it.

“Give it back!” I hissed at him, Veins rigid and nose flaring. He pursed his lips and arched a perfect brow.

“Is that an order, Mr. Cartwright?” He was leaning against my jalopy now and shifting my gaze to his arm on the old, crumpling metal, I noted the contrast between them. More insult to injury.

“You’re not above commands, Ryan. Hand over my glasses or you won’t like what I’ll do next.”

“Is that a threat, huh?” he shoved his face in mine and I gasped, stumbling back when our lips grazed against each other briefly. A thrill spread from my lips down to my ever-excited cock pushing against my boxers with all its might. I glanced down at it and Ryan’s eyes followed mine. Quickly, I turned away. Too late, he’d already seen the boner.

Fuck, fuck, I’m screwed.

“Damn, I’m flattered.” I heard him whisper slightly behind me then felt his warmth hit me like a tidal wave as he reached out to cup my cock through my slacks. I moaned as he squeezed gently, then pushed him away.

“No…” I choked out, shaking my head as though to shake off the pleasure. I couldn’t. “W-What are you doing?”

“What does it look like I’m doing?” He asked, lifting the hem of his shirt to rub his perfect six-pack, stretching lazily and yawning at the same time. “Seems like you’ve got the hots for me, Mr. Cartwright. Just like I do too.”

Wait, what?

“I…” I cleared my throat, looking around to make sure we were truly alone and trying my best to conjure up a picture of my Grandma in tees in a bid to deflate this embarrassing semi. “You…you like me?”

“Pretty sure you heard me the first time. Yeah, I fancy your booty and your lips, and by extension I fancy you.” He kneeled and swiped his tongue at my cock standing tall and erect and at full attention given Ryan’s antics. “Why don’t you let me handle this little man at the back of your wackjob, just for the next five minutes?”

Ryan was neither a student of this school nor one I’d come across during one of my interview classes a few years back when I first attempted making teaching a career. There was no way we’d come across each other physically and this was the first time I was setting my eyes on him since my appointment here in his mother’s school. He could never like someone he hadn’t met before. That’s not how the universe works.

Maybe he wanted to blackmail me?

In my heart and mind, I considered myself a respectable teacher with a moral compass, but my body considered me a self-absorbed hypocrite incapable of giving in to his natural feelings and preferred living a lie to facing the truth head-on. My body wanted Ryan. Badly. From the minute I saw his Pretty Boy face in that picture in his mother’s office. I could allow him to lead me to the back of my jalopy and gift me the best blowjob I’d ever had in my entire fucked-up existence, but here comes to play the debate between right and wrong and my heart and mind’s domineering influence over my thought process.

In other words, I preferred to play the respectable teacher with a commendable moral compass, much to my body’s chagrin.

“Ryan…” I sighed, clutching onto the gold anchor necklace hanging around my neck.

He shook his head in disagreement, raising his hand in objection. “So, I caused that. Shit happens. Let me help you take it away.”

“No, thank you. I’m perfectly capable to deflate a boner by myself.” I spat at him. Jesus Christ, this kid was impossible!

I didn’t know what game he was playing. I just knew he was probably better at it than I was. So, undermining my manhood and in very true Sammy Cartwright fashion, I turned around and walked straight back into my car, essentially running away from the situation like the little dickhead I was.

“Whoa, not so fast, Sir.” He chuckled as he grabbed me by the waist and spun me back around into his body built like a wall.

Damn, I could feel every part of him just by being in his arms. It felt frightening…and so right.

No, this is wrong!