Page 30 of Blurred Boundaries

“You love it though,” he says.

“Fuck! Yes, I do.”

“Look at you bent over in your lecture hall,” he says, his voice strained. “What if one of your students walks in right now and sees you getting split open by my cock?”

Holy fuck! I shouldn’t be turned on by that, but my cock throbs and twitches, my pulse kicking up. Up until now, it hadn’t even crossed my mind that someone could walk in, that the door could open and everything would be exposed in the worst possible way. But now that he mentions it, I realise I don’t actually care as much as I should.

Does that mean I like to be watched?

I don’t have an answer, and I don’t even try to find one, because the more I think about it, the less it matters. The only thing I’m certain of right now is that I don’t want him to stop pounding into me. And when he adjusts my position to bend lower and his cock pegs my prostate, I totally forget why it’s even a bad idea to be fucking inside the lecture hall.

“Fuck, Taj! You feel so good,” I manage, the words dragged out of me in an uneven cadence.

“Nrrgh,” he grunts behind me. “You’re driving me crazy.”

He increases his tempo, and the room fills with our ragged moans. I start meeting his thrusts, moving with him and matching his tempo before I can stop myself. It all blurs together. I don’t know where I end and where he begins, everything overlapping in a way that feels too much and nowhere near enough at the same damn time. Pleasure dances across my skin, spreading through me to my chest, down to my spine, like my whole body has tuned itself to Taj and forgotten how to exist separately.

Fuck. I’m going to miss this when I leave. The thought threads itself into my mind. I try to ignore it, but it is persistent. Now that I’m leaving—back to London first before rejoining my university in Nigeria for the new session—I can’t stop thinking about asking if Taj will come with me, if this could stretch beyond whatever it is right now. But I stop myself before the words even form, because I know his life is here, and even if he’s having fun with me now, that might be all it is for him.

He hits my prostate again, and my thoughts scramble around before flying out of my head. He hits it again and again, and my whole body trembles from the severity of the pleasure coursing through me. There is no space to breathe through it properly, just that rising pressure pulling at me until I can’t hold it anymore. And it doesn’t take long at all for my balls to draw up tight, my cock pulsing hard as I come, my orgasm leaving me shaking as I fill the condom.

A few seconds later, Taj follows, his rhythm faltering before he goes still behind me. He fills me with his cum, his hand still pressing into my hips as both of us try to catch our breath.

“Jesus Christ, Muffin,” he says hoarsely. “You milked me and now I don’t think I have any cum left.”

I can’t help but smile because he’s such a silly little thing. I’m still trying to recover when he pulls out of me, and I feel him return the plug to my arse, but not before a little of his cum spills down my leg, the warmth of it impossible to ignore.

“I want you to walk around with my cum in you,” he says as he turns me and crashes our mouths together.

It’s such a crazy thing, and I know it even as I deepen the kiss, even as my hand moves up to his neck to angle his head properly. But for some reason I love the idea very much—me walking around with his cum in my arse and even some of it dried on my leg.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

“You’re coming to my apartment later?” I ask when we finally break apart.

He removes the condom and ties it, then pulls up my trousers and zips me up. “Of course. I’m hanging out with Lukáš and Kingsley, but I’ll be there.”

He rights his clothes and then with one last quick kiss, we leave the lecture hall.

19

MICHAEL

—Love Again by Dua Lipa

I’m packing up my office when Dean Horák barges in like the door has personally offended him. He doesn’t even bother with hello, he just stands there, fury etched into the lines of his face.

“Hello, sir, is something wrong?” I ask.

“You tell me,” he barks. “Getting fucked by a student in a lecture hall?”

The words hit me like a splash of freezing water and everything in me goes still for a second, my hands hovering over the half-packed box on my desk. Oh my God, this is bad. It’s terrible. I lower my gaze, staring at the edge of my desk because I genuinely don’t know where else to look, or what to even say.

He seems to have a lot to say though. “Your term here may be over, but what’s stopping me from writing to your university in Nigeria and informing them of your conduct?”

Fear lances through me. If he actually goes through with it, there is a real chance I will not be able to return to Nigeria again . . . but I think I would eventually find a way to live with that. What I would not be able to live with is anything happening to Taj because of me. I open my mouth, ready to apologise, to take responsibility. I need to try defusing the situation before it can get worse, but he speaks again before I can get the words out.

“I actually like you,” he says, stepping further into the room. His voice has changed, the anger in it thinning out. “So, a little quid pro quo could help you out here, and all will be forgotten.”