Fuck Valentine's Day(10)

By: C.M. Stunich

“You seemed pretty comfortable with that teacher,” he said, no doubt referencing Preston Ellis. “Like maybe you knew him or something?”

I blinked and tried not to sound stupid when I said, “Huh?” The strange tone in Quinn's voice was not jealously (though it would've been nice if it had been), but rather something else. Fear, I think. What the hell?

“Why?” I asked as Quinn's head followed the ass of a very hot, very blonde coed into the doors of our lit class. I rolled my eyes and tried to resist the urge to punch him in the stomach. I wished Scar Face was there, if only briefly, so he could do it for me. Bet that would've gotten Quinn's undivided attention. “Let's get to class,” I said as I moved away, certain that I didn't want to miss today's lecture on the importance of grammar in dissertations. Much as that subject fascinated me, I had other thoughts on the brain. Still, it wouldn't do to hang outside and wait. If I did then my secret admirer might see me there and decide not to approach. I couldn’t let that happen. If this guy escaped without me knowing who he was, I was going to be awfully ticked off. Or maybe I was just really horny. That can cause severe mood swings and changes in behavior, you now.

“Are you sure you want to go class?” Quinn asked as he leaned in for another kiss and tried to press the aching bulge of his erection against me. I resisted the urge to just let go and let him do what he wanted to do. I wanted it, really, really wanted it, but it would definitely not do for my stalker – I mean secret admirer! – to catch me playing bump and grind with Mr. Tattooed, Sexy and Fuckable. Even if he was an ass. I watched as his gaze caught on the jiggling goodies of yet another coed and slapped his arm.

“Seriously?” I said, and he shrugged, holding out his elbow for me to take as he lead us into the darkness of the lecture hall and found us a pair of seats off from everyone else near the back of the room. There was a slide show up front titled The Life of the Comma – Her Use, Abuse, and Effect on Modern Literary Writing. Snore! My eyelids were already creeping down and getting ready for a catnap. This hour was going to stretch into eternity while my mind spun a million different ways that this could all end. Or not. My secret admirer might never want to reveal himself. What if he wanted to play this cat and mouse game forever? Then what would I do? Pick the next guy in line? I shivered and tried not to think too hard about my kiss from Preston Ellis. I didn't know how to address it. Did I seek him out and ask him? I didn't even know where he lived. My best bet was to wait for my calc class next week and see what he had to say to me, if anything.

Don't be a stranger.

What the hell did that mean? Quinn, who thought he was being subtle but wasn't, began to moan from next to me, and it only took me about three seconds to realize what he was doing with his backpack sitting on his lap and his hand buried beneath it. He was jacking off. In the middle of class. Holy cupcake!

“Quinn,” I began, but he just winked at me.

“Thought this might help you get in the mood,” he said, and I was struck with the urge to both punch him and kiss him at the same time. Immediately, my body alerted me to my situations on the feeling by becoming quite moist and rather excited at the idea of this public display of indecency. I mean, after all, this was not something that I had encountered on a regular basis and the unusual, to me, was rather arousing.

Rational Andi: Or maybe you're just a desperate virgin?

I squelched my thoughts and tried to focus on the proper way to use a comma with conjunctions while I tried to ignore the soft murmurs falling from Quinn's round, sexy lips. The man had a porn star mouth, no joke. It was all moist and hot and shaped like a bow tie. I swallowed hard and tightened my fingers around the ends of my armrests.

“Come on, Andi,” Quinn whispered, all husky and sexy. “I told you, you don't have to touch me if you don't want to, but you could always touch yourself.” I leaned towards him, convinced that the brunette two seats up and three over could hear us and would soon stand up and announce our debauchery for all of the class to hear.

“I am not going to have a mutual masturbation session with you in the middle of a lecture.” And then, feeling satisfied that I'd made my point, I leaned back and kept my gaze pointed forward. Quinn continued to, uh, spank it, while I continued (and failed) to ignore the noises from down under.

“Did you bring lube?” I whispered as the wet, slick sound from next door increased in volume.

“Yeah,” he whispered, eyes hazy and far away. “I don't like to whack it dry; it decreases sensitivity.” I put a hand up to shield my face from his giddy, loopy, droopy one and tried not to sigh.

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