Chapter 1: Caught in the Act
The fluorescent lights hummed overhead, bleaching the color from everything. Piper tapped her pen against her notebook, the sound swallowed by the empty classroom. The study group had dissolved five minutes ago for a snack run, the echo of their chatter fading down the hall.
“You don’t actually get the correlation coefficient stuff, do you?” she said, not looking up.
Alasdair flinched. He’d been meticulously recopying his notes, his handwriting a tight, anxious scrawl. “I get the concept. The formula’s application is just… particular.”
“Yeah, you’re lost.” Piper stood up, her chair legs screeching on the linoleum. She walked over to the teacher’s desk where he was sitting. Her skirt swished against her thighs. “Scoot back.”
“What?”
“The desk. Move it back. You’re crammed in there.” When he just stared, she huffed and grabbed the sides of the heavy wooden desk, shoving it back herself with a gritty scrape. The space opened up in front of his chair.
Before he could process it, she was in that space. She put a hand on his chest and pushed. The rolling chair shot backward a foot, its wheels complaining.
“Piper, what are you—”
She dropped into his lap, straddling him. The sudden weight forced a grunt from his lungs. The vinyl of the chair creaked wildly. She smelled like coconut shampoo and synthetic vanilla perfume.
“We’re not studying,” she whispered, her mouth close to his ear. Her septum ring brushed his cheek, cold. “You’ve been staring at my tits for three weeks. You think I didn’t notice?”
His face burned. “I haven’t— I wasn’t—”
“Shut up.” She ground her hips down, a slow, deliberate circle. He could feel the heat of her through the layers of their clothes. A bolt of pure, sharp sensation shot straight to his groin. “You’re gonna fail this midterm anyway. Let’s do something you might actually be good at.”
He was hard already, embarrassingly fast. She felt it and smiled, a mean little twist of her lips. “See? Not so complicated.”
“Someone… the others…” he managed, his voice strangled.
“They went to the servo. That’s a twenty-minute trip, minimum.” She hooked her fingers under the hem of her skirt, hiking it up around her waist. The plain cotton of her underwear was pressed against his jeans. She kept rocking. “You ever had a girl ride you, Alasdair?”
He shook his head, mute. His hands gripped the armrests like he was falling.
“Figured.” She leaned in, her dirty blonde hair curtaining their faces. “Take your jeans off. Now.”
His fingers fumbled with the button, clumsy. He had to lift his hips, and she helped, yanking the denim down to his thighs. The classroom air was cool on his skin. His boxers tented obviously.
“Pathetic,” she murmured, but she was breathing harder. She hooked her thumbs into the waistband of his boxers and pulled them down too.
He was exposed, completely. He wanted to cover himself. She looked down, her expression unreadable.
“It’s fine,” she said, as if reading his panic. “It’ll work.”
Then, in a fluid motion, she slid off his lap and onto her knees on the hard floor. She didn’t hesitate. She took him in her hand, gave two rough pumps, and then her mouth was on him.
Alasdair’s head slammed back against the chair. A choked sound escaped him. It was wet and hot and tighter than anything he’d ever imagined. His hips jerked involuntarily.
“Keep still,” she mumbled, the vibration making him see stars. She started to move, her head bobbing in a slow, practiced rhythm. One of her hands cupped his balls, lightly. The other braced against his thigh. Her eyes were open, looking up at him through her lashes.
This wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be happening. Piper Bennett, who argued about heteronormative structures in tutorial, was sucking his dick in the empty Statistics 101 classroom. The disconnect was so vast his brain fizzed with static. All he could feel was the building pressure, the slick sounds, the incredible visual of her lips stretched around him.
He was going to come. He was going to come in about ten seconds.
The door creaked.
Piper froze, her mouth still full. Her eyes widened.
“—total waste of time, the crisp selection was fucked—” Leo’s voice echoed into the room.
Footsteps. Two pairs. They were back early.
Alasdair’s blood turned to ice. He stared down at Piper, sheer terror locking his muscles. She didn’t pull away. Slowly, deliberately, she pushed the teacher’s desk in with her shoulder, closing the gap until it pressed against the chair, hiding her kneeling form completely. She was trapped in the little cubby of space.
She looked up at him, put a single finger to her lips, and then started moving her head again, impossibly slow.
“Alasdair! You alive, man?” Leo dropped into a chair a few rows back. Maya slid into the desk next to him.
“Yeah,” Alasdair croaked. He cleared his throat. “Yeah. Just… reviewing.”
“Where’s Piper?” Maya asked.
“Bathroom,” he said, too quickly. He felt Piper’s tongue swirl around the head of his dick and he bit down hard on the inside of his cheek. The pain was a bright, sharp anchor.
“Figures. She’s always pissing.” Leo rustled a chip bag open. “So, as I was saying, all they had was salt and vinegar. It’s a crime.”
Alasdair nodded, his jaw clenched. He could feel the sweat beading on his temples. Piper’s pace was agonizingly steady. She had one hand on his thigh, her nails digging in slightly with each movement. The desk jiggled a tiny bit with her rhythm.
He dared a glance down. All he could see was the top of her head, the blonde hair swaying. The obscene wet noise was deafening to him, but lost under Leo’s crunching and their casual talk.
“Pass me a highlighter, yeah?” Maya said.
Leo’s chair scraped as he stood. He walked toward the teacher’s desk. Alasdair’s heart hammered against his ribs. Leo’s sneakers stopped inches from the desk front, from Piper’s hidden knee.
“They’re in the… uh…” Alasdair stammered, his mind blank.
“Top drawer, usually,” Leo said. He reached over. His arm passed directly over the space where Piper was. He yanked the drawer open, rummaged, and pulled out a yellow highlighter. “Bingo.”
He turned and tossed it to Maya. The entire time, the gentle, relentless suction beneath the desk never stopped. Alasdair felt a hysterical laugh bubble up in his chest. He covered it with a cough.
“You sound rough, mate,” Leo said, settling back into his seat.
“Allergies,” Alasdair whispered.
The pressure in his gut was coiling, tightening beyond endurance. He was trying to think of anything else—the formula for standard deviation, the capital of fucking Mongolia—but all he could feel was the heat and the wet and the terrifying, thrilling secrecy of it. Her finger was circling his rim now, dry, a teasing promise.
He was going to lose it. He couldn’t stop it.
He tapped twice, frantically, on the desk surface where his hand lay. A desperate, silent plea.
Piper ignored him. She took him deeper, her throat working, and that was it.
His back arched. A stifled gasp ripped from him, strangled into a tight sigh. He came, shuddering, pulses of white-hot release shooting down her throat. She kept him in her mouth, swallowing, until he was spent and twitching, hypersensitive.
Then, silently, she pulled back. He heard the soft pop of release, a quiet sniff. She stayed kneeling, hidden. He slumped in the chair, utterly drained, staring at the whiteboard scribbles until they blurred.
“You okay, Alasdair?” Maya asked. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“Just… tired,” he mumbled, his voice hollow.
Under the desk, Piper wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. Then he felt her fingers, deft and careful, pulling his boxers and jeans back up over his hips. She fastened his button. Her touch was clinical now.
She waited, a hidden creature in the dark. They all waited, for the bell, for a miracle, for the next impossible move.