Haze by Andrea Wolfe (best motivational books for students txt) 📕

nearby. I knew my cheeks were flushed bright red, but nobody could probably tell.

Jack's fingers left me, and when I turned to face him again, I noticed his erection standing proudly from his unzipped fly. "My turn?" he asked.

My heart started pounding even worse than when the waitress had been here. "Jack, uh—"

"You know you want to. I swear I'm not just being a guy. You liked that a lot."

Once again, he knew what was up in my brain. I was flooded with a weird kind of desire, a desire to reciprocate, but also to do something so raw in front of all of these people. I wanted to risk getting caught, but I couldn't explain why.

Well, it was fun. Why did I need to dig any deeper than that?

I shrugged and spit into my fingers. "You'd better be quick," I said.

"I promise." He gave me a wicked smile. The first stroke cleared that smile away and replaced it with a series of scrunched, hot-as-hell, photo-worthy expressions.

At first, his length made my hand rise above the surface of the table, something I was way too nervous about. "Tilt your hips toward me," I demanded. He complied.

Saliva blended with his pre-cum, my strokes smooth and rapid. I watched him intently, studying his reactions. His eyes opened and closed at random, his chest rising and falling like the tide. I pumped frantically and consistently, my grip tight and focused.

"Is that good, Jack?" I whispered in his ear.

"God, no fucking games right now." His words expressed nothing but confused bliss.

My eyes remained on lookout the whole time, going back and forth across the horizon. I was so fixated on that that I didn't even feel him start to come.

His groan hit my ear as his semen spilled across my thighs, his cock twitching between my fingers.

"Shit!" I said quietly cursing myself for not keeping up.

"I told you it would be quick!" he said, mid-groan. He had a point.

Come continued spilling against me—I hadn't even thought about that part when I started—but I just let it happen since it seemed to be the only logical thing to do. Jack was struggling to catch his breath—and I really liked that.

He finally calmed down and I politely handed his erection back to him. "I don't want to get it on your pants," I said. It was funny watching him hold it in his hand beneath the surface of the table.

"Thanks. But what about you?"

"I hadn't really thought about that." I started giggling after looking down at the sticky mess on my thighs. It was obvious that I wasn't going to be able to stand up yet.

Before I finished surveying the damage, I heard that voice again and immediately tensed up. I caught myself this time, however.

"Two waters and some napkins," Jack said.

"No drinks?"

"We've been drinking all night at the bar," he said. "And her nose is running like a faucet." Jack froze and smiled.

"Whatever." The waitress gave a tired smile and then headed away.

I burst out laughing. "God, if only she knew."

"Do you want her to know?" Jack asked. "Should I tell her?"

I promptly shook my head.

She returned a couple of minutes later with our waters and a leaning tower of napkins, almost like she knew we were up to something. "Thanks," Jack said.

"They're on the house." She smiled again.

"We're so lucky!" Jack said to me. I nodded.

After she left, I wiped up the mess and guzzled my water. I couldn't believe how dehydrated I was. Jack's water disappeared almost as fast as mine did. Our "drinks" gone, I dumped the evidence in the bathroom trash and then joined Jack in the hotel lobby.

The elevator ride was quiet and subdued. I cuddled up to Jack and stayed that way until the bell dinged. Something felt so right, even amid all of this childish behavior. I scolded myself for even referring to it as childish, because what did I know? That had been thrilling and fun, a distraction from the rigors of everyday life.

Oh yeah, that. Didn't matter; in his arms I felt inviolable.

Despite my assumption that Jack was tired out, when we got back into the room, he unremittingly fucked me until I was really ready to sleep.

Chapter 17

After a short shower that was more fooling around than washing, we went out for brunch on Sunday morning, sharing over-filled plates of deep-fried French toast and blueberry pancakes. On the side were the usual breakfast suspects—eggs, bacon, sausage, toast, orange juice, and mere cups of coffee, no fancy drinks. Oh yeah, and real maple syrup.

Gluttonously good.

To be honest, the breakfast joint we chose actually had great coffee. At the very least, it was brewed in a French press; I noticed the oil on the surface. And it was fresh since we did the pressing ourselves.

Jack looked so urbane in his sports coat and dress shirt, diligently sipping coffee while he paged through a newspaper that had been left on the table next to ours. Every now and then he'd take a cute little nibble out of the remaining piece of toast and place it back on the platter.

"Is that actually interesting?" I asked. There was only a small piece of French toast left, the cream cheese filling leaking out of it like a very sugary puncture-wound. I decided to end its suffering and drowned it in the syrup—and then it disappeared. "Can't you just look news up on your phone?"

He gave me a wry smile. "I like the feel of the paper. I'll probably never get over that."

"What about ebooks? Do you really like carrying around physical copies of books?"

"I'm getting used to them," he said, pausing to sip coffee at the end of the sentence. "I like the idea. I mean, look what it did to music. Can you believe I had a hundred-disc CD changer in my car in high school? It was full too. Now I can just use an MP3 player."

"I hadn't really thought about that," I said. "And