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Rough denim rubbed against Maxwell Clark’s lips, and he mouthed the hardening cock he could feel beneath the fabric. Clark kept his hands behind his back at his lover’s instruction, grip digging into the flesh above his elbows. Fingers raked through Clark’s hair and tightened in warning. The professor didn’t actually say stop, however, and Clark dragged teeth along the thick line straining the front of Daniel Germain’s jeans.
Buttons popped and clattered to the floor as Daniel ripped open his dress shirt. “Damnit, Clark, when I asked you to wait for me on your knees, this isn’t quite what I had in mind.”
Clark chuckled, and Daniel groaned as Clark dug deeper, the jeans growing damp. Daniel tugged again at Clark’s hair, twisting just the way Clark liked. “Though I do love your sense of initiative,” Daniel murmured, and he let go of Clark to rip apart his cuffs.
“Just keeping myself occupied in full service capacity, Sir,” Clark said around a smile, while Daniel impatiently shrugged out of confining work clothes. Clark had lost his shirt, shoes, and socks on the way up the stairs after the dinner that had led to a brief negotiation of the games that would serve as a damned fine dessert. He expected his pants would follow in short order, and impatience swirled beneath the knowledge of protocols to observe and procedures to follow. Daniel didn’t like to wander too far from the outlined beating path.
Still, it didn’t hurt to hurry some of the details along, and Daniel wasn’t exactly complaining. Clark caught the tongue of Daniel’s belt between his teeth and yanked it to the side to undo it. Warm hands fell to Clark’s shoulders, and Daniel’s legs spread for balance. “You do have a talented mouth, love,” Daniel said. “Finish and then stand for me.”
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