The Mistress. Tiffany Reisz

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СКАЧАТЬ From it she pulled out her eReader and stretched out on the bed, deciding to read until she heard back from Nora. She’d gotten to the good part of the book right as her plane had landed.

       “Harry?”

      “You can do better than that,” came a voice from behind him. Blake turned around and saw Harrison sitting cross-legged on the floor. He’d laid down a plaid blanket and had a lantern sitting by his knee. The light from the flickering wick cast a golden shadow across his face. During the day at school all anyone saw of Harrison were his black retro glasses and the books that never left his hands. But Blake saw past the glasses, past the books.

       “Better than what?”

       “You’re really going to call me ‘Harry’ down here? While we’re alone together?”

       “What am I supposed to call you? Mr. Braun? Sir?”

       “I wouldn’t stop you if you did.”

       “I’m not calling you ‘sir.’“

      Harrison shrugged as he turned a page in the textbook in front of him.

       “Suit yourself. You’re the one who started this.”

      Blake considered turning around and leaving. This was the stupidest idea ever, anyway. He’d never forgive Mr. Pettit for forcing him and Harrison to write that paper together. One late night on Harrison’s bed arguing about the morality of Machiavelli’s political philosophy had brought him here to this moment.

       “Me? You kissed me, remember?”

       “You were begging for it.” Harrison glanced up at Blake over the top of his glasses. “Three chairs in my room and you sit on the bed next to me?”

      “Why do you have so many fucking chairs in your room, anyway?” Blake sat down on the blanket across from Harrison.

       “To see if you’d sit in them or choose the bed.”

       “You were testing me?”

       “Yes.”

      “Great. I failed the first test.” Blake ran a hand through his hair and shook his head.

       “You sat on the bed next to me. I kissed you. You kissed back. Hate to tell you this, but you passed.”

      Blake stared at Harrison and willed himself to hate him. It should have been easy to hate Harrison. Captain of the academic team, every teacher’s pet, only a junior but already he had scholarship offers from two Ivys. On top of that he was the one guy at their Catholic school who’d come out as gay. He’d done it on purpose, practically daring the school to expel him, expel the straight-? student, captain of the debate team, smartest fucking kid in school who’d won as many academic awards as Blake’s team had brought home soccer trophies. He wanted the fight, the publicity, the day in court. The more the other guys at school taunted and tortured him, calling him a “fag” and shoving him into lockers, the quieter, calmer and more determined he seemed to endure it with dignity. He always introduced himself as “Harrison” but everyone who hated him called him “Harry” just to be petty. Harrison didn’t blink, didn’t cry, didn’t act like he noticed the hate hurled his way.

      It was Harrison’s noble stoicism in the face of torture that first caught Blake’s eye. That and that perfect fucking face of his that he hid behind those hipster glasses.

      Harrison slammed the book shut and Blake jumped.

       “Look, it’s 8:13 already.” Harrison took off his glasses and for the first time Blake saw his naked face. God fucking dammit, why did he have to feel this way for another guy? “They lock us up at nine. You came to me. You said you couldn’t stop thinking about me. You said you’ve never done anything with a guy before but you had to know for sure and maybe could we hang out and talk and … remember all that?”

       “I remember.”

       “Was that a lie? Or are we playing a game?”

      “This isn’t a game to me,” Blake pledged.

       “What is it, then?”

      Because he couldn’t hold back anymore, Blake leaned forward and kissed Harrison. Unlike the first kiss on the bed two weeks ago, a kiss that had been slow and sensual and had left Blake questioning everything he ever wanted, thought or believed, this kiss fell flat on Harrison’s unmoving lips.

      “What’s wrong?” Blake asked, terrified of the answer.

      “You’re doing it wrong.” Harrison gazed at him with narrowed, hooded eyes. Their lips were only an inch apart.

       “How do I do it right? Tell me … you’ve done this before.”

       “Lesson one—don’t stop breathing.”

       “What do you—”

      Before Blake could finish asking his question, Harrison had him by the throat.

       “I let the whole world fuck me over by day. But you and me, when we’re alone, it’s you who gets fucked. You get to run the school by day. At night, with me, you’re mine. I own you. You want to do this, you never forget that. So … do you want to do this?”

      Blake swallowed and felt his Adam’s apple hitting Harrison’s hand.

       “Yes, Harrison.”

       “At least you finally got my name right.”

      Harrison released Blake’s throat and without apology or further preliminaries rose up onto his knees and pulled his shirt off. Blake knew nothing of what Harrison did after school. Homework, right? But he must have been doing something other than studying to get those muscles in his biceps and on his stomach. Blake didn’t get much more time to stare because Harrison unzipped his jeans, grabbed Blake by the back of the neck and pulled his head down.

      “Take it,” Harrison ordered, and Blake wrapped his mouth around him and sucked deep. He knew he should have been grossed out by this, by sucking off another guy. But he wanted it, wanted him, and couldn’t get enough.

      On his hands and knees with Harrison’s cock down his throat, Blake felt, for the first time in his life, like he was doing exactly what he was supposed to be doing.

       “Lesson two …” Harrison reached down and grabbed Blake by the chin, stopping him. “You get me this turned on and there will be consequences.”

       “What kind?”

      Harrison grabbed Blake’s shirt and pulled. The shirt came off first and then the jeans, the boxers right along with them.

       “This kind.”

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