Brick and Mortar (Student Bodies #4) (2 page)

“Did you have some of the wedding cake?” Cannon asked, breaking the silence. “It had that fondue stuff on it like they show on
Cake Boss
. Could you believe all five tiers of the cake were heart-shaped? We don’t have fancy cakes like that back home, just store-bought cake mixes and frosting from the Piggly Wiggly. Who do you think gets all of the leftover cake? Boy, I wish I could’ve brought the rest of it home with me, don’t you?” Cannon asked, fidgeting in his seat.

Silently, Turner turned to Cannon and raised an eyebrow before turning his attention back to passing cars outside the cab. He’d bet none of those drivers were contemplating homicide at the moment.

“I thought the cake was too sweet, but did you see Ryder eating it? Boy howdy! I swear, he ate most of the top tier by himself.”

Praying for patience, but not willing to take any chances, Turner pulled his undone bow tie from around his neck, tying a knot in the center of the silk material.

“I wonder if Brock will punish him for eating so much cake at his own wedding. Did you see how sweet Brock and Ryder were when they fed cake to each other? I thought for sure they’d smash it in each other faces, but Brock was just so gentle.”

Knowing if he didn’t do something now, he’d need bail money, Turner pointed out Cannon’s window. “Hey, what’s that?” When Cannon turned to look, Turner threw the makeshift gag around Cannon’s mouth, poking him in the side to get him to open his mouth. When Cannon squeaked in alarm, Turner secured the gag around the back of Cannon’s head with a sigh of satisfaction. “Hush,” he whispered against the shell of Cannon’s ear.

Oddly enough, Cannon calmed instantly. He stopped fidgeting and sat stone-still. Even odder, was Cannon leaving the gag tied rather than ripping it off. His only reaction was to look at Turner with a questioning glance.

Turner simply smiled at him and turned to stare back out the window of the cab. He didn’t blame Cannon for being excited about the wedding. He was young enough not to have had his heart broken in a way time couldn’t possibly heal. For his part, he’d had enough for one day and just wanted to go home and slip into bed before the tears came.

Worried that Cannon had gone completely silent, Turner looked over his shoulder to see the young man had fallen asleep, his face pressed against the window. He had heard of submissives who experienced an almost peaceful-like Zen during bondage sessions but had never heard of a boy falling peacefully asleep while gagged.

Now that he wasn’t running his mouth and driving Turner out of his mind with homicidal fantasies, he had a chance to study the young man. In sleep he looked at peace. In the time he had spent with Cannon it always seemed like he was running all out, his pedal to the metal. Finally at rest, he looked almost boyish. Not that he was much more than twenty or twenty-one to start with.

“Here’s yah stop,” the cabbie said.

“This is his stop, let me walk him to the door and I’ll be right back.” Turner looked over at the still sleeping Cannon and didn’t want to disturb him.

“Whatevah floats, yah boat,” the cabbie replied.

Getting out of the backseat, Turner ran around to Cannon’s side of the car and gently opened the door. Taking one last glance at the angelic Cannon, Turner untied the makeshift gag and nudged his shoulder. “Cannon?”

“Hmm?” Cannon mumbled cracking open his eyes.

“You’re home. Come on, I’ll walk you to the door.” Holding open the door, he offered a hand to Cannon and pulled him out of the cab, linking their hands together.

Cannon followed along, his breath puffing tendrils of cold mist. “February’s the worst,” Cannon said softly, “It’s the shortest month, but that’s just a tease because it’s also the coldest month.”

In this moment, Turner was more than happy to let Cannon ramble, so long as it kept him from talking about what happened in the cab with gag. He couldn’t answer his own questions about what happened, never mind any questions Cannon might have.

“Hellfire, we won’t even see eighty degrees again until June. Well, there was that one day that hit eighty last year in April, but that was just a fluke.”

“Well, here we are,” Turner said, happy to have reached the dorm door without wanting to gag Cannon again. “Do you have your keys?”

“Somewhere,” Cannon grinned, patting himself down in order to find them.

Focused completely on Cannon’s hands and the way they moved over his body as he searched for his keys, Turner was taken by surprise when his cock started to stir. His eyes narrowed, wondering what it would feel like to have those hands on his naked skin, stroking and exploring every inch of-

“Found ‘em!” Cannon crowed triumphantly, pulling the keys out of his tuxedo jacket with a jingle. “Thanks for walking me to the door. You made me feel like a gentleman.”

Taking a step forward, Turner brought his free hand up to caress the side of Cannon’s face where a red mark marred his skin, most likely a result of the gag chafing.

Cannon smiled against the warm skin of Turner’s palm and gasped when Turner moved forward, licking out at his lips. Only an inch separated them when the blare of the taxi horn startled them apart.

“I-I should go. The cab…” Turner said, lamely, cocking his thumb over his shoulder at the waiting car.

“Right, well, um, thanks for seeing me home. Happy Valentine’s Day, sir,” Cannon whispered, untangling their hands and turning toward the door.

Once Cannon was safely inside the building, Turner raised a hand to wave and hurried back to the warmth of the taxi.

Without a doubt, Cannon could say this day had been the strangest Valentine’s Day, or any other day, for that matter, in his life.

Shrugging out of his tuxedo jacket, Cannon folded it over the back of his desk chair in his tiny dorm room, thankfully, a single after two years of requesting one. Now that he was a senior, his name had gone to the top of the list.

Unbuttoning his black pants, Cannon ran up against what was tied at the top of the list for making today so strange, his over-excited cock. It had struck him as odd each time his cock stirred to life when Turner touched him. It had started when they walked down the aisle his hand on Turner’s arm, and then again when they danced, and lastly when Turner gagged him with his red silk bowtie. He went rock-hard the moment the silk knot slipped between his lips.

Shrugging into his robe, he grabbed his shower things and headed across the empty hall to the men’s room. The dorm was nearly empty with his classmates out with their sweethearts on Valentine’s Day.

Once the water temperature was to his liking, he climbed into the shower, his erection standing tall. He figured the only way he was going to get any relief was to take the problem in hand. Raising his left hand to brace himself against the wet shower tiles, Cannon ran his right hand slowly from root to tip, biting his lower lip as a reminder not to moan out loud.

Instead of his usual spank fantasy involving Chris Hemsworth on the beach, images of his night with Turner flooded his brain. “The fuck?” Cannon muttered shoving aside the way Turner’s dark eyes glittered at him when they’d been dancing to
At Last
.

Envisioning his fantasy movie star lover doing a sexy striptease for him in the sand, Cannon was able to find his rhythm. His hand set a steady pace over his aching cock while his lover continued the show with his back to Cannon showing off his perfectly sculpted back and ass.

Feeling his come rise and his lower back start to tingle, Cannon started jacking himself harder, needing to come now. Only a stroke or two away, his fantasy lover turned around and he realized it was not a naked Chris Hemsworth dancing for him, but his professor. “Fuck, Turner!” Cannon cried, his orgasm barreling through him like a freight train. Burst after burst of creamy come exploded from his cock, splattering the shower tiles.

Unable to catch his breath, he dropped his still-hard cock and braced his right hand against the wall.
What the fuck is going on?
He’d just had
the
most intense orgasm of his life and the man responsible for it was his totally annoying but handsome professor, Turner Maxwell.

Not even his favorite flannel sleep pants and a bowl of popcorn could ease Cannon’s mind or his rampant erection. He could understand the unexpected attraction to Turner. It had been almost four months since he broke up with his last boyfriend. Doug was a nice guy but there had been something missing in their sex life Cannon seemed powerless to explain properly. He supposed it was possible his attraction to Turner was born from it being months since the last time he had sex with someone other than himself.

As much as he hated to admit it, spending the day as Turner’s “date” had been fun. Whenever they went somewhere, Turner always had his hand in the small of his back, opened doors for him, repeatedly pulled out his chair and stood from the table every time Cannon did. He had meant it when he told Turner that he’d made him feel like a gentleman all night. He had never felt that way with Doug, who had never done any of those same things for him.

Another thing Doug had never done was gag him. Cannon shivered, his cock jerking hard against his belly. The gag had been the strangest part of the whole evening. Not only had he left it tied in place, but as unbelievable as it sounded, it had felt good. All of the thoughts speeding through his brain at warp speed slowed to a crawl, leaving him feeling at peace. He’d felt so peaceful, in fact, he’d fallen asleep during the ride home.

It might have been his overactive imagination running wild, but he could’ve sworn there was a look of tenderness in Turner’s dark eyes when he’d gently woke him up. The tender look he imagined had morphed into red-hot desire when Turner walked him to the door. Overactive imagination or not, he’d bet his life Turner had been about to kiss him when the cabbie blasted his horn. God help him, he had been enchanted enough by Turner’s chivalrous actions to let him.

Setting his popcorn bowl aside with a sigh, he snaked his right hand into his flannel pants, hoping round three would be enough to get Turner out of his system for good.

The den was illuminated in shades of orange and red as the fire crackled and danced in the hearth. Turner sat brooding in his favorite chair rolling a tumbler of bourbon between his palms. Not even the amber liquid swirling around the cut glass was enough to ease his troubled mind. He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about Cannon since he dropped the boy off at his dorm.

He didn’t know which was worse, almost kissing his student or gagging him. His only saving grace, for now, was that Cannon didn’t seem upset by either thing and had seemed interested in kissing him until the blast of the cab’s horn startled them apart.

Cannon hadn’t seemed upset when Turner left him, but who knew how the mouthy young man would react in the morning when he’d had time to think about what happened between them. His worst fear was Cannon’s motor-mouth telling everyone that he’d used his bowtie as a makeshift gag.

Shifting deeper into his well-worn leather armchair, he glanced to his right at the matching but empty chair. He’d never gotten himself into a mess like this when he was with Bryce.

Bryce had been a perfectly behaved, well-mannered submissive, so sweet he’d give you cavities
and
diabetes minutes after meeting him. The matching chair had been empty since Bryce left him two years ago only a week shy of their wedding. No amount of top-shelf bourbon had been enough to wash away the pain.

Swiping angrily at the tears he knew would come at some point today, what should have been his second wedding anniversary, Turner swallowed what was left in the tumbler in one large gulp. Breathing deeply, he tried to find his Zen. Laughing crazily, he thought maybe he should try gagging himself. It sure as hell had done the trick for Cannon.

How was that even possible? How had Cannon allowed it and then fallen asleep with the gag in place? Brock had mentioned Cannon confiding he wanted a man like Brock to help him figure himself out.
What the fuck?
He wasn’t a rent boy or a shrink, how the hell could he help Cannon?

Only he had. That gag settled him down like an infant with a pacifier. Unable to help seeing a mental picture of Cannon in a diaper, sucking on a pacifier, Turner burst out laughing. He laughed so hard, tears were streaming from his eyes. He laughed until he remembered the empty chair and the anniversary that wasn’t and burst into real tears.

Last night had been the worst night’s sleep Cannon had ever gotten. He’d spent the night tossing and turning in between bouts of jacking off over Turner. As hard as he tried to imagine Chris Hemsworth on his knees in the sand, the eyes looking up at him were always Turner’s.

On the odd moment when he did manage to fall asleep, he dreamed about Turner. His daydream of being the groom played out in his sleep only instead of dancing with Chris Hemsworth, he was dancing and laughing with Turner.

Unable to take it anymore, he’d gotten out of bed for good at 5:00 AM, thinking a long run around the quad would quiet his spinning mind. After two nights in a row of almost no sleep, God help anyone who crossed him today.

By the time Turner made it to his noon architecture class, he was ready to kill someone. When he realized he couldn’t sleep, he had gotten out of bed and went prowling around his dark and lonely house. He’d spent an hour standing in the middle of what was supposed to be the nursery. Now it was just an empty room.

Turner had bought the four bedroom colonial for himself, Bryce and the oodles of children they’d planned on adopting. So many children were born into this world and thrown away and Bryce wanted nothing more than to save all they could. That dream died the day Bryce left him. This was the first time in two years he’d even stepped foot in that room.

After shutting the door to the nursery, he’d gone back downstairs and had thrown on old reruns of M*A*S*H until the sun turned the eastern sky pink. Making matters worse, he spilled coffee on himself just before he was about to leave for campus. He had to dash back upstairs to change and had been late for his 8:00 AM class.

The worst was yet to come. His noon class was the last one of the day but it was also time to pay the piper. Cannon was a student in that class. He could only hope Cannon decided to ditch today. If he did, Turner wouldn’t count it against him. His daydream wasn’t to be, when he stepped into the lecture hall, there Cannon was, sitting in his usual seat in the front row.

If Turner wasn’t running on no sleep and suspect judgment, he’d say Cannon looked awful. He had dark circles under his unusually lackluster eyes.
Good!
At least someone beside him had an awful night too. Turner sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, now he was just being bitchy.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he announced, starting class. “I have your blueprint projects to hand back.” He walked around the classroom handing packets back to all of the students.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Cannon said, not using his indoor voice.

“Is there a problem, Mr. Sommers?” Turner answered casually walking back to the podium at the front of the classroom.

“Hell yeah, there’s a problem, this bullshit grade for a start.”

“We can discuss it in my office. I’ll see you at 1:00 PM.” Turner’s long day had just gotten longer.

By the time class ended, Cannon had worked himself into an absolute tizzy. His emotions swinging back and forth between fury and panic, it was hard to catch his breath. He stayed in his seat while the rest of his classmates and Turner left the room.

Watching the seconds tick by on the clock mounted over the white board, he practiced his yoga breathing. His meeting with Turner started in eight minutes and twenty-seven, twenty-six, twenty-five seconds. An “F.” Turner had given him a failing grade. He was a failure.

Knowing he wasn’t going to calm down no matter how much yoga breathing he practiced, Cannon packed his stuff and stood to leave the lecture hall. Under any other circumstances, he would’ve stopped in the men’s room to check his hair, but why bother? After this, there was no way Turner would be interested in him anyhow.

He trudged slowly up the wide staircase to the second floor of the architecture building which housed faculty offices. He was a dead man walking, heading right for the hangman’s noose. Wiping his sweaty palms against his pants, he took a deep breath and knocked on Turner’s door.

“Enter,” Turner called from behind the door.

Bursting through the door, Cannon lost his temper completely. “What
the
actual fuck, Turner?” he yelled, slamming the door behind him.

Turner sat behind his drafting table silently, narrowing his eyes.

“Oh, nothing to say, huh? Well you sure had plenty to say about my blueprints.” Sucking in a lungful of air, he reloaded. “An F? An F?” Cannon shouted, his voice growing shrill. “Are you fucking kidding me? This design was gorgeous. It was perfect. It was flawless.” Watching Turner silently watch him sent him over the edge. “Fucking say something!” he roared.

“You’re right, Mr. Sommers. It was gorgeous, perfect and flawless.”

“What?” Cannon’s voice cracked.

Standing up from his high-backed chair, Turner walked toward Cannon. “It was all of those things, but it was also wrong! You went over budget by 12%. How did you plan on going to your customer and showing them these plans? It’s almost cruel.” Turner snapped.

“Cruel?”

“Yes, your customer came to you with a budget of X and now you’ve presented them with something that will cost them Z. So, what happens when they fall in love with the pricey Italian marble and then realize they can afford it?”

“Well, I-I…” Cannon was dumbfounded. All he wanted to do was design a gorgeous building and he had. What did it matter that it cost more than the assignment allowed?

“That’s right! So then your boss, let’s say me for example, has to break their hearts or offer the building to them at their budget price which means money out of
my
pocket. What boss is going to put up with that, Mr. Sommers?”

“But it’s gorgeous…” Cannon whined.

“It’s out of
line
, Mr. Sommers, just like you!” Turner roared, finally losing his temper. “Who the hell do you think you are coming in here like this yelling like a toddler who’s overdue for a nap?”

“It’s not fair,” Cannon challenged.

“Life isn’t fair, boy!” Turner thundered, not recognizing his own voice and not caring one bit. “What you need is a spanking to put you in your place!”

“Who’s going to give me one?
You
, Professor Maxwell?” Cannon sneered.

Growling low in his throat, Turner closed the distance between them and grabbed Cannon’s right elbow, spinning him around against the office door. Bracing his left hand against Cannon’s back, he smacked his right cheek with five powerful swats sending Cannon’s torso crashing against the door. Not stopping long enough to think about what he was doing, he repeated the swats on Cannon’s left cheek.

Cannon stayed silent, the left side of his face plastered against the door, tears streaking down his cheek.

Cannon’s tears didn’t deter him. Turner landed five more swats to each cheek before his throbbing right hand made him back away.

“I’m so sorry, Turner,” Cannon cried, staying put against the door. “I’m so sorry.”

Turner was bent over, his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath.

“I’ve never gotten an F before. I’m a failure. I’m gonna lose my scholarship. I’ll have to work at Home Depot forever,” Cannon rambled, his words muffled from his face being pressed to the door. “Mama said I was crazy to come here. That I’d fail. I failed. I failed,” Cannon cried.

Knowing what he had to do, Turner quickly tugged the knot of his tie free and pulled it out from under his collar. Knotting it in the center, he moved to Cannon’s side. “Open,” he commanded gently.

Seeing the gag, Cannon pulled his tear-soaked face from the door and opened his mouth dutifully.

Turner set the knot between Cannon’s teeth, noticing his bottom teeth were slightly crooked and overlapping. He tied the makeshift gag behind Cannon’s head and waited to see if the boy would calm again or if yesterday had been a fluke.

Cannon took a breath through his nose and reached up to wipe his tears away.

“Let me,” Turner whispered, swiping the pads of his thumbs against the freshly fallen tears, smearing them against his cheeks. “It’s okay,” he soothed. “It’s going to be okay.”

Cannon’s blue-green eyes looked huge in his face. He shook his head no, but made no attempt to remove the gag.

“Come here, brat.” Turner opened his arms and Cannon came willingly, resting his face over Turner’s pounding heart. Wrapping his arms around Cannon, he held on tight. “It’s okay,” he soothed, resting his cheek on top of Cannon’s head. His short, spiky buzz cut tickled his cheek. “It’s just one grade. You’re not a failure.”

Cannon wrapped his arms around Turner’s hips and silently held on tight.

“You won’t lose your scholarship and you won’t work at Home Depot forever. I promise,” Turner said, rocking him.

Cannon fit perfectly into his arms. His traitorous cock agreed stirring and snaking its way up his lower abdomen. Not wanting Cannon to feel it, he pulled back enough so he could look into the boy’s now green eyes. He looked exhausted. The circles under his eyes were so dark it looked like he’d been in a fight. “Did you sleep last night, brat?”

Cannon shook his head.

“And you were up late the night before with Ryder?”

Cannon nodded.

Turner sighed. It was obvious his lack of sleep coupled with the bad grade caused Cannon’s meltdown. “Tell you what, re-work the plans to give your customer the look they can afford. That way, you can present those plans before unveiling your showpiece, okay?”

Cannon nodded and Turner saw relief and determination in his red-ringed eyes.

“We all want to design beautiful buildings, it’s why we’re architects. What good is a beautiful building that only exists on paper, but never in reality?”

Raising his right hand, Cannon pressed it against Turner’s heart.

“Here’s what I want you to do. Go home and get some sleep. Give your body a chance to recover, hmmm? You have a week to turn in the new set of blueprints and if they’re satisfactory, we’ll discuss what to do about the letter grade I gave you. Is that acceptable?”

Cannon patted his hand against Turner’s heart twice and nodded.

Reaching down, Turner untied the makeshift gag and held the damp, knotted material out to Cannon. “Take my tie home with you. Use it if you need it and I don’t mean as an accessory. I’ll see you in class on Wednesday, with an attitude adjustment, I hope.”