Rhys tries not to think of the one time he caught a glimpse of the photos on Jack’s desk and instead tries to think only of the fact that he’s never seen a wedding ring on his finger in the months he’s bean taking his class.
It makes it easier to accept what a cliché he’s become–sleeping with the professor in your freshman year wasn’t exactly something Rhys had had on his college to-do list. But Jack wasn’t like the other professors, not even the ones he’d seen in movies, he’s not exactly the image of a Hollywood leading man, and he’s serious lacking in the tender loving part of his seduction.
But sometimes Rhys needs a good, hard fuck when the pressure of college gets too much, when he’s caught between a hundred different paths and scared to take that first step, when he needs teeth at his throat and a cock in his ass and an overbearing presence pushing down at his back and reminding him not to float off before he even knows how to fly.
And within the barely lit walls of the office, with chest pressed flat against the rapidly heating rosewood desk, Jack is more than happy to give that to him.