Teach Me (Extracurricular Activities, #4)

by Neve Wilder

It was a glory hole. A bona fide, true-blue glory hole.

I couldn’t wait to tell Jesse. He was definitely gonna get a kick out of this.

I’d never once in my life had to consider the legal repercussions or ramifications of glory hole sex.

I was not a man who would stick his cock through a glory hole for a stranger to suck. I was not a man who threw caution to the wind or who succumbed to blind impulse. Until I was.

“What the fuck? Is howdy hole the trendy name for a glory hole?” Jesse pursed his lips and booped me on the nose. “No. I made it up, but it should be. Howdy hole is friendlier. Inviting like a handshake. But with dicks.”

Sometimes I wonder what will happen when we leave, though, and new people move in. Is the house some kind of cosmic vortex of love?”

we can only hope

His fingers traced the contours of my face, one thumb brushing away strands of hair that had fallen against my forehead. The tenderness in his touch was unexpected, and it melted away the fear inside of me, leaving behind rough fragments of raw vulnerability.

“My superpower is seeing shit other people don’t see.” “Oh yeah?” Nate challenged, and Eric gave him a cool once-over. “Mmmmmm. Sometimes things they’re not even consciously aware of themselves, frat boy.” Nate’s mouth opened and closed as Eric smirked. “That’s what I thought.”

I might be a sexually open dude, but I wasn’t about to nut alone in a stall while Grady was out there sitting at the bar with some other man. That was just pathetic, and I didn’t do pathetic anymore. I’d had enough of that for a lifetime.

There were words written in the gaze locked onto mine, a hundred different messages within, that would take me hours, maybe forever, to parse.

“Everyone’s a little fucked-up. Personally, I’ve always thought there were two nonnegotiable truths in life: no one gets out alive, and no one comes into adulthood without a few broken parts.”

Home was a tomb of unspoken words, stifling expectations, and perpetual concern that I was about to fuck up again.

This was no light conversation; it was an excavation of truth and hurt, dug from the raw bedrock of Cameron’s past, and I couldn’t deny a part of me felt honored he trusted me enough to share it.

“This isn’t about right or wrong, Cameron. This is about us making sure we’re not sacrificing who we are, what we believe in and stand for. And you…you need to focus on finishing your degree, your friends, your job.” His voice lowered to a near whisper. “And I need to…” He looked at me then, expressive eyes clouded with conflict I knew mirrored my own. “To protect your reputation and your career,” I finished for him,

“I told you before that you’re not any more broken than the rest of us. Everyone’s broken in different places. Maybe you and I found our perfect complement.”