Chapter 1: The Human Dorito
Matt popped the minivan trunk and stepped back to admire his handiwork.
Although Caleb had been away at college for less than a month, Matt treated this Parents Weekend trip like a tactical resupply mission. He’d spent the night before playing Tetris with the delivery: a high-velocity floor fan, an ergonomic desk chair, a microwave, and four cases of protein shakes, topped by his heavy, canvas tool bag.
The boxes fit so perfectly you couldn’t slip a butterknife between them.
Flanked by his wife and daughter, he rested his hands on his hips. “Alright, team,” Matt announced. “Chloe, you’re on comms. Text your brother. Erin, you’re the diplomat. And I’m the mule.”
“Dad, don’t call yourself a mule,” Chloe said, cringing. She ran her fingers through the blond hair she shared with her father, tucking it behind her ear.
Erin reached up and tugged at the collar of Matt’s bright orange button-down. “Matt, please don’t pop these buttons before the mixer.” She sighed, smoothing the fabric stretched tight across his back. The man hit the gym every morning, which made shopping for him a chore. “You’re too broad up top for slim-fit, but everything else hangs off your waist.”
Matt shrugged, rolling his shoulders, the short sleeves riding up his biceps. “I like the color. You always pick good stuff for me.”
“You look like a human Dorito,” Chloe said, reaching up to smooth his stubborn cowlick. “But keep the shirt on, Dad. No matter how much you want to take it off to move stuff.”
“Roger,” Matt said, giving a two-fingered salute.
He hoisted the desk chair over his shoulder, caught a case of shakes at his hip, tool bag perched on top like it weighed nothing. He trailed behind his wife and daughter across the crowded parking lot and up three flights of stairs.
By the time Matt crested the stairwell to the third-floor landing, Caleb was there to meet them. He’d inherited his father's easy athleticism, if not his height. After three weeks away, he looked happy to see them, with his hair flopping over his eyes and his lips in a goofy smile.
“Hey, guys,” he said, stepping forward to hug Erin, then Chloe.
“Point the way, buddy,” Matt said, navigating the narrow hallway with a spring in his step. He liked feeling useful.
He dropped off the shakes and tool bag just outside Room 302, then squeezed the chair box inside. He caught the distinct aroma of a teenage boy’s room—gym clothes and pizza.
“Ah, smells like potential,” Matt said, taking a deep, appreciative breath.
A slim boy with a messy dark mullet and an oversized tee looked up from a sketchbook on the lower bunk. “Whoa,” he said, pulling his legs back to make room for Matt’s entry.
“Dad, Mom, Chloe, this is Hayden,” Caleb said. “Hayden, my family.”
“Hey, Hayden,” Matt said, setting the load down with a controlled thud. He ran his hand through his hair, tousling it back into that just-woke-up-from-a-nap look. He offered a big hand that swallowed Hayden’s. “Caleb says you’ve been holding down the fort. Need a hand with anything? I brought the toolkit.”
Hayden’s eyes flicked to Matt’s forearm, then to the orange shirt stretched across his chest, a tuft of blond hair peeking from the open collar. “Hi. Nice to meet you.” He cleared his throat.
Matt dropped to a crouch, focusing on the bunk bed ladder. “Oh boy, this thing’s a safety hazard.” He tugged at it, feeling for a wobble. “Bolts are loose. That thing shifts an inch to the left, someone’s going to take a header onto the floor. We’ll have it sorted in no time.”
Hayden shifted on his mattress, only a few feet from Matt.
“Do you guys have more in the car?” he asked. “I can help bring things up.”
“Oh, that’s sweet of you,” Erin said. “I’ll show you the minivan. I need to get my chocolate chip cookies!”
“Cookies?” Hayden asked, brightening.
He slipped out from the bottom bunk, around Matt and into the hall.
Erin glanced back at Matt as she turned to follow, calling back to the boy. “Hayden, you’re a lifesaver.”
Matt grinned, then turned to his son. “Hey Caleb, is that window latch still sticking? I’ve got some silicone spray.”
Caleb shrugged.
Matt rose up. At 6’3”, he towered over the rest of his family. With ladders and windows to fix, and furniture to be assembled, he was so in his element he hardly knew where to begin.
“Okay. You guys start pulling those chair parts out of the box.”
He stepped into the hall and bent over his tool bag, rummaging through the pockets. Blood rushed to his head, making his face flush hot.
Inside the room, he could hear the rip of packing tape.
“God, he’s such a dork,” Caleb muttered. “Bet he tries to fix the showers before you leave.”
Matt smiled quietly to himself, pushing aside a set of screwdrivers. Being a dork meant things got taken care of.
Then Chloe’s voice cut in—a conspiratorial whisper that carried through the open doorway. “Oh my God. My gaydar is currently sca-reaming. Like, full feedback loop.”
Matt paused, hand on the spray can, listening more closely as Caleb groaned.
“Hayden?” Caleb asked, his voice laced with skepticism. “Chlo, you think everyone’s gay.”
“That’s because I’m the only one in this family with a working gaydar,” Chloe shot back. “And your roommate is super gay. Off-the-charts.”
Matt chuckled. He cleared his throat and rattled the can, making sure they heard him coming. Then he bounded back in to fix the window.
Chapter 2: The Mixer
The double doors of the student union were draped with a massive blue and gold ribbon that read WELCOME PARENTS.
“The drainage on these walls is shot,” Matt murmured, brow furrowed. “One good freeze and that masonry’s going to crack.”
Chloe pushed past, rolling her eyes. “Dad, stop inspecting. You don’t work for the university.”
“I’m observing, not inspecting,” Matt said.
Erin peeled the backing off a name tag and tapped it firmly to his chest. His name was scrawled in thick black marker.
“Matthew, you are not the project director tonight,” she told him, giving him a pointed but affectionate look. “Just eat some appetizers and be a dad.”
“Fair enough,” Matt grinned, bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet. He loved a clear directive.
The mixer was packed—a noisy room of nervous freshmen and overly enthusiastic parents. Obeying his wife, Matt’s eyes grazed the appetizer spread—mini quiches, cubed cheese, sweating drink dispensers.
He poured himself a serving of punch into a Solo cup. As he sipped, his eyes drifted up—he clocked a suspicious sag in the drop ceiling near the air vents and a flickering fluorescent light overhead.
Before he could point it out, Caleb waved them over to a high-top table.
He was standing with Hayden and a petite woman who shared the boy’s dark hair and eyes, and the same nervous energy.
She introduced herself as Sarah, Hayden’s mom. “He was so worried about getting a nightmare roommate, but Caleb’s been an absolute angel.”
Erin hugged her as if she were an old friend. “We were just as worried! Caleb can be so messy, but they seem to be getting along perfectly.”
Hayden shifted his weight awkwardly, from foot to foot, eyes darting to Matt before quickly looking away.
Suddenly, Chloe grabbed her brother’s arm, leaning into the group with a gasp. “Oh my god,” she whispered furiously. “That guy is totally checking me out.”
Matt turned his head to follow where her gaze had been. Standing near the refreshment table was a young guy, not too much older than Caleb, in a blue staff polo. He was short—shorter than Matt by at least half a foot—but compact and visibly muscled. He had a dark, tight brush cut, a sharp jaw, and a casual, self-assured stance.
Caleb looked behind his sister and let out a dry laugh. “He’s not looking at you. That’s my RA, Roberto.”
“Oh my god, you know him?” Chloe squeaked, standing up a little straighter and smoothing her hair.
Caleb ignored her panic and raised his hand, waving the RA over.
Roberto caught the wave and crossed the crowded room to join their table. Up close, the guy was undeniably cute, the sudden flash of his white teeth striking against his golden brown tan as a pair of deep dimples appeared. The short sleeves of his staff polo gripped his biceps.
“Hey, Caleb,” Roberto said smoothly. He introduced himself to Erin, Sarah, and Chloe, before turning his attention to Matt with a bright, friendly smile. “Nice to meet you, Mr. D.”
Matt extended his free hand. "Mr. D is my dad," he corrected cheerfully, giving Roberto's hand a firm, hearty shake. "I'm Matt."
“Matt, then,” Roberto said, dimples deepening. “You’re the project director. Caleb says you’ve got a spreadsheet for everything.”
“I didn’t know I was a topic of conversation,” Matt said, a slight flush hitting his cheeks. “But guilty as charged. If I don't write it all down in one place, my brain just changes the channel on me.”
As they let go of the handshake, Matt’s eyes dropped to the solid build straining against Roberto’s polo. It was the natural appraisal of one gym-goer recognizing another.
“You look like you know your way around the weights, Roberto,” Matt said, leaning in. “Do you have a decent gym on campus?”
Chloe groaned loudly, rolling her eyes. "He can't go a single day without the gym. It's an actual sickness."
"We actually just opened a fancy new one," Roberto said, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "I can set you up with a guest pass for the weekend if you want."
Before Matt could answer, Chloe cut in, aggressively leaning forward to reclaim the RA's attention. "So, Roberto," she purred, batting her eyelashes, "what is, like, the absolute craziest thing you've ever seen as an RA?"
Roberto offered her a polite, dimpled smile. "Honestly? Mostly just freshmen locking themselves out of their rooms in their towels."
He smoothly turned his attention right back to Matt. He tilted his head up. "But seriously, Matt. I'd be really happy to show you around the facility. I'd love to get you down on the mats sometime."
Matt’s large hand suddenly squeezed the Solo cup he'd been holding just a fraction too tightly.
Pop.
A geyser of pink fruit punch burped over the rim, splashing directly onto his front and immediately saturating the bright orange cotton.
"Ah, shoot," Matt muttered, quickly pulling the sticky, wet fabric away from his skin. "I'll just go find a restroom and wash up."
"Matthew, you can't go to dinner looking like that," Erin sighed, shaking her head at the pink stain spreading across his chest and stomach. She turned to their son. "Caleb, run upstairs and grab your dad one of your shirts."
Caleb snorted. "Mom, no way. If Dad puts on one of my shirts, he's going to look like he's hulking out."
Roberto immediately stepped in, smooth and helpful. "I can take him down to the RA office and the laundry room in the basement. We've got a stash of extra university t-shirts down there he can borrow, and a sink where he can wash off. Plus, I can grab that gym pass for him."
Matt turned his earnest, golden-retriever gaze to his wife, silently asking permission.
Erin checked her watch, doing the mental math on their dinner reservations, and waved a hand at him. "Fine. But you are off leash for exactly twenty minutes. Roberto, you're in charge of him. Please do not let him start fixing the washing machines."
"You got it, ma'am," Roberto chuckled.
Matt turned back to the RA. He reached out, dropping his large hand casually but firmly onto the dense muscle of Roberto's trap.
"Lead the way, boss," Matt said cheerfully.
Chapter 3: Facilities
The stairwell leading down to the basement was dank and echoing, a stark contrast to the loud, crowded mixer above. Roberto took the steps at a brisk, confident pace, staying just a few feet ahead.
Matt followed closely behind. The air grew cooler with every step, making the sticky, saturated orange cotton of his shirt cling to his skin, the wet fabric plastered against his chest and abs.
“So, how many days a week do you train, Matt?” Roberto asked, glancing back casually. His voice echoed off the painted cinderblock walls.
“Seven, usually,” Matt answered, his chunky dad sneakers squeaking against the concrete. The khaki cargo shorts did little to hide the lean muscle of his calves. “Have to keep the engine running, especially at my age. If you don’t stay on top of the maintenance, things start to slow down.”
Roberto’s eyes dropped to the wet shirt clinging to Matt’s torso. “You can definitely tell. Most dads look like they haven’t seen a squat rack since the nineties.”
Matt huffed a quiet laugh, a flush of modest pride warming his cheeks. “Yeah, well. I think people assume the mustache automatically comes with a dad bod.”
“Honestly?” Roberto said, his voice frank, stripped of any mocking tone as his eyes met Matt’s. “That mustache is doing some heavy lifting of its own.”
Matt’s grin twitched under the mustache at the compliment. Before he could formulate a response, they hit the concrete landing of the basement.
Roberto pulled a white plastic card key from his pocket and tapped it against a scanner beside a heavy metal door, the word FACILITIES stenciled in faded black paint. A small green light flashed with an electronic click, and Roberto pushed the door open, reaching inside to flick on the overhead fluorescent lights.
The room was long, narrow, and stark. Two rows of industrial washers and dryers formed a tight aisle down the center. A utility sink sat against the far wall was flanked by a rolling canvas bin overflowing with lost-and-found clothes. A small metal desk was tucked into the corner next to a wire shelf stacked with folded university staff shirts.
As Matt stepped inside, the heavy door swung shut behind them, the latch clicking firmly, cutting them off from the rest of the building. The noisy chatter of the mixer upstairs couldn’t reach this far down. No one was there but them.
"Sink's right there," Roberto said, gesturing toward the far wall. He walked over to the small metal desk and began pulling open drawers, fishing around inside.
Matt stepped up to the utility sink and cranked the cold tap. He popped the remaining buttons of his ruined orange shirt and peeled the sticky, saturated fabric off his shoulders, tossing it into the lost-and-found bin.
Cupping his hands under the water, he clapped it over his pecs and abs, scrubbing the sticky red punch from the blond hair on his chest and down the centerline of his stomach.
He worked his fingers through the wet hair and over the muscle, humming the Jeopardy! theme song under his breath to time the rinse, treating the cleanup like any other practical task that needed doing..
Across the narrow room, Roberto pulled a blank electronic key fob from a drawer. He tapped it against a USB scanner on the desk. It gave a sharp, electronic chirp and flashed green. He set the plastic fob on the edge of the metal desk, the official business concluded.
Roberto stopped moving, just watching as the cold water ran off Matt’s abs and into the deep basin.
“You said there were shirts?” Matt asked, raising one arm and then the other to rinse iout his pits.
“Yeah,” Roberto said, voice dropping. He reached over to the metal shelf and pulled down a dark blue university wrestling team polo. "This one's got some give. It's built for the heavyweights. Should actually fit you."
As Matt shut off the tap, the pipes gave a final, echoing shudder.
Roberto stepped right up into Matt's space and held the dark blue polo shirt directly against the center of Matt’s wet chest.
Matt looked down at the hand resting against his bare skin, then slowly brought his gaze up to Roberto’s face.
His expression was easy and knowing—the helpful, project-manager dad switch flipped. The man underneath was still good-natured, still considerate, but suddenly crystal clear about what was on the table.
Roberto’s eyes moved openly, taking in the spread of wet blond fur, the solid muscle underneath, and the way the cold water still beaded and ran down the deep ridges of his stomach.
"Christ," Roberto breathed, his voice tight. "You really do train."
The corner of Matt’s mouth tipped up under his mustache. He reached up and closed his calloused hand over Roberto’s, keeping the younger man’s hand—and the shirt—pinned to his chest.
“Trying to,” Matt said quietly.
Roberto swallowed. His eyes flicked down to the heavy steel watch on Matt’s wrist. “We’ve got about twelve minutes before someone comes looking.”
Matt gave the hand trapped beneath his a small, confirming squeeze. He didn’t let go.
“Or a little more. I get distracted sometimes,” Matt said, voice dropping to a low rumble.
Chapter 4: The Hookup
Matt took the athletic shirt from Roberto and tossed it onto a dryer. He pulled him in—mouth on his, one hand at the back of his neck, the other dragging the RA polo up. They broke apart only long enough for the shirt to come off. Matt’s hands mapped the dense muscle of Roberto’s chest and stomach once, then went straight to his belt.
“Eleven minutes,” Roberto said ,his voice already rough.
A knowing smile moved under Matt’s mustache. “Better make them count.”
He got Roberto’s pants open and shoved them down with the briefs in one motion. Roberto’s cock sprang free—thick for his frame, uncut, mostly hard. Matt wrapped his hand around it, gave a slow, tight stroke that pulled the foreskin back, and dropped to his bare knees on the concrete.
He opened his mouth and took Roberto in deep on the first pass. Spit gathered immediately. He let it run, working the cock with a steady, filthy rhythm that filled the quiet basement with slick sounds. When he pushed farther, his throat closed around the head and he made a short, choked noise, eyes watering, but he stayed on it, breathing carefully through his nose until the spasm passed. One hand stroked the thick base, keeping it pulled tight to his lips, the other gripped Roberto’s ass and pulled him in.
Roberto’s head dropped to watch. “Fuck—your mouth—”
Matt pulled off with a wet sound. A thin string of spit still connected his lip to the head of Roberto’s cock, then broke. He stroked him with a slick hand, looking up, voice low and rough.
“You taste good.”
He went back down. Roberto’s hands settled in the golden retriever blond hair, holding on while Matt worked him harder. Deep strokes that made him choke softly every few thrusts—throat fluttering, spit spilling down his chin—then shallower, tonguing the underside and sucking hard at the head. He made small, satisfied noises around the cock like he was exactly where he wanted to be. Spit soaked everything; every time he pulled back, glossy strands stretched between his lips and Roberto’s dark pubes.
Roberto muttered, voice tight and filthy, “Sí… chúpala. Así.”
His breathing turned sharp and uneven. His thighs started to tremble. Matt felt the cock in his mouth swell harder, Roberto’s rhythm getting shorter and urgent. He took him deep again and locked the head in his throat.
“FUCK,” the RA grunted.
Roberto’s body went rigid. His cock pulsed hard across Matt’s tongue—hot, thick, copious. Matt stayed on it, swallowing what he could, his hand catching the overflow until he could suck that up too. He kept the pressure constant as Roberto’s hips finally stuttered and eased, until the last, quaking aftershocks passed. Only then did he ease back, licking the head clean with slow, deliberate passes of his tongue. His mustache was wet. Spit and cum shone on his lips.
He wiped his mouth with the back of his wrist and looked up, eyes wet and sparkling.
“Good?”
Roberto laughed once, tousling Matt’s hair “Holy shit.”
Matt pushed up onto his own two feet. His cock was rigid, straining hard against the fly of his cargo shorts. Roberto reached for him, got the button and zipper open with impatient hands, and pushed everything down. Matt’s cock stood free—thick, cut and rigid in a bed of coarse red-gold hair. The head was already dark and wet.
Roberto stared for a second like he’d been given something he hadn’t expected, then wrapped both hands around it, feeling the weight.
“Christ, look at you,” he muttered, and went to his knees.
Matt glanced at his watch, then back down.
Roberto started with his mouth open and wet, licking a broad stripe from base to head before taking him in. Matt braced one hand on the dryer and let the other rest in Roberto’s hair. He didn’t stay quiet.
“That’s it. Get it wet. Deeper—good. You can choke on it a little, I like that.”
Roberto did. He pushed himself down until his throat closed around the head and made a wet gagging sound, spit running freely down Matt’s shaft and over his balls. Matt’s hips gave a small roll, feeding him a little more.
“Fuck, look at you. Keep going—use your tongue right there. Yeah. Just like that.”
He kept up the talk in that same calm, filthy register—praise and direction mixed—while Roberto worshipped his cock with messy, eager attention.
After a minute the RA pulled off, breathing harder, pumping Matt’s cock before diving on again, hungry and shameless. Matt’s hand stayed in his hair, guiding, thumb stroking when he took him especially deep.
Matt’s breathing changed first. His abs tightened. The hand in Roberto’s hair flexed.
“I’m close,” he warned, voice rougher and tighter. “You want it in your mouth?”
Roberto answered by taking him deep one more time and holding, lips and throat working.
Matt’s orgasm hit in a wave—hips punching, a low groan leaving him as he spilled into Roberto’s mouth in thick pulses. Roberto swallowed fast, catching most of it. The rest leaked from the corner of his mouth and down his chin. He kept sucking gently until Matt’s hand eased in his hair and the last small aftershocks had passed.
When he finally pulled off, a bead of cum dropped from his chin to his chest, white against the tan skin.
Matt’s cock was shiny with spit and softening. He bent to haul Roberto up and lowered himself to kiss the RA again—the spit thick and cummy between them. Then they stood there for a few seconds catching their breath, foreheads nearly touching, the basement quiet except for the distant dryer and their own breathing.
Matt checked his watch.
“Time,” he said, cheerfully. “More or less. We’re good.”
They cleaned up at the utility sink—faces, hands, the obvious places. Matt pulled the athletic shirt on. It clung tight across his chest and shoulders, the fabric stretched by the muscle underneath. “Nice fit. Thanks.”
Roberto watched him and shook his head, still half-smiling.
“That shirt’s doing you criminal favors.”
Matt gave him the same easy, open smile he gave everyone. “Ready?”
Roberto picked up the fob from the small desk and held it out. Matt took it with a grin.
They took the stairs at a normal pace, the earlier tension already evaporating, resetting into something perfectly ordinary.
"So, this just gets me right in?" Matt asked, his voice returning to its casual, friendly volume for anyone to overhear as they exited the stairwell into the common room.
"Yeah, 24/7 access," Roberto confirmed, seamlessly slipping back into his helpful RA persona. "Just tap it at the scanner by the main doors. The weight room’s completely dead around five or six in the morning. Staff isn't even in yet, so you just let yourself in."
"Good to know," Matt smiled, slipping the fob into the pocket of his cargo shorts. "I appreciate the hookup."
By the time they reached the family, they looked exactly like what they were supposed to be: a helpful RA and a dad who’d handled a clumsy spill and found a spare shirt.
Erin tapped the face of her watch, raising her eyebrows at the new dark blue polo. "Twenty-six minutes, Matthew."
Matt gave her his familiar, unbothered smile, completely unfazed by his own optimistic internal clock. "Got a little turned around in the hallways, hon. All set now," he said
Roberto grinned, white and toothy. "Did my best, ma'am. Didn't even let him touch the washing machines."
Chloe was watching Roberto with narrowed eyes.
Roberto clapped Caleb’s shoulder, looking more satisfied than when they left.
Chapter 5: The Airbnb
The little two-bedroom Airbnb was blessedly quiet after the chaotic mixer and the noisy Italian restaurant where they’d just spent two hours. With only a single hallway bathroom, the three of them did the familiar family dance of maneuvering around each other to get ready for bed.
Matt stepped out of the larger bedroom, dressed only in plaid boxers and the snug wrestling polo Roberto had given him. He leaned his broad shoulder against the hallway wall, waiting his turn while Erin washed her face at the sink and Chloe hovered in the doorway, toothbrush in hand, actively pacing.
“I’m just saying, it was incredibly obvious,” Chloe insisted around a mouthful of toothpaste. She spit, rinsed, and looked at her mother in the mirror. “Did you see the way Roberto was hovering near me during the mixer?”
Erin let out a long, long-suffering sigh, patting her face dry with a towel. "Chloe, he is an RA. He is paid by the university to smile at visiting families."
"Mom, I know when a guy is flirting," Chloe argued, crossing her arms. "He completely ignored the other parents to talk to us. Do you think college guys date high school seniors?"
Leaning against the wall, Matt scrolled through photos from dinner on his phone. He paused on a selfie Chloe had insisted on with the family and Roberto before they left the mixer. In the photo, the RA was flashing his bright, dimpled smile for the camera, looking the picture of professional helpfulness.
“He’s a busy guy, Chlo,” Matt cut in, keeping his voice even. “Probably doesn’t leave too much time for romance.”
Chloe rolled her eyes. She grabbed her quilted toiletry bag from the counter, yanking the zipper shut. “You guys are completely blind. Whatever.”
She turned toward her bedroom, shooting them a last look over her shoulder. “Goodnight. Don’t be gross.”
Her door clicked shut.
Matt shook his head with a quiet chuckle as he finally moved into the bathroom.
“God grant me the confidence of an seventeen-year-old girl,” Erin sighed.
She squeezed past Matt, wearing one of his t-shirts as pajamas, and headed for bed.
He loaded up his toothbrush, humming the bassline of Stayin’ Alive to time his full two minutes of brushing. When he finished his teeth, he opened his mouth wide in the mirror, sticking out his tongue to give it a firm, thorough scrub, hardly bothering his gag reflex at all.
A few minutes later, Matt spit, rinsed, and turned out the bathroom light. When he joined Erin in the bedroom, his weight dipped the mattress. Erin was already propped up against the pillows, with her bedside lamp on.
“Nobody cried, the roommate is normal, and Caleb seems happy,” she said.
“I call that a win,” Matt said, pulling the wrestling polo over his head and stripping out of his boxers, completely bare.
“So tomorrow,” Erin continued, looking over the glossy Parents Weekend itinerary. “The Chancellor’s Welcome Reception is at ten. Then Caleb said we can catch the crew regatta down by the river.”
"Sounds perfect," Matt said. "I’ll get an early start before the brunch."
Erin looked up over the itinerary, raising an eyebrow. "An early start doing what?"
Matt gave her an easy, practiced grin. "Roberto hooked me up with an access fob for the new campus gym while we were downstairs. I figured I'd slip out around five, get a set in, earn my eggs benedict."
Erin let out a soft laugh, shaking her head as she tossed the itinerary onto the nightstand. "You and that RA. You bonded faster with him in twenty minutes than you did with the Dean of Student Affairs."
"Just two guys whose brains are in their biceps," Matt said smoothly, sliding under the sheets. "I leave the strategy to the mastermind of the family."
Erin looked over at him, her gaze lingering on the spread of his bare chest and shoulders. The gold fur caught the warm glow of her bedside lamp. She sighed softly. "It really is a shame about your good orange shirt, though. That was one of my favorites on you."
"I don't know," he rumbled. "The new one is pretty nice."
Erin looked down the length of his body, her eyes catching the shift of muscle as his cock began to rise, thick and rigid against the sheets.
"You know," she murmured, her voice dropping a fraction, "you don't necessarily have to wait until five A.M. to get your heart rate up."
Matt paused. He knew his job.
A slow, steady smile spread beneath his mustache. "I'm always ready to put the work in," he said warmly.
He rolled over her, reaching out a large hand to turn her bedside lamp off.
END, BOOK ONE OF FIVE
Thanks for reading Book One of Parents Weekend. I'll publish the whole five installments over the next few weekends. I hope you'll return for what's next.
If you enjoyed this story, consider visiting the author's website.
To get in touch with the author, send them an email.
