“I never trade grades for sex,” Rutledge ground out. “You were the only exception.”
Shawn blinked. “What? But I heard—”
“Yes, I get offers all the time, but I report everyone who’s stupid enough to suggest it outright. Do I look like someone who would trade grades for anything, Wyatt?”
Well, no. That was why Shawn had had trouble believing it when Christian had told him the rumor.
“But then…” Shawn studied Rutledge. “Then what about me? Why me?”
The silence stretched. And stretched. And stretched some more.
Oh.
Shawn licked his lips. “You want me.” He let out an uncertain chuckle. “Wow. I’m—I’m kind of flattered, I guess.”
Rutledge glowered at him, his grip flexing on Shawn’s throat. “It’s just lust, nothing more. I won’t give you special treatment.”
“You’re already giving me ‘special treatment,’ Professor. You’ve been a total asshole lately—even more than you usually are.” Shawn held his gaze. “Let’s be honest, man. I needed not to fail your class, so I sucked you off. I didn’t force you to accept my offer. You wanted your dick sucked and you got what you wanted. It’s not my fault you couldn’t resist it. And it sure as hell isn’t my fault that I turn you on. So please stop taking it out on me. I get it: you’re sexually frustrated, but go jerk off, or fuck someone—”
“I don’t think so,” Rutledge said, very softly.
Shawn didn’t like the gleam in his eyes. “What?”
“I always get what I want,” Rutledge said, his soft tone at odds with the hard grip on Shawn’s throat. There would probably be bruises. “If I want your mouth, I’ll get your mouth, not someone else’s. Get on your knees.”
Shawn stared at him. Was this guy for real?
“I don’t think so, Professor,” he said, just as softly. “You’re the one who wants his dick sucked. I’m straight. What’s in it for me?”
Rutledge’s eyes narrowed. “I won’t repeat my mistake again. You’ll have to work for the final grade like everyone else. I won’t give you a grade you don’t deserve.”
“Then it looks like it will be the first time you don’t get what you want. Sir. Let go. Now.”
Rutledge didn’t let go, his gaze assessing. “Two thousand,” he said.
Shawn frowned. “What?”
“Two thousand dollars a month.”
Shawn laughed, an incredulous, hard edge to it. “You’ve got to be kidding me. I’m not a whore.”
Rutledge raised his eyebrows.
Shawn scowled, though he felt his cheeks grow hot. “It’s different.”
“How is that different?” Rutledge’s lips curled, but Shawn would never call it a smile. “It’s actually far more honest and straightforward than whoring yourself for a grade. You need money, Wyatt.”
“How do you know that?” Shawn said sharply.
“I have eyes. Most of your clothes are worn out and old.”
Rutledge’s tone was matter-of-fact, yet Shawn suddenly felt very conscious of the shabbiness of his appearance compared to Rutledge’s immaculate suit. “Don’t you have better things to do than study your students’ clothes?”
Rutledge stroked his thumb over the pulse in Shawn’s neck. “Two thousand a month. Just for sucking my dick. Think about it, Wyatt.”
Shawn didn’t want to think about it. He wanted to laugh in Rutledge’s face and walk out, but…
But.
He thought about the empty fridge and cupboards at home. He thought about the rent, due next week. He thought of the winter coming soon—and of the heating bills. He thought of Mrs. Hawkins’s wages. He thought of the fact that he barely saw Emily and Bee, because he had to work two jobs and still barely scraped a living.
He was tempted. Fucking hell, he was tempted. It didn’t exactly make him proud, but Rutledge was right: he needed money and he was in no position to be picky about the source of the money.
“Three thousand,” Shawn said. If he was going to whore himself out, he wasn’t going to be cheap. Rutledge wasn’t married, had a cushy job and had published multiple award-winning books. He could easily afford it.
Rutledge snorted. “You can’t be serious. I can find fifty whores for that money.”
“I’m sure you can. But it’s me you want. And I’m not a whore.”
“You could have fooled me.”
Shawn ignored the jab and said softly, looking Rutledge in the eye, “It’s not like you can’t afford it. Three grand for fucking my mouth any time you want.”
Rutledge’s nostrils flared. His face was hard to read, but the hunger in his eyes as he looked at Shawn’s lips was harder to conceal. It made Shawn feel weird. He was straight, but he was honest enough with himself to admit that it was flattering as hell that this man—this powerful man everyone feared and respected—wanted him so badly.
“Any time I want?” Rutledge said, lifting his gaze to Shawn’s eyes.
After a moment’s hesitation, Shawn nodded. How often could Rutledge possibly demand for him to do it? Probably a few times a week, at most. About ten times a month. And he’d get three thousand dollars for that. He would be able to quit one of his jobs and spend more time with the kids.