A Thank You

The finance exam ended with the usual rush, papers slapping shut, chairs scraping. Elena sat there a moment, jeans tight on her thighs, white tee damp at the small of her back from nerves. The last question had almost fucked her over—blank mind, clock ticking, failure staring her down. The guy next to her, nothing special, dark hair, quiet type, had eased his paper closer. She copied the answer fast. Saved. She breathed out hard, thinking how close it was, how she'd be repeating the semester, explaining to her parents, all that bullshit avoided thanks to this guy. What luck.

Hall emptying, she packed slowly, mind on the near-miss, the relief still buzzing low in her stomach. Stepping out, she saw him on the bench by the toilets, coffee in hand, flipping pages like nothing happened.

She started over to say thanks—simple, quick. Before she got close, a big guy, face red from bombing the test, slammed into him on purpose. Coffee splashed everywhere, soaking his shirt. "Fucking idiot," the guy snarled, ready for blood.

The quiet one looked up, no heat in his eyes. "No problem. Tough test." The bully blinked, muttered something, and walked off.

He shook his head, left the book, headed into the men's room. Elena stopped. Gratitude twisted into something sharper, sudden. Why not? She rushed down the hallway and pushed through the door.

He stood at the sink, facing the mirror, rinsing the brown stain under cold water. The place smelled of bleach and old piss, fluorescent light buzzing overhead. She stepped up behind him, pressed close, hand sliding around to the front of his jeans. She felt him stir under her palm—warm, thickening quick. Zipper down, she pulled him out, cock heavy in her fingers. Skin sliding over hardness as she stroked slow, thumb circling the head where a clear drop already gleamed.

She turned him; shock flashed in his eyes. She dropped to her knees on the dirty tile and took it in her mouth. He looked nice and thick. Smelled of soap and manhood. Lips closed around the swollen tip, she sucked, tongue pressing flat along the thick vein underneath, feeling it throb against her. She tasted salt, skin, the faint bitterness of precum as she drew him deeper. She moved her tongue slowly, passionately—she was good and she knew how to blow his mind. Hand gripped the base, twisting light, spit making it slick. Her bikini bottoms were already dripping with arousal. She bobbed with even rhythm, going deeper and deeper. Veins pulsing in her mouth, she knew what was coming.

His breath went ragged. "Wait, I'm gonna..."

She kept going, tongue pressing harder, swirling as he jerked—she knew what was coming. Hot spurts hit her tongue, thick and bitter, filling her mouth. She swallowed it all down, him convulsing till the last pulses, until he went soft against her lips.

She rose, brushed a quick kiss to his cheek. "Thanks," she said—for the paper—and walked out, door swinging shut behind her.