by Madison Faye
“Sorry again about your shirt!” She says with a final cute little blush across those cheeks, before suddenly she’s turning to walk away.
“Woah, hang on,” I say, suddenly reaching out and putting my hand on her arm. She turns back, that lip back between those teeth. “Let me get your number or something. If you won’t let me pay for the shirt, let me take you out to dinner or something instead.”
Her face goes bright red as the little grin teases across her perfect, utterly kissable lips, as if this is the first time a guy has ever asked a girl who looks like her for a phone number.
“I-” She’s stammering, and again, that cross between how nervous she is and how crazy hot that body is has my cock hard as stone. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” she says finally, quickly looking down.
“Look, I promise I won’t spill anything on you, honest.”
She giggles and looks back up at me. “I…thank you, but…” She trails off.
“C’mon, just say yes. Let me take you out.”
She’s looking at me curiously, and slowly, this little grin starts to spread across her face. “I can’t,” she says finally, and she gives me one last smile. “See you soon, professor.”
Oh FUCK.
My jaw drops as she gives me one last shy smile before turning and walking towards a beat-up looking Jetta parked behind her.
Well, so much for being far enough from campus, I groan to myself as my cock slowly deflates in my pants, before cursing and heading to my car.
* * *
I’ve managed to convince myself that I didn’t say anything too inappropriate when I roar into the faculty parking lot. And I’ve already decided it was just a random run in, and that even on a campus this small, the chances of running into one hot girl from one chance encounter are pretty slim as I storm into the lecture hall, tugging a new t-shirt on.
I growl an apology to the assembled bored freshman as I crack open my lecture notes and take a breath.
Relax. So you asked a girl out, it’s not that bad.
I clear my throat and look up, prepared to launch right into Jane Eyre, when the floor drops out from under me
See you soon, professor.
I’ve been wondering what she meant the whole drive back to campus, but the whole thing clicks into place the second I look and I’m looking right at her.
She’s wearing this much less form-fitting button-up plaid shirt now, but I can still see the coffee stain across the tight white tank-top beneath it. She’s lost the hat too, and her long strawberry blonde hair cascades wildly down around her face. Her shades are off now, and those bright, sparkling innocent blue eyes that I recognize now are looking right at me from behind those thick black-rimmed glasses that I also know. And there’s a creeping blush across her cheeks as I lock eyes with her, and right then, I get it.
Holy shit, the girl from the coffee shop is her.
Her being Ellie Thompson, the shy, quiet, clearly miles ahead of the rest of the class after one week, always sitting front and center like she is now, student.
My barely legal, utterly and totally off-limits student.
I was freaked out before, about possibly having hit on a student, but right now, I’m way past that. Fuck it, I’m the opposite of freaked right now. Because looking at her, and thinking about those soft lip opening in shock, those big, pillowy tits heaving under her soaked-through tank top, and those hard little nipples poking through the cotton, has me rock fucking hard.
She was cute before, sitting there front and center taking pages of notes and turning in papers that floored me. But it’s like the veil’s been lifted, and suddenly, I’m not seeing her as the cute little bookworm college freshman anymore.
I’m seeing the hottest girl I’ve ever laid eyes on; this wildly sexy angel-creature, wrapped up in the quiet, unassuming shroud of bashful shyness.
And I want to tear that shroud off her, along with every other piece of clothing, I might add. Right there, standing in front of my damn lecture hall with Jane Eyre in my hand, my words failing me, and my cock hard as a fucking stone in my pants, I know one thing: I’m going to make this girl mine.
And I don’t give a shit about the consequences.
4
Ellie
He doesn’t know.
It’s actually the first thought that flashes through my head the second I look up from the iced coffee drenching the front of my shirt into the dark, piercing eyes of Liam Martin. Liam Martin the best-selling novelist whose book I devoured before I even came to Hardham. Professor Martin, I should say.
Except there’s nothing “professor” about Liam Martin; nothing dry or stuffy or old like the title usually implies. Professor Martin with the sexy black glasses, the thick beard, and the sleeve of tattoos running up his arm. Professor Martin who barely adheres to any sort of professional dress code, wearing t-shirts and jeans to lectures most of the time - not that any member of the female student body or faculty objects, I’m sure.
Professor Martin who’s gorgeous, in that dark, brooding writer way. Professor Martin who probably doesn’t even know who I am, even though I sit at the front of his lecture three times a week, because he’s got every girl on campus gaga over him.
Except right then, he’s staring at me like he’s hungry, his eyes devouring me in a way that sends a shiver down my back as I catch my breath and lose myself in those eyes, completely ignoring the iced coffee drenching the front of my shirt.
But he’s not.
I blush as I look down and realize how soaked my tank top is, suddenly very much regretting leaving my button-up shirt in the car. And I want to cover up, or die from embarrassment, but it’s then that I see his eyes and that hungry look on his face, and I feel something warm start to burn inside of me.
Because God, I like how he looks at me.
I notice the splashes of coffee on his own shirt and wince. “Oh my God, I got it all over you! I am so freaking sorry!”
He grins when I say it, those dark eyes flashing at me as the the smile creeps across his face. “No, no not at all. Totally my fault for plowing into you.”
He doesn’t recognize me. I suddenly realize I’m still wearing my big dark sunglasses, and a hat pulled over my unruly hair. Plus, I’d never be out in public in a just a tank top this tight, not without a shirt or something over it - sort of like the shirt I left in the car when I darted in real quick to get coffee before class.
And the combination of all this makes me someone new to him, I realize. My unruly hair is mostly tucked under my hat, and my eyes are hidden behind big shades, and I’m - well, not as covered as I might normally be.
I want to be embarrassed, or mortified that I just poured coffee all over myself and my hot professor, but I’m not. Because the way he’s looking at me right then, like I’m something he wants instead of someone that just happens to have her hand up first in class, has me getting warm in all sorts of places.
The way he’s looking at me has me wet.
I’m barely aware of what he’s even saying, so lost in just losing myself in this surreal moment of having a whole one-on-one conversation with Liam Martin that I’m talking on autopilot until-
“Let me get your number or something. If you won’t let me pay for the shirt, let me take you out to dinner or something instead.”
I blush bright red, feeling the heat flow through my whole body. Oh my God, Liam Martin just asked me out.
It’s like every stupid girly daydream I’ve ever had while I’m sitting in his class losing myself in watching him or listening to him talk. The dirty, hot, totally inappropriate daydreams, I might add. I mean Liam Martin is easily twice my age, and my professor. The daydream involving the two of us is hot because it’s so wrong, and so inappropriate, and so far from reality.
Except here we are, and he’s actually asking to take me out. And do I jump on this chance? Do I give in to my dirty daydreams and tell him to take me any way he wants like I do in my dreams?
&n
bsp; No, of course not, because I’m a big giant wimp.
And so instead, I’m blushing and stammering like the awkward, inexperienced virgin that I am. And suddenly, even though my brain is screaming at me to shut up, I’m muttering something about being late - for the class he teaches, of course. And before I know it, I’m in my car halfway back to campus and yelling at myself for being such a stupid shy idiot.
I’m pulling my plaid shirt on over the coffee-stained tank top as I get out of the car, only then gasping as I realize my nipples are totally obvious through the wet cotton. I’m suddenly remembering that hot, hungry look of his, and I’m blushing and feeling this little thrill run through my young body as I realize what the source of that hunger was.
It’s naughty, and totally wrong to like the idea of my much older professor staring at my see-through shirt like that, but there’s no denying the warm feeling pooling between my legs. There’s no denying that the thought of showing him so much has my cheeks flushed red and my panties getting wet as I slip into the lecture hall and take my seat.
Professor Martin walks in, looking incredible of course in his dressed-down t-shirt and jeans, a book under his tattooed arm like some sort of biker-turned-writer. He’s mumbles an apology out about the time before he opens his book, looks up, and suddenly locks eyes with me. They go wide in shock, before suddenly they’re burning. I can see his breath catch, and then the muscles of his neck tighten as he clenches his jaw.
And there’s that look again. It’s the same look he had when my big, full young tits were all but bared to him. It had me hot before, but it’s got me biting my lip, crossing my legs, and feeling totally turned on now seeing it again.
Oh yeah, he knows who I am now. He knows what I am now, seeing me here. He knows I’m his student, his most certainly off-limits, lose-your-job-over, inappropriate student.
Except he doesn’t look away, not at all.
And when I see something dark flash across those eyes, I feel a hot flush creep down my body, and I shiver at the promise in those eyes.
He’s like a hungry wolf, and I’ve never been more excited to feel like a sheep.
5
Liam
She bolts the second class is over. The minute that clock hits two and the rest of the shuffling, wise-cracking freshman start to get up out of their seats, she’s grabbing her bag and darting out the door.
Right, like I’m going to let her get away again.
Yeah, I know I should stay put. I know I should sit my ass down, let her leave and then go get a big stiff drink somewhere. Maybe hit up one of the townie bars off campus and get laid.
Except fuck that. She’s like a magnet, like she’s been the whole damn lecture while I basically stared at her. I stood there like some sort of horny teenager, letting my eyes drop to the tops of her breasts peeking out of that totally not-form-fitting plaid shirt. Except it didn’t matter that she had that other shirt thrown on, because I’d seen what was underneath. I’d stood there all fucking class thinking of those perfect young tits wrapped up in that tight damn tank top, with her nipples slowly hardening and showing through the wet cotton.
I’d somehow meandered through Jane Eyre while I’d fantasized about Ellie Thompson riding my cock, her face scrunched up in ecstasy as I pumped her full of my cum.
I shove other students out of the way, ignoring questions about class, ignoring the kid that tries to shove the three-day late report into my hands, until I see her side-stepping down a quieter hallway and making for the exit. I narrow my eyes at her, like she’s a target, as I storm right towards her.
I’m still half the hallway-length away from her when a guy in a football jersey suddenly pulls away from the stream of student walking past us and drapes an arm heavily over her shoulders.
I frown, feeling my jaw tense as I see it.
Jesus, of course there’s a guy. I mean a girl that looks like that, out on her own at college? Yeah, no shit there’s a boyfriend.
Ted; the name pops into my head from some other lecture I have with this piece of shit in it. One of those kids with zero business being at a school like this but he got in because he knows how to hit people on a football field. Yeah, I played football too, but I didn’t coast on it like this asshole.
I’m rolling my eyes at my own ridiculous horny fantasy about this girl and that perfect body when another movement catches my eye. He’s got her cornered against the wall of the hallway, but it’s the way she’s shaking her head and trying to push him away that has me growling inside as every muscle in my body tenses.
I see the emotion flare in her eyes and the way her her whole body tenses up at his touch like she’s scared, and all I want to do is murder this guy. My eyes narrow as I march right towards them.
“Look, just quit being such an uptight prudish bitch and-”
“That’s enough.” My voice booms out far louder than I intended it to, but the effect is perfect. Ted immediately drops his hand from it’s grip on her arm and whirls towards me, a scared look on his face that has me grinning to myself.
“It doesn’t really look like the young lady wants your hands on her, does it?”
“Oh, yeah, we were just talk-”
“Where I come from, ‘talking’ doesn’t involve grabbing a girl by the arm and stopping her from walking away.” I glance quickly at Ellie, who’s biting her lip as she looks at me with big, wide eyes.
Ted smirks, and for a second, I have to remind myself the consequences of putting my fist through his fucking face. “Listen, Mr. Mar-”
“Professor Martin,” I growl, and as I take a step towards him, he suddenly cowers a little and takes a step back.
Little punk.
“Yeah, sure, professor.”
“‘Yes sir,’ will do,” I say with a low voice. “And if I ever see you with your hands on a girl like that again, we’re going to have fucking problems. Do I make myself clear?” My eyes are locked on his, my hand in a fist at my side.
He nods quickly. “Yes, sir.”
“Move.”
He shoots one quick last look at Ellie before turning and skulking away.
I turn my attention back to her, still looking at me with those big eyes, her mouth hanging open. “Look, I hope I wasn’t putting my nose where it doesn’t belong.”
And immediately, I can think of a few other things I want to put where they don’t belong with this girl.
She smiles at me, that same grin from outside the coffee shop, and I can feel my cock twitch a little in my jeans. “Oh, no, that was…” She trails off and bites her lip. “Thank you,” she says quietly.
“Everything okay?”
“Yeah,” she rolls her eyes, her cheeks flushing pink. “He’s just a jerk.”
Her eyes dart up to mine, and I can see her breath catch a little in her throat. “Look, Professor Mar-”
“You should have said something,” I say, cutting her off and holding those big blue eyes with my own.
I don’t know why I say it, especially since I’m already probably crossing some sort of line by intervening with whatever drama that was with Ted. These are adults, after-all, and this isn’t high school or anything. But really, she should have said something. I mean she stood there letting me hit on her, clearly not realizing who she was with those damn shades and that fuckin’ hat on.
Clearly not realizing she was my damn student.
And for a second, as roaring hard and single-mindedly turned on I am for her, that little fact starts to sink in. She’s my student. I could technically lose my job over this shit if she decided to report me for harassment or something. You hear horror stories of some flirty young coed accusing a non-tenured professor of “offering to change her grade” or some sort of bullshit, and the guy's career is ruined even if he never laid on a hand on her.
She’s quiet, chewing on her bottom lip as that flush creeps over her cheeks, her big wide eyes locked on mine.
“Look, I’m, uh-” I cough suddenly realizing my hand
is still on her arm and dropping it as I clear my throat. “Look, I’m sorry if I was inappropriate. Your sunglasses, and the hat-”
“It’s okay, Professor Martin.”
Fuck.
There’s something so innocent about the way she says it, something off-limits and wrong about the way it almost sounds like she’s acquiescing to me that gets my cock rock hard in my jeans.
“Well, listen, I really didn’t recognize you, although I have no fucking idea how I didn’t with you front and center in class every day like you are.”
It’s not really flirtatious, but she blushes like I just dropped a line on her.
“You’re sure I can’t pay for the shirt?”
She laughs, and it’s this musical sound, her whole face twinkling as she smiles. “No, honestly, I’m the one that should be paying for yours.”
I shrug. “We’ll just say it’s covered by your tuition.”
She grins, biting her lip. “I’m here on a scholarship.”
Damn, is this girl hitting on me? It’s shy and inexperienced, which makes no sense coming from a girl that looks like his, but she’s almost flirting with me.
“Ah, well, in that case, I’m going to need you to pay for the shirt.”
She laughs again, and I realize I’m grinning like an idiot, allowing myself to flirt right back with this girl that I should not be flirting with.
She opens her perfect, pouty lips to start to say something, but then quickly closes it, her cheeks getting redder.
“Listen, you sure everything’s okay with that jackass?”
She grins at me and nods quickly. “It’s okay, really. Just an asshole.”
The thought of him being a jilted lover or an ex or something has me tensing my muscles all over again. The thought of her being with anyone - let alone a douchebag like that - has me seeing red for a second; like she’s mine.
And she’s not - not mine, that is - but that’s not to say I’m not thinking of every single way I want to make her mine.
