Forbidden Professor

by R. S. Elliot

  So, no. There’s nothing to worry about. Maybe a quick hug to say “thank you”.

  How about you just say “thank you” instead? Keep your hands to yourself. You don’t need these kinds of distractions.

  “I had fun, tonight. Thank you for inviting me.” I barely recognize my own voice. It sounds weak, raspy.

  You sound like a singer in a Jazz nightclub.

  “No problem. Derek and Marianne thought you were great. They said you can come back whenever you want.”

  Doubtful. Marianne all but told me to stay away.

  I force a smile anyway. “Thanks, but I should probably focus on my schoolwork for a little while.”

  “Right.”

  He looks disappointed.

  Oh, God. Am I supposed to say something else? I have no idea what I’m doing, only that I’m floundering terribly at doing it. His eyes continue holding mine, locked in a secret exchange of words I can’t decipher. If I were a trained veteran at dating, or whatever this is, like Lyndsey, this wouldn’t be a problem. But I’ve never so much as had a man touch me. And the last kiss I’d experienced before this week came from my next-door neighbor on prom night.

  The awkwardness stretches between us, and I choose to quell the tension by extending my hand.

  Yeah. Because that’s what every man wants. A handshake.

  We agreed to keep things platonic. We agreed to ignore this building passion between us. Or at least, that’s where I thought we were. This may be no more than a diversion to him. For me, however, it’s everything I have never experienced before.

  “Well, goodnight,” I say, emphasizing the reason for my outstretched hand.

  He claims it tenderly, his eyes still intently locked on mine. Warmth spreads to my cheeks. When he looks at me like that, I want so desperately to forget everything that’s holding me back.

  I turn toward the door, sliding my hand from Zach’s grip. He tightens his hold and tugs me back against him. I collapse against him, all breath fleeing my lungs when I realize how close I am to him again. He doesn’t say anything. Rather, he seems as surprised by what’s just happened as I am. I raise my head up toward him, trying to get a better view of his face. Trying to understand what we’re doing here in each other’s arms.

  My hands climb up his chest. His heartbeat taps beneath my fingertips like a thousand wild horses galloping. My own pulse flutters wildly, whispering a plea to put it out of its misery once and for all. How long must this waiting go on?

  He inclines his head, meeting me part of the way. But I’m impatient. I raise myself up onto my tiptoes, lock my hands around his neck and drag his lips down onto mine.

  This time, the kiss is different. This is no soft, delicate exchange of blooming desire. His kiss is ravenous, hungry. His tongue slips past the seam of my lips, encircling mine, guiding me in a glorious plunder that leaves both of us breathless. He tips my head back, his fingers gliding down my throat as his tongue moves in tantalizing motions.

  The throbbing between my thighs pulses with every stroke of his tongue. I press my legs together, hoping to ease the pressure building there. It doesn’t work. The tingling spreads into my stomach, and a stream of electric pleasure glides across my body. I need him to touch me, taste me, anything to ease the aching.

  “Zach,” I hear myself say, breathless. “I need you.”

  His lips move to my temple. “Tell me what you want.”

  I’m silent. I have no idea. I’ve never done this before. All I know is I can’t continue like this for another second. I shake my head. His labored breaths tremble across my cheek, sending a new stream of shivers down my spine. His lips move to my neck, tasting and nipping in seductive kisses that set my skin aflame.

  I’m practically whimpering when his hand caresses the side of my breast. I gasp. His thumb moves over the nipple, so hard and tight I’m surprised he can’t feel it through my bra.

  “Where do you want me to touch you?” he asks. His mouth moves down my throat, leaving kisses along my collarbone, my breastbone until he reaches the round swell cresting over the lowered cut of my shirt.

  “Here?” He kisses the top of my breast, sliding down to bite the fabric separating his mouth from my nipple. The motion sends a new vibration of pleasure to my womanhood. It takes all the remaining willpower I possess not to cry out.

  “Yes,” I whisper, my voice no more than a raspy puff of air. “Please.”

  His hand slides down between us, grazing my stomach before resting at the aching mound between my legs. He presses into me, the hard seam of my jeans sending an explosion of bliss ricocheting across my body.

  “What about here?” His hands continue gliding along the seam. I tilt my head back against the door. I can barely hold myself up any longer.

  “Yes, Zach. Please, I need you to end this now.”

  He laughs against my cheek, a deep throaty sound that reverberates down to where his hand is still playing me like a guitar. “Do you want to do it out here in the hallway?”

  I still. My God. We’ve been doing this out in plain view of anyone. My neighbors could have walked by, and I wouldn’t have noticed. I would have let him deflower me here in the middle of the hallway for everyone and anyone who cared to see.

  I shake my head, shivering with unreleased desire. My fingers dig my keys out of my pocket. The keys jingle like Santa’s sleigh as I unsteadily try to fit the key into the lock. Zach’s hands come around the front of me. My back is to him, but his hands rove up the front of my body, cupping my breasts, pressing my backside into his hardened erection.

  Apparently, I am not the only one burning to end this torture. The door finally slides open, and I twist in Zach’s arms to kiss him once again. He pushes us through the doorway, shutting it behind us and immediately locking the door.

  “Is your roommate home?” he asks.

  “I don’t think so. She’s supposed to be on a date.”

  He calls for Lyndsey but doesn’t wait for a response. His mouth claims mine yet again, demanding, possessive. My arms wrap around his neck, pulling him tighter to me. I thread my fingers through his thick hair. This man is everything I could have ever imagined. Though no dream sequence could ever replicate these scattered sensations.

  The heat of his palm brushes over my bare stomach. My muscles flinch, responding to his touch like one half of a magnet. He guides my shirt upward and over my head. I should feel embarrassed, uneasy. No man has ever seen me like this. But somehow, it doesn’t bother me. I feel beautiful, wanted.

  Complete. For the first time in my life.

  His quick hands set to work unhooking my bra. He trails kisses along the tops of my breast, dipping lower as my bra falls down my arms and to the floor. His mouth closes over my nipple. The hot, slick sensation of his tongue spreads down my body to the meeting point between my legs. My hips move on their own accord, possessed of a desire all their own. The pressure tightens inside me as his tongue traces erotic circles around my nipple. It coils deep within my stomach, moving into my chest.

  I let out a moan, encouraging him further. My hands reach out to his shirt, wanting to remove any layer of clothing that separates his skin from mine. Trembling, my inexperienced fingers fumble with the buttons. I manage to slip three of them loose before he pulls away and tugs the shirt off over his head.

  He leans downward, pulling me tight against him. Warm, muscled skin melds with mine like silk. His lips claim one final kiss, before he adds, “You’re shaking. Are you sure you want me to keep going?”

  Dazedly, I nod. Nothing on earth could stop me from making love to this man right now. A brass band could burst through my living room, and I would continue screwing his brains out to the rhythm of the nearest instrument.

  My hands trail up and down his back. The buttons on my jeans loosen, and I feel the hem of them sliding down over my hips. This is finally happening. I can’t wait any longer.

  I step out of the legs of my jeans. A wash of pride settles over me when he
stares at me, taking in my naked form with a look of sheer wonderment. He is at my feet, kneeling and tossing the jeans to the side. I feel like a goddess standing before a faithful subject, his lips ready to worship my mouth, his hands prepared to glorify my body.

  “You’re beautiful, Aly.”

  And I believe it. For the first time in a long time, I believe that I am worthy of a love I’ve only read about in storybooks. What’s more, is this perfect man with a body carved from steel wants me. He’s all mine in this moment. And I am finally ready to enjoy every last second.

  “Spread your legs for me,” he says.

  A tingle moves between my thighs in sheer anticipation. I do what he asks, trembling despite how badly I want this. He glides a hand beneath my thigh and lifts my leg over his shoulder. He places a kiss to my stomach, and I twitch in unexpected arousal. I’m damn near burning with desire when he presses a finger against my slick core. His fingertips tease the delicate folds, sending streaks of electricity through my body with each touch. When he slides one finger inside me, the final thread holding me together snaps.

  I can feel myself coming apart at the seams. I’ve never felt anything like this before. I’ve never wanted to experience it until I met Zach. Now, all I can think about is more. Wanting more of this. Needing him to take me to the edge of this precipice I’m slowly climbing.

  “You’re so wet.” His whisper feathers along the inside of my thigh. “So tight. Damn, you’re perfect.”

  Perfect? I’ve never felt more perfect than at this moment. He presses another finger into my womanhood. I can feel my body closing around him, tightening as the pressure within me builds. I’m so close to tumbling over the edge, I nearly gasp when he removes his touch. I release an impatient moan. “Zach, please. Don’t stop.”

  He blows a playful puff of air against the inside of my thigh. “Patience.”

  His mouth closes over my tight nub, sucking and tasting me until I can barely stand. My knees buckle, and he quickly loops the last leg supporting me over his other shoulder. His hands move to my hips, holding me in place against the wall while his tongue traces naughty spirals against my clit. The same pressure from before skyrockets upward, surging with a blinding pleasure that only he has been able to arouse.

  His tongue glides in and out of me, enjoying me like a rare delicacy to be savored. One final stroke, and I shatter. All the tightness in my body releases, and a stream of pure heat and ecstasy weaves through my body.

  Is that what an orgasm is supposed to feel like?

  If so, why the hell have I stayed a virgin for this long?

  Chapter Fourteen

  Zach

  She sounds as beautiful as I imagined.

  Every moan, every bite of her lips is enough to satisfy me. I want her. I need to possess her with every last breath in me. But I’ve already let things spiral too far out of control.

  No one can see us here. No one has to know what happens.

  I would know. There would be no mistaking our attraction if we carried on like this. It couldn’t be a one-release of pleasure. I would never be able to get enough of her. Aly is not a one-time affair. She’s not even a quick fling to ferry me between the wretched relationships orchestrated by my usual social circle.

  She was a lifetime.

  Eventually, someone would find out. If not here, we would slip up somewhere. I can barely control my feelings for her as it is. How the hell would I be able to maintain appearances in front of a lecture hall full of students?

  And everything she had worked so hard to earn would be lost forever. All because I could not control myself. She’d never forgive me. And I would never forgive myself.

  I move her legs off my shoulders and help her feet to the floor. She is still breathless, her body flat against the wall as she collects her bearings. Stray strands of her fiery red hair cling to her face, and I brush them to the side. My lips touch her cheek. Her flesh is hot beneath my mouth. Another bolt of electricity streams down to my cock. It’s ready, but I’m not willing to make the sacrifice yet.

  “Why did you stop?” she asks huskily. The rasp in her voice does things to my self-control, and I have to remind myself why I’m pulling away.

  “Still not satisfied?”

  She smiles, her teeth clamping over her lower lip. She’s still not looking at me, still gathering her breaths. It’s probably for the best. I can barely control myself as it is. Now she’s added this whole new swell to my ego, and it’s impossible for me not to want to top it with an encore.

  “Very,” she whispers. “But I thought-”

  “We’re moving a little fast. Don’t you think?” It’s the only excuse I can manage. If I tell her we should just maintain our typical professor-student relationship, she would accuse me of playing games.

  Is that what I’m doing? Playing games with fate? I want this woman more than anything, but I have never allowed my desires free rein over my control. It was the one thing I felt that always separated me from my father in the courtship department. His marriage to my mother was a business merger, just like the expectations for my eventual marriage. But he could never remain faithful to her. He always allowed his desires to guide him down the wrong path. And my mother paid the price for it all these years. Not him.

  It couldn’t have been easy watching him leave each night. Or watching him return with that all-telling pep in his step from a supposed business trip he never took.

  He made me hate the idea of marriage.

  And now here I am. Following in his footsteps. Letting my desire get the better of me.

  Aly turns to face me. Confusion colors her features. Whether as a result of me telling her we should take a step back or the sudden bout of silence I’ve slipped into for the last minute.

  “We should try to take things a little slower,” I add, reassuring myself now more than her.

  Her hands rest at my chest. She looks down between us at the bulge in my pants. Even after all of the warnings in my head about unhappy marriages and my father, it’s still not enough to kill the mood.

  “But what about you?” she asks.

  My cock reacts suddenly. I release a soft groan. “I’ll be fine.”

  I bend down to retrieve her clothes and hand them to her. The slight pout of her lips makes me want to forget everything I’ve just said, and contemplated, and give in to her one last time. My eyes glide down her soft, smooth body. Christ. I can still taste her on my lips.

  I turn away.

  This isn’t going to help me to keep things simple between us. Panic slowly sinks in. We’re only a week into the semester. I have another three months of her in my class, and two months to help her whip her project into shape. I can handle the classroom. There are about a hundred students in that one lecture hall. I’m sure I can manage to keep my distance and focus on something other than how wonderful her climax sounds.

  But our meetings for her proposal is another story. Sitting across from her, one-on-one, and not touching her, seems like a torture reserved for the second circle of hell. I won’t be able to control myself until the end of the semester. I can’t even control myself now.

  An idea strikes me. I clear my throat and tread lightly. “You know, Marianne dual-majored in public relations and mental health counseling.”

  Silence.

  I face her. She stares blankly at me, the only article of clothing yet to be replaced is her shirt. Another second of uncomfortable silence, and she slips the shirt on over her head. “And why are you telling me this?”

  “She and Derek work together on consultations. Helping charities get up and running. Things like that. I think you could learn a lot from her.”

  A shadow forms at the center of her brow. Not a full-on crease, but enough to show she’s suspicious. Her hands plant themselves on her hips. I’m in trouble if I don’t execute this properly. “What are you saying?”

  “I think Derek would be the better one of us to advise you on how to revise your proposal.”
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br />   The shadow on her brow deepens. I’m completely screwed now. There’s no way I could have delivered this any more artfully. But no matter whether my intentions are good or not, she is quite clearly having none of it.

  “That’s not what you’re saying,” she says. “You’re saying you don’t want to be my advisor anymore. Though I can’t imagine why after how well our working relationship has been going.”

  The sarcasm in her words wounds a small part of me I didn’t realize existed. I want things to work out. I want us to have a relationship where I can kiss her in public without ruining our futures. Where my closest friends don’t look at me with concern and pity in their eyes, knowing I’m already in over my head.

  Now hearing her talk about our relationship like it’s the stuff of ridicule takes these feelings of hopelessness to a whole new level. I don’t want her to feel like we can’t ever be together. I just need her to know, it can’t be now.

  “Aly this isn’t going to work,” I explain. “You know it’s true. There’s too much at stake for you to risk it all now.”

  I reviewed her file the day before I took on her proposal. She’s had to work since the age of seventeen, sometimes pulling two jobs just to help her mother pay the bills. Then that heart-wrenching soliloquy she gave in my office a few nights ago, detailing her feelings of helping others out of depression. It had to be someone close to her. Her mother, most likely. If winning this apprenticeship gives her any relief, then it’s worth me staying away from her for a few months.

  “And what exactly is at stake here, Zach?” she asks. “Your job? Are you afraid I’m going to tell on you? That I’m going to giggle about it with all my classmates?”

  I roll my eyes toward the ceiling and pray for strength. Yes, my career is in jeopardy, but I can manage. Billionaires are like cats. We always land on our feet. “Aly, this isn’t about me. I’m not the only one with something to lose in this.”