by Lana Hartley
Table of Contents
Triple Major
Also By Dark Princess Press
Dedication
Description
Table of Contents Instructions
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Captured Heart
Stolen
Sevensome
Two Beasts
Hit & Run
Dr. Single Dad
BILF
Murder/Love
Triple Major
A Taboo MFMM Graduation Romance
By Lana Hartley
Copyright 2018 by Dark Princess Press
All rights reserved
This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons is entirely coincidental. This work is intended for adults only.
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Also By Dark Princess Press
Captured Heart
Takedown
Dedication
To Jessie
Description
Three hot alpha male professors and me…
This classroom is about to get filthy…
She was top of her class.
Now she likes just being on top.
We’re going to take her.
Tease her.
Tempt her.
And finally, please her.
But first we gotta “educate” her.
When we teach her a lesson, she will remember.
When we command her, she will obey.
When we touch her after, she will shiver.
The four of us…will be one.
There’s those who see us and will try to stop us.
They’ll use every trick in the book.
They’ll want her to fail.
But she won’t fail. Not with us around her.
We’ll make her work for it.
What will she be doing?
Let’s just call it earning her marks.
Table of Contents Instructions
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Lana Hartley
Chapter 1
Krista
No fucking way…this isn’t happening.
I blink and shake my head, as if that will magically make me see clearly.
First of all, before I get into things, allow me to introduce myself. I’m Krista Abernathy. I’m sassy, adventurous, and I love running my hands through my auburn red hair.
It’s my best asset, and my boyfriend loves it, maybe even more than I do—well, I take that back. He loves my ass. Like, insanely. He might even be obsessed with it…
I’m wearing a pink tank top and fuzzy white pajama bottoms that have little ice cream sundaes all over them. I lick my lips and glance at the computer once again to really read the email in front of me.
I’m a grad student who’s desperate to get into my dream college, New York University.
There are two reasons I want to get into NYU.
Number one: bright lights, big city. You know, the works—small-town farm girl who’s never been out of the country.
Growing up near the coal mines in upstate New York means I’m not exactly cultured or anything, but I am smart and driven. The accident that killed my father ten years ago motivates me to create the best research possible to ensure combustible explosions won’t take place down in the mines anymore. I don’t want my own family’s tragedy to mark my life, but I don’t want it to have to happen to anyone else, either.
Oh, right…I kind of tend to derail from the track sometimes. Sorry about that.
The number two reason I want to get into New York University, aside from being able to experience real life in the city that never sleeps, is the opportunity.
Not to mention, it’s not exponentially far away from my boyfriend, Brandon, who will still have to remain upstate for his own job. I want to still be able to visit him on weekends.
New York University has a fantastic research program. I’m talking fucking amazing. Not only that, but they allow the researchers who enroll in the graduate programs free access to their top resources.
This, of course, is prime real estate for me, and I just have to get in. I mean, it’s my dream. Nobody can take that away from me, right?
Anyway, back to the task at hand…
I focus in on the email and narrow my eyes. Here it goes…I’m going to re-read this and pray that the words didn’t suddenly change when I looked away for three seconds.
Yes!
It’s not just a dream anymore. I know this because I’m currently pinching the skin on my wrist and I’m not waking up, which means I’m living this fantasy out in real life.
M.
New York University is pleased to inform you that your scholarship has been accepted, and you are formally invited to participate in our graduate program for scientific research and mathematics.
I jump up and down like a giddy school girl. I just can’t help myself. I’m too fucking excited.
I grab my cell phone from my coffee table, and nearly fall through its glass surface because I just can’t stay still.
Once I regain my balance—thank God I’m alone in my apartment and nobody is here to see me clumsily walk around—I dial the first number that comes to mind.
It’s ringing, and I hope he answers.
My boyfriend, Brandon, is super cute, but he and I are very…different in numerous ways.
For one, he’s not very inspired. He’s different and not really the book smart type. He never went to college, and he works on his father’s farm that I know he’ll gladly inherit one day.
Don’t get me wrong—Brandon has to work his ass off on the farm. I mean, when I’m still snoozing in blissful dream land at three in the morning, Brandon is hard at work because guess what? Those cows aren’t going to milk themselves.
That leads me to another flaw of Brandon’s. I’m certain he loves those cows more than me. He names them and everything.
I’m particularly jealous of “Pickle.” He coos and serenades her like she’s the damn queen of England. I swear that fucking cow smirks at me when Brandon coddles her.
Anyway, let me get back on track again. I’m really sorry, I just have too many thoughts webbing through my mind, and I have to release them, or I’ll explode. It’s just the way I am.
Brandon answers on the third ring.
“Baby! Oh, boy, are we going to celebrate tonight!” I shriek into the phone.
“Easy there. I don’t think I have ear drums left to hear you,” he chuckles into the phone.
“I got in! I got into NYU!” I continue to scream, not giving a single shit who hears me.
“Wow, congratulations.” Brandon’s voice is flat, but I take it all in stride because nobody is going to pop my balloon tonight…or ever, for that matter.
“I’m on my way over,” I tell him and hang up instantaneously.
I don’t have time to be sitting here on the phone. I have a life out there to grab by the balls.
I get ready to go over to Brandon’s farm, placing all my papers for the morning into a neat pile. I love to be prepared, and this work will be no exception.
Driving over to Brandon’s, euphoria fills me with the potential of my future, and I’m dancing in the metaphorical clouds that represent my elation at being chosen by such an astoundingly prestigious school.
My tires crunch against the gravel of Brandon’s driveway. He lives in an apartment above the barn that’s on his parent’s property.
It’s pitch black outside, and there’s a single light glowing from his apartment window. I grin and walk up the stairs, letting myself in without even knocking.
When Brandon spins around to greet me, I can tell that he’s already started drinking tonight.
For one, I can see the beer in his hand, and then he takes a sip, so yeah…you might call me observant.
He’s slurring his words, and it’s a bit of a disappointment because I wanted us to celebrate together.
“Hey,” I say and throw my jacket over the side of his couch.
“Hey,” he mumbles, as if he’s got a bad attitude about something, but I have no clue what that could be.
Tonight should be perfection as we embrace my new opportunities.
“So,” I throw my hands up enthusiastically. “Can you believe the incredible news?”
“What are you talking about?” Brandon scoffs and takes a slug of his beer.
“Um, hello!” I say sarcastically yet playfully. “I got into NYU.”
“Oh, right…” Brandon trails off and opens his fridge absentmindedly, as if he’s looking for something but nothing in particular.
“Aren’t you happy for me?” I quiz him, feeling the burn of dissatisfaction at his uncomplimentary reaction.
“Sure,” he shrugs vaguely.
I stare at him, completely thunderstruck. He’s wearing a grey sweatshirt that shows his muscles, and his dark hair is as black as the night sky outside. He appears to be festering some sort of sour mood that’s crumpling my state of elation.
“Brandon, this is a huge deal. I can get a breakthrough with my research,” I tell him firmly.
Is he that dense?
“Honestly, Krista, I personally think it’s a waste of time,” Brandon dares to confess.
“Excuse me?” My voice is a combination of a hiss and a shriek. Either way, Brandon is the prime target in my inevitable firing range.
“Sorry,” he shrugs again and slouches on the couch. “I just don’t think people will be interested in it.”
“You’re just jealous,” I retort, although it’s not a great comeback, and I’m angry at myself for not being on my quippy game tonight.
“What do I have to be jealous of?” he states in a condescending tone as he grins up at me.
I could smack that smile right off his lips and throw them across the room, I’m so steaming mad at him right now.
“You’re never supportive of me,” I acknowledge out loud, more to myself than to him as the reality hits me like a ton of bricks.
“Don’t get all defensive,” Brandon says.
My voice may be heading toward the shrill side, but I’m going to have my moment in the sun. Nobody is going to take that away from me, not even Brandon. He’s being a total fucking asshole right now, and somebody has to throw him in his place because nobody fucking puts Baby in the corner.
Yes, I’m speaking metaphorically again. I’m Baby, and I’m not going to any corner. I’m going to dance my way through life whether Brandon fucking likes it or not.
“You’re always making me doubt myself,” I tell him.
“That sounds like an internal problem,” he says and sips his beer again. “I can’t be held accountable for your debilitating self-consciousness.”
“You sure do like to contribute to my plummeting mood!” I scream at him as our fight escalates.
“I’m just trying to get you to be realistic here, babe,” he looks up at me.
“Don’t call me babe!” I tremble with disgust.
I’m at my wits’ end with Brandon, and I’m going to end things with him. Right now.
I can’t allow him to hold me back. I’m going places, and if he wants to stay stagnant, touching cow nipples instead of mine, that’s his own damn prerogative.
“We are over,” I yell at him and stand up, grabbing my coat to scurry out the door.
“Oh, come on, Krista, I’m only having a little fun, that’s all.”
“It’s not fun to me, you fucking jerk,” I spit at him as I spin on a heel to let myself out the same door I cheerily breezed through only a few minutes before.
“Fine, leave and be a dramatic bitch, then!” he shouts as I slam the door shut behind me.
I run down the stairs, determined that I won’t cry over this one. He’s not fucking worth it. Any time spent dwelling on the loss of a deadbeat relationship that’s not moving me forward is not worth it.
I’m so distracted by my thoughts and turmoil that I drive all the way to New Jersey. It’s only before I realize I’m in the lane going into Manhattan that it’s too late to turn around. I’m getting ready to drive through the Holland Tunnel, and in a few minutes, I’ll spill out into the city.
I decide to wing it, like the rest of my night. I pay the fifteen-dollar fare at the toll booth and sit behind the red brake lights in front of me, impatiently waiting to be on the other side.
A few minutes later, I park the car at a meter. How I’m lucky enough to find one is lost on me, but I’m going to take it as a good omen that I’m moving in the right direction.
I walk into the first bar I see and plop down at one of the seats by the door, sighing in exasperation.
What a fucking night—but I’m not going to allow jerk-face Brandon to screw it up any more than he already has.
I’m going to be a grad student at one of the most prestigious universities in all of America because I’m worth it, damn it. If Brandon can’t realize that, I don’t need his negativity in my life.
I order a chardonnay and sip it as I casually scan the bar. That’s when I notice three guys sitting near me, all of them blatantly checking me out.
At first, my cheeks flush with embarrassment at their gawking—but then it goes to my head. Maybe they think I’m hot? They’re certainly attractive.
Shit! They are smiling at me. And standing up.
Oh, no…they’re coming this way.
What the fuck am I supposed to do now? I clear my throat, and cross then uncross my legs.
Play it cool, Krista.
“What’s a gorgeous woman like yourself doing in a bar all alone?” The blond guy flirts.
“I’m just here to scope the cute guys.” I wink at him.
Fuck, my flirting game is strong tonight. Maybe its fuel from my argument with Brandon that’s ramping me up.
“Do you want to join us?” The dark-haired one gives me a vivacious grin.
“At your table?” I point to their empty chairs.
The guys all exchange a glance.
“Maybe?” The blond one shrugs as if he’s got a trick up his sleeve.
“Or…” the dark-haired one interjects. “We can spice things up a little.”
No way. I should bid them goodnight and run out of the bar right now. I don’t need to get mixed up with these guys.
I’
m on a new path though, and I want to be wild and crazy. The night is young, and I have adrenaline surging through me.
“Sure.” I bite my lip and eye each of them seductively.
“Follow us.” The brown-haired one slides his hand in mine, and it’s perfect, masculine.
“Gladly,” I say as they lead me to a stock room.
The blond guy begins to kiss my neck, making me giggle.
Am I really doing this right now? This is so unlike me.
The dark-haired guy squeezes my breasts through my shirt. I get lost in the moment as the heat of desire flushes my cheeks and makes my pussy wet.
I really shouldn’t. I don’t just hook up with random guys in a bar…but fuck it. I want to celebrate.
This is the most erotic thing I’ve ever experienced, and right now? I never want them to stop touching me.
Chapter 2
Krista
Okay, Krista. This isn’t quite a normal night. That, we can all agree on.
You just walked into a random stock room full of…wait.
Why does a bar need so many jalapenos? Do they have stuffed jalapenos here?
Focus!
Three guys. Grabbing your tits. Not quite the time for peppers, girl!
These guys are H-O-T hot. And I might be tipsy, but man, do they know how to use their hands. Blond Guy has already worked his hand up my skirt and is grabbing my ass.
Much to my surprise, despite the ample surface area my ass has to offer, his hand is large enough to cup one full cheek without any issue whatsoever.
Dark Hair is working his mouth across my neck and collarbone.
Is he moaning, too?
No. That’s me. I’m moaning, and loud.
Oh man, I hope they don’t need any cups or jalapenos anytime soon.
As Brown Hair works my breast, getting rougher and rougher, I’m starting to wonder if I should praise or condemn myself for wearing what I would consider a rather ‘easy access’ shirt.
I’ll let Morning Krista worry about that, though.
