Curveball

by Jillian Quinn

  “What you’re doing is no different than taking bets on games or hustling college kids out of their trust funds. With racing out in the open, you have an ever better chance of getting caught.” Luca climbs up the stairs to Franklin Hall and swings the door open, irritated.

  I follow behind him and hold the door for Hunter, who never opens his mouth when Luca and I get into this discussion. We’ve been friends for so long that we might as well be brothers, and we argue like we are blood. While I know Luca is saying this to protect me, I am a grown-ass man, and I can make my own decisions.

  Luca cut off my lifeline the day he ended our monthly high-roller poker games and bookmaking operation. My savings account has been dwindling since then, considering I was only on a partial baseball scholarship my first two years at Strick U and I am stuck supporting my family.

  “Well, unlike you, Luc, I have bills to pay and mouths to feed. I have to do whatever I can to survive.”

  Most of my life, my dad has been in and out of jail, barely home long enough to put a meal on the table or keep my mother clean. For as far back as I can remember, I have taken care of my mother and sister by selling cigarettes, mixed tapes, and just about anything else I could get my hands on to turn a profit.

  I never had a real childhood. Growing up with a best friend whose family ran the Philly Mafia, a criminal for a father, and a drunk for a mother, I had zero chance at normalcy. Baseball was my only saving grace, the one thing I could do outside my miserable house that I was not only good at, but also loved.

  On our way through the building, we round the corner near our classroom and walk past a group of Kappa girls. The sorority girls’ faces light up, and a few wave in our direction.

  I nod in acknowledgment.

  Hunter and Luca ignore them—as usual, now that they have girlfriends—and continue talking about fraternity business.

  One of the girls locks eyes with me before cutting across the corridor, heading toward me, and latches on to my biceps. I attempt to shake her loose, but she just holds on tighter, forcing me to drag her along with me to class. We have about one minute before the door closes.

  “Hey, Mark.” She looks up at me with puppy-dog eyes, short, dark hair that frames her cupid-shaped face, and pouty lips that are hard to forget.

  “Harper,” I say, still focused on her mouth.

  But all I can think about is the way Teach’s lips felt wrapped around me instead of how I could make use of Harper’s again. Except it has been days since I last fucked my smoking-hot professor. She refuses to return my texts or phone calls. I thought about stopping by her apartment to force her to see me, but that would be too stalkerish. Not that I haven’t already stooped that low by ambushing her at the club. But I am not about that life.

  “When’s your next party? We’re having a small get-together at Kappa, but you know how lame those can be. Savannah and Penny have been such pains in the ass lately with all their stupid rules. I was thinking we could have a repeat of last month.” She winks.

  Luca steps through the open door of the auditorium with Hunter at his side, and neither of them looks back, leaving me in the hallway with Harper.

  While her offer sounds tempting, I stop to peel her fingers from my arm. “There’s a party this weekend at the house, but I won’t be there. Sorry.”

  Her eyes travel to the floor for a few seconds before she meets my gaze. “That’s too bad. Maybe we can hang out sometime during the week.”

  I shrug. “Yeah, maybe. I have a lot of shit to do though.”

  She bites her bottom lip, nervous. “Right. Well, I was kind of hoping that after we hooked up you would come with me to my date party.”

  Fighting a laugh, I end up choking and have to clear my throat. In over three years of being a member of the fraternity, I have yet to attend a date party with a girl. No way in hell will I even consider going to one at Kappa so that this chick can mark me as her property.

  “You know I don’t do date parties.” I turn toward the door of the classroom when she clamps on to my biceps, forcing me to look over my shoulder at her.

  “Think about it, okay? I can be very persuasive.” She glides her tongue across her bottom lip. “I can do that thing you like again.”

  I hear a woman clear her throat next to me, and I’m surprised to find Teach standing there with the door handle in her hand, about to close it.

  She gives me a look that could cut through steel before she focuses her attention on Harper, frowning in disapproval. “If you don’t belong in this class, please move along, and stop lingering outside.”

  “Sorry,” Harper says in a hushed tone. “I have to get to class anyway. See you later, Mark.” She brushes her fingers along my skin and smiles.

  In a tight black dress that hugs her curves and perky tits, Teach is making my dick grow hard, forcing me to think of anything other than how good she looks today. With her blonde hair pulled up into a bun with red chopsticks that stick out from her head, a fallen strand sweeps across her right cheek, making even her slight imperfection perfect.

  My God, this woman does things to me I cannot explain. Why does my professor have to be Teach of all people, and why does she have to look so damn hot without even trying?

  “You’re late,” she says to me, her tone angry and sounding like a bark, as Harper walks away. “You know the rules.”

  Then, she does something I never expected and slams the door in my face. Grabbing ahold of the handle, I tug, but nothing happens. I try a few more times before I give up. She’s locked me out on the day we are supposed to have a quiz.

  Fuck.

  Teach wasn’t lying when she said I would receive no form of special treatment. After two long hours of waiting on a bench out front of my Law and Ethics class, the double doors open and a crowd storms out, chatting and laughing as they emerge, making their way down the already packed hallway.

  Luca and Hunter walk over to me, and I stand, sliding my backpack onto my right shoulder.

  “What the hell was that about?” Luca shoots me a confused look. “You let Prof kick you out after giving it to her? I guess you don’t have it like that anymore.” He laughs, and so does Hunter. “Time to step up your game, bro.”

  “My game isn’t the problem.” I brush against Luca’s shoulder and move him to the side as I head toward the auditorium. “She’s just afraid I’m going to rat on her. I’ll take care of it.”

  Once the last person shuffles up the long aisle and out the door, I break away from Luca and make a beeline for Teach, who is sitting at her desk with her head down, focused on whatever she’s jotting in a leather planner.

  “Yes, Mr. Montgomery?” she croaks.

  “Oh, we’re back to being professor and student again? You could at least look at me when you talk.” I bend down to meet her height. “Pretending I don’t exist is not going to make this class go any faster for either of us. I will be in this class for nine more weeks. At some point, you will have to get over the fact that you are my professor. I am a grown-up, not a child. You should try acting like one.”

  As she glances up from her book, her mouth opens as wide as her eyes. “I am an adult, which is why I have been trying to do the right thing. I could not allow you to enter my classroom late when I would not tolerate the same from other students. It sets a bad example if I make an exception for one student and not others. Then, I would have to allow everyone to break the late policy at least once, just to make it look like I didn’t give you preferential treatment. Next week, I expect you to show up on time. I do not want a repeat of this conversation.”

  “You don’t want a repeat?” I lean forward, our lips close to touching, before she slides her chair back. “Well, I sure as hell want one with you.”

  Her eyes shift to the back of the room, lingering there for a few seconds, before she turns toward me. “Clearly, you have other girls you are interested in. You do not need me.”

  “I’m not interested in other girls. That girl from earli
er was just some chick from the past. She means nothing to me. I want you.” Teach makes me so angry and so turned on, all at the same time. “I brought you a gift,” I say, reaching into my bag.

  She gives me her best resting-bitch face and sighs. “I don’t need or want your gifts.”

  With a grin, I remove a red apple from my backpack and set it in front of her.

  She looks up at me, perplexed. “What’s this for?”

  I hover over her, making sure to keep my voice to a whisper. “Because the juice is just as sweet as your pussy, and I want another taste.”

  Shocked, she gasps. Her hand reflexively clamps over her mouth as she stares at me. But I don’t miss the fact that she’s slapped her legs together. She wants me as much as I want her, if not more. I creep closer, hoping she will not run out of the classroom.

  But she swivels her chair, and before she can get up, I slap a palm down on her knee to keep her in place. From my sudden gesture, the pen she was holding falls to the floor and lands between her legs—right where I want to be.

  Bending down on one knee, I clasp the pen and hand it to Teach with a mischievous grin. She takes it from me as my eyes travel up her bare legs. I slide my hand along her soft skin, taking my time as I feel my way up the inseam of her thigh. Teach sucks in a deep breath, and when she lets it out, a quiet moan escapes her lips.

  “Mark,” she whispers, “we can’t do this.”

  Before she can tell me no again, I slip beneath her panties and plunge two fingers inside her slickness. She clenches, and her entire body trembles as I move faster.

  “Stop denying it, Teach,” I say, rubbing her clit with my thumb as she tightens around my fingers. “You want me. You want me to fuck you. And you like it when I make you come.”

  “Yes,” she breathes, her head tilting to the side.

  I slow down, teasing her, when I know she’s so close. “I want you to beg.”

  “Mark,” she mumbles, her breathing labored, “please.”

  “Good girl. Now, come for me,” I whisper when her eyes meet mine.

  Quickening my pace, my fingers slide in and out of her slick pussy, and I shove a third one inside. She bites down on her bottom lip before covering her mouth with her hand to silence her moans as she comes for me, completely losing her shit in the classroom. I’ve imagined fucking a teacher a thousand times over the years, but none of them ever looked like Teach.

  Something about our forbidden romance and the idea of someone catching us makes this even more fun. And I like her, which is weird because I never do repeats with women.

  I finish just in time. She still has her dress shoved up her thighs, and she sucks in shallow breaths, staring up at me as if she wants to fuck me right here on the desk. But the sound of voices fills the once-quiet room as her students take their seats. No one notices as she tugs down her dress, not with me blocking the sight of our naughty professor.

  I lick her juices from my fingers, committing to memory how good she tastes, and she blushes.

  “I’ll see you later, Teach.”

  As more students take their seats, I back away, and she mutters, “Office hours are from two to four p.m., Monday through Friday. You have a quiz and some assignments you need to make up for being late.”

  “And here I thought, that would have made up for what I’d missed.”

  She straightens her dress and pulls it down her thighs, her face unreadable. “I have a class to teach. You have a quiz you need to take. Make an appointment. The sign-up sheet is outside my office.”

  “I’ll see you,” I say, pointing at her face before moving my finger between her legs, “and you later.” As soon as I finish, I turn on my heel to walk up the aisle in the middle of the lecture hall without giving her time to respond.

  Chapter Ten

  Olivia

  By the time I reach my office, Mark has already penciled his name on the calendar outside my door, reserving the last spot this afternoon. I remove the paper from the board on the wall and push the pin back into the cork before stepping inside and locking the door behind me. The offices at Strickland University have plain white walls, devoid of personality, and mine in particular has no windows and very little circulation.

  Flipping through the mail on my desk, I spot the usual invites to faculty meetings and teaching conferences. I take a seat behind my desk, lean back in my chair, and stare up at the ceiling, attempting to relax before my first appointment. I was in shock for hours after what I did with Mark in my classroom this morning. I was always the straitlaced girl who had good grades and was the teacher’s pet.

  Now, I’m turning into…

  What am I turning into?

  I let Mark do something I knew was wrong, and I enjoyed every second of it.

  I have zero self-control around Mark. The moment his hand caressed my skin and his fingers slipped inside me, I could not formulate a single thought. My will to fight him diminished the second our eyes locked as he told me to come for him. I did—and in my classroom of all places. He makes me so wet, always has, even from the first night at the club.

  I get wet just thinking about Mark. The anticipation of having him inside me again is too much for me to handle. I spread my legs, push up my dress, and touch myself over my thin panties.

  How does Mark do this to me?

  I peel back my panties, desperate to find my release, and shove two fingers inside me, moving slow at first, while picturing Mark with his spiky auburn hair and adorable freckles.

  Imagining his big, strong shoulders, his dark tattoos that run down his arms and chest, his perfectly sculpted abs, and his thick cock, I bite down hard on my bottom lip, quickening my pace. I’m so close as I envision Mark telling me to come for him with that sexy half-smile he gives me. My world shifts, my core throbs from the building pressure, and my mind goes blank, shutting down yet so alive. The adrenaline rushes through me, making my heart race as it practically claws its way out of my chest.

  Out of breath, I stifle my moans by biting down on my bottom lip, and I finish in record time. Unable to function, I withdraw my fingers and clean myself up with the tissues from my desk, surprised that I just got myself off in my office. Before I met Mark, I never would have done something as scandalous as sleeping with a student, and I sure as hell would not have fingered myself while at work and with only ten minutes until my first appointment.

  After I run to the restroom, still flushed and in a state of euphoria, I return to my office and sit behind my desk with a few seconds to spare before a student walks in.

  “Hi, Professor Ford,” Gloria Palmer says as she takes a seat at one of the two vacant chairs in front of my desk. “Thanks for seeing me on such short notice. I’m totally freaking out over some of the assignments.”

  She pushes her long, dark ponytail over her shoulder and retrieves her textbook and notepad from her messenger bag. Gloria was the first student to turn in her quiz in my second class, and she always raises her hand with the correct answers. I see a lot of myself in her—from her drive and determination to the way she dismisses others around her in class, too consumed with the law to pay attention to them.

  A stack of handwritten notes tumbles out of her book as she opens it, some of them falling to the floor next to her feet. She leans over to retrieve them, sorting through the crumbled sheets until she finds the course syllabus. She has it so marked up with different-colored pens that I can hardly make out my own document.

  “So, I get that, each week, we have to work on a different ethics assignment and that we’re supposed to act as though we’re building a case against these fictitious lawyers for potential disbarment, but I have a few reservations about the test cases in weeks six and nine.”

  Retrieving the syllabus from the sleeve of my leather planner, I hold it up to examine the cases. “Week six deals with the practice of representing a new client in a matter tied to a previous client who is now deceased. I can’t tell you whether this is right or wrong because it’s up to
you to decide if this practice is allowed under the American Bar Association’s Model Rules of Professional Conduct.”

  “But what about informed consent from the deceased client? Doesn’t the attorney-client privilege apply in death?”

  Gloria rambles on about attorney-client privilege, almost as if she were speaking to herself, as if I weren’t even in the room with her. I used to have long-drawn-out discussions with my Law and Ethics professor when I attended Strickland Law.

  I would sit with Professor Tomlinson in his office for hours, drinking coffee and eating takeout from the pizza shop down the street from campus. Over time, I developed a serious crush on my professor, despite his graying hair and our twenty-year age difference.

  It’s also the reason I’ve been so torn about dating my own student even though I can’t say that a tiny part of me knows what I am doing with Mark is wrong. But the forbidden fruit always tastes so much sweeter, and Mark makes me feel like a goddess.

  Gloria finally stops talking long enough for me to get a word in. “Look, all I can tell you is that you have nothing to worry about this semester. You clearly know the law and understand how these case studies apply. It’s only the third week of class.”

  “Yes, but it’s also my final semester, and I have to keep my grades up.”

  “You’ve already been accepted into the Franklin School of Law, right?”

  She nods. “Yes, I was admitted early.”

  Setting the syllabus on my desk, I lean back in my chair and cross my legs. “You’re an A student with an exceptional legal mind.”

  “Thank you. I appreciate you saying that. Do you mind if we talk more about attorney-client privilege?”

  “Sure.” I take a sip of my coffee.

  We chat more about the law and which areas she would like to study. The time passes much faster than I realize when my cell phone buzzes on top of my notepad. I ignore the first text until another comes in because the damn phone will not stop making noise until I open them. Both messages are from Mark. The first one—a picture of his erect dick—makes me gasp at the sheer size of it on my screen. I’m so distracted, I almost forget I have a student sitting across from me.