The Professor's Spring Fling

by Annick Claire

  She liked the way he sucked too, hard and firm against her chocolate-coated tits, with an occasional rasping lick from his warm tongue. The contrast to the cold, sticky syrup captivated her. After a few seconds, he lifted his head, abandoning her breasts to capture her lips. She tasted sexy male and warm chocolate on his breath and on his tongue. When he slipped it into her mouth, she sucked on it, too, in a familiar, carnal motif that aroused and frustrated her. “I want you now!"

  "I know, baby. I know. But we're not finished yet.” He chuckled lightly, his whiskey-timbered voice drugging her as effectively as the liquor. “I wasn't going to do this, but I can't resist.” He dripped a small stream of cold chocolate sauce on her pussy, then pulled the sensitive skin apart and ran what she figured must be the back of a cold spoon against the whole length of her sexual nib.

  Amelia screamed.

  He licked off every drop of chocolate, plunging two fingers into her while he laved his tongue against her rigid flesh.

  The most intense orgasm she'd ever felt rocked through her.

  When she came down, it still wasn't enough. She was on fire for him. “Nick, please. I want you inside me."

  "Soon, Professor.” He reached toward the table again. Her body tensed in anticipation. A second later, something cold and abrasive compressed against the very center of her pebbled nipple. Her stomach clenched and a strangled gurgle escaped the back of her throat.

  He lifted it to press against her other nipple. She didn't think she could be any more turned on, but every move he made flashed through her like lightning.

  Whatever he held against her feverish skin was recently washed. A drop of water slid onto her. She couldn't see, but every other sense kicked into hyperdrive. Alert to the tiniest touch, the subtlest sound, she came alive in a new way.

  A very sensual, sexual way.

  He pulled the thing away, but she barely noticed, mesmerized by her ability to feel a drop of water drift across her skin. It slipped from the hard tip to the soft curve of that breast, then into the valley between the two. He must have noticed her fascination because he chuckled. “Amazing, isn't it? It's like a whole new world.” He dipped his head, his warm, talented tongue following the faint path, lapping up the minute drop.

  "You've done this before?” A shadow of disappointment surprised her, sharpening her words.

  An amused sound, somewhere between a sigh and a grunt, met her question. He reached across her, skimming the cold object against the crease of her lips. She finally recognized it as a strawberry, but just as she opened her mouth to accept it, he moved it away. She heard him bite it into, her own brain providing a near X-rated version of the simple event. Damn.

  "Baby, I've never done anything like this before. This is just for you."

  His words made her shiver again, zinging through her like electric currents. She could feel their power in every sensory cell of her body.

  He'd apparently nicked off the tip of a very juicy specimen. He rubbed the now flat, wet fruit over her, perhaps even pressing it to release some of its nectar onto her skin. His lips and tongue followed the sugary trails, and he whirled the strawberry across her chest and stomach, up her neck, and finally to her lips.

  But he teased her, drawing the fruit away each time she would bite into it.

  "Gently, baby.” He pressed his mouth against hers. “You can taste it, Professor, can't you?"

  Yes, she could taste it, the echo of it, not the real thing. The idea was sexy and frustrating, just as she was sure he wanted it to be.

  He kissed her again, and she tasted the juice on his lips. She flicked her tongue into his mouth, tracing the line of his perfect lips, seeking every drop of berry liquid and researching every millimeter of warm cavern she could reach.

  He pulled away. “Damn, Professor. I've done—” He cleared his throat against the incriminating words as well as the tantalizing shake in his voice, a tell-tale reaction to the eroticism of the moment. “I'm sure your Nick has done his share of fantasizing about you, but I don't think he ever did you justice."

  He shifted on the bed to press the berry against her mouth again, and this time when she opened her mouth to take a bite, he left it in her reach. She bit into the fruit, reveling in the slide of juice over her chin. She felt sexy and powerful, a feeling that only grew when he leaned in to feed her the rest of the fruit and his huge, rigid cock prodded her leg.

  "Fuck me, Nick.” She heard the desperate edge in her plea. She jostled against her bonds, eager to somehow drag him onto her with her body.

  He responded with a growl, arcing away from her and off the bed. She heard the rip of foil and a roll of latex, sounds that made her skin burn. He climbed in next to her, reached down to untie the cords at her ankles and slipped her knees over his shoulders. His thumbs slid into the creases of flesh at the juncture of her legs, his fingers curling up over the top of each thigh.

  Kneeling on the bed, his cock hovered at her wet, greedy opening, teasing her with the promise of him inside her. Yet, he held himself completely still.

  She strained against the cords, mindless with wanting him and finding no purchase from her position.

  "Shh, baby, I need you, too."

  "Then come into me!"

  "Just a second.” He pressed his wicked tongue against her, sucking her clit, then grazing it ever so slightly with his teeth. “Feel good, baby?"

  It felt incredible, but it wasn't enough. The thought of him inside her, possessing her, consumed her. Every muscle screamed for him. Her head twisted in pleasure even as she tensed with obsessed disappointment.

  "I want you now, Nick!"

  "All right, baby.” He slid up her length. His fingers circled her wrists. He drove his cock into her with a force that slid them both a few inches up the mattress. He stilled inside her and smoothed his lips against her temple, whispering in her ear, “You've got me, Professor. What are you going to do now?"

  A quick moan escaped her. She bucked her hips with little success and thrashed her head from side to side in frustration.

  He drew out, then drove into her again while his talented thumbs played against her engorged flesh, applying stimulating pressure and friction, coaching her innervated body to yet another explosive climax.

  She screamed, inner muscles she didn't know she had clenching and contracting. Their shared passion came alive. She could smell it, their scents heated and mingling, diffusing into the room a secret, illicit aroma of sex.

  "Damn, Professor. I love your body. I love your breasts.” He used one hand to tweak an aching nipple, then bit the burning flesh above her collarbone. “I love your neck. I love the way you come—how you moan and beg for me. I feel the same way, Professor. I've been waiting a long time for this, and I can't get enough of you."

  His breath came shallow and short. This time he didn't seem to notice the slip in his narrative masquerade. With a few more hard, hungry thrusts, his solid frame tensed against her and his deep voice rumbled a growl before he fell boneless against her, his head on her breast.

  After some long silent moments interrupted only by harsh, gasping breaths, he shifted up onto his elbows. “Even better than anything Nick could ever dream of in class, I assure you."

  He pulled away, and she protested with a weak, plaintive groan. She moved her legs against him, but barely had the strength to place them around him, much less apply any pressure to keep him there.

  He smoothed his warm hands up the length of her legs and kissed the inside of each knee. “Don't worry, Professor. I'll be right back. There's plenty more where that came from. Right now, I'm going to see about some food."

  "I'm not hungry. Well, not for food anyway.” Her voice dipped huskily. She bucked against him in another attempt to get him to stay, but he grasped her ankles and set them firmly on the mattress again, though this time he didn't tie her to the bed.

  "Later, woman.” She heard the smile in his gruff voice. “I need something to build up my energy. We have days ahead of
us.” He rolled off the bed, and she heard him pull on the jeans he'd kicked onto the floor.

  An erotic wave of heat drifted through her, as well as a sudden sliver of fear. And then what? But she was too tired to fully complete the thought, much less the swirl of unease that it brought to her stomach.

  One thought became clear as she drifted off to sleep. She had a week. She'd take it.

  * * * *

  Friday. Friday! How could it be Friday? She had to be back at Denley by nine o'clock Monday morning. She had a meeting and classes almost straight through from ten to four.

  But Amelia didn't want to leave.

  This amazing week was all she'd ever have of Nick, though it was more than she could've dreamed of.

  She cursed her stupidity. She'd let herself fall in love with him. On the heels of that thought, she offered her own soul an ounce of comfort. What woman would be immune?

  He was completely out of her league. Too gorgeous. Too rich. Too smart and funny and, God help her, wicked in bed. She'd thought she managed every possible fantasy about him before he'd kidnapped her in her own beach house. But even with her novelist's bright imagination, it was only a shadow of what had become reality.

  She hadn't accomplished much writing here at Hilton Head, but she acknowledged with a sad tug at her heart that she had a wealth of memories and emotions to keep her busy for a lifetime.

  Especially if she wanted to write erotica.

  She wrapped cold fingers around her warm coffee mug, unable to keep from remembering how bereft she felt when she'd woken up, alone in the bed. He'd left to pick up some groceries while she was still asleep. He'd brewed coffee and left a note, but it was her own shocking desolation she didn't want to face, that horrible moment when she'd woken up and he wasn't there.

  They'd barely left the house all week. In her whole life, she had never spent more than three days with a person before they got on her nerves, especially if she didn't take time to write and spend time by herself. But with Nick, she'd barely taken a breath on her own, and she still needed more, still couldn't get enough of him.

  She heard the hum of his car. Feeling like a guilty child, she set her cup down and crept into the front room, hiding behind the huge window curtain to watch him. Everything about him made her smile—his car, his stride, the elegant turn of his wrist as he checked his watch. Jeez, even the way he chopped onions. The man was a walking, talking, gourmet-cooking wet dream. He imbued every move with casual self-confidence and the graceful nonchalance that came from having real money.

  He folded out of his six-year-old black Mercedes convertible as the trunk arced open in a smooth motion, somehow leading her thoughts back to this week's abundance of flexing, tilting, sliding bodies. Their bodies, pressed together more times than she would have thought humanly possible in the space of six days.

  He reached for the few bags of groceries, glancing toward the window as he closed the trunk. For perhaps the thousandth time that week, she had the odd sensation he could read her mind and, even though she knew he couldn't see her, she jerked back a step behind the curtain.

  She bit her lip at her foolishness and crossed to the front door, swinging it open for him and reaching for a bag to help him out, but he pulled it away from her with a sly grin.

  "No peeking. At the groceries, anyway."

  "Is there something else I would want to peek at?” she arched her eyebrows at him.

  "God, I hope so."

  It was the rasp in his voice that did it, that sent that sensual current through her body, and she feared for any frozen food in those bags.

  Even with his arms full, he backed her against the nearest wall. He grazed the skin of her neck with his teeth, bracing his feet for balance so he could grind his rigid cock into her, his khaki shorts crushing her short red silk robe.

  The mock action wasn't good enough. She needed the real thing.

  She reached for the button on his shorts, but he resisted, stepping out of reach to take a deep breath while he adjusted the bags in his strong arms.

  "These things are going to combust, Professor. I'm going to get them out of harm's way.” He eyed her state of undress with approval. “It seems we both need a shower. A hot, steamy shower. Maybe you can set that up?"

  She nodded, her throat too dry to actually respond, and turned down the hallway toward the master bath.

  * * * *

  She twisted the water on, as hot and heavy as possible. Steam rose around her. She stood in the middle of the room, staring at her image in the mirror as it hazed over, distorted and misty from the moist heat.

  She dropped her red robe to the floor and it pooled around her like blood. What was wrong with her? She stared back at the contorted reflection in the mirror. This week had changed her, altered her sense of self and independence. She didn't want to leave this house because she was terrified it meant leaving him. Forever.

  He stepped through the door, nude and ready for her, his desire obvious. She took a deep breath and wrapped her fingers around his rigid length, one hand playing with his sac, one thumb teasing the tip of his erection.

  They were usually playful in sex, but today it wasn't in her. She felt tense and brittle, but not solely in a sexual way. She wanted to imprint herself on him and memorize every detail of his body. It was coming to an end. She could feel it.

  As usual, he read her like a book. He gripped her fingers, stilling them and studying her with intense eyes. “What is it, Professor? What's going on?"

  "It's Friday. I have to leave tomorrow. I need time to prepare for Monday. Time to get over—” biting off the final word, not completely sure what she meant to say. You? This?

  "Get over what? Me? You think this is something you're going to get over?"

  His vehemence shocked her, but she matched it with her own outrage, her own insecurity. “Come on, Nick. We both know this is going to end. You could have any woman in the world, much less Denley. I still don't know why you came here, but I'm not stupid. You are so out of my league."

  Her voice broke, but she kept going. “This has been amazing, Nick, one of the best weeks of my life. Thank you.” Her voice faded to a wispy croak, and she risked a peek at his handsome face, shocked to find it hard and fierce.

  "That's what you think of me, of this week? ‘Slam, bam, thank you, ma'am?’ Is that it? You think I came down here to seduce you for a little thrill? Why? Because you're the one who said ‘no'?"

  That very thought had crossed her mind, but she didn't want to admit it to him or herself. She didn't know what to say, and this tense, formidable man was unknown to her, a far cry from the amiable, personable Prince of Denley or her seductive companion of the last week. Still, his indignant attitude caught her attention. She'd assumed he'd want to end the affair. He was known for loving them and leaving them. Why should she be any different?

  Her mind tried to process too many questions and thoughts at once, but they all fell to the wayside when he lifted her onto the edge of the counter and thrust himself inside her, wrapping her legs around his waist. “It's not over, Professor. Not by any stretch of the imagination. I don't care if I have to tie you up for the rest of the semester and hire someone to teach your classes."

  His words were both thrilling and threatening, but his expression had softened. She tried to keep her eyes open to watch him and her brain focused enough to put two thoughts together, but it didn't work. Within seconds he'd tumbled her into that amazing place where she couldn't think, couldn't speak, couldn't do much of anything but feel. All she could feel was this amazing man slamming into her, taking her to heaven.

  But he didn't stop there. He carried her into the shower and took her against the wall, hot water splashing over them like a tropical waterfall. He unwound her legs from his waist and set her, shaking, on the tile shower bench, nipping at her heated skin from her ears to the tips of her toes.

  Kneeling in front of her, he drew her hips forward. He parted her legs, opening her to his hot mouth, his
tongue darting in and out. His lips clamped over her taut, tender, sensitized skin and sucked, taking rhythmic turns with his rasping tongue that scraped and dipped just below.

  She didn't know a body could sustain such intense, unrelenting rapture. She screamed, a deep, throaty moaning cry and hot liquid pleasure coursed through her, even as warm tears slipped down her cheeks.

  "I love—” Oh, God, she'd almost said the deadly words. He tensed, his fingers flexed into her hips, and she changed course mid-sentence. “I love what you do to me, Nick. God, I love what you do to me."

  His fingers relaxed. He straightened, pressed against her, and tilted her head to stare into her eyes, but she simply curled her lips into a dewy, satisfied smile, determined not to let him know how easily, how completely he'd stolen her heart.

  They dried off and fell back into bed. This time she took control, returning the favor with talented lips and tongue, the sensual tug and slide of her eager mouth. She took pride in his groans of pleasure, thrilling to her power over him. They fell asleep, his body wrapped around hers like a cocoon.

  The room was cool and grey when she woke up again, and she was alone in the bed. The terrible fear and sense of abandonment rose again in her throat. She sat up, listening, her heart pounding. Silence. The clock next to the bed read 3:18 p.m., and she cursed herself for sleeping away so much of her final day here. But remembering the sweet contentment of falling asleep in Nick's arms, she couldn't regret the experience.

  She tossed aside the bedcovers and slid out of the bed, reaching for his fluffy terry robe, rather than her sexy, silky one. She wanted comfort and warmth, and the oversized robe bearing Nick's beloved scent fit her mood perfectly.

  The weather had held beautifully all week, but today a storm had moved in. She found Nick sitting in the small breakfast nook of the kitchen, his back to her, watching rain trickle from the grey sky. His long elegant fingers cradled a mug of coffee.

  He turned as she padded into the room, but his expression was blank. He raised his eyebrows. “Have a nice nap?"

  Something in his tone seemed bleak. Surprised, she studied him closely for a clue to his thoughts. “It was okay. I like it better when you're with me."