My gaze is instantly drawn to Grace again and I swear, she flushes a little. My traitorous cock twitches and I change my afternoon plans. Heading straight out of the building to do some early recon for tonight’s job is now postponed by fifteen minutes as I mentally pencil in a quick jerk off session in my office.
“Class dismissed.”
The students file out and I pack up my shit and grab my briefcase. I can see Grace is lingering behind, but fuck that. I make a beeline for the door, cock aching for some relief. It was only two nights ago that I awoke with a start, abs slick with my own come after a dream that started exactly like this.
Her and I in the classroom alone as she stayed behind for extra help. Only she didn’t want tips on Criminal Justice. She wanted me to take her virginity. And, fuck, did I take it.
I bite back a groan as I push my way through the crowded hallways, a man on a mission. Two minutes later, I slip into my office and close the door behind me, taking a second to engage the lock.
A harsh laugh breaks from my lips as I shake my head.
Christ. A thirty-year-old man in a room of boys, and I’m the one who can’t sit through a school day without jerking off.
But there is no shame in my game as I unbuckle my belt, caressing the leather for just an instant. Closing my eyes, I imagine wrapping it around my fist and then bringing it down hard on Grace’s round little ass.
Daddy likes it rough.
Fucking Christ. I was warned about this exact shit in post-grad in a mind-numbingly boring Ethics class. The professor was quite frank, said something about everyone having urges, but to never cross that line.
I’m flirting with danger as I slide my hand, calloused and rough from my nightshift responsibilities, into my jeans and under tight boxer briefs. My cock pulses to the same beat as my racing heart.
I followed the lead of my former Ethics professor, got the hell out of Dodge before my cockbrain could drag me into the dark abyss of student-teacher misconduct.
Cock hard and primed, I push my jeans and underwear down my thighs and begin to stroke myself with my head thrown back over the top of the chair. I force my eyes shut and fantasize about Grace undressing before me.
I’m watching her with bated breath from the student section as she brushes one finger against her plump bottom lip. Cherry red and glossy. She reaches behind her back and unhooks her bra, covers her breasts with one arm as she tosses the black bra into her audience of one.
I’m trying to be as silent as I can as to not arouse any suspicion from my peers. Groans, moans, and grunts are the last thing I need to be questioned about from the nosey Eugene Clarison, professor of Psychopathy 101 whose office shares a wall with mine.
She hooks her finger, gesturing for me to come annihilate her pussy. I imagine she would never speak such things, but in my fantasy, the implication is there. I rise to my feet and stalk towards her until I have her pinned against the edge of the desk. My pants fall to my ankles as I shift my body against hers, the warmth of her breath lighting the skin of my neck on fire.
My teeth sink hard against my bottom lip as my pace quickens, beating my glistening cock with one hand. I wish I had the luxury of time, because I’d like nothing more than to let this fantasy play out in real time. But that’s not the way of the Universe, so in my perverse imagination, I’m skipping all the foreplay and going straight for the penetration.
Her mouth hangs open, her pert breasts heaving as she surrenders herself to my width.
Tight. Hot. Wet fucking virgin pussy. With one hand, I hold her by the small of her back as I sink inside her to the hilt. When I’m balls deep, I pass her a quick glance to see hunger in her eyes. She rocks gently, hooks her heels behind my back and prepares herself for the ride.
“Fuck me, Professor,” she moans through pouted lips.
I’m just giving the lady what she wants as I begin to fuck her with a reckless rhythm. Burying myself balls deep inside her wanton cunt with every thrust. Her nails dig into my back, she howls into my ear gleeful screams of ecstasy.
“Professor Ridley…”
The low, husky voice is the one from my fantasy, and sends a shudder through me.
My balls pull up tight as I increase the pressure.
So fucking close.
My heart is pumping almost as fast as my hand now, and I can feel the hot liquid snaking up my shaft.
“Professor? Are you okay in there? I heard a weird noise.”
I freeze, doubled over in shock as my cock pulses and leaps in protest.
Not a voice from my fantasy. A voice through my fucking door, followed by a brisk knock.
“Professor, I’m getting worried.”
Grace.
The door handle jiggles as I wrestle my dick back into my jeans. “Should I call the custodian or get help or something?”
The adrenaline and hot lust pouring through me part like the Red Sea, leaving behind the absurd desire to laugh.
Unless the custodian plans on coming in and jerking me off in order to save me the world’s worst case of blue balls, there isn’t much the poor guy can do for me.
“Sorry, Grace, one second. I just was working out a terrible muscle cramp in my leg,” I call as I pull up my zipper with a wince.
I take a quick second to let my pulse slow to something close to normal.
Then, I unlock the door to let in my fantasy… and my worst nightmare.
Grace
I shouldn’t be here.
I should already be on my way to my Jane Austen seminar, but something won’t let me walk away. Could be the text message on my phone from Willow that is burning a hole in my pocket.
Stop being a wuss and make a move.
Some friend. I went to her and confessed my obsession with Professor Ridley so she could help me work through it, not so she could encourage me to do wrong.
I should know better, though. Heck, maybe I do. Maybe I only called her in to run this play so she could give me that last boost of courage I needed.
My thoughts are cut short as Professor Ridley swings open the door with a pinched grin on his face.
He’s slightly out of breath too, and his eyes are drowning in, for lack of a better word, neediness. Dark hazel eyes that seem to steal all my attention until I’m left standing before him like a mindless drone.
“Grace?” he questions with a raspy voice. “What are you doing here?”
“I wanted to talk to you about something,” I reply, snapping out of whatever daydream I’d found myself in.
He extends his arm outwards, gestures for me to come join him before closing the door behind me. He paces back to his desk and sits on the edge of the black furniture. Drops a hand over his crotch and furrows one brow. “So what’s up?”
I narrow my eyes on him. Watch him carefully. He’s hiding something. Momma always said that all men are up to no good when nobody’s watching them. I fantasize about who he is after the lights of his office go dark, when he’s away from this place.
I’ve been watching him for quite some time. I’ve seen the cool, calm, and casual way he interacts with all of his students, but I just can’t shake the feeling that it’s all an act.
He’s suave in the way he talks. In the way he moves too, dancing circles around my imagination like a modern day James Dean, if James Dean was proficient in the art of wielding guns and espionage.
In my wildest fantasies, I’m his Marilyn Monroe.
Willow pointed out that Marilyn was a hoe, but then added that everyone should experience being a hoe at some point in their lives. Today’s my day, apparently.
I’m way out of my league.
“I’m having difficulties with the coursework.” I drop my head low, feigning shame. “I’m not proud of it.”
“Your grades don’t seem to reflect a student who’s having difficulty with the material.”
“Yeah.” I clear my throat and force a nervous smile. “It’s the recent material.”
“Right.” He no
ds, purses his lips too as he scratches nervously against his neck before dropping his hand back down to his crotch.
“I was wondering if maybe you could spare some office hours for a little bit of one-on-one tutoring?” I drop my behind down onto the edge of the desk beside him, taking a hard-right swerve into seductress mode. Immediately uncomfortable at the position I’ve forced myself in, I climb back to my feet and brush my sweaty palms down the length of my sweater. “I…” I stutter as I take notice of him fidgeting before me. He’s usually so confident, so sure of himself but something is off.
That’s right.
He had mentioned he had a cramp. The poor man is probably struggling through pain while I’m standing before him using my upper arms to press my boobs together to make them look like a C-cup, the entire time trying to pretend I’m some dumb college girl who doesn’t know the difference between Tokyo and Hong Kong.
I’m not proud of myself, ashamed even.
“Which leg is it?” I question, trying to right my wrongs.
“Huh?”
“Which leg?” I drop to my knees and cock my head up to him to assure him that I know what I’m doing. “Up until last year, I was a Physical Therapy major, so I can definitely help you with your Charlie Horse.”
“That’s not… That’s not necessary,” he grounds out.
“Come on.” A chuckle slips from my throat. “You scratch my back and I scratch yours.” I wince, force my eyes closed.
I can’t believe I just said that.
“I’m actually good.” He smiles flatly. “Promise.”
“Okay.” I wipe my palms on my knees and look back up to him, just in time to notice one of his legs twitch. “You’re obviously not okay, so just let me help you.” I reach forth and caress the leg that twitched.
His eyes go wide. He freezes. But I’m too insistent upon scratching his back to bring myself to stop. Must be higher, I think to myself as I shift my hand to the bottom of his thigh.
“Grace,” he grunts.
“I can’t seem to find a kink.” I scoot across the floor to get better access as my hand trails to the inside of his thigh. There doesn’t seem to be any knots or any indication of a cramped muscle. But holy hell, these legs are forged of steel. “Maybe if you pull your pants down—”
“Grace, stop,” he grinds out between gritted teeth as he climbs to his feet.
My turn to freeze in place as my eyes go wide and wild. I look up to him to see someone else standing in front of me. Of course, it’s technically still the same man I just about sexually assaulted. But there’s a darkness hanging over him. Gone is the calm and collected man I’ve seen in the classroom sometimes. He’s been replaced by exactly the kind of man I figured was hiding behind those potent, hungry eyes.
But still, my hand seems to have a case of Idle Hands as it continues to crawl along the inside of his thigh.
He grabs me by the wrist with an impossibly tight grip. Holds it still. Bites out, “Grace, you need to stop. Immediately.”
I swallow a nervous lump in my throat, the sound of my gulp as loud as a gunshot in the quiet office. My heart races and the butterflies fluttering in my stomach the first time I ever laid eyes on him have been replaced with a suspicious tingling elsewhere.
I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t turned on right now.
I’m also mortified.
“I…” I choke on my own words. “I have to pee.”
And just like that, I’m twisting on my feet, and fleeing with the grace of a drunk co-ed as I rip the office door open, and pull it closed behind me. I bury my face in my hands, flushed red with embarrassment as I race down the hallway.
Great. Now I have to spend the rest of the semester in class with a guy who either thinks I’m a psychopath or a molester and there isn’t a damn thing I can do about it.
Kill me now.
Chapter Two
Grace
I’m still reeling and considering dropping Criminal Law 101 as I reach the end of one hall and corner into another. I freeze in place and stare down the length of the corridor as Professor Ridley slips into the stairwell.
Despite my claims that I couldn’t quite get a handle on the coursework, I’m currently acing the course, which is one of the last I need to finally graduate. It’s a no brainer. Although, it might not hurt to take off the rest of the week. It won’t exactly kill my future to skip, especially because if I step foot into that classroom anytime soon, I might end up dead from humiliation. By my estimation, a future where I lose two percent of my overall grade due to bad attendance is a better future than one where I end up dead. And who knows? Maybe when I show up back in class next week, he’ll have forgotten all about it.
Considering the last time I saw the professor, an uncomfortable grimace had been scribbled across my face while my hand dropped to my vagina as I grossly professed my need to pee, the odds are not in my favor.
So death by embarrassment it is. The college can then hold a memorial in my honor—or dishonor considering the series of unfortunate events that preluded my untimely death. A candlelight vigil soaked in tears by people who never even knew me, all the while nobody would ever know the truth; that I, Grace Farrow, carried out a novice attempt at sexually assaulting my candy-coated criminal law professor.
I let out a groan and wonder how I’m going to make it through the rest of this day and make an executive decision to cut my next class.
I twist on my feet and make a beeline for the library where I know Willow—my best friend, my soul sister, my righteous partner in crime—will be studying. And since she’s the one who first got me into this mess, she’s going to help me get out of it. Or at least make sense of it.
A few minutes later, I spot her in the chorus of students with their heads draped over textbooks, sprawled out in an endless sea of tables. She’s impossible to miss. A neon demon in a haystack basically. Dressed in black legwarmers and a slouchy, off the shoulder neon pink sweater that just screams, Yes, time machines do exist. And Olivia Newton John has sent me to the future to confuse you.
But I’ll give credit where credit is due. She pulls off the look well, managing to out-Madonna anyone else who would dare, with dark hair so crunchy with mousse that there has to be sharp edges. She somehow makes the worst fashion trends look drop dead sexy, a fact which never fails to blow my mind.
I march towards her and place a palm on her shoulder, not just to get her attention, but to drag her to her feet.
“Jesus,” she snarls as she throws her hand against her chest. “You do know I carry a gun, right?”
“This is a gun free zone,” I reply softly through gritted teeth as she rises to stand.
“It’s just a little single shot Derringer. Pretty sure everyone carries them.” She chuckles to herself and then glances around the table. “Am I right?”
The others at the table just stare and I grab her by the hand and drag her to the back corner of the library, as far away from prying ears as possible. She drops her bag onto the table and folds her arms over each other, offering me a pressed glare, and then a forced smile hidden behind a puckered pout of her lips.
“Are you proud of yourself?” I question, dropping my bag next to hers on the table to create a barricade to hide behind. I lean closer. “Do you have any idea how terrifyingly embarrassing my meeting with Professor Ridley wound up being?”
“Oh God.” Her eyes roll to the back of her head. “If you’re going to tell me you vomited on his lollipop—”
“I’m going to stop you right there.” I glance out the corner of my eye to make sure there are no peeping toms listening in on our conversation before leaning deeper against the table. “I went into his office armed with the excuse you had provided for me, that I wasn’t handling the material well, but he pointed out that I was more than passing the class.”
“Seriously?” She arches one brow and shakes her head, the oversized hoops in her ears rattling in place. “If he knew your grade off the top of his he
ad just a few weeks into the semester, then I think my suspicions were right. Girl, he’s been watching you.”
I blow out a sigh and close my eyes in frustration, slicing the air with one hand. “Let me finish, okay?”
“Well, okay then, Miss Thing.”
“Anyways, he looked weird when I first got there, and mentioned that he was having a painful cramp in his leg, so I popped a squat and tried massaging the kink out of him…” My words trail off when I notice her fighting an impossible fight to hold in a fit of laughter, her cheeks flushing cherry red before the dam breaks and the laughs come pouring out.
“You’re not helping at all by laughing—”
“I’m sorry,” she says through a witchy cackle, “you’re just so damn ridiculous.”
“I’m already miserable enough without you eviscerating me with your taunting laugh. The worst part is that he, like, grabbed my arm and told me to stop. He clearly couldn’t wait for me to get out of his office and now I can’t bring myself to face him.”
She holds her hand firm against her chest and breathes in, clearly trying to distill the laughter once more. I flop back in my chair, cross my arms and just wait for her to continue making fun of me for a mess that she is largely responsible for.
She launches into another fit of hysteria all the while making a scene in what I’m sure was a quiet library before I got here.
A passerby with sunglasses over his eyes throws his finger over his lips and loudly shushes us. I’m taken aback at first, and then my stomach drops, wondering whether or not he heard the rest of the conversation.
Willow handles being shushed quite differently than me.
“Fuck off, Corey Hart.”
I can’t help but to giggle under my breath. Girl is for sure stuck in the eighties and I’m a hundred percent sure the poor shush-er has no idea who Corey Hart is. Willow continues to glare at the unidentified student until he’s out of sight, and then turns back to face me.
She rips her bag off the table and slings it over her shoulder. “Come on.”
Better to Eat You Page 58
