In Session

by Mary Catherine Gebhard

  In Session

  Mary Catherine Gebhard

  Contents

  Synopsis

  1. Hot For Teacher

  2. Hitting The Books... Hard

  3. Schooled

  4. Teacher's Pet

  5. Show Of Hands

  6. Hooky

  7. Off Campus

  8. Learn It By Heart

  About the Author

  Also by Mary Catherine Gebhard

  Synopsis

  IN SESSION

  * * *

  You’ve heard the story thousands of times. Professor preys on unsuspecting student, student naively falls for professor, and perverted chaos ensues leaving a lascivious wake of destruction.

  But that wasn’t our story.

  I worked hard to get a full ride. I needed a break. Just one break. One night of crazy, careless fun. So I went to a bar. He seemed like the perfect pill to relax me before school. Gorgeous, funny, and with zero strings attached.

  Of course there was a catch. And now I’m caught. It doesn’t matter that he’s my professor or that we’re risking it all to be together. Hook, line, and, sinker, I'm his.

  1

  Hot For Teacher

  “Oh god yes! Fuck me! Fuck me harder!”

  Okay, let me back up for a minute, because I’m not the type of girl to scream out obscenities—well, unless I’m getting pounded by a seriously hot guy…which I was. You might be wondering who this guy is, the guy railing me in to his couch since we were too hot and heavy to make it to the bedroom. The guy with sexy, tousled, sandy blond hair and eyes a dark blue that rivaled the ocean. Who is this guy?

  I don’t know.

  I met him at a bar earlier in the night and never caught his name.

  I’m also not the kind of girl that picks up random strangers and follows them back to their place to engage in scorchingly hot sex. All of this was insanely out of character for me.

  Earlier I went out for a celebratory drink with my friend Rachael. The next day was our first day of classes; we would officially be college girls. I worked my ass off to get a full-ride scholarship and Rachael… well, she showed up to most of her classes.

  Rachael scored me a fake ID to match hers and we entered The Beer Hive. It wasn’t the first bar I’d been to, nor was it my first time drinking, but the night felt different. I couldn’t put a finger on it at first, but then he showed up.

  Rachael was already long gone, flirting with some guy with piercings and tattoos and what appeared to be a bad attitude. I sat on a bar stool, drinking my third martini and imagining my college life. It was going to be hard, but it would be so worth it in the end. I would be a nurse. I would help people. After my mom died, it was everything I ever wanted to do.

  “Want to buy me a drink?” he had asked. I turned slightly on my stool to get a better look at the forward jerk. My breath left me instantly. Wearing a white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the elbow, his tanned arms were on display. The linen was so thin I could almost make out the skin beneath. He was absolutely gorgeous. I could faintly make out a tattoo on his muscular forearm, but it disappeared in to his shirt.

  Despite his gorgeous appearance, I couldn’t get over the brazen assumption he’d made. I rolled my eyes. “Why would I buy you a drink?”

  He smiled, showing off perfect pearly whites. “I’d offer to buy you a drink, but you already have one and”—he leaned in so close I could smell his intoxicating scent—“why is it that the man always has to buy the drink? That’s a little sexist, don’t you think?”

  I sipped my martini, contemplating the man before me. After a few beats, I responded. “It’s not about the drink, it’s the assumption. Why do you think I even want you to buy me a drink, or that I want to buy you one?”

  The man grinned, a crooked smile that had my thighs clenching. “It’s not an assumption if I know you want me.”

  After that I was toast. We went to his house, a gorgeous two story Craftsman, and he gave me the best sex of my life. All right, my life hadn’t been that long or filled with sex, but I couldn’t imagine sex ever being better than that. That’s like a mountain being higher than Everest.

  I gripped the couch, preparing for another orgasm. My nails dug in to the couch and for a moment I felt bad, afraid that I was tearing the nice rusty leather, but that moment quickly fled as the orgasm spilled through me. My legs felt like melted butter. My teeth tingled.

  “Oh fuck!” I screamed. Mister No Name sex god gripped my hips and plunged even deeper as his own orgasm rocked him. A sound halfway between a scream and a groan fell from my lips as I felt him twitch inside me. At last he stilled and I sunk in to the leather, utterly exhausted—that is, until I felt him pull me up. I whined half-heartedly. Why was he moving me? Couldn’t he tell that I wanted to melt in to the couch and never move?

  “Time for round two.” He winked, pulling me off the couch and throwing me over his shoulder. I was about to protest when I felt his hands slide across my naked bum. I let him carry me across his house, naked. After all, it was time for round two.

  * * *

  Shit. In search of my panties, I nearly knocked over a lamp. I put both hands on either side of the ceramic body and held it still, hoping the noise hadn’t woken my one-night-stand. As the lamp steadied, I gazed around the living room; everything looked so much brighter and more accusatory in the morning.

  “You’re a crazy person, Nora.” Rachael’s voice carried through my phone. I picked it up off the couch—the couch—and put it back to my ear. “Who takes organic chemistry first thing Monday morning?”

  “You know I don’t have a choice,” I responded. “If I want to graduate with honors in three years—”

  Rachael cut me off. “Then you have to follow the schedule exactly. I know. You know, you could just be a normal person and graduate in five years.”

  “My scholarship only works if I do the accelerated track, and I don’t want to graduate with a boatload of debt; thanks but no thanks. God dammit, where is my underwear?”

  Rachael laughed into the phone. “You’re starting your academic career off with quite a bang.”

  “Not helping,” I grumbled, rifling through the wake of the previous night but trying to keep quiet so I didn’t wake Mr. No Name up. The last thing I wanted to do was have that awkward morning-after conversation. I was already running late and I didn’t need to exchange awkward pleasantries.

  “Hey,” Rachael said with faux pain lacing her tone. “I’m turning around and driving all the way back to pick your ass up from some random dude’s house. Be grateful.”

  “I am…” I turned over another cushion. “I’m just freaking out. I have Professor Khan and everyone says he’s a major dick and that if you’re late to his first class he’ll kick you out.”

  “I doubt that will happen,” Rachael mused. “I’m almost there, keep your panties on. Oh wait!” Rachael started laughing again. Before I could yell at her, a deep male voice stopped me dead in my tracks.

  “Looking for these?” I spun around to see my one-night-stand. How long had he been standing there?

  “Gotta go.” I hung up on Rachael before she could protest. Hand on hip, I took in the sight of my one-night stand holding my black lace thong. He had a sheet wrapped around his waist, but the sun was shining bright and it illuminated his naked figure through the bright white linen. I blinked, looking away from the erotic sight and up to his face. Mistake! His sandy blond hair was tussled; clearly he’d just woken up. The bedhead was working for him and he looked absolutely delectable.

  Heat crept up to my cheeks and my eyes scanned everywhere but him. Not many people hoped they’d wake up the next morning and their 10 would be a 3, but I had. I seriously couldn’t handle the situat
ion. I’d remembered him as a 10, but he was actually a 20. Way too hot to handle. I had things to do today! I had to be at school, but this brilliantly sexy guy was holding my black lace panties and all I could think was how I wanted to jump all over him.

  “Yes,” I said, coughing to get control of my faculties. “As a matter of fact I am looking for those. I’m running late.” I tried to convey that I was in no mood for shenanigans, but I failed. My head hurt from bathing my brain in too much tequila, I’m sure I smelled like it too, and I generally felt gross. Still, I wanted to rip that sheet from his hands and crawl back to bed with him.

  I reached for my thong, only to have Mr. No Name pull back playfully. I glared. If I was going to go to my first day of school hungover and smelling like it, I at least wanted to be wearing underwear.

  “Seriously, I’m not in the mood.”

  “Where are you running off to so quickly?” He grinned; my heart skipped and my thighs clenched.

  “School,” I huffed impatiently. “It’s my first day and I’m running late.”

  “Maybe you could be a little later?” he suggested, raising his eyebrows. I almost agreed. I almost went with him. Maybe I could be a little later. Maybe I could just let him take me on the couch that I just seconds ago ripped apart in quest of my panties. I was ready for him, after all. My panties were off and the minute he’d walked in the door my vagina had practically sung. But then he said, “Professor Khan isn’t that great anyway.”

  That brought me back to reality. I had a professor. I had school. I had worked damn hard to achieve all of that. He had piqued my curiosity, though.

  “You know Professor Khan?”

  Mr. No Name shrugged, “I’ve seen him around campus.”

  I wanted to know more. I was about to ask if he went to my school, but thought better of it. His appearance and home suggested otherwise. He looked a little bit older than your average college student and his house was much nicer than the average college dude-bro. Maybe he taught there? That was a can of worms I did not want to open up.

  I used the lull in our conversation to my advantage and snatched the panties out of his hand before his reflexes kicked in. His eyes narrowed, and for a moment I felt like he was the predator and I was the prey. He licked his lips, as if about to charge, but then a horn sounded from outside. Rachael was here. Without looking back, I dashed out of the house.

  Rachael and I couldn’t arrive on campus fast enough. The car ride there was basically an interrogation.

  “Was he good?”

  “Rachael!”

  “Well?”

  “Yes he was amazing. It was the best sex ever.”

  “I can’t tell if you’re being sarcastic.” Rachael eyed me inquisitively before making a sharp turn in to campus parking. Truthfully, though I’d said it sarcastically, I’d meant every word. It had been the best sex of my life. It was passionate, emotional, and fucking rough. Still, I was only eighteen. There would be more of that, right?

  Right?

  Rachael pulled into student parking and our conversation was cut off. Our classes were on opposite sides of campus so we had to say goodbye. I gave her a hug, said thanks, and took off in a sprint. I was not going to be late.

  The great thing about college is that you don’t look like an idiot sprinting. Back in high school you would be made fun of for running to class. No one wanted to admit that they cared about learning. Here? Everyone was sprinting or had their nose in a book. It was cool to care.

  I arrived just in time to get a seat. I might have nudged a few other students who were making their way inside, just to be safe. I chose a seat right in front, because I wanted to make sure that I got every ounce of knowledge out of this.

  Checking my phone, I saw that I had actually made it to class with five minutes to spare. Go me! I pulled my laptop out of my case, organized my pens and notebook, and got ready for my first official day as a college student.

  Time ticked on, people got situated, whispers turned in to full blown conversations, but the professor still hadn’t shown. It was now ten past seven and he was officially late. I started to get butterflies in my stomach. Was I in the right class? I double-checked the door number and my online schedule; yes, I was in the right class.

  After another five minutes passed I pulled up the textbook for the class—may as well use the time to get ahead on reading. Just as I was getting into the formulas (not really…) the door opened.

  A man walked in carrying a briefcase and dressed business casual. My throat dried up. My brain short-circuited. He could not be the professor. I watched horrorstruck as the man went to the white board and wrote the name of the class on the board, as well as his name, Professor Khan.

  Who was my professor?

  None other than my one-night stand.

  2

  Hitting The Books... Hard

  Class was a blur, a dreadful, this-can’t-be-happening-to-me blur. Good thing it was the first day and all we did was discuss the syllabus, because I couldn’t comprehend a single thing. I vaguely remembered passing a handout to the person next to me, but mostly I stared. I stared as my one-night stand lectured the hall—and me—like it was any other day.

  Well, to him it was any other day.

  When 10 a.m. came around, the class filed out but I remained seated, staring at the back of his head. My eye twitched in anger as he shuffled his papers back into his briefcase.

  I was a woman possessed as I followed him out of the room, up a flight of stairs, and down a dimly lit hallway. He opened a door and entered an office—his office. Because he was a professor. My professor. When he shut the door, complete silence engulfed us for, oh, about 2.5 seconds. I broke it with my indignant voice.

  “You’ve seen him around campus?” I yelled, repeating what he’d said to me that very morning, just a few hours before.

  “I suppose we’re a little bit closer than that,” he remarked, a smirk on his lips.

  “Whatever, Professor Khan,” I spat, doing my best to keep from clawing his eyes out—or his shirt off; whichever, I couldn’t seem to keep the two separated at the moment. I was furiously angry at him, sure, but with his dark blue eyes practically twinkling, I still had to keep my legs pressed tight together.

  “I prefer it if my sexual partners call me by my first name, Foster.”

  Foster—ahem, Professor Khan—leaned casually against his desk. Arms folded, he eyed me with as much interest as you might someone telling you the weather.

  If you were to ask me what came over me, I couldn’t tell you. It was like some demon infiltrated my body—a demon totally justified in her actions, but a demon nonetheless. Up to that point I had never been the type to get physical, especially with authority figures. Even if those authority figures were no-good liars, albeit panty-drenchingly hot no-good liars, but no-good liars all the same.

  I rushed up to Foster and shoved him so hard he fell backward on his desk. It felt good, almost too good. I folded my arms, relishing my victory over Professor Asshat. The victory was short-lived.

  Slowly, Foster rose from his akimbo position. He took time to rearrange the papers that had scattered and even lifted up a picture that had fallen. When he was finished, we stood staring at each other.

  Foster advanced toward me.

  Nearly tripping over my heels, I backed up to get away from him. Suddenly the tables were turned and I was pressed so hard against the door that the doorknob dug into my spine. Slowly, with deliberate care, Foster touched my face. My breath hitched.

  I hadn’t known he was my professor when we had sex, but now I did. What kind of person did it make me if I continued it?

  Sure, Foster was the best most attentive lover I’d ever had and probably would ever have. He was a brilliant and kind person, but he was also my professor. He was forbidden fruit. It could not happen. Ever. I got so caught up in my rambling thoughts that I didn’t notice Foster had closed the small space between our lips. When I looked up, he was only a breath away.


  “What—what are you doing?” I stuttered.

  “I’m going to kiss you,” Foster replied simply, a small smile playing on his lips—lips that were much too close to mine.

  “You can’t do that,” I protested. “You’re my professor.”

  Foster raised a brow. “Do you want me to stop?” Reaching out to stroke my cheek lightly, he continued. “I’ll stop if you don’t want this, Nora. I’ll back up and go behind my desk and I’ll stay that way for the rest of the semester, if that’s what you want.”

  My emotions warred with my mind. I’d come to this school to be a nurse. A relationship with Foster would jeopardize everything I’d ever worked for. It was a no-brainer. I had to say no. Foster needed to be Professor Khan.

  I swallowed and, looking in to his Atlantic blue eyes, whispered, “Don’t stop.”

  * * *

  Foster threw me on the desk and it didn’t matter that a paperweight was digging in to my back, because what was digging into my thigh was way more distracting. His mouth was on mine in a moment. I could hardly breathe between his weight, his mouth, and the paperweight digging into my back. It was a scary but euphoric feeling, like I was giving up all of myself to Foster. He grabbed the back of my neck, forcing my mouth even further into his. He bit my lower lip, sucking at it.

  I groaned as Foster undid the clasp of my skirt and pulled it down.

  “I’m going to fuck you now,” Foster said, eyes drilling me. “Understand?” I nodded. I was breathless from his kisses, and honestly, my lips were a little swollen and numb.

  “Say you understand, Nora,” Foster said, his voice darker.

  I smiled. “I understand, Professor Khan.”

  “Oh, Miss Starling.” Foster spun me around so that I was bent over the desk. “You are very good at following directions.” Foster inserted one finger inside me. I moaned when he moved the finger, causing me to feel the motion inside.