Page 12 of Falling for the Quarterback

I follow Lottie—or rather, Professor Butler—down the corridor and through the hallways filled with students, many of them calling out my name as we pass.

After the first few times, Lottie—fuck, I mean, Professor Butler—peers over her shoulder and gives me a cross between a glare and a look of confusion.

I shrug and continue on until she finally takes a sharp left down the main hallway toward the faculty lounge and offices.

It’s quieter here and I’m enthralled with the sound of her high heels clicking against the shining wood floors. I stare at her toned legs…the ones that had been wrapped around my waist as I pounded into her during our one night together…and hell, I can’t help the twitch in my pants as my dick stirs at the memories.

This whole thing is so surreal it’s almost unbelievable. Like, if I told EJ and Killer about this strange reunion, they’d never believe it.

One minute I’m fucking a complete stranger on a ski vacation, with no idea of her full name or any life details, and six months later, here I am, one of her new students.

Jesus, what a mess.

Funny thing is, I remember all the drama that unfolded last year between Kelsie and Hayes when he showed up at our house party and she freaked out over being duped by him.

At the time, I didn’t get it. So what? So he never told her he played football and was going to attend this school? Big fucking deal. Get over it.

But now I kind of get it.

Maybe I should be pissed at Lottie…and fuck it, I’m going to keep calling her that name in my head because that’s who she is to me. She wasn’t my professor or even Charlotte when we met. She was just Lottie and I got alottieher between the legs.

I chuckle at my internal dialogue as she gives me an icy glare.

It’s not surprising she seems a little pissed at the moment, too. She had no idea who I was when we slept together, either, and no way of knowing I’d be in one of her graduate classes this semester.

It’s not something we discussed that night. Our one night wasn’t anything like what Kelsie and Hayes had. They had a relationship, for fuck’s sake. Lottie and I were just two consenting adults looking for a good time. And it was a fucking great time, if I do say so myself.

Lottie was the hottest lay I’ve ever had. I still think about her a lot when I’m alone and in bed. Or in the shower. Or just alone. My mind will wander back to our night together and my hand instinctively reaches for my hard cock. I bring myself to orgasm with thoughts of her audacious invitation to go to her place and fuck.

Was it more exciting because she’s a few years older than me and I liked that I was more experienced than her in bed?

Was it her smokin’ hot body and the legs that didn’t quit?

Or those low sexy moans and the whimpers she made when I was between her legs, and the way she asked formore, more, morein that seductive British accent?

Jesus, I had a hard on for this woman for weeks after our hookup and my dreams were taken over with images of her gorgeous fucking mouth wrapped around my cock.

I swallow and discreetly adjust my now tight jeans as we get to the door of her office. I wait patiently while she unlocks the door, opens it, and reaches to flip on the light. The move only serves to increase the lust that threatens to overtake me when I breathe in her lemony sugar scent.

Barely three inches separate us. If things were different, I could close the door behind us, press her against the wall, cup her cheek, and kiss the living hell out of her.

But that’s not happening now. Our weird turn of events won’t allow me to live out my fantasy of fucking my new professor on her desk.

Instead, I make myself take a step back and watch as she rounds the edge of her neatly organized desk. She sits down and, for a moment, drops her head in what looks to be defeated contemplation. When she lifts her gaze again, her eyes bore into me. Not in fiery passion like the last time we were together, but in grave earnestness.

“Joel…”

“Hendy,” I correct, my brows lifting upward and a smirk forming on my mouth. I like this side of her—the professional.

As if to prove she will not give in to my overt flirting, she starts again, leaning forward over her desk, her cream blouse tightening over her breasts, a resolute look in her expression.

“Mr. Henderson. This unforeseen and obviously uncomfortable situation we seem to have found ourselves in is quite serious. It creates a multitude of problems for me. For you.”

I take a seat across from her desk and drop my bag on the floor next to the chair and casually crossing my leg over my knee, placing my elbows on the chair arms.

“I disagree,Professor.I don’t know what problem you’re referring to. I have no problem at all.” I lay it on thick, doing my best to ruffle the feathers of this beautiful bombshell professor. “I’m not uncomfortable at all.”

Everything about that night comes rushing back so clearly in the moment. The way she melted under the first brush of my knuckles across her cheek and the hot kiss out by our cars. How she quivered when my mouth was between her legs. The bite of her fingernails as they scored down my back.

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