Page 1 of The Professor
Chapter One
Chelsea
I’d wanted him for so long. Years now. And in the name of the dear Lord, the man could have me. He could take me, strip me, and do what the hell he wanted with my needy, ripe young body. I’d become convinced a hard, fast fucking from my professor was the only thing that would satisfy this gaping hole of need in the core of my soul.
I looked around Oval Lecture Theater. For good reason, I’d picked a seat right at the very back, in the shadows, there was no one at my side or behind me. Hell, I was practically invisible.
Which was just as well now that I’d slipped my hand up my skirt to press on my swollen clit. I always attended Professor Andrew Deacon’s lectures without underwear, just in case, you know, he decided to dismiss the other students, lock the door, and tip me over the front bench to bang the crazy out of me.
No, that would never happen, the crazy was there to stay. Crazy for him. If he speared his cock into me it would just fuel the fire, I was sure of it.
My mouth dried as I circled my aching clit. He was looking up at me from all the way down there. He’d spotted my presence. I held in a moan—if just our gazes connecting felt so good, what would it feel like if we were sweaty and naked together? Our bodies connected.
If I’d surprised him by being there he didn’t show it. He kept running through a complex murder case that hadn’t stood up in court. The defendant had been a famous football player, the evidence stacked against him, yet he’d been acquitted. This didn’t sit well with the professor, I could tell by the line over his forehead and the way he gripped the lectern so tight hisknuckles paled. The man appreciated justice in a big way. Heck, he yearned for it.
Which was hot. Oh yeah. I continued to masturbate, my belly taut and my pussy damp. I could smell my arousal. This wasn’t the first time I’d done this, in fact, I’d lost count. It was over twenty times, that was my best guess.
“So despite an overwhelming body of evidence,” the professor said, glancing around at the undergraduates who were all enraptured. “Stokes was cleared of all charges.” He turned and gestured to the screen behind him. “And the key things to think about are, were the jury frightened of riots, being that he was a black man and incredibly popular?” He paused, letting his words sink in. “Or perhaps a few gullible members of the jury believed the defendant’s lawyers’ closing statement, maybe there was intimidation, bribery, we’ll never know.”
A young man on the front row put up his hand.
“Yes?” The professor pointed at him.
“It doesn’t seem fair.”
“You’re right it’s not fair.” The professor stared right up at me, his jaw tense. “A person who is guilty of a hideous crime should always be punished. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth.”
Fuck, the man was so sexy when he got passionate about his subject. His wide shoulders tense under his suit jacket and his deep, husky voice echoing.
I bit on my bottom lip; my orgasm was building to release. But could I control the rush of pleasure? Could I trust myself not to cry out and fill the lecture theater with gasps of his name? He was in the same room as me, for fuck’s sake, the object of my obsession was right there!
“So while we’re studying crime, criminal behavior, and the justice system on this course, we must always remember theloopholes, the holes in the net. It’s vital we learn from cases like this.”
Oh, his voice, it went straight to my pussy as if it were an actual vibrator. My pen fell to the floor. I ignored it rolling on the wood.
He looked my way again, his eyes flashing. “And we can all thank whatever god we believe in that Stokes walks this earth no more. Dead and buried in the cold, dank ground where he belongs. Brutal mugging that went wrong apparently.”
I came. It was a sweet yet intense orgasm that curled my toes in my shoes and caught my breath.
He paused but kept staring at me, his mouth parted, ready to speak but no words coming out.
I was pulsing down below, my inner thighs tight and bliss traveling over my nerve endings. Did he know what I was doing? Had he guessed I was coming just from looking at him?
My cheeks reddened, and I snatched my hand from beneath my skirt and sat back. I was breathing fast, my breasts rising and falling behind my orange t-shirt. I didn’t have to peek downward to know my nipples would be like two bullets directed at him.
He cleared his throat, appeared to have to pull his attention from me, and then changed the screen behind him. “This week, your task is to read…”
I zoned out and closed my eyes. I’d read everything before, when I’d done this undergraduate course. It was imprinted on my brain, the way every interaction with Professor Andrew Deacon was.
After a few moments a bell sounded, dragging me from my erotic little haze. I reached for my pen then stood and straightened my skirt.
The other students were filing out. One girl was speaking to the professor, and I scowled at her fitted red pants. I hopedshe didn’t think she stood a chance with him, because she didn’t. She wasn’t his sort, and besides, if he was going to have a fling with a student it would be me. That was the only scenario my obsessed brain could comprehend.
As I walked down the steps, my damp thighs sliding against each other, I watched him finish the conversation with the other student. She nodded, gave a cheery goodbye, and rushed off.
The screen went black, and he picked up his briefcase. “Chelsea, I was surprised to see you here.”
I stopped, held my notebook and pen across my chest and considered him. His features were interesting rather than classically handsome. A nose that was perfectly straight but could be thought of as slightly too big. Thick dark brows, and deep-set intense eyes. His skin was tan, his jaw line stubbled. His mussed up heavy brown hair was cropped around his ears, the right of which held a tiny diamond earring. “Why? Why were you surprised to see me here?”
