Dear Professor(64)

“Yes.”

He moved his thumb over my clit quicker, and the orgasm hit me like a lightning bolt.

Holy shit. He’d just made me come against his office door.

“Sorry.” He pulled his fingers out of me. “I have a class in ten minutes.” He touched a finger to my lips.

I could smell myself on it.

“Looks like you’ll have to wait until tonight.” He dragged his finger over my bottom lip before putting his hand in his pocket and stepping back.

I touched a finger to the corner of my eye and met his gaze. “Can I at least have my panties back now?”

His smirk was as delicious as it was evil. “No. You’ll get them back tonight when you’ve ridden my cock until you scream.”

“But… Uh…” I pushed my hair from my face. “I kind of need them.” I didn’t want to walk to my car with my come dripping down my leg. I was already resisting the urge to reach between my legs and wipe it away.

He laughed huskily and pulled me to him. He wrapped one arm around my body and grabbed my ass. His mouth was once again resting by my ear, and he said in a low, raspy voice, “Darcy, since the moment I saw you on my screen, I wondered how much of a slut you really were. Now, I’m about to find out. Are you going to beg me for this useless scrap of fabric, or are you going to walk back to your car with your orgasm sliding down your thigh?”#p#分页标题#e#

My heart skipped a beat, and I pressed a hand against his chest. I pushed away from him and grabbed my bag, which I’d dropped when he’d slammed me against his door. I walked back toward the door, clutching the strap tightly, and pursed my lips.

“I’ll be at your house for six, Professor. Don’t keep me waiting.”





Dear Professor, those panties were expensive. You owe me fifty bucks. Xoxo, Darcy.



There we had it. I’d admitted to him that I’d dreamed about him. He knew I’d fantasized in my own head. Involuntarily, too. My subconscious mind was all about him at the moment. It was a blessing and a curse, because who doesn’t love a good sleep orgasm? But the curse was that the desire stuck with me long after I’d woken up.

I wanted to know if he dreamed about me too. It wasn’t an appropriate thought to be having, but I had it anyway. I needed to know if he did. I didn’t want to seem totally crazy if he was only thinking things up in the split second before he said them.

I didn’t think that was the case. I was sure he was thinking of me as much as I was him—after all, his desire for me was why we were in this mess.

I only wished I hated him as much as I had at the beginning. It would have made it easier to resist him. My “no” plan had gone to shit before I’d even tried to start it.

Truth was, I wanted him. I wanted him so fucking badly. I wanted his hand fisting my hair and his hot breath on my neck and his cock buried deep inside me. I wanted him to fuck me so furiously that I wanted to pass out when it was over.

I wanted him more than I’d wanted anyone—ever.

He had a handbook to my body. He was dangerous. He was relentless and filthy, and I loved it. I loved what he could do to me, no matter how wrong or forbidden it was. That only made me want him more, knowing that I shouldn’t. Knowing how risky it was for him to finger me against his door in the middle of the day made me come all the harder.

Quietly, I was waiting for him to fuck me on campus. I wanted to be bent over his desk. I wanted him to spank me for having pushed him. I wanted him to lose all control and give me everything I wanted where anyone could find us.

I was missing my job. I was missing the thrill of being watched. I could feel the recklessness building up inside me. I wanted to be seen… To be caught. I wanted to know that it was a possibility.

I opened my car door and put my umbrella up as I got out of my car. I grabbed my purse—hey, that’s where my clothes were—and the pizza box from the passenger’s seat. I was under no illusions about how this night would go. I didn’t expect my turning up in nothing but lingerie, heels, and a trench coat to go down particularly well.

I expected it go down wonderfully.

I knocked on the door three times. I didn’t have to wait long for it to open, but when it did, my greeting caught in my throat.

He was wearing sweatpants slung low on his hips. The waistband must have been dangerously close to the top of his cock, because tiny wisps of dark hair dotted his lower stomach.

“Evening.”

I forced my eyes up his toned, sculpted body and the smattering of chest hair and met his eyes. “I brought dinner.” I lifted the pizza box, feeling like a dumbstruck teenager at a concert.