Whenever Melody has the house to herself, which isn’t nearly often enough, she calls me and we fuck, long-distance. Sometimes she gets herself off with her vibrator, sometimes she fucks herself with the dildo. Sometimes we just talk, no video, and I listen to her call me Professor as she comes.
Three days before she comes back, she’s on her knees in her parents’ shower, her phone propped up on the sink, her suction-cup dildo on the floor. She’s got her hands on the glass of the shower enclosure, her back arched, the head of the dildo teasing at her lips.
“Professor,” she whimpers. “I wish you were here.”
“Me too,” I growl, my fist tight on my cock already.
She lowers herself onto the dildo, moaning, pinching her own nipple with one hand.
“You look so fucking sexy,” I say, stroking myself slowly. “Do you like that, fucking a sex toy in your parents’ shower while I watch?”
“Not as much as I like fucking you,” she says.
Gradually she starts bouncing up and down on it, gasping and moaning, leaning against the glass shower stall almost like she’s boneless.
“I’m gonna come, Professor,” she moans. “Oh, God, I wish it was you.”
Then she falls apart, hands curled into fists as she writhes on the dildo, and I’m fucking jealous as hell, stroking myself furiously.
I come into a tissue for the thousandth time this Christmas break.
Finally, it’s the day she gets back into town. I know she’s getting back in the early evening, since that was when her parents could take her, and I tell her that she has to call me the second she gets in. That I have to see her, right away, or I might explode.
That Friday is the Friday from hell.
Stupid administrative meetings all morning. The head of my department, Greg, hasn’t given me any more grief or had me attend any more ethics meetings, but I can tell he wants to. I could kick my past self for sleeping with that one girl, all those years ago — I didn’t even enjoy it. She was just there.
Then I have to give my syllabus to the secretary for copying, double-check that all the textbooks for my students are available at the bookstore, and make sure I’ve actually been assigned classrooms for the upcoming spring semester.
All I can think about is Melody, though. The way her breathy moans echoed off the glass of her parents’ shower, the way she said I wish it was you.
I get home at five-thirty, and decide to take a walk because I don’t think I can stand still, and I can’t text her while she’s with her parents. But before I know it, I’m walking past her apartment building, pushing my hands further into my coat pockets, hunching my head into my scarf.
Then I see it. The car she drove away in. It’s parked out in front of her apartment, again, and now I feel like some sort of stalker. Like I’ve been lurking around, just waiting for my prey to come back. I walk to the end of the block slowly, casually. I walk around the block once.
When I come back, two older people are laughing together and getting into the station wagon. They drive away.
I wait for them to turn a corner, and I knock on the door.
Chapter 21
Melody
God, I thought they were never going to leave. I was at home for three whole weeks, probably driving them crazy, and they still had to hang around my apartment for ages, chatting about my classes, when Erica’s getting back, my extracurriculars, all that.
I love my parents. Of course I do. But all day I’ve been soaking through my panties, thinking about how I finally get to see the Professor again tonight, and I can’t wait. It doesn’t matter how much I use my dildo, it’s just not the same.
“Okay, honey,” my mom says, hugging me one last time. “Be safe. Lock the door the second we leave, I don’t want some creep coming in here when we go. I’ll be waiting outside to hear the click.”
I smile dutifully. My mom is a little overprotective sometimes.
“Of course,” I say, as she backs away and my dad hugs me. “I’ll see you guys in a few months.”
“Get good grades, honey,” my dad says, and then they’re out the door.
I can hear Mom hovering, so I roll my eyes and lock the deadbolt with a click. Finally, I hear their footsteps going down the stairs, and I exhale.
I hit the bathroom, drink a glass of water, and take my stuff to my bedroom just so I can give my parents time to leave and make sure they don’t come back because my mom forgot to tell me something.
Then I sit on the couch and call Professor Sharpe.
The moment it rings for the first time, there’s a knock on my apartment door. I jump, the phone still to my ear.
I wonder what they forgot, I think, stand, and pull open the door.
It’s not my parents.
It’s the Professor.
I turn my phone off, my heart suddenly hammering, my knees practically jelly.
“Hi,” I say, the only word I can think of.
“Can I come in?” he asks, the very pinnacle of politeness.
I swallow and step back into my living room. I don’t know why I’m so surprised to see him standing there — I guess I just wasn’t expecting it.
“Of course,” I breathe, and shut the door behind him.
Instantly, he pushes me against it, his lips crushed against mine. He pushes his tongue into my mouth as I open my lips, letting him in as he plunders me.
It’s all I can do not to moan as he runs his hands roughly up my legs and lifts me until my legs are wrapped around his hips, his long, thick girth a hard rod against me. His lips move away from mine, and he traces a trail of hard kisses along my jaw to my ear, where he takes my lobe between his teeth until I whimper.
Then he chuckles.
“Tell me you missed me,” he growls.
“I missed you,” I whimper.
He moves his mouth down my neck, licking and sucking, and I moan out loud. He bites my collarbone, still pinning me to the wall, undoes my jeans and pushes one hand inside, sliding his fingers along my wet slit.
“You did,” he says, his voice rough as he moves his slick fingers against my clit, rubbing it softly.
I let my head fall back against the door behind me, my eyes half-open as his fingers keep circling and circling. I feel like I’m slowly sliding into delirium, because even though I came twice this morning I’m wound so tight, so pent up, that I think he might make me come in seconds.
The glow inside me builds, the river of fire rushing downward. My eyes shut, my body almost completely limp.
His hand slows, then slows more.
“Don’t stop,” I beg, squirming.
Professor Sharpe smiles and pulls his hand away from me, licking his fingers one by one. Then he leans his forehead against mine, his closeness almost overpowering.
“New rule tonight,” he says, cupping one breast in his hand. “Can you obey?”
I swear my pussy is twitching in disappointment, so I lick my lips once.
“Yes,” I murmur.
“Don’t come until I say,” he says, his voice low and dangerous. He puts his thumb against my mouth, and I open my lips and suck it in, my tongue against his rough fingerprint. “Melody, your mouth belongs to me. Your pretty little tits belong to me. Your sweet cunt belongs to me. Your tight little ass belongs to me.”
Just hearing him say it makes me throb, my pussy practically drooling at the thought of his thick cock inside me.
“And your orgasms belong to me,” he finishes.
My breath catches in my throat, because the thought that I might not be allowed to come is almost physically painful.
“Yes, Professor,” I whisper.
“Good,” he says, then unwraps my legs from around him.
He walks me into my bedroom backward, his powerful hands on my hips, his mouth on mine, nearly slamming the door shut the second we’re alone in my bedroom — neat, bed made, small bookshelf carefully arranged, decorated with a poster of the Eiffel Tower.
“Strip,” he commands, even though he’s already pulling my shirt off. I struggle out of my shoes and jeans, and then seconds later I’m naked, vulnerable, and he’s still fully clothed.
I reach for the buckle on his pants but he grabs my wrist, laughing, and pulls my arm behind my back, yanking me toward him and now my naked body is touching his clothed one, his belt buckle cold against my warm skin.
He looks down at me, his face voracious, a hunger on it unlike anything I’ve ever seen. I’m almost trembling with sheer desire for this man to take me, to claim me like he said he would.
I’ve never wanted that before, but I do now. I want to show him I’m his.
“Professor...” I start, though I don’t know how to finish that sentence.
He kisses me roughly anyway, cutting off my words, grabbing my hair with his other hand, and when he’s done with my mouth he turns me around and pushes me gently onto the bed until I’m on my hands and knees, ass up in the air, so wet I can feel my juices streaming down my thighs.
“You’ve got a beautiful pussy,” he says, letting his voice get low and rough. “I could stand here and admire it all day.
I inhale sharply, praying that he does more than admire it, and then I feel his fingers sliding up my thigh.
“But I’ve got better things to do to you, kitten,” he murmurs, and sucks my clit into his mouth.
I shout, my hands tightening on the bedspread, my eyes squeezing shut. I’ve been so deprived of his touch that I want to come right then and right there, but I force myself not to even though his mouth feels incredible.