Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 104050 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 520(@200wpm)___ 416(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104050 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 520(@200wpm)___ 416(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
She sets her hand on my arm. “Thank you, Professor Thomas.”
Her nails are short and painted pink. I stare at her hand, then at her face.
She’s not afraid. She’s daring me to take what we both want.
I can feel the decision rising up my spine, cold and absolute.
This is how it starts.
And how it ends.
We hover at the edge of something unspeakable, both of us aware, neither daring to breach the boundary. Her hand is still on my arm, so light it’s almost imaginary, but when I turn she holds it there, pins me to my own body.
I have to say something. I have to walk it back.
“We should finish the edits,” I say, but my voice is shot. “You need a strong conclusion, Simone. It’s where the reader—”
She shakes her head, slow, then bites her lip. Her lashes flutter. “I don’t care about the paper.”
She’s a co-ed. I’m thirty-five year old divorced dude, and her professor to boot. I am the world’s biggest cliché. But her pupils are blown wide, her cheeks stained with that telltale flush, and I know I’ve lost.
She picks up her pen from the desk, then—on purpose, I swear—lets it slip, so it tumbles into the void beneath the table. She drops to her knees to retrieve it, ass up, back arched, skirt so high I catch a flash of white thong. I stop breathing.
She emerges from under the table with the pen clutched like a trophy, but instead of standing she stays on her knees between my legs. Her face hovers just above my lap. She hesitates—one last chance for decency—then lays her palm on my thigh.
Time stalls.
She looks up at me, eyes tearing with the force of whatever is happening in her chest. Her palm slides higher, over the ridge of my quad, until it rests against the inseam of my jeans. She presses, gently, and finds my cock already at half mast, fighting for space.
Her lips part. She laughs, breathless, then leans in and, impossibly, kisses the bulge through my jeans.
I want to die.
“We really shouldn’t,” I whisper. It comes out more like a groan.
She doesn’t look away. “Do you want me to stop?”
God help me, I don’t.
Her hand works at my zipper, slow and careful, as if this is a chemistry experiment and one wrong move could level the house. When she gets it open, she slides the fabric aside and releases my cock from its prison. It lurches free, heavy and veined, the head a glossy purple, the shaft ringed with a network of angry veins that pulse with each heartbeat.
She stares, then giggles in disbelief. “Jesus, Professor. You could win awards with this.”
I laugh, a strangled sound. “Like from a porn contest? That’s not the award I would have chosen.”
She wraps both hands around it. Her fingers barely meet. “You’re huge, Liam. Absolutely enormous, and you put male porn stars to shame.”
And I am, and I’m proud of it, and I’m also mortified, because this is not a triple-X movie set and this is not how adult life is supposed to function.
But Simone’s obsessed. She stares at my dick with wide eyes, unable to take her gaze away, and then in slow motion, leans in, lips tracing the length, tongue darting out to lick the slit. She tastes the pre-come and moans, a sound so obscene I feel it in my molars.
I brace myself on the arms of the chair. My knuckles go white.
“Oh fuck, baby. Shit shit shit, that feels so good.”
My dick pulses in her small hand, wetness seeping from the tip and Simone giggles, watching. Then, she starts slow, just licking the head, then gets bolder—opening wide, placing the tip into her mouth, cheeks hollowing as she sucks. The wetness, the heat, the sight of her kneeling and servicing me like she’s done this a hundred times is such a fucking turn-on. She looks up at me as she works, showing me those big blue eyes like a good girl. The effect is calculated and devastating.
I bury my hand in her golden locks, gentle at first. “Simone, you don’t have to—”
She bobs deeper, gagging once, then recovering. She slides her hands up and down the shaft in a twisting motion, her spit slick and shiny. She pumps, then dips her chin, takes me farther than I thought possible. I can see the bulge in her throat as she moans with pleasure, saliva running down her chin.
“Mmmmph,” she groans, deep-throating me again like a pro. “Mmmm.”
I’m officially losing my mind.
“Fuck,” I grunt, hands gripping her hair now. “Oh shit!”
She breaks away, panting, and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. “You taste good,” she says, and then smiles again, sweet yet with intent in those innocent blue eyes.
Sure enough, she reaches under her skirt, hooks her thumbs in the waistband of her thong, and shimmies it down her thighs, never looking away from me. She kicks them off, then uses the balled-up fabric to stroke my cock, swirling the tip with cotton before tossing the panties onto my desk, right next to her own essay draft.