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Soft skin and sweet curves. I nuzzle the neck of the woman beneath me, inhaling that sweet floral scent that makes the blood roar in my ears. But why is she wearing clothes? This is not the dream I ordered...and then she slaps me across the face.
I blink awake.
There is a woman in this bed. Under me. And I’m not dreaming.
“Wake up!” She’s pushing at me.
My senses are dull, slow to rouse. Unlike my dick, which is at full mast already. “Who are you? What are you doing in my bed?” I ask angrily.
“Your bed? You’re in my bed. And I don’t care if you are a professor, you can’t just—”
I lift up off her some. Shit, is she a student? This is not good. I’ve had issues with a few young women over the years...and one young man...but nothing as blatant as breaking into my house and climbing into my bed. Usually they just try to seduce me in my office.
Maybe she’s not even here for me. She could be one of my brother’s conquests.
“Are you looking for Devon?” I ask. “He’s not here.”
Fuck me, but she’s pretty. She’s got a heart-shaped face with freckles under those glasses. Her lips look sweet and luscious, and piles of blonde waves spill over the pillow under her head.
I rub my face, my hand rasping on the days-old stubble while I try to wake up the rest of the way. Something pinches in my chest, and I realize I’m jealous of my brother. She’s so soft, her body the perfect cushion.
She’s rambling and my brain is trying to catch up. She’s what? “What did you just say?”
She shivers a little beneath me. Enough to make me feel like shit for making her feel vulnerable. Enough to draw out my protective instincts. Now is not the time to wrap my arms around her and tell her she’s going to be okay. That would be a very bad idea and do the exact opposite of reassuring her she has nothing to fear from me. Also, I don’t think I could stop there.
“I said I’m house-sitting for Devon, who, I’m just putting together now, is your brother? Anyway, he didn’t tell me you had a key or you were coming and this is my bed and you really, really need to get off me, Professor. I’m sorry I woke you, but you’re naked.”
Oh, shit. This is bad.
“I’m sorry.” I roll off her, reluctantly, and make sure the sheet is covering the evidence of my dream. “This isn’t Devon’s house. It’s mine. He’s supposed to be house-sitting for me. He didn’t tell me he sublet to anyone.”
She sits up on her elbows. Jesus, those breasts are so firm and round under her Ironwing t-shirt. Her eyes are wary though. Hell, there’s no way she didn’t feel the weight of my dick pushing into her. It’s harder than it’s ever been. Her eyes are a little unfocused. Dazed.
I want to sip at her lips until she opens them and takes my tongue in her mouth. I want to paint over that lip gloss with the precum from my cock until she opens and takes that in her mouth, too. I’ve never been punched so hard with desire before.
She licks her lips, and I groan, but I’m not sure she notices since she starts speaking. “He didn’t tell me that it wasn’t his house. He just said he had a family emergency and needed someone to watch his house for a few months.” She stops talking and takes a deep breath, a sweet shade of pink stealing over her face as her gaze lowers to my waist and back up. Yeah, hard-on still visible even under a sheet.
I’ve seen a lot of pretty college girls over the years, but none have affected me like this. Like I’m toeing the line of Man vs. Neanderthal. “Maybe we should talk in the other room,” I suggest. Before I lose control.
She nods, her eyes huge. “Yeah, okay.” She scrambles off the bed on the other side, but the sheet gets tugged with her, revealing just how out of control I really am. Just how much she’s affected me. Just how much I want this sweet woman with an angel face and a body made for sin.
“Oh my God,” she looks away quickly, but the damage is done, and she runs out.
––––––––
OH. MY. GOD. MY HEART is racing, and I can’t breathe.
Professor Sanders, otherwise known on campus as Professor McFuckme, is HUGE.
That thing is big, very big, and thick. So thick. And it curves upward from its base of pubic hair, like it’s...proud of itself. It should be. He has possibly the world’s best penis. I’m not, like, a connoisseur or anything. My direct experience with penises involves a few handjobs in the dark. But I’ll admit to using the internet for nefarious purposes from time to time. I’ve seen some nice-looking ones in 2D, and I have a 3D model in the nightstand that kind of squicks me out because it’s too lifelike yet disembodied. Disembodied parts make for some less than sexy experiences in my book. I much prefer the showerhead.
At any rate, he puts both pornstars and the dildo to shame. And now I have to hope and pray he doesn’t open the nightstand drawer until I can pack my things. I do not want him to find my dildo. Or my vibrator. Or my other sex toys. I’d prefer to keep my deviant nature to myself. There is a buttplug in there that doesn’t get used often, but I still don’t think it’s any of his business.
Even though this is his house. Damn that Devon.
I can’t believe I saw Professor McFuckme’s dick. I feel like the Chosen One. Every girl on campus nurses a crush on him. And his dick is a fabled thing, for above all else, everyone knows Professor McFuckme would never fuck a student. Speculation about what it looks like and how well he probably uses it is common chatter.
I’m blushing in places normal people don’t blush. Because I can’t unsee his dick, and I still have to face him again in a minute with both of us knowing his dick is now...something between us.
Is there a better, stronger word for “awkward”? Awkwardamundo?
This is bad. This is so very, very bad.
I’m trying to blink away the picture of the behemoth penis from my mind’s eye when my girly parts pipe in with the reminder of how that penis felt when it was touching them more intimately than they’ve been touched in a while. They get very little action, you see. And none of it has ever been a real penis. They’ve spent some time with the fingers of boyfriends past, but they’d like to state for the record that naked behemoth penis is more interesting.
I don’t know what to do, so I make tea. That’s so weird, I know. But tea seems safe and everything else feels out of control. I start the electric kettle and get down a couple of mugs. My hands are shaking now. It’s a mix of a little adrenaline from when I thought I was being molested by a stranger, a little adrenaline from when I realized it was instead the hottest professor on campus, and a little adrenaline from seeing him naked. That’s a lot of little adrenalines, and they all add up.
He clears his throat before he enters the kitchen, giving me plenty of warning to get my shit together when I look up. Instead, my eyes go straight to his groin. I want to die. Kill me now. I turn and open the cabinet under the sink, moving bottles of cleaner and such around.
“What are you looking for?” he asks.
“Arsenic for my tea. Is there any rat poison down here?”
He laughs, and God, even his chuckle is sexy. I stand up and turn to him, willing my eyes to his face this time.
His cheeks are stubbled sexily. Usually, he’s pretty clean-cut on campus. “Why don’t we save the rat poison for the rat who got us into this mess?”
“Devon,” I answer.
“Devon,” he repeats.
The texture of his face is making my thighs quiver. I’m not used to such visceral reactions to men. I really need to get myself together here.
“I’m sorry I barged in on you like that, Professor. I really had no idea you were home. Or that this was your home. And I was just trying to get Devon to wake up and get out of my bed.”
“So he doesn’t share it with you, then?” he asks. He says it casually, but his eyes are a little on the intense side.
I shudder and make a retching noise. “God, no.” I slap my hand over my mouth. “Sorry. He’s your brother.” Way to insult the man’s family.
He seems relieved, not mad. “I’m glad you have the good sense to stay away from him.” He takes the bags out of the tea and picks up both our cups. “Let’s sit down in the living room and see if we can sort this mess out.”
And that’s when it hits me that the way we sort this mess out is by me moving, and my stomach starts churning with nerves and worry. Where can I go tonight? Especially when it’s so late? And I don’t have enough money to rent a place after I paid for books. Everyone is already settled with their roommates for the semester.
I sit down, and he takes a seat next to me on the couch. He smells intoxicating. My nipples pebble at his hella masculine scent. Tingles tease over my flesh, giving me goose bumps. He shouldn’t be allowed to smell that good. I feel like his mere proximity could get a girl pregnant. He’s just so virile and manly. I mentally order my ovaries to stand down.
Then we just sit. Quietly and without speaking. Because, now what? There are no etiquette books for this kind of thing. Well, maybe there are, but I’ve never actually looked at an etiquette book. I’m guessing the index doesn’t include things like Penis, accidental viewing of or Sleeping, groping strangers while.
“So, I’m Nick,” he says after a drink of tea.
Yeah, okay. I bet the etiquette books do go over introductions. I can’t believe I’ve seen his penis, and he doesn’t even know my name. This is so ridiculous. “Hi, Nick. It’s nice to meet you. I’m Katie.”
We shake hands, and a frisson of sparks dance where our skin touches. Wow. I catch his eyes and notice he looks a little confused, too. Did he feel it? Did he like it the way I did?
He shakes his head like he’s clearing his thoughts. “You’re a student at the university then?” He takes another drink of tea and pulls a face. I’m guessing he doesn’t like tea and is only drinking it to be nice. He’s read the etiquette books maybe.
I nod. “I’m majoring in sociology. I hope to get my master’s in social work next.” If I can afford it. “I graduate at the end of first semester this year.”
“So you’re not taking any anthropology classes?” The way his voice raises at the end sounds hopeful.
“Nope. I’ve missed your department altogether.”
“Well, that’s good. I mean, not that you wouldn’t be a good student. I just—even though you’re not a student in my department, what happened earlier was wrong.” Are all men so adorable when they are flustered? He’s this big mass of testosterone and academia mixed together who travels the world and teaches future archaeologists how to be future archaeologists, and he’s tongue-tied and rambling just the same. I get the feeling most people don’t get to see this side of Professor McFuckme. “Katie, I’m very sorry. I hope you understand I would never have forced myself on you. I’ve been traveling for days and wasn’t thinking clearly. I thought I was dreaming.”
My girly bits start tingling. “You were dreaming of me?”
Not the point, Katie.
“Never mind. Don’t answer that. I’m not going to take this to the dean, Professor. You didn’t do anything wrong. The circumstances are...well, I don’t even know how to describe them. I know you wouldn’t make a move on me under normal ones.”
He sets his tea down. “If you weren’t a student, and I wasn’t too old for you, I can’t say that I wouldn’t have made a move. But I don’t usually start from naked and work backward to introducing myself.”
Great. Now all I can think of is his penis again. Penis penis penis. Wait, did he just say he would have made a move on me?
I blink. He’s being kind. No way would this highly esteemed, highly revered, highly in demand professor want plain old me. He could literally have a line of women at his door willing to take turns if he wanted it.
This has been the strangest night.
“I should maybe pack my stuff. I’m sure you want to go back to bed.”
I bet the sheets smell like him now. I’d love to roll around in them. Get his scent all over me.
Focus, Katie.
“Where will you go?”
That’s a good question. “I...I don’t actually know. I’ll probably couch surf for a night or two until I figure something out.”
“Stay here tonight.”
“I couldn’t impose.”
“Katie, I can’t send you out in the middle of the night. You take the bed back. I can stay on the couch.”
I could roll in his sheets...no. “I couldn’t do that to you. It’s your bed. I’ll crash on the couch and leave tomorrow.”
“I’m not throwing you out into the streets. This was supposed to be your home. It’s not your fault my brother is irresponsible.”
“You’re being so nice. But it’s not your fault either.”
He reaches over and covers my hand with his. “I’d really like it if you would stay.”
My lungs squeeze when I meet his gaze. His eyes are gray like storm clouds, and I feel like there’s definitely a tempest brewing inside me. He swallows thickly, and we both lean in an inch like there’s a string pulling us together. His breath is warm and smells like chamomile.
A slow, delicious ache wells up in my body. The quiver in my thighs returns, and I clench my toes involuntarily as the tension builds between us. His eyes darken and take on a fierce, primal look. It’s new, a little scary, a lot exciting.
I should move away but I can’t. I’m drawn like a magnet to steel. He stares at my lips and my tongue darts out to lick them.
“Katie,” he groans. “This is wrong.”
“We haven’t done anything.”
“We’re going to.”