This is different. These girls are decidedly off-limits. Yeah, they’re technically old enough, but there are rules. We’re a week into the semester, and I’m already feeling the drudgery of the new-semester schedule starting to sink in. The same courses, the same books to go over, the same sea of totally legal if not totally-untouchable temptation class after class. I’m not tenured, so I’m fully aware that acting on those temptations means my job.
Plus even if I’m younger compared to most of the other teachers at Hardham, I’m still literally twice these girls’ age.
But here, off campus in the cool of the trendy coffee shop, I can let my imagination run wild as I run my eyes appreciatively up and down the legs and over the ass of this girl in front of me. I mean, damn. I’m a fucking sucker for redheads, too, and between the hair, the ass, and that creamy skin on her thighs, my imagination is having no trouble getting away with itself.
And for a second, I think of her. In a classroom full of temptation, she’s the damn apple of temptation. She’s the forbidden fruit; original fucking sin. The tight little red-head with the tits she doesn’t even know what to do with, the crystal blue eyes that watch me like a hawk, and the furious note-taking. And the fact that she’s such an obvious nerd and clearly totally unaware of her affect on men makes her that much more tempting.
Yeah, so freshman girls are off limits, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t stroked my cock about a dozen times since the semester started fantasizing about my front-row, straight-A, strawberry-haired temptation.
And she’s exactly who I’m thinking about as I let my eyes drink in the girl in the coffee shop. Hell, at least here I can be a bit more obvious. Here, it’s not like I’m staring at a student.
I suddenly notice the copy of Finnegan’s Wake tucked under her arm, and my brows shoot up.
Damn, great legs and she reads James Joyce? Now I definitely want to get to know this mystery coffee-shop girl.
I definitely want to know that ass, too.
But then the hipster barista is wisecracking with me and running all sorts of stupid vaguely Italian sounding drink names past me when all I want is a fucking coffee. And when I finally look back, she’s gone.
Fuck.
I snatch the coffee from the idiot that somehow got me to miss the girl walking out and mutter as I stalk out of the store. Great, so much for that idea. Back to grading papers, pontificating on Steinbeck, and—
Bam.
And I walk right into her, literally, as she comes around the corner of the building.
She gasps as the big cup of iced coffee goes tumbling out of her hands as we crash into one another, and she shrieks a little as the icy liquid empties across her tank top and my shirt as she goes sprawling into my arms.
Holy shit.
It’s her; the girl reading Joyce from inside. The girl with the perfect ass and the long legs, and the red hair. My arms go around her instinctively, holding her tight as she trips, and I bring her tight against me as the icy drink spills across both of us.
And I couldn’t give a fuck about the coffee. Because if she looked hot from behind, she’s a fucking knockout from the front; the front, I might add, that’s pressed right up against my chest.
She gasps as she looks up at me, her eyes shaded by big black sunglass above lightly freckled cheeks and cute, soft pink lips open in surprise. And if that ass was one thing, her tits are a Goddamn works of art. They’re huge on her small frame, and the way they press right up against me through her soaking wet tank top and my soaking wet t-shirt has my cock throbbing in my pants.
“Oh!” She gasps, her breath catching as she suddenly freezes in my arms as this cute little smile spreads across her lips. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry!”
I swallow, feeling the blood rush from my head right into my dick with this utterly sexy, heart-stoppingly gorgeous girl pressing her body against mine. I’m suddenly remembering this is reality and not some fantasy as I quickly set her straight on her feet and begrudgingly let her go.
She sucks her bottom lip between her teeth as her brow furrows above her sunglasses. “Oh my God, I got it all over you! I am so freaking sorry!”
There’s something so earnest in the way that she says it that I’m grinning as I hold my hands up. She’s so sweet, and not swearing or anything like any other girl I know would be in that moment. “No, no not at all. Totally my fault for plowing into you.”
The sudden thought of plowing into her in an entirely different way comes to mind, but I quickly push that aside as I just take her in.
Jesus Christ this girl sexy as all fucking sin. She is young, in this perky, glowing, fucking tempting off-limits way, and there’s a familiarness to her that I can’t place, but that I chalk up having just seen her a minute before inside. But whatever ideas I have about having seen her before suddenly go tumbling right out of my brain as my eyes land on the front of her tank top, and it’s all I can do not to growl.
The iced coffee is soaking through the front of her white cotton tank top, and her nipples beneath are quickly reacting to it. I’m holding the groan as I see the hard little pebbles of her nipples poking through the thin cotton, and they’re so hard and the shirt is so soaked that I can practically make out the outline of her aureolas.
And if I was checking her out before, now I’m just fucking devouring her with my eyes. She stands there with her brow furrowed as she looks worriedly at me, as if she’s totally oblivious of how fucking sexy she look with her finger against her lips. Totally oblivious that her nipples are all but completely visible through her soaked tank top. The juxtaposition of the nervous, almost shyly furtive way she carries herself with that smokin’ body is enough to get my cock raging as I just stand there staring at her and resisting the primal urge to grab her back into my arms again right then and there.
“Oh, shit, I got some on you too,” she frowns, biting at her lip nervously again.
“No, really, that’s all me, trust me,” I say, flashing a smile at her and grinning even wider when I see the flush bloom in her cheeks and a small smile of her own creep over those lips.
“Honestly,” I say, smiling and forcing my eyes back to hers tucked behind those shades. “It was completely my fault.”
“No, I-”
“Seriously,” I say firmly, smiling at her and watching her lips part into a grin. “Listen, please let me pay for the dry cleaning at the very least.”
“Oh- no, that’s-” She’s stammering as that adorably innocent looking blush creeps back into her cheeks. “No, I couldn’t.”
“You could, and really, I insist.”
She bites her lip again as she looks at me through those shades, and I hold that gaze, feeling the urge to mash my lips to hers right there; resisting the primal caveman urge to rip her clothes off and take her right there against the side of the building.
She suddenly jerks her cellphone out of her pocket and gasp. “Oh, God, I need go, I’m late for something.”
I glance at my own watch and swear under my breath. Fuck, I’ve got a lecture that starts in two minutes and I’m ten minutes from campus.
“Sorry again about your shirt!” She says with a final cute little blush across those cheeks, before suddenly she’s turning to walk away.
“Woah, hang on,” I say, suddenly reaching out and putting my hand on her arm. She turns back, that lip back between those teeth. “Let me get your number or something. If you won’t let me pay for the shirt, let me take you out to dinner or something instead.”
Her face goes bright red as the little grin teases across her perfect, utterly kissable lips, as if this is the first time a guy has ever asked a girl who looks like her for a phone number.
“I-” She’s stammering, and again, that cross between how nervous she is and how crazy hot that body is has my cock hard as stone. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” she says finally, quickly looking down.
“Look, I promise I won’t spill anything on you, honest.”
&n
bsp; She giggles and looks back up at me. “I…thank you, but…” She trails off.
“C’mon, just say yes. Let me take you out.”
She’s looking at me curiously, and slowly, this little grin starts to spread across her face. “I can’t,” she says finally, and she gives me one last smile. “See you soon, professor.”
Oh FUCK.
My jaw drops as she gives me one last shy smile before turning and walking towards a beat-up looking Jetta parked behind her.
Well, so much for being far enough from campus, I groan to myself as my cock slowly deflates in my pants, before cursing and heading to my car.
* * *
I’ve managed to convince myself that I didn’t say anything too inappropriate when I roar into the faculty parking lot. And I’ve already decided it was just a random run in, and that even on a campus this small, the chances of running into one hot girl from one chance encounter are pretty slim as I storm into the lecture hall, tugging a new t-shirt on.
I growl an apology to the assembled bored freshman as I crack open my lecture notes and take a breath.
Relax. So you asked a girl out, it’s not that bad.
I clear my throat and look up, prepared to launch right into Jane Eyre, when the floor drops out from under me
See you soon, professor.
I’ve been wondering what she meant the whole drive back to campus, but the whole thing clicks into place the second I look and I’m looking right at her.
She’s wearing this much less form-fitting button-up plaid shirt now, but I can still see the coffee stain across the tight white tank-top beneath it. She’s lost the hat too, and her long strawberry blonde hair cascades wildly down around her face. Her shades are off now, and those bright, sparkling innocent blue eyes that I recognize now are looking right at me from behind those thick black-rimmed glasses that I also know. And there’s a creeping blush across her cheeks as I lock eyes with her, and right then, I get it.
Holy shit, the girl from the coffee shop is her.
Her being Ellie Thompson, the shy, quiet, clearly miles ahead of the rest of the class after one week, always sitting front and center like she is now, student.
My barely legal, utterly and totally off-limits student.
I was freaked out before, about possibly having hit on a student, but right now, I’m way past that. Fuck it, I’m the opposite of freaked right now. Because looking at her, and thinking about those soft lip opening in shock, those big, pillowy tits heaving under her soaked-through tank top, and those hard little nipples poking through the cotton, has me rock fucking hard.
She was cute before, sitting there front and center taking pages of notes and turning in papers that floored me. But it’s like the veil’s been lifted, and suddenly, I’m not seeing her as the cute little bookworm college freshman anymore.
I’m seeing the hottest girl I’ve ever laid eyes on; this wildly sexy angel-creature, wrapped up in the quiet, unassuming shroud of bashful shyness.
And I want to tear that shroud off her, along with every other piece of clothing, I might add. Right there, standing in front of my damn lecture hall with Jane Eyre in my hand, my words failing me, and my cock hard as a fucking stone in my pants, I know one thing: I’m going to make this girl mine.
And I don’t give a shit about the consequences.
4
Ellie
He doesn’t know.
It’s actually the first thought that flashes through my head the second I look up from the iced coffee drenching the front of my shirt into the dark, piercing eyes of Liam Martin. Liam Martin the best-selling novelist whose book I devoured before I even came to Hardham. Professor Martin, I should say.
Except there’s nothing “professor” about Liam Martin; nothing dry or stuffy or old like the title usually implies. Professor Martin with the sexy black glasses, the thick beard, and the sleeve of tattoos running up his arm. Professor Martin who barely adheres to any sort of professional dress code, wearing t-shirts and jeans to lectures most of the time - not that any member of the female student body or faculty objects, I’m sure.
Professor Martin who’s gorgeous, in that dark, brooding writer way. Professor Martin who probably doesn’t even know who I am, even though I sit at the front of his lecture three times a week, because he’s got every girl on campus gaga over him.
Except right then, he’s staring at me like he’s hungry, his eyes devouring me in a way that sends a shiver down my back as I catch my breath and lose myself in those eyes, completely ignoring the iced coffee drenching the front of my shirt.
But he’s not.
I blush as I look down and realize how soaked my tank top is, suddenly very much regretting leaving my button-up shirt in the car. And I want to cover up, or die from embarrassment, but it’s then that I see his eyes and that hungry look on his face, and I feel something warm start to burn inside of me.
Because God, I like how he looks at me.
I notice the splashes of coffee on his own shirt and wince. “Oh my God, I got it all over you! I am so freaking sorry!”
He grins when I say it, those dark eyes flashing at me as the the smile creeps across his face. “No, no not at all. Totally my fault for plowing into you.”
He doesn’t recognize me. I suddenly realize I’m still wearing my big dark sunglasses, and a hat pulled over my unruly hair. Plus, I’d never be out in public in a just a tank top this tight, not without a shirt or something over it - sort of like the shirt I left in the car when I darted in real quick to get coffee before class.
And the combination of all this makes me someone new to him, I realize. My unruly hair is mostly tucked under my hat, and my eyes are hidden behind big shades, and I’m - well, not as covered as I might normally be.
I want to be embarrassed, or mortified that I just poured coffee all over myself and my hot professor, but I’m not. Because the way he’s looking at me right then, like I’m something he wants instead of someone that just happens to have her hand up first in class, has me getting warm in all sorts of places.
The way he’s looking at me has me wet.
I’m barely aware of what he’s even saying, so lost in just losing myself in this surreal moment of having a whole one-on-one conversation with Liam Martin that I’m talking on autopilot until-
“Let me get your number or something. If you won’t let me pay for the shirt, let me take you out to dinner or something instead.”
I blush bright red, feeling the heat flow through my whole body. Oh my God, Liam Martin just asked me out.
It’s like every stupid girly daydream I’ve ever had while I’m sitting in his class losing myself in watching him or listening to him talk. The dirty, hot, totally inappropriate daydreams, I might add. I mean Liam Martin is easily twice my age, and my professor. The daydream involving the two of us is hot because it’s so wrong, and so inappropriate, and so far from reality.
Except here we are, and he’s actually asking to take me out. And do I jump on this chance? Do I give in to my dirty daydreams and tell him to take me any way he wants like I do in my dreams?
No, of course not, because I’m a big giant wimp.
And so instead, I’m blushing and stammering like the awkward, inexperienced virgin that I am. And suddenly, even though my brain is screaming at me to shut up, I’m muttering something about being late - for the class he teaches, of course. And before I know it, I’m in my car halfway back to campus and yelling at myself for being such a stupid shy idiot.
I’m pulling my plaid shirt on over the coffee-stained tank top as I get out of the car, only then gasping as I realize my nipples are totally obvious through the wet cotton. I’m suddenly remembering that hot, hungry look of his, and I’m blushing and feeling this little thrill run through my young body as I realize what the source of that hunger was.
It’s naughty, and totally wrong to like the idea of my much older professor staring at my see-through shirt like that, but there’s no denying the warm feeling p
ooling between my legs. There’s no denying that the thought of showing him so much has my cheeks flushed red and my panties getting wet as I slip into the lecture hall and take my seat.
Professor Martin walks in, looking incredible of course in his dressed-down t-shirt and jeans, a book under his tattooed arm like some sort of biker-turned-writer. He’s mumbles an apology out about the time before he opens his book, looks up, and suddenly locks eyes with me. They go wide in shock, before suddenly they’re burning. I can see his breath catch, and then the muscles of his neck tighten as he clenches his jaw.
And there’s that look again. It’s the same look he had when my big, full young tits were all but bared to him. It had me hot before, but it’s got me biting my lip, crossing my legs, and feeling totally turned on now seeing it again.
Oh yeah, he knows who I am now. He knows what I am now, seeing me here. He knows I’m his student, his most certainly off-limits, lose-your-job-over, inappropriate student.
Except he doesn’t look away, not at all.
And when I see something dark flash across those eyes, I feel a hot flush creep down my body, and I shiver at the promise in those eyes.
He’s like a hungry wolf, and I’ve never been more excited to feel like a sheep.
5
Liam
She bolts the second class is over. The minute that clock hits two and the rest of the shuffling, wise-cracking freshman start to get up out of their seats, she’s grabbing her bag and darting out the door.
Right, like I’m going to let her get away again.
Yeah, I know I should stay put. I know I should sit my ass down, let her leave and then go get a big stiff drink somewhere. Maybe hit up one of the townie bars off campus and get laid.
Except fuck that. She’s like a magnet, like she’s been the whole damn lecture while I basically stared at her. I stood there like some sort of horny teenager, letting my eyes drop to the tops of her breasts peeking out of that totally not-form-fitting plaid shirt. Except it didn’t matter that she had that other shirt thrown on, because I’d seen what was underneath. I’d stood there all fucking class thinking of those perfect young tits wrapped up in that tight damn tank top, with her nipples slowly hardening and showing through the wet cotton.