Her Dirty Professor Series (21+)

Carina

It’s as though I’m seeing everything for the first time.

I always knew where we lived was special. From what my grandfather told us, when he chose to leave his former life after his prison sentence, he wanted to get as far away as he could.

He wanted solitude more than anything.

What he got was that, but so much more. It’s honestly magic here. I’m appreciating it in a new way since this pressure has been released and I kissed him and found out he’s been battling back the same feelings for me as I have for him.

I don’t care that we are three decades apart in age. I don’t care that everyone will think it’s wrong and he’s a sick man. I. Don’t. Care.

Lust will do that to a girl.

I’ve learned that a thousand times reading my books.

The sun broke over the mountains and across the lake on an unusually warm day for this time of year. I lay awake most of the night, wondering if he would come to me, praying he would, but running over all the reasons, he shouldn’t.

I got dressed early and made my way to the barn and fed the reindeer. Talked out my anxious feelings with Leonardo sitting on the wooden wall of his stall while he ate. He offered no words of wisdom but a usual sense of comfort with his wide brown eyes and nods of his head.

At breakfast, Lucy ate her eggs and battled with Mama about more of the party plans while Papa and I touched feet under the table like teenagers.

His eyes seem bluer today. His scent more intoxicating. I picked out a red striped sweater with matching tights and a white knit skirt to wear after I got back from the barn, hoping to look like a gift he couldn’t resist unwrapping.

With one special alternation to the tights.

After we ate, Lucy paraded off toward the auditorium for some lone practice time while Mama cleared the table, grousing about how to get the catering company to follow her lasagna recipe to the letter and that the Lambrusco that was delivered was the wrong year.

A silent peace seemed to fall over me as Papa slipped his hand under my skirt as we walked to the living room, sliding his fingers into the slit I’d cut in my tights, hoping for a moment just like this.

“Easy access and wet. My wet, beautiful dirty girl.”

“Yes, for you, Papa.”

“Good girl.” Those words make me feel suddenly shy as he heads toward the back door. “I’ll be back. I need to burn off some tension.”

His manner is soft but more distant than last night, and there’s the nagging thought that what we did was a mistake.

After all, he lived here for years before Lucy and I showed up and he’s never made mention of having any women in his life.

I’m sure he’s lonely and maybe, oh God, maybe it was all just a weak moment. Too many years alone for a man without… comfort.

“Fuck,” I hiss, running my fingers through my hair, gripping the back of my head as I clench my inner muscles, begging for the explosive relief he gave me last night.

I drop into the massive leather chair next to the window tugging the red velvet pillow against my chest, watching him throw the ax over his head, then down, split wood flying around his feet over and over.

Before long, he’s stripped out of his shirt, the winter sun shimmering on his salt and pepper chest hair, the sweat glimmering on his rich olive skin.

I’m mesmerized. I vaguely hear Mama singing in Italian to her scratchy Pavarotti record as I drift into the fantasy of feeling that hard length he rubbed against me last night pushing into my body. Taking him inside of me and bringing us together in a way that can’t be undone.

* * *

A half-hour later, I’m squirming and wiggling in the chair after making a hasty trip to the restroom to try to rub out the ache that’s turned manic as I watched him chop log after log.

After.

Log.

But, it didn’t work.

Seems my grandpa is the only one that can soothe my savage beast, and I’m going to do whatever I can to make sure he doesn’t have some second thoughts about what’s going on between us.Material © NôvelDrama.Org.

Sure, yes, he’s my papa. People will gasp.

People I don’t care about.

My sister, on the other hand, I do care about. But the pull in my belly is stronger than my sense of logic, so when Gennero comes through the back door, sweat-covered and looking more frustrated than when he went outside, I stir the pot.

“You look tense.” I do my best high step wiggle walk across the room as he tugs his handkerchief from the back pocket of his black jeans and runs it down his face and over his chest.

“Does that surprise you?”

I shake my head, taking a quick look over my shoulder where Mama disappeared to her quarters down the hall a few minutes ago, then close the space between us, nipping my lower lip and gathering my lusty courage.

“Well…” I shrug, the earlier crackling from the fireplace now a low sizzling of the embers. “I was thinking about you while you were gone.”

He raises his eyebrows, hair damp from the drifting light snow and the heat of his exertion. “I can’t stop thinking about you every fucking second.” His brow cinches as I press my fingers to his lips, the scruff of his beard against my palm.

“I tried to take care of things, but I couldn’t get…” I press my index and middle finger between his lips, glancing them over his tongue. “…there. Can you help me, Papa? I’m all tingly and achy down here.”

I run my other hand over my hip to the juncture of my thighs and feel his teeth dig into my fingers.

“Ow,” I purr as he reaches out and takes a full-on handful of my pussy under my skirt, his thick, rough fingers slipping into the access I cut into the fabric, pushing at my opening and making me stutter on an inhale as he runs his tongue between my fingers, now forgotten in his mouth.

“I own all this now. I’ll be staking my claim soon. My flag of ownership will be rooted inside you before long. But, now-”

“There you are.” Mama’s voice slices through the moment as I jump back, spinning to see her holding onto the red and white fabric of Grandpa’s Santa suit. “There’s a tear along the inseam.”

She looks up, considering us for a moment with some confusion before shaking her head and holding it out toward me.

“What?” I say, my face as red as the suit as I turn to see Papa tracing the fingers that were just inside me over his lips.

“You’rethe seamstress. I’m the cook. Lucy is…” She shakes her head again. “Never mind, you’re the seamstress and itseemsyour grandfather has put on some weight this year. You’ll need to get him in his suit, make sure you don’t need to let out the darts at the waist, then fix this inseam. But pin it while he’s wearing it, that’s the only way to get the fit right.”

She shoves the bundle of heavy red velvet and white faux fur into my hands as Grandpa chuckles.

“Go, goyou two. There’s so much to do before tonight. We only have five hours before guests arrive and the caterers are running late. The florist brought the wrong poinsettias or Lucy usurped my authority and told them to bring those gaudy variegated ones…” She throws her hands up and spins, her plump rear end twitching back and forth as she fusses and leaves us standing there.

“Let’s get to measuring. I’d like to show you exactly how many inches you’re going to need to accommodate in that inseam, baby.” He leans in to brush his lips on my cheek before nodding toward the hall.

I stumble trip and right myself, following him, watching how his butt looks in his jeans, wondering what it would look like flexing and tensing as he drove himself in and out, in and out…

It’s okay, baby, Papa loves you. We don’t need to hide anymore.

“Come in.”

I yelp, lost in the image of him on top of me on the sofa in the living room; naked, tensing, pushing, driving hard as I spread my knees, weeping at the painful pleasure as he enters me for the first time.

I follow him into the library which has one wall full of my hardcover and paperback books. They are organized by color, which makes it hard to find what I’m looking for sometimes, but it’s aesthetically pleasing and no one else seems to care.

“Close the door,” he says as the warmth of the low fire in the fireplace heats my already flaming skin.

Lust dilates his pupils as I swing the door closed, and he reaches over and clicks the deadbolt with a thunk.

He rasps his face into my neck, his hand once again under my skirt and fingering my pussy, my heart a drumbeat in my chest.

“My little Christmas prize.” He mumbles, his other hand slipping under my sweater. “Drop the suit, I’m going to let you measure me, but it won’t require me putting on that suit. I fucking need you, Carina. You’re my girl now and not how you’ve been. In new ways you might not understand.”

I let the Santa suit fall onto the floor around our feet as arousal pumps through me. He shifts forward, rubbing his hardness on my hip, and I can’t help but rub myself right back against him.