Her Dirty Professor Series (21+)

She sets her purse down, and her keys clatter on the faded Formica counter next to it. “I’ve never had a man in my apartment before.” She grins, twisting her lips to the side. “And I…” she stalls, squinting an eye at me, then pushes her blonde hair back behind her ears again as her tongue touches her top lip.

“What?” I shove my hands down in my pockets, trying to control my hard-on. When she said no man has been here before, the embers that were already hot inside of me burst into a flame, and there’s someone else coming alive I’m not sure I can control.

She laughs, shaking her head. “I don’t even know your name. That doesn’t seem very wise, does it?”

“My name’s Vito. I’m not here to hurt you. If I wanted to hurt you, I’ve had plenty of opportunities already, yes?”

She nods, her cheeks turning bright pink as her hands drop to hug her waist with the amazing side effect of pushing her incredible tits higher, so they nearly spill out of the V neck of her dress.

“True.” She lifts one hand and rubs her eyes. “I’m sorry, I should offer you something… coffee… but I don’t have a coffee maker. Or coffee. I have milk, tea or water.” She licks her lips, and there’s discomfort in her eyes.

“I’m fine. You need to rest. I’ll sit right here on the couch.”

I already know I’m never going to want to leave, but telling her that right now wouldn’t serve to ease her discomfort. One way or another, though, this will not be the last time we are together.

“Okay, I’m sorry.” She pushes her hair behind her ears again. “I’m so tired.” Her eyelids flutter, and her hands come to rest at the base of her neck, and I wonder if her heart is beating as hard as mine.

“Go.” I nod toward the door I’m assuming is her bedroom. “But once you’re asleep, I’m going to come in and check on you, so don’t lock your door.”NôvelDrama.Org holds text © rights.

Her eyes widen, looking like a doe unsure which way to turn.

“I won’t hurt you,” I repeat, and the truth of my words hits me down low.

Not only will I never hurt her, but I pity anyone that does. Because this thing she’s lit inside of me has me already half-crazed with a sense of protectiveness I’ve never experienced-not even with my own family.

Without another word, she turns on a heel and goes into the bedroom, shutting the door softly behind her, and I release the long sigh that’s filled my chest as I let my chin drop and wonder how I’m ever going to let her out of my sight again.

I decide to give her thirty minutes before I go in and check on her, and it feels like an eternity. I poke around in her kitchen and open the refrigerator to see half a loaf of wheat bread, a package of sliced cheese, a half-gallon of milk, a pitcher of what looks like iced tea and a few bottles of condiments and salad dressing.

From there, I open and shut every cupboard door. Most everything looks sad and tired, but inside one upper cabinet I see something that makes me smile.

There’s a large plastic container with “Top Secret Waffle Mix” written on the side in red marker. On the shelf below is what looks like an antique waffle maker, but its shape is unusual. I reach in and open the top to see the irons are heart-shaped, and I envision her dancing around in the kitchen making me waffles. To my shock, it makes my balls tighten, and I feel wet drops of cum seep out of my cock.

I’ve got a waffle fetish. Who knew?

I step out of the kitchen and check out the books on the little table and see they are beyond my level of schooling. I’m not stupid, but my education came mostly from my father and experience.

My mother wanted me to go to college. Instead, I followed in the footsteps of a few generations of the men in our family, leaving the academics to my sister, Maria, who fulfilled Mom’s dreams of having at least one of her children graduate from college.

I pick up each book and see one for calculus, one for English lit, and finally one for basic accounting.

After I find out as much as I can from looking around, I can’t stand it anymore and decide I’ve waited long enough to check in on her. I ease the door to her bedroom open and hold my breath as it squeaks, then I slip inside. This isn’t my first time walking into someone’s bedroom without waking them, but in the past it was under less pleasant circumstances.

Her room is sparsely decorated with a twin bed, a nightstand made from a couple of stacked milk crates and a desk held together with duct tape, although somehow she has made it look trendy and fun. Still, this is no way for her to live.

There’s a nightlight casting a glow across her face, and my obsession surges when I see the innocence on her sleeping face. One bare leg is on top of a threadbare pink blanket, and I step closer to her, unable to keep the distance between us any longer. Her silky blonde hair is spread across an embroidered lavender pillowcase, and her plump lips are slightly open, making it hard as hell not to lean down and kiss her.

I rest my fingers at her ankle and hear the blood rushing through my ears. I can’t stop. I run my hand up her calf, and the silky texture of her skin has my cock jumping and my heart pounding. I dare to push the fabric covering her a few inches upward until I can touch the inside of her thigh, knowing where it would lead if I kept going.

My mouth waters, imagining how all her sweet pink parts would taste, like heaven and magic. Obsession burns through me, and I wonder if anyone has touched her before. Kissed her. Fucked her.

Jesus.

If anyone has fucked her, I’ll find them and kill them.

Whatever this is, it’s insanity, but I don’t care. I’ve been overtaken by a madman, but I don’t ever want to go back to who I was before I met her.

The warmth of her skin under my fingers is making hot blood surge through my veins and thickening my already painful hard-on. I shouldn’t touch her like this in her sleep, but I can’t bring myself to stop.

She sighs and shifts onto her back, mumbling something unintelligible, but I pretend it’s my name and she’s dreaming about me. I hold my hand still, but I don’t withdraw. I can’t. In my warped mind, she is mine already. She is my property. I want to protect her and use her and comfort her and give her everything… and take what’s mine when I like, how I like, for as long as I like.

I’m possessed by her already, and I never want to be exorcised of whatever demon has overtaken me.

I feel more alive now than at any other time in my life, and I want more. If I’m this crazed already, I can’t imagine what will happen once I taste her.

Once I’m inside her.

I push the blanket further upward, then lift and fold it back to see she’s wearing lime-green cotton panties that ride high on her lush hips. I see the indent of her slit and want to run my tongue through that groove. I’m teased by the Star Trek T-shirt she’s wearing. Like her furniture, it looks vintage with a serious-looking James T. Kirk staring back at me, the fabric bunched just under her braless tits.

Wildness bends my thoughts in depraved ways, but I won’t go any further.

Not now at least.

I squeeze my eyes shut and take a deep breath, heat blasting through me as I cover her again and lean down, breathing her in.

Before I retreat, I press my lips to hers for a moment, feeling her warm breath on mine, and inhale sharply to take her inside me in this small way.

“Sleep well, my Bambina,” I whisper into her ear before taking my leave, softly pulling the bedroom door closed behind me.

Outside the door, I lean one forearm against the wall and drop my other hand to bring release to my throbbing dick.

I fist the steel girth; it only takes a few strokes before I’m cumming in my hand, thoughts of my lips on hers fueling my release.

One touch, and I’ll never be the same. I don’t know what sort of monster I will become once I take all of her, but I know one thing: Anyone that hurts her will face a wrath unlike any I’ve unleashed before.

Esme

KAREN UNFOLDS THE TOP of the brown grocery bag, then starts lifting out white take-out containers.

“It’s eight in the morning,” I groan, touching the bump on my head and pulling my legs under me as I shove a pillow behind my back on the sofa. “Who eats Thai food at eight in the morning?”

She bobs her head back and forth, making her slick black hairbrush at her shoulders. “Me.” She smirks. “And you. Hey, I just got off work, so feels like dinner time to me.”

I met her on the bus to the courthouse the week I started my internship. She was headed there herself to pay some overdue parking tickets for her loser boyfriend, who she-thank goodness-kicked to the curb soon after we met.

The bus was full, the seat next to her the only empty space, and as luck would have it, she can make friends out of rocks. I liked her immediately, and we look like yin and yang twins. She has the exact same hair as mine, shoulder length, thick and always a bit messy with bangs, except hers is jet black.