Dirty Professor

He wanted to do dirty things to me.

But it didn’t stop there.

He wanted to teach me to do dirty things to him.

He wanted to teach me how to take a spanking, how to take him in my mouth, how to stay quiet while I was bent over his desk.

He was my professor, so of course I knew it was wrong.

He had a reputation for breaking hearts and leaving destruction in his wake.

But I couldn’t resist his demands, his blue eyes, his strong hands roaming my body.

He was too brilliant, too sexy, too demanding.

He was the reason I transferred to Noland, the reason I wanted to be a writer.

And now he’s the reason I’m about to lose everything.

He kisses me again and this time his tongue pushes past my lips, parting them. My body responds to his, and I’m suddenly pliant in his arms, his tongue tangling with mine as his hands move to my hair. He pulls back and looks at me, not asking permission but giving a half smile, like he knows he’s going to get what he wants. And then he’s kissing me again, our kiss becoming deeper and more passionate, my head spinning with the intensity of it.

His hand travels across my back, and around my ribcage. When I feel his fingertips brush across the front of my sweater, I have to fight to hold in the way I want to react. “I can’t do this,” I say. “It’s not… I mean, I don’t…”

“You can do anything,” he whispers. “Anything you want.” He kisses my neck. His lips are warm and I shiver. “Sometimes it feels good to be bad, Addison.”