This date is stepping off on the wrong foot. Noah is easy to talk to, but the topics of conversation begin to bore me. After several minutes of listening to him brag about the new movie he's working on, I mentally check out. A new wave of temptation hits me and I give in slowly directing my gaze over to Professor Grant's table. To my surprise, he's watching me too. I gulp trying to steady my breathing and failing miserably.
Noah's voice calls to me.
"Do you know him?"
I look back at my blind date as I watch him spot Professor Grant staring at the two of us. We both turn just in time to see him beeline toward our table. Crap, I'm gonna need a drink for this. I grab the martini Noah ordered and down it in one swift gulp.
"Good evening," Grant says with a hint of distaste.
"Grant?" Noah says sounding surprised. "What are you doing here?"
My eyes widen at the familiarity of his greeting. They know each other? Professor Grant ignores my date and continues looking at me.
"Ms. Wilde, can I have a moment?"
"Fuck," I blurt. I need another drink before dealing with all of this.
"Grant, fuck off. She's on a date with me," Noah says with a look of irritation.
"Ms. Wilde, can I speak with you privately?" Grant's gaze lands on mine and the room suddenly feels ten degrees warmer. His eyes stare down at me with a chilly blue ice to them. His hand reaches out and wraps around my elbow before lifting me from my chair. Grant doesn't wait or listen to my objections.
"You're going with him?" Noah asks with an accusing tone. He stares at us baffled by the sudden exchange.
"My ex-boyfriend," I lie. "I'm sorry, I'll be right back."
Firm hands pull me forward leading me down a long hallway. Before I realize where we're going I hear Grant's harsh voice against my ear brimming with anger.
"What the hell are you doing?" I snap.
"I could ask the same of you." His face is inches from mine. So close I can smell his after shave and the soap he must've used this morning in the shower. The scent is Honey and lavender.
"Are you planning on sleeping with him?" he growls.
The audacity of his question makes my jaw slack in surprise.
"Who I sleep with is none of your business, Professor."
He flinches at my tone. The brief moment of emotion is quickly shrugged off and replaced with an irritating scowl.
"Tell me you're not going to sleep with him."
"You're drunk," I huff. At least that's what I keep telling myself. It's the only plausible reason Professor Grant is acting like this. His once cool, level-headed demeanor is gone. Now, he stands in front of me slightly disheveled, his expression strained. “How do you know him?”
"Promise me," he says, grabbing my chin. “Noah Delanco is a notorious dick. He’s friends with my brother.”
His touch sends desire rippling through me. I may be able to lie to him, but I can't lie to myself. I'm more than tempted to honor his request.
"Fine," I blurt. "I promise."
"Good."
My breath grows heavy as Grant leans in tightening his hold around my chin. I don't dare move, too afraid that if I do this moment will disappear. His gaze is locked on me and it's likeness is that of a lion hunting its prey. My eyes flutter closed as his lips hang inches away. My skin screams to be touched but I silence my thoughts as I wait.
"Don't forget tomorrow's assignment," he says, pressing a kiss to the corner of my mouth. His lips slowly move over my mouth and I gasp at the sudden heat of Professor Grant's touch. We stand there for what feels like minutes, but what I know is only seconds. His tongue flicks against mine and just as I'm about to return the favor he's breaks away and heads down the hall.
Did that just happen?
My head is spinning and my heart feels as if it's about to explode.
12
Josie
Who the hell is knocking on our door at 2 AM?
Vicky must've locked herself out. I glance over at the twin bed across the room from mine. To my relief, she's in bed sound asleep with her cellphone sitting next to her pillow. I grin at the realization that she was probably talking to Derrick again. A second knock comes and I quickly shuffle out of bed. The last time someone knocked on our door at 2 AM, it was a very drunk student who thought our dorm room was her's. It wasn't until several days later, that the resident advisor informed us she actually lived in a completely different building.
I glance through the peephole and spot a familiar man standing in the dimly lit hallway. Professor Grant? My heart races as I watch him run a hand through his disheveled hair. He waits several seconds before raising his hand to knock again. What does he want now? The sight of him is an unexpected surprise that sends butterflies in my stomach. I glance down at the unicorn pajama suit that I'm wearing and panic. I look like a ten-year-old.
Vicky purchased the damn thing for me last Christmas. It was meant to be a practical joke for a white elephant gift, but I love it and I haven't stopped wearing it since. It's comfy, squishy and the least flattering thing I own. The knocking on the door grows louder and more insistent this time.
Maybe I can crack the door I can just send him away.
"Who is it?" I ask, opening the door just enough for him to spot me.
"It's me." His voice, although muffled, sounds irritated. Almost angry."
"It's late," I say stating the obvious. I have no idea what I'm supposed to do right now. First, Professor Grant ruins my blind date, then he kisses me and abruptly leaves after doing so. What am I supposed to think? Is he toying with me? Showing up at our dorm is a whole new level with him. I’m starting to get whiplash from his moods.
"Why are you here?"
"To talk."
"Just talk," I ask, secretly hoping he's here for more than just talking.
"Is that all you want?" He leans against the dorm frame close enough that we lock eyes for a moment that feels much too long. "I think we both know you want more."
I remove the sliding lock and open the door to him. It's an action I immediately regret knowing I've opened myself up to getting hurt. Knowing that if Professor Grant steps into my dorm that we've both crossed a line we can't take back.
"Who takes care of your daughter when you're out?" I ask, trying to diffuse the charged energy between us. "I didn't see her tonight."
"She's at her mother's."
Professor Grant steps inside the room and carefully shuts the door behind him. The jacket in his hand is tossed to the couch and he begins to unbutton his shirt. I audibly gulp as he strides forward and grabs me by the waist.
"Professor Grant, I -"
"You think you're so fucking special, don't you Ms. Wilde?" His breath is on my ear and his lips are hovering dangerously close. My chin is forced upward as he grabs it. The sheer anger in his eyes should frighten me, but it doesn't. This man has the power to break me, but something inside tells me he won't. Something tells me Professor Grant isn't the complete asshole he appears to be. Then again I've been wrong about a lot of things lately.
"Maybe I am special," I counter, realizing this is a game he wants to play. Push and pull. "Doesn't every woman like to think so?"
"You're not."
His words come out in an hushed growl. In a heartbeat, Professor Grant is leaning down to nip at my neck. His thick tongue slides across my skin as he takes a moment to taste me.
"Maybe you're intimated by an intelligent woman." My voice is breathless with want. I drag my bottom lip between my teeth to suppress the moan building inside me. There's no way I'm letting him know he has an affect on me. Fuck that.
"I've met plenty of women like you."
He glances down my body and then back at my face. As if assessing me and finding me lacking. My cheeks burn in anger. "You've never met anyone like me, asshole."
"I bet you think your pussy's special too."
He's taunting me. This is just another test he's hoping I fail. I try to pull away but his hands keep my in plac
e.
"That you'll never find out," I blurt.
"But you want me to, don't you Ms. Wilde? You want my tongue licking your pussy like dessert."
For a brief moment, I swear I can almost see a smile on his face. But this asshole almost never smiles. It must be my imagination.
"I don't fuck old men."
"No, you just let them fuck you," he says, unzipping the front of my pajama. In a matter of seconds, I'm naked with only my underwear and socks to cover me. He palms my breasts, guiding his hand over my nipples before pinching them. His touch isn't gentle and a part of me doesn't want it to be. A large part of me. My breath hitches as Professor Grant pushes me against the living room couch and tears off my underwear before throwing them to the floor. God, I hope Vicky doesn't hear us. I don't think I would ever live down the embarrassment if she caught us.
My thoughts immediately return to the arrogant man in front of me as he groans and presses his erection into my thigh. I can feel every inch of him throbbing against me. And there's a lot of inches. Though I'll never admit that to him.
"I'm sure you're used to little boys trying to fuck you, but I'm no little boy Ms. Wilde."
I laugh at his arrogance. Whether I want to admit it or not, I know there's nothing little about him. Not matter how much I want Professor Grant to be wrong, he's not. I've never been with anyone like him. I step back from his grasp and place my palm against his erection.
"Does that mean you're you ready to show me how it's done?" I say, taunting him. "Are you ready to teach me a new lesson, professor?"
The only lesson I'll be learning tonight is how to get men like Professor Grant out of my system. He groans again as I lean into him, rubbing my bare tits against him.
"I guess not," I say with a smirk. I turn to grab my pajama off the floor but instead find myself being pressed against the couch, stomach first.
"Lesson one. Don't talk."
His hand positions my hips against him as unbuckles his belt. Before I have a chance to reply, he's on me. In two swift movements, he parts my bare legs and slides his erect cock inside of me. The sensation is so intense I practically scream as he angles himself deeper inside me. Parker doesn't wait for my body to grow accustom to him. He presses on only thrusting harder at the sound of my gasps. His hand wraps around my throat, forcing me up to kiss him. I turn my face to the side to meet his lips.
Like us, our heated kiss is messy. Imperfect and yet undeniably incredible.
"I guess I'm not too old to fuck you senseless," he groans, picking up speed as I cry for him to go faster. I bite his hand at the sound of his chuckle, but it only seems to make him do it harder. A pleasurable pain runs across my skin as his fingers tangle in my hair and pull. I've always loved the thought of getting my hair pulled, but this is ten times hotter than anything my mind could conjure.
"You're mine," he says, tugging my hair again. "Say it."
"No."
"Say it," he says again, reaching down and rubbing my clit with his thumb. He teases me until I'm practically screaming. Sweat slides down my body as it tries and fails to recover from the overwhelming stimulation.
"I won't stop until you say you're mine," he growls. "We'll stay up all night. I'll fuck you until your raw." My resistance grows weaker by the minute. His words both thrill and exhaust me.
"I'm yours," I gasp.
"Say it again."
"I'm yours, asshole."
He chuckles as he releases me and then flips me on my back across the couch. He leans on top of me, propping my legs open and placing a kiss on my hip bone. I shiver as his mouth hovers dangerously close to my pussy. He trails his lips down the inside of my thigh and then moves over me. He guides my legs around him as he sets my hips up at an angle.
"It's time for another lesson."
13
Josie
Thoughts of Professor Grant flood my mind as I bask in the cool California breeze. The temperature is a small reprieve for my warm, flushed skin. It's barely the 1st of March but the days are quickly beginning to heat up. I can practically smell summer - bbq, fireworks, and the beach. Graduation is 3.5 months away. Three years ago, it felt like a lifetime. Now, it's just around the corner.
My cellphone buzzes with a text from Vicky.
Vicky: What happened to the living room? The couch looks like a tornado hit.
Me: Too much to explain in a text. [Donkey emoji]
My cell buzzes three mores times with a list of questions from her about Professor Grant. Last night was one for the books. The lingering ache between my thighs only serves as a delicious reminder that our night together was very much real. Not that I could ever forget it. The memory still sets fire to my soul. The taste of his lips on mine. The possessive words he uttered into my ear. The words he demanded to hear from me still have my body in a tizzy.
Tell me you're mine. No matter how hard I try to block the image of him from my mind, it's there. Haunting me. The abrupt kiss at the hotel and the scent of his skin after our moment on the couch. His actions left my head spinning.
It wasn't supposed to be like this. I wasn't supposed to enjoy this. Somehow, in a short amount of time he's gotten under my skin. That annoying little truth has been eating away at me for the past few hours.
As I walk down the oceanside marina, I weigh the pros and cons of calling Professor Grant's office and leaving him a voicemail. Telling him that last night was a mistake - a mistake I've been thinking about since the moment I woke up in bed, alone. He never promised you anything and you never asked him to. Overwhelmed with emotions, I head down to my father's yacht in hopes of joining them for a day of relaxation. Anything to get my mind off of him.
As I pass a boat named the Old Thunder, I catch sight of a man pulling up to the dock. His familiar silhouette glows against the molten colored sky and the glittering waves around us. At first glance, he's almost unrecognizable. A dark-haired adonis materializing from the sea. His skin is sheen with beads of sweat peppering the gray hairs scattered across his chest. I'm hypnotized by the sight. To my disappointment, he pulls a gray polo over his head covering the skin I was only just admiring.
Professor Grant? What is he doing here?
I never pictured the man as the type to enjoy sailing, but damn does he look good. In fact, seeing him here is a strange sight to behold, like watching a wild animal outside of it's natural habitat. The corded muscles on his forearms flex as he ties his boat to the edge of the dock. I shiver, despite the blazing sun shinning down on me. The memory of those same muscle wrapped around me fills me with an intense need. It was only hours ago that he was filling me up and driving me to the brink of exhaustion. Sexhaustion.
I know for certain a professor's salary could never pay for extravagances like storing your boat amongst millionaires. This marina is exorbitant in its storage fees.
I've been staring too long. Professor Grant turns just in time to catch me watching him. At first, I'm not entirely sure that he recognizes me but I'm all too quickly proven wrong when he steps onto the dock and heads toward me. He strolls over with a pair of white driving gloves in hand that he quickly slips into his pocket. His gaze washes over my bikini body before finally settling on my face.
"Ms. Wilde. What a pleasant surprise."
Although his tone is pleasant, his facial expression is anything but warm or inviting. Even his words sound disingenuous. I really hope he doesn't think I'm following him. How could he when you know so little about him?
"Have we forgotten our manners, Ms. Wilde?"
I bite my lip, too tempted to tell him to go to hell. "They must be with my underwear, in your pocket."
His heated gaze strikes me down to my very core. If he thought he could get away with stealing my underwear last night, he's wrong. He took my favorite pair. Vicky bought me a set that had the days of the week as a joke. Now, I'm missing "Saturday." I'm fairly certain he did that on purpose. His way of making me remember our night together. A way to say he owns me, but only on
Saturdays it seems.
"What are you doing here?" I ask. "I'm surprised to see you…” You left without a word.
The biting words are out of my mouth before I have time to think them through. He flinches slightly, but his reaction disappears twice as quickly as it appears. If my question bothers him, he doesn't say it. The only giveaway is the slight tick in his square jaw. He pushes one hand through his dark hair, a gesture the only succeeds to remind me of the other night when I saw him outside my door.
"I could ask you the same thing, Ms. Wilde," he says. He crosses his arms over his chest and my irritation grows at the sudden desire to be in them. Up until now, his refusal to call me by my name has never bothered me. But now it's almost insulting.
"You've seen me naked. I think you can call me by my first name."
"That's even more of a reason not to."
"Why?" I ask confused.
He takes a moment to mull over my question before finally answering.
"Attachment, is a messy thing."
Frustration hits me like a wave. My next thought is silenced by the sound of my father's voice. The two of us turn to find my father, Thomas Wilde staring at us with curiosity. His quizzical gaze lands on Professor Grant. In all my years of college, I've never "brought a boy home" or shown any indication that I was interested in any of my peers. I can only imagine what must be running through my father's mind now. Professor Grant is at least ten years older than me, if not more. The silver in his hair has me leaning toward more.
"Josie-girl, I didn't know you were bringing a guest."
"Oh, no. This is my English professor," I say, turning to Professor Grant. After last night, the words "my professor" have taken on a whole different meaning. I blush at the thought of my feelings written all over my face. If my dad only knew the debauchery going on, he would kill the man standing next to me. "He ran into me on the dock." And over and over last night.
Grade A Ahole Page 7