Saving Grace: A bad-boy virgin romance

by Savannah Skye

  Considering the last time I saw the professor, an uncomfortable grimace had been scribbled across my face while my hand dropped to my vagina as I grossly professed my need to pee, the odds are not in my favor.

  So death by embarrassment it is. The college can then hold a memorial in my honor—or dishonor considering the series of unfortunate events that preluded my untimely death. A candlelight vigil soaked in tears by people who never even knew me, all the while nobody would ever know the truth; that I, Grace Farrow, carried out a novice attempt at sexually assaulting my candy-coated criminal law professor.

  I let out a groan and wonder how I’m going to make it through the rest of this day and make an executive decision to cut my next class.

  I twist on my feet and make a beeline for the library where I know Willow—my best friend, my soul sister, my righteous partner in crime—will be studying. And since she’s the one who first got me into this mess, she’s going to help me get out of it. Or at least make sense of it.

  A few minutes later, I spot her in the chorus of students with their heads draped over textbooks, sprawled out in an endless sea of tables. She’s impossible to miss. A neon demon in a haystack basically. Dressed in black legwarmers and a slouchy, off the shoulder neon pink sweater that just screams, Yes, time machines do exist. And Olivia Newton John has sent me to the future to confuse you.

  But I’ll give credit where credit is due. She pulls off the look well, managing to out-Madonna anyone else who would dare, with dark hair so crunchy with mousse that there has to be sharp edges. She somehow makes the worst fashion trends look drop dead sexy, a fact which never fails to blow my mind.

  I march towards her and place a palm on her shoulder, not just to get her attention, but to drag her to her feet.

  “Jesus,” she snarls as she throws her hand against her chest. “You do know I carry a gun, right?”

  “This is a gun free zone,” I reply softly through gritted teeth as she rises to stand.

  “It’s just a little single shot Derringer. Pretty sure everyone carries them.” She chuckles to herself and then glances around the table. “Am I right?”

  The others at the table just stare and I grab her by the hand and drag her to the back corner of the library, as far away from prying ears as possible. She drops her bag onto the table and folds her arms over each other, offering me a pressed glare, and then a forced smile hidden behind a puckered pout of her lips.

  “Are you proud of yourself?” I question, dropping my bag next to hers on the table to create a barricade to hide behind. I lean closer. “Do you have any idea how terrifyingly embarrassing my meeting with Professor Ridley wound up being?”

  “Oh God.” Her eyes roll to the back of her head. “If you’re going to tell me you vomited on his lollipop—”

  “I’m going to stop you right there.” I glance out the corner of my eye to make sure there are no peeping toms listening in on our conversation before leaning deeper against the table. “I went into his office armed with the excuse you had provided for me, that I wasn’t handling the material well, but he pointed out that I was more than passing the class.”

  “Seriously?” She arches one brow and shakes her head, the oversized hoops in her ears rattling in place. “If he knew your grade off the top of his head just a few weeks into the semester, then I think my suspicions were right. Girl, he’s been watching you.”

  I blow out a sigh and close my eyes in frustration, slicing the air with one hand. “Let me finish, okay?”

  “Well, okay then, Miss Thing.”

  “Anyways, he looked weird when I first got there, and mentioned that he was having a painful cramp in his leg, so I popped a squat and tried massaging the kink out of him…” My words trail off when I notice her fighting an impossible fight to hold in a fit of laughter, her cheeks flushing cherry red before the dam breaks and the laughs come pouring out.

  “You’re not helping at all by laughing—”

  “I’m sorry,” she says through a witchy cackle, “you’re just so damn ridiculous.”

  “I’m already miserable enough without you eviscerating me with your taunting laugh. The worst part is that he, like, grabbed my arm and told me to stop. He clearly couldn’t wait for me to get out of his office and now I can’t bring myself to face him.”

  She holds her hand firm against her chest and breathes in, clearly trying to distill the laughter once more. I flop back in my chair, cross my arms and just wait for her to continue making fun of me for a mess that she is largely responsible for.

  She launches into another fit of hysteria all the while making a scene in what I’m sure was a quiet library before I got here.

  A passerby with sunglasses over his eyes throws his finger over his lips and loudly shushes us. I’m taken aback at first, and then my stomach drops, wondering whether or not he heard the rest of the conversation.

  Willow handles being shushed quite differently than me.

  “Fuck off, Corey Hart.”

  I can’t help but to giggle under my breath. Girl is for sure stuck in the eighties and I’m a hundred percent sure the poor shush-er has no idea who Corey Hart is. Willow continues to glare at the unidentified student until he’s out of sight, and then turns back to face me.

  She rips her bag off the table and slings it over her shoulder. “Come on.”

  Willow takes a seat at an empty computer station, but there are no other open chairs so I’m forced to stand behind her. I drop my bag onto the floor and kick it under the desk while she begins clicking around on the screen.

  “What are we doing here?” I question, more than a little agitated.

  She’s too preoccupied to provide a verbal response to my more than reasonable inquiry, so I lean over her shoulder and watch the computer screen as she types away.

  SEARCH: Signs of sexual attraction

  “Are you kidding me?” I scoff and exhale on a gasp. She clicks a purple link—indicating she’s not the first user on this computer to visit the website in question—and a page loads that reads: Does He Want To Bang You?

  “Could you be any more profane?”

  She cocks a judgmental look over her shoulder. “Says the girl who’s dreaming of a salacious student-teacher affair.”

  I drop my palm onto her bare shoulder and sink my nails into her skin, deep enough to hurt but not deep enough to draw blood. I’m not that evil.

  “Ouch.” She jerks away from my grasp and drags her hand to the mouse. “You need to clip those nails, Freddy Krueger.” She leans in closer to the screen and clicks once more. “Okay, here we go.”

  “I’m not doing this,” I protest, but I realize that when it comes to Willow, I don’t really have a choice. I squint at the screen and read the first question in a hushed whisper, “Are you sexually attracted to him?”

  “Obsessed,” Willow says and clicks the yes button.

  I can’t help but to roll my eyes.

  The student occupying the chair beside Willow rises to her feet and throws her bag over her shoulder. Before she’s even left the general area, I find myself sliding into the chair and claiming it as my own.

  “Were his pupils dilated?” Willow cranes her head to me to stare me down, waiting on edge for a response. She’s more excited about finding out if Mr. Ridley wants to ravish my body than I am.

  I shrug. “Sure, I guess. Actually, now that I think of it, I was wondering if he was sick because his eyes looked a little weird.”

  “Okay.” She nods and clicks the appropriate button. “Did you notice a pulse in his neck?”

  “Absolutely.” I nod my head with such conviction that I almost believe the words coming out of my mouth. The truth is, I couldn’t remember. Not that I’m not going to be basing any decisions on any website that calls itself The Co-Ed’s Guide to Sex And Dating anyway. I’m only playing along because it keeps me from thinking about the sensation of wanting the floor to swallow me whole while I was in his office.

  “Were his muscles tense
?” She looks at me with an amused smirk, her lips hitching unevenly on one corner of her mouth. “And just to be clear, I think they’re asking about his neck or his shoulders, not the muscle safely tucked behind those tight ass briefs.”

  “I don’t know why we’re friends.”

  “I’ll take that as a yes.” She clicks on the yes button and continues to ask me another twenty questions before my results are calculated. Flashing on the screen;

  Congratulations; He Wants To Bang You. Click HERE to order condoms online because nobody should forego their future because they got pregnant by a man who ONLY wants to bang you.

  “You know, I don’t believe in crystal balls…” She swivels in her seat to face me fully. “But I trust the source, and as your friend, I just want to tell you that I think dropping to your knees to massage Mr. Teacher was the best move you could have possibly made, because it’s clear to me that he wants to fuck you.”

  My eyes go wide, knowing damn well the girl behind Willow clearly heard the last bit, if not the entire rant.

  “I’m never telling you anything ever again.”

  She twists to see the girl behind her and then just waves her off as if it’s no big deal. She scoots her chair closer to me.

  “Come on. Think hard and try to be serious here. You might be inexperienced, but you’ve been around guys who were into you. Did he seem like that?”

  “I don’t know.” I shrug, and try to think back to the incident. For the most part, my mind has been preoccupied with the embarrassing way in which I announced I had to leave. “You know, now that I think about it, despite his hard-muscled thigh, I didn’t really feel any evidence of knotting that would indicate a cramp. But he was definitely tense and very uncomfortable. He practically winced when I touched him.”

  Willow’s pansy blue eyes shoot wide. “Holy shit, Batman!” She puckers her lips before leaning in close, pressing her lips against my ear to whisper, “I bet you caught the professor waxing his pole.”

  “Jerking off?” I question back and shake my head, my cheeks flushing as my pulse kicked up. “No, that’s ridiculous.”

  “Is it?” She raises her brows and presses forward. “Men have needs. Even daddies. Trust me on that one, because let me tell you—”

  “That’s quite all right,” I insist. “I don’t need you to go in graphic detail about your best friend’s father again.”

  “Former best friend,” she adds with a knowing smirk. “A drunken confession about losing your virginity to your best friend’s father isn’t something most modern friendships can come back from.”

  “As if modern relationships are different from any other relationship in that regard.”

  “The eighties were a different time, Grace. People had needs and they weren’t judged for wanting to fulfill them,” she said, her tone matter of fact.

  “Can we get back to the issue at hand?” I begged.

  “Right.” She nods and rakes a hand through her brunette curls. “Lets go down the list of facts.”

  “Okay, so when I walked in, he was definitely out of breath,” I say. “Oh yeah! And the door was locked and it took him a while to open it. That’s a key element that I perhaps should have remembered earlier.”

  “No shit.” She stares me down for a moment, as if that’s something worthy of deep contemplation. “It’s just another piece of evidence that he was in fact jerking off. You know what I think?” She twists a finger in her curls and blows a massive, purple bubble with gum I hadn’t even realized she was chewing.

  “I’m honestly on pins and needles waiting to hear what you think,” I say, my voice dripping with enough sarcasm to form a pool capable of drowning in.

  She leans back in her chair, her lips splitting into a mischievous smile. “I think he was, in fact, jerking off. And I’m going to double down here and further suggest that he was thinking about your virgin ass the entire time.” She blows another bubble and offers me a sly wink that’s soon obscured by the obnoxious size of the growing candy bubble.

  I sigh and push back against my chair, throw my head back and stare at the ceiling. He had been behaving strangely. And he did seem awfully uncomfortable. I’d be willing to agree with her that he was jerking off, but I’m still not sold that it had anything to do with me.

  “Maybe you’re right about the jerking off part,” I venture to say out loud, all the while hating to give her the satisfaction. “So, assuming there’s a chance you’re right about the rest, what do I do now?”

  She let out a snort and grinned. “You exploit that shit, ASAP. You flaunt that taut little college ass in front of him until he can’t resist. In fact, I’ll even help you. Let’s take a quick look through my closet later and find you something to wear and see if you can’t ramp things up a bit tomorrow. I’ve already got a plan forming.”

  “Excuse me?” A shy student wearing a fancy shirt tucked into his trousers questions from behind Willow. “Are you using this computer?”

  She passes me a knowing glance first and then averts her gaze to the student standing over her. “No, I’m actually just sitting here to be an asshole because I know how rare it is to find a seat in this underequipped library.” She grins, baring her teeth. “Now scram, Zuckerberg.”

  I narrow my eyes at her. “You’re such a—”

  “Stop.” She throws up one hand. “Let me save you from yourself, save you from taking a wrecking ball to your squeaky clean image. I’m a bitch. You don’t need the sin of those words on your innocent little lips…”

  She continues to drone on, but I begin to space out until all that’s left are the hushed vibrations of her lips. My mind slips elsewhere, ventures all the way out into fantasy-land as I think back to my private meeting with the man of my dreams. Maybe she’s right. Maybe I shouldn’t give up yet.

  I think of his strong fingers gripping my wrist, can feel his muscles at work as he guides me to my feet. Think about that emerald gaze boring down at me as if his eyes were enchanted with fire. He’s no regular professor. I’d bet my college career on it.

  I ran today, but equipped with this new information, there’s no way I’m going to abandon ship now. Professor Ridley’s waters run deep and there is more to him than meets the eye. If I ever want to find out exactly what lurks beneath the scholarly façade, I’m going to have to get close.

  Real close.

  3

  Jack

  Fuck.

  Fuck. Fuck.

  I tear into the dry ass cafeteria burger, purposely punishing myself. Weeks worth of work down the drain because some hot little number got on her knees and batted her eyelashes at me. I'm supposed to be better than that. Stronger than that.

  And yet, I can’t get a handle on Grace Farrow. She handles herself like a twenty-year-old virgin, but shit, can anyone truly be that naïve? Kneeling yesterday, hands outstretched, ready to massage out my "cramp" nearly had me shooting off in my pants. How could she not know that mere inches from her lips my cock was straining against the zipper, doing everything in its power to close that gap?

  It had taken me five weeks. Five fucking weeks of sitting in a cramped ass car until one AM, peeing in a bottle and eating greasy fast food for dinner, just to finally get a glimpse of Tony Macha. Then last night, out of nowhere, the fat asshole appears and I'm too busy with my cock in my hand to do anything about it. Too busy thinking about what would have happened if Grace had just moved her hand a little to the left earlier that day, maybe bobbed that head a little lower...

  I need to get laid. A night of sweaty, raw, dirty sex. Something to fuck the hot little Miss Farrow right out of my head, because I’ve got work to do. I make a mental note to call Tiffany after my 3:30 lecture. She is always primed and ready for a night of screaming sex. It’s true what they say about those English profs.

  I take another bite of my burger and nearly choke. Not from the shit cafeteria food this time, but from the new sight before me.

  Little Gracie Farrow standing in the doorway,
haloed by the outdoor sunlight. Her legs go on for miles before they stop at a too short, frayed jean skirt. The belly halter wasn't much better. God, my fucking cock's betraying me again. I make a mental note to call Tiffany before the lecture, maybe she can fit in an afternoon quickie.

  Grace spots me before I can bury my head in a book and suddenly she's headed my way.

  "I'm so glad I caught you," she says, her chest heaving because she practically ran over to me. I can't help but notice her nipples are hard again. I wonder if she should talk to someone about finding a better bra. This one obviously isn't working.

  "I wanted to apologize for yesterday," she says. I know she's saying more, but I can't concentrate on anything but her pert little tits.

  "Professor Ridley, did you hear me?" she purses her cherry, red lips and I'm done for. Tiffany is now out of my mind for good. It's obvious now, that only this girl will do.

  "I'm sorry, what?" I say, somehow managing not to sound like a teenage boy going through puberty. My mouth is dry.

  "I'm sorry about yesterday," she says. "I realize I probably just made things harder when I tried to help you with your cramp. I…I just thought I could help."

  She says “harder” a little like a dirty school girl in a barely legal porno and I wonder again if the virgin thing is all an act or if my imagination is carrying me away again.

  "I know," I say, grinding out the words. “It’s fine.”

  She smiles. Those ruby red lips a striking contrast to her pearly white teeth.

  "A peace offering then," she holds out a cup of coffee. "Just like you like it. I asked the barista to make your usual. Black with just a bit of sugar. He was really helpful…"

  She's rambling again, and the innocent school girl is back. I reach for the cup of coffee and our fingers brush. The contact is completely unintentional, but once again I'm hard as a rock. She's staring at me with those doe eyes, expecting me to say something. I'm sure she asked me a question, I just don't know what it was.