"Where's your head at?" she asks with a giggle. It's young woman flirtation mode now, her hand reaches out and playfully rests on my upper arm. My cock jumps and I'm glad I'm sitting down. One second she's innocent, the next it's a full court press of seduction. I can't tell who the real Grace Farrow is.
I'm not used to this kind of confusion. I'm supposed to be badass. Hard core. Between the Army Rangers and my current nighttime career, most of my adult life has been centered around making definitive, split-second decisions.
Friend or foe.
Life or death.
But this half-woman, half-girl has me in knots. Why can't I read her?
I fantasize about taking her over my knee and giving her a few sharp smacks to see which side of her wins out. See if I can break her. If I can get a bead on her motivation, it will be a lot easier to manage her.
She's looking at me expectantly. I haven't said anything in the past twenty seconds, too busy thinking about turning her ass cheeks rosy just before I plunge my throbbing cock between them.
"I'm sorry," I finally manage to say. "Could you repeat that?"
"I know it's a bit of an imposition, but I'm taking this writing class. The professor wants us to interview someone we admire and find interesting and try to write our perspective of their life story, and I thought…"
She trails off, a hopeful smile once again parting those red lips.
I'm barely processing what she's saying.
She licks her lips, still waiting. It's an innocent enough gesture, but I'm done for. All I can think about now is her crawling under the table and working over my cock. It's already straining, all she would have to do is pull it out and go to town. I can almost feel that auburn hair running through my fingers as I guide her head. I know she's unpracticed, but I can show her what to do. The state I'm in, it wouldn't take much.
Fuck.
I'm her professor, damn it. In a position of power, and all I can think about day and night is taking advantage of this college girl. No matter how I try to convince myself otherwise, she's not some skilled seductress trying to get into my pants. She's a young woman who doesn't know any better and I'm the dirty old man thinking with his dick.
"I'd be happy to help," I say because what else can I do? I can't punish her because I can't keep my cock down. I lie about my life pretty much 24/7, so spinning a yarn for her little assignment should be easy enough.
"Great," she says, that dazzling smile back out in full force. "My last class ends at 5:00 today, can we meet after that?"
"Sure, there's a coffee shop on Post Road. Say, 5:30?" I say it without thinking. The coffee shop's my go to spot, it's also just downstairs from the studio apartment I rent. Whether intentionally or not, I’ve just invited Grace Farrow close enough to the lion’s den to know we were both in trouble. “On second thought, how about Eggzam’s Breakfast shop just off campus? They have better coffee anyway.”
She shakes her head mournfully, her cheeks going a pretty shade of pink. “I’m actually banned from ever going there again,” she mumbles.
I stare at her, imagination running wild as to what little Gracie Farrow could’ve done to merit such a consequence. Maybe she’s less innocent than I think?
“Why is that?” I hear myself asking, despite being one hundred percent sure that her answer isn’t going to help the situation.
“So, you know how they had that little incubator with the chicks in it around Easter time to go along with the theme of the place?”
I nod, even more intrigued.
“Well, my roommate and I headed there one Sunday taking advantage of the endless mimosa brunch and we noticed that one of the chicks looked sick. It was like falling over and stuff.” She starts to fidget and chew on that full bottom lip. “Anyways, I told the manager and he didn’t care. He said they die all the time. So I…uhm… I stuffed it down my shirt and took off.”
I could feel the smile tugging at my lips but I fight it back. She is still a student and I am still a professor. I shouldn’t be encouraging her misdemeanor theft. “You stole a baby chick from the café?”
“Sort of. I tried to. But I got caught. My friend Willow is better endowed than me and probably would’ve been able to pull it off without getting busted, but,” she shoots a mournful glance at her modest cleavage, “the poor thing really had nowhere to hide. Then it started cheep-cheep-cheeping away as we tried to sneak out. It was a real mess. Long story short, they have my picture up by the register so I’m waiting to grow my hair out and get some foils in it before I try to go back. Point being, let’s just meet at the first place you said.”
She’s so naïve, even her story about being naughty is weirdly touching.
I nod slowly, too caught up in her tale to think of another reason not to agree. “Sure. That’s fine. I'll see you there."
She plants her hands on the table and pushes herself up, causing that belly shirt to rise just a few more inches. I can see the skin above her navel now and while I've never particularly been a stomach man, all that smooth expanse of lightly tanned skin is doing something to me.
Grace is clueless once again. She gives me a little finger wave as she turns, and sashays toward the cafeteria door, her hips swinging as if to some mysterious music only she can hear. I watch her all the way because there's no way I'm tearing my eyes away from this peep show. The door's just closing when I see her do a little fist pump.
What the hell?
Suddenly, she's knocked me on my ass again. Too innocent to know what she is really asking for or not, this girl is on a mission to get my attention, and I don't think I have the willpower to say no. Just a brush of her fingers has me ready and raring to go, there's no telling what will happen if she does something more. My cock is just telling me what my brain is afraid to say.
I want her. I want her bad. And, if that little show of triumph outside the caf is any indication, she wants me too.
Fuck.
I shove my food away, intent on a new mission. Save myself and her a world of hurt. As much as I'd love to plunge my cock into her and watch those red lips curl into an "O" as she screams my name, I’ve got too much to lose and I’m not in the business of ruining innocent lives.
I need a plan, or it's the end of both of us.
I got her by a decade in years and a lifetime in experience. Surely, I can outsmart a twenty-year-old who thinks she’s in love with her “harmless” professor.
But when I think of Grace's hands on my thigh, wide eyes blinking up at me, a strange sense of foreboding sizzles through me.
What if I’m way off?
What if this isn’t a schoolgirl crush at all?
What if she’s been sent to test me? To work me?
The thought leaves a bitter taste in my mouth and I take a swallow of the coffee Grace handed me.
That line of thought brings a whole new slew of problems because once I think it, I can’t let it go. It makes so much sense. Any one of my enemies could’ve hired her to play the coquette and draw me in in an attempt to learn my secrets.
Putting Grace off is no longer an option. Until I get to the bottom of her motives, I need to keep her as close as possible…while also managing not to fuck her.
Jesus.
It’s going to be a long few days.
4
Grace
Holy crap, it worked.
I’m practically running back toward my apartment in stunned disbelief, heart racing, insides a jumble.
He agreed to get coffee with me.
As soon as I think it, another thought follows.
So now what?
Willow will know what to do. After all, she’s been wrapping men older than her around her finger since she was sixteen. Who I pretend to be around Ridley is who Willow has always been, just with a little less of an attitude problem.
She’ll know just how to proceed. While she might be one drunken binge away from failing out of college, she’s always been good with the stuff that’s actually im
portant in life. Behind the big hair, heavy mascara, and legwarmers is a streetwise woman who knows how to get what she wants.
I rip open the door to our shared apartment, toss my books onto the kitchen counter and call out for my trusted roommate.
“Willow?”
No reply.
I call out again, “Hellloo, are you here?”
The bathroom door jerks open, stealing my attention. Willow is there, hair frizzed and untamed, but more importantly she’s holding her cell phone against her ear with one hand and an elongated box in the other.
Inside the box?
What appears to be a ten-inch purple vibrator with spikes decorating the head.
“What in God’s name are you yelling about that is so important that you need to interrupt my me time?” she asks as she pockets her phone.
I don’t respond. I can’t respond. My jaw swinging on its hinges does all the talking as I stare in disbelief.
“Yes, Barney the Big-Dicked Dinosaur is huge. Now, can you stop pretending as if you’ve never seen a fake dick before, and tell me what’s up?”
I just shake my head, deciding to not press her on the choices she makes when it comes to the shape, design, girth, and length of the toys she pleasures herself with.
I drop down onto the couch and let out a squeal. “You’re not going to believe it.”
“What won’t I believe?” She pulls the bathroom door shut behind her and makes her way to join me on the couch. She sighs as she tosses the box onto the black coffee table. It immediately begins vibrating and shaking against the glass top.
We both eye the toy suspiciously. “Since when do they come with batteries?”
“I bought it off eBay.” She reaches forward and smacks the box, bringing the vibrations to a sudden end. “And you’re right, they don’t usually come with batteries but I’m not going to complain because have you seen the price of batteries lately?”
“You need to throw that gross thing away.”
“Nah.” She chuckles as she kicks her feet onto the coffee table. “I think I’ll save it to give to someone for Christmas.”
I can’t help but wonder who possibly merits a used purple schlong for the holidays, but think better of asking. I have too much crap of my own to worry about.
“I’m going to be frank,” she says, throwing her arm over the back of the couch behind my head, “I’ve got an appointment with myself in about fifteen minutes, so whatever hell you’re going through, I can only offer you ten minutes of my services.”
“You are so generous,” I grind out, sarcastically. “Since we’re stressed for time, I’m going to go with the Sparknotes version. I have a coffee date with Ridley tonight.”
“You’re such a whore.”
“Coming from you, I’m choosing to take that as a compliment.”
“Good,” she applauds me lightly. “Own that shit. But seriously, what’s the problem?”
“The problem is that I become a different person when I’m around him. It’s like I’m possessed, and I have tunnel vision, and he’s all I can see. All I can hear. All I can feel. There’re these thoughts that run through my head when I become that other girl, and I’m kind of starting to think I might be crazy. And I have no idea how I’m going to get through these next four hours without losing my shit, and what I really don’t know is what the hell am I even going to do if by some chance Professor Ridley gets me someplace private.”
“You need to start by breathing.” She shifts in place, pulling her feet onto the couch so that she faces me. “And then you need to start thinking of him as Jack instead of Professor Ridley.”
“That’s the easiest part.”
“Grace, I love you and your mother should have had this talk with you, but I’m going to guess that she didn’t. And that really means she’s failed as a parent—”
“Let me stop you there.” I place a finger as a barrier between us.
But she just swats it away as she continues unmoved, “Men are basic. Men are easy. Once you understand that, you can own any man you want. All you need to know is that they are visual motherfuckers. It doesn’t matter what you’re saying to them at any given moment, because, if you look at them the right way, what they are hearing is, fuck me, daddy.”
I pucker my lips and shake my head. “I don’t think all men—”
“That’s because you’re naïve and delusional,” she interrupts me. “It’s about sex. Always has been. Always will be. Sure, men can occasionally break free from their masculinity and actually love someone, but even then, that bond will always be tied to sex or they’ll find someone else who will fill that need. It’s more than a want for them. It’s a craving. It’s a desire. It’s a goddamn need, and it plays a huge role in their psyches.”
“You do know that sexism exists on both spectrums, right, and what you’re saying is blatant sexism.”
“Honey, I’m imparting you with the truth, and it’s not sexism. It’s fucking textbook science. A man’s sexual desires are part of the system that Mother Nature put in place to ensure the survival of the species.” She chews into her lip and offers the vibrator on the coffee table a mournful look. “I’m going to take one for the team here.”
She reaches for the box.
And I can’t help but to protest. “What are you doing?”
“Giving you your Christmas present early.” She rips open the top of the box and turns it upside down, catching the purple dildo in her palm. I’m able to get a better glance at the toy now, and although there are soft spikes on one head, there appears to be another head at the opposite end.
“You clearly need some lessons and far be it for me to deny you in your time of need. Now, most dicks aren’t going to have spikes on them,” she begins, a smirk pressed across her full lips. “In fact, if you find yourself on your knees and see anything resembling spikes, that should be your cue to run.”
My mouth drops open as she begins molesting the dildo right in front of me, slicking her hand up and down the shaft that’s shared between the two different heads.
She eyes me with a wicked smile, but I think she notices the curiosity behind my mortified expression. She scoots closer to me and passes the toy into my hand, which I do not accept. Gravity does its thing and it drops right onto my crotch, nestled against the thick denim of my skirt.
“Just skip oral and get straight to vaginal, I suppose.” She chuckles. “Which might not actually be a bad idea because let me tell you, it’s much more difficult to give good head than it is to get railed.”
“Why?” I question, my throat dry. “Why must you always be so damn crass? Is it just to hurt me?”
“The girl who is carefully plotting a perfectly executed fall onto her professor’s dick calls me crass. That’s Alanis Morissette-level irony.”
“You have a point.” I tongue the inside of my cheek and glance down at the dildo in my lap. “Still, I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with this.”
Her eyes do acrobats, rolling to the back of her head as if I just said the dumbest thing possible. “I really don’t know what’s so damn complicated about this. You need to practice.”
“Practice?” I exclaim as a nervous chuckle explodes from my lips. “I don’t think so.”
“You might think you have this seductress act nailed down, but what’s going to happen when you find yourself on your knees, an erect cock poking you in the face?”
“Oh, for crying out loud, Will.”
“I’m trying to save you from another embarrassing encounter, because God knows one more scene like the one you caused in Jack’s office might just be the final nail in your virginal coffin.”
“Fine,” I sigh and reach for the purple dildo. It’s softer in my hand than I would have imagined, plushier too.
“Right,” Willow nods approvingly. “Now stroke the shaft, pump it up and down.”
If there were a mirror in view, I’d probably notice how red my cheeks are. If I’m going to feel comfortable doi
ng this around anyone, it would be Willow. God knows she has no room to judge, considering she has a drawer full of fake penises for her own personal enjoyment. Though I’m not sure why she needs them. After all, it seems as if she has no problem getting actual men into her bedroom based on the battle cries I hear almost nightly.
I pump my hand up and down the fake shaft and begin to get a good handle on it. To my side, Willow feigns a yawn and slaps her hand over her mouth.
“What?” I question dryly.
She rips the dildo out of my hand forcefully, sticks it between her thighs and clenches tightly. Her eyes bore into mine, her lips flat.
“Suck my dick, Grace.”
I want to laugh, but I can’t. I’m beyond mortified at this point, even more horrified than I was before. There has to be a line that I draw in the sand, and this just might be it. I’m not about to drop my head into her lap.
“I said, suck my dick, Grace.” She throws one hand forcefully behind my head and pushes me down until my mouth is pressed against the soft purple head. “Just like that, baby.”
She applies more pressure until I’m left with no choice but to wrap my lips around the head or run away screaming.
It’s even smoother in my mouth, and though I choke on it at first—after which, to my shock, she doesn’t relieve the pressure—I soon get a good handle on it and make my way down the shaft until the smooth purple spikes press against my mouth. At that exact moment, the fake cock begins to vibrate with an intensity I’m not prepared for. It takes me by surprise and I flinch.
I’m busted in the lip.
Willow breaks into hysterics from above me and throws her head back in maniacal laughter.
I push upwards with enough force that I’m able to escape her hand of molestation. And when I’m able to breathe, I take a large inhale.
“That wasn’t so bad,” I gasp. “I didn’t puke or anything.”
Saving Grace: A bad-boy virgin romance Page 3