Forbidden Professors Boxed Set: A Forbidden Professor Student Romance Collection

by Penelope Wylde

  I exhale a shaky breath. It’s not like I can walk up to Professor Blackthorne, a man with the as much muscle as brains, and tell him I fantasize about having him fuck my completely off-limits pussy almost every night as I lie awake in my bed alone.

  Amber laughs softly, and I shake my highly inappropriate thoughts away. “There’s someone but I know it can never happen. It’s just not in the cards for us. But this is about you. My point is, you do this auction, you get to have a good time with a gentleman who will treat you right, help your family and yourself. Win-win. Sleeping with the man who wins you at the auction is totally on you.”

  I consider the card and run the pad of my thumb over the raised letters. Maybe she’s right. I’ve been falling all over myself with the professor, and I can’t even get him to glance my way. Maybe a good time under the care of another man like Amber describes will get him out of my system once and for all, and I can finally get over the all-consuming power he unknowingly holds over me.

  “Think about it, okay? It will be better than cat-sitting or wishing little fortune cookies could solve your problems. Trust me.” Amber taps the newspaper where I have a wanted ad circled. “Plus, haven’t you always been curious as to what is going on behind those huge red doors?”

  “As long as you promise to give whoever has stolen your heart a chance.”

  Amber scrunches her nose and shrugs. “Err…I don’t know, Rosa. It’s just…”

  I hold a finger up. “Don’t make me dare you. You know I will.”

  I grab her wrist and look at her wristwatch. “Crap is that the time? I’m late. Professor Blackthorne is going to have my hide.”

  Chapter Two

  Rosalee

  I stuff my fortune cookie in my pocket and grab the newspaper, giving my friend a quick hug. “I’ll text you. Don’t forget what I said.”

  “Ditto. You don’t have long to give me an answer. The headmistress in charge of the auction doesn’t like last-minute drop-ins.”

  Mistress? That fuels a lot of questions I don’t have time to ask right now. “Noted,” I say over my shoulder. I’m off before I hear her reply and stealthily make my way through the mostly empty halls.

  Outside Blackthorne’s door, I take a minute to check my appearance and smooth out the few creases in my skirt and form-fitting wrap-around blouse. The modest neckline dips enough to tease with a hint of cleavage I artfully hide behind a curtain of brunette hair with natural honey-colored highlights. The mint green material is held in place by a tiny bow on the side, and for an added dash of naughty, the outline of my nipples peek through thanks to the unexpected chilled air.

  It had been a frivolity buy back before money troubles hit while I was on a surprise shopping trip in Savannah. I’ve done everything to grab my professor’s attention and since I know green is his favorite color, I couldn’t resist the purchase.

  Paired with a sweep of lip gloss, a brush of mascara and a light dusting of shimmering bronze eye shadow to make the gold flecks of my eyes pop, I straighten my long hair one last time. Satisfied, I let myself into Professor Blackthorne’s lecture hall only to find the room completely empty.

  Crap.

  My shoulders droop and I groan out my frustrations. Can’t anything go right for once?

  “Ms. Johnson. I think it’s safe to say you missed class today. You should check your emails more regularly—I changed the start time by an hour this morning.”

  The deep, low-pitched voice reaches me instantly, and I can’t help the cool shiver that works over me or how my breasts swell with the heat of need. The need to have the man behind that voice touch me. Kiss me. Anything. I’d take anything really.

  I could listen to him speak for hours and never grow tired of the masculine sound.

  I sweep my glance around to find the very essence of my fantasies staring down at me from among the row of desks. With a full head of black hair, he looks to be in his mid-thirties, a fact that makes him stand out among all his older faculty members and the students of Blackthorne University. I’m well aware I’m not the only one with an eye for him.

  A shirt as dark as his hair fits every valley and hill of his broad chest, and I’ve wondered on more than one occasion if I were to peel away all that material would I find the muscles of his arms as chiseled and defined as the outline of his taut pecs? Sadly, he keeps those cuffs rolled down and buttoned so I can only daydream. One thing is for sure; the way his shirt clings to the expanse of his abs, I can see all those delicious dips and contours just fine, making me want to drag my tongue over each one.

  A quick glance offers me a peek at black ink where his shirt opens at the collar. And if that’s not enough to make me wet, the ends are tucked into a snug pair of dark tailored slacks outlining thick thighs—and God help me—his well-endowed package.

  The man could be wearing suits worth thousands, yet he prefers his all-too-casual look. No tie or jacket to speak of. The burst of heat I feel when I’m around him flashes through me like it’s juiced up on enough electricity to power a whole damn town. My heart pounds in my chest like a driving engine, and I can feel the warmth build in my cheeks.

  He faces me, his dark, penetrating gaze meeting mine, but not before roaming over me from beneath thick lashes.

  I lick my lips. “Professor, you startled me. I didn’t see you up there.” I bite the inside of my cheek to help center my thoughts, but it doesn’t do a lick of good. Not when I can smell the subtle hint of his crisp masculine and utterly intoxicating scent. Not too strong but laced with a hint of wealth and class. Subtle like the man who wears it.

  A smell that’s imprinted on my brain as much as the scent of chocolate and strawberries.

  I swallow as I absorb his presence.

  “Sorry I’m late and missed setting up the projector for your lecture. I was helping a friend. But it seems I would have missed class either way. I’ll be sure to check my email more often.” I contribute my breathless rush of words to the mad dash I made across campus and the fib I just told.

  And not the electric spark the sight of him causes inside me.

  He cants his head a fraction to the side and studies me from the third row of seats, his expression giving little away as always. It’s part of his appeal. His life is a web of mystery down to who his parents were, where he grew up, how they came into their money. Rumors float around among the faculty and student populous. Some go as far as to say his family is tied to the Russian Bratva. Others are convinced his family have darker threads.

  European drug cartel darker.

  With his family’s lack of a digital fingerprint, no amount of Googling has ever resulted in more than superficial information, not that I stalk him or anything, of course. Truth be told, I envy his level of anonymity.

  I tuck a lock of loose hair behind my ear and exhale sharply.

  Scarcely a day has passed since I last sat in front of him for a lecture on psychology of sexuality, yet I feel like it’s been days, weeks even and the second his eyes fall on me I feel like I’m right where I need to be and isn’t that the craziest shit you’ve ever heard? I know it is for me. Because, Lord help me, when he’s near it feels like the world is a little less dark and lonely.

  Since taking over the class from Professor Cobbs, Blackthorne always looked out for me. When the topic of sexuality and virginity came up in class, I almost walked given my lack of experience and how embarrassed it made me feel. I scorched with a blush so red I must have glowed. When I moved to leave, Blackthorne blocked my way and wouldn’t hear of it.

  Afterward, he took me aside and told her not to let the other students affect me with their scoffs and judgmental stares. The way he told me I needed to be true to myself still lingers in my mind and probably why considering Amber’s offer sits heavy on my shoulders.

  Thinking back on it, remembering the way his dark eyes held mine, I think that was the day I fell in love with him.

  His muscular build alone makes me think of him as an out of place Russian
mobster. Maybe it’s because of the rumors or maybe it’s his angular jawline paired with the serious expression he wears like a shield of indifference which adds to that.

  One can only assume why he keeps people at arm’s length. I’ve seen it play out time and time again. It’s no secret every female member of the faculty has asked him out at least once and he always turns them down. Add in the busty blonde who normally sits a couple of seats over from me and three others that I know of to that list. Each turned down.

  I watch as he descends the stairs, each step causing his thighs to bulge and flex against the material of his pants.

  Fascinating.

  He has his eyes on the floor so I take my time looking a little longer. He’s my guilty pleasure, what can I say? Wide cheekbones lead to firm lips which complement his strong jawline and chin, offering a sense of a European bloodline, yet his posture right this second screams laid-back American.

  But that can shift on a dime. A storm can roll over him and suddenly, I think I’m looking at a Russian mobster. Like he can walk in both my world and an underworld and fit in seamlessly. I still can’t decipher if he’s a natural loner or pushed people out of his life on purpose. But I never see him with anyone, and the unknown elements have my natural inquisitiveness on alert. For all I know he actually could be a mobster. To add more mystery to the riddle that’s my professor, and I can’t tell for sure, but I think that’s a Russian word tatted around his finger under a thick ring on his right hand.

  He’s only been at BU for five months. Where was he before coming here? Does he have a practice of his own? And what keeps him coming here when he could be anywhere in the world doing whatever he wants? All questions I have no right to ask, but that doesn’t stop me from wanting to know.

  He comes to stand by me, putting a light hand on my shoulder and immediately the large classroom becomes smaller, warmer. My heart leaps in my chest. He towers over me, and I have to raise my chin to level my gaze with his.

  “If you didn’t want the job of the teacher’s assistant, all you had to do was speak up. I can understand you have a lot of pressures.”

  His hand is still on me, and the heat from his touch is in contrast to the coolness of his thick, gold ring through my thin blouse.

  I still haven’t caught my breath from my sprint over here and now that his hand is on me, I hold no hopes of every breathing normal in the near future. He glances down and seems surprised to see he still has his hand on me and abruptly steps away.

  I follow him across the room and come to stand in front of the small desk situated at the front next to a tall podium he uses for delivering lectures.

  “It’s not that I don’t want to help at all, Professor. It’s just…” I’m not one to blab my troubles to everyone. Remember that Southern upbringing? Well, we wash our dirty laundry at home, and spreading gossip about what I’m going through isn’t my style. Amber is one thing, she’s my closest friend alongside Emberly, but Professor Blackthorne is the man I want to take my virginity. There’s a huge difference there.

  “…like I said, Professor, I was with a friend and couldn’t get away.”

  He’s in the process of collecting the other student’s’ term papers stacked on the side when he stops and studies me in silence.

  “It won’t happen again. I promise.” The words are out of my mouth before I can think better of them. I hated promising anything I knew I’d have a hard time keeping.

  I blush and look down, remembering the twenty-page essay I have typed up and stuffed in my bag. “Is it too late to turn in my term paper?” In the time he’s been here, Blackthorne isn’t known for giving leniency so I’m nervous.

  Since he’s about as talkative as a rock, I’m rattling on enough for the both of us. Just watching his muscles bunch and contract beneath the material of his shirt as he cleans the chalkboard has me pressing my thighs together as a flash of last night’s dreams comes back to me. Him standing just as he is now, pressing me against that same blackboard, my legs wrapped around his waist and those dark eyes pinning me to the wall the same way his body would.

  I need obvious mental help. I brush off my inappropriate thoughts to dissect and judge later.

  I set aside the newspaper and take out my report, surprised by how calm my movements are compared to my racing heart.

  “Since I haven’t left yet, I’ll allow it, Ms. Johnson. Once.” He holds my gaze and for all of a fraction of a few seconds, I swear I see a glint in his eye. A heated flicker of something deeper than the stone-cold teacher I’ve known him to be for the last several months. I haven’t so much as earned a second glance from him since he took over for Dr. Cobbs.

  But I blink and it’s gone, and all of a sudden, I’m so damn tired of the one-sided attraction. He has his head full of dark hair down again, this time glancing over my printed work.

  I turn to go, but I’m drawn to a stop before I can step toward the door.

  “Tell me something, Ms. Johnson. You changed your major from history to psychology, which is no light choice, and yet you have missed more classes than you’ve attended in the last several weeks. Why?”

  That’s a loaded question. Does he want to know as Professor Blackthorne or as Blackthorne, the owner of this university and ultimately the head of the comity responsible for UB scholarships? I could only miss so many days before they revoked my funding. It might not be much, but I still can’t afford to lose it.

  I should tread carefully, but the next words out of my mouth border on pissed off. Being overwhelmed and exhausted will do that to a girl.

  “Honestly, I’ve been working so many odd jobs because this town has nothing to offer outside these walls above minimum wage, and it takes about three of those to pay for the tuition here. It’s not easy putting myself through college on the shitty partial scholarship and now that my parents are ailing and unable to help anymore, it’s all I can do to keep myself fed and pay for school at the same time.” I slam to a halt right before spilling that I’m contemplating giving escort service or pole dancing a try just so I can see my degree through to the end, but just barely.

  What the hell, Rosa?

  I guess once the words started flowing it was hard to pull that back, and they felt good getting out into the open. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to dump all that one you. That wasn’t fair nor is it your problem. I’m trying my best, Professor. Sometimes making a class isn’t possible.”

  Without so much as an eyebrow raise or nod signaling he heard my words, he asks another question. “And your brothers? Where are they in all this?”

  “Deployed for another six months.”

  I tighten my grip around the strap of my bag as he takes his sweet time considering whatever it is going on behind those dark eyes. This time an odd rush of irritation ruffles me.

  His voice drops with a roughened edge to it that makes me wonder what he’s really thinking, because I know it’s not what he’s telling me. “You have a brilliant mind, Ms. Johnson. Your work speaks volumes. It would be a shame to see you not reach your full potential. If I were you, I’d go home and get some sleep. You look tired and need to take care of that beautiful brain so you don’t miss tomorrow’s exam. You’ll need the grade from that to earn your credit toward passing this class.”

  I think I just heard a compliment, and I don’t know if I should feel elated or pissed off. Frankly, my brain goes blank. What? Like sleeping will solve my problems.

  I frown. “I wish it were that simple. I do. But not in the world I live in, Professor.” I growl an honest-to-God deep chest eruption of frustration. “I have to go. Again, I’m sorry…gah…for everything really.”

  I glance at the clock behind him and catch him peering at the newspaper with the fat red circle around yet another job I know won’t go anywhere fast.

  My phone shrills before I can turn to leave, and I pull it out of my bag, dropping the black card Amber gave me.

  Shit.

  I grab for the card, but too late. No chanc
e he doesn’t see the very large name on the front since he’s staring right at it, brows drawn together. I shove that thought aside as I hit the green button on my phone.

  “Mom, is everything okay?”

  Phone calls in the middle of the day are unusual, but two calls in one day are unheard of so I’m on high alert.

  Professor Blackthorne bends down and palms the card, handing it to me. His eyes lock on mine, and he holds my gaze the entire time he’s handing me the card.

  His eyes grow heated, and I’m having a hard time swallowing. I’m not imagining the heat coming off his massive body. It’s very real, and I feel it envelop me, head to toe.

  He slips the condemning piece of cardboard into my outstretched hand and the tips of his fingers brush over my palm. Warmth blooms out from the point of contact and fills my chest. Before I’ve had a chance to absorb what just happened, I realize there’s another problem. My professor now thinks I’m looking for a job at a sex club.

  “Everything is fine, sweetie.”

  My mom’s voice in my ear pulls me back on topic.

  “Are you sure? Is Dad all right? Did the nurse come by today with the new medications like scheduled?”

  Blackthorne hasn’t stepped back. In fact, he’s closer, and I raise my eyes to his.

  “Everything okay,” he mouths, angling his big body until he’s like a wall of support beside me.

  I go stiff when my professor settles a large, warm hand on the small of my back, just above my ass but to not too high where he’s touching my bra.

  Also known as my weak spot.

  It’s endearing, a touch too personal and way out of line.

  I know I shouldn’t but I love it.

  Not to mention that I appreciate the comfort I know he’s trying to give me. I glance up at him and see worry around his eyes, and the lines of his forehead crease with the same worry eating me up inside.

  He gives a nod toward the phone as if telling me he’s there and I can continue.

  Why? is all my mind can wonder, and tears threaten to well. Not only from the sudden change and the demonstration of actual feelings from the man, but from having someone in my corner even if in gesture only.