Forbidden Professors Boxed Set: A Forbidden Professor Student Romance Collection

by Penelope Wylde

  I gave both too easily and I can still feel the bruises when I breathe too deeply.

  But I’m a silver linings kind of girl. I’m in school, have a stable job that requires me to be physically fit and I have at least one meal a day. Good, right? I mean I’m healthy and building a brighter future for myself so I keep that at the forefront of my mind on days like today.

  I find the nearest trashcan and toss in the remnants of the cookie and its twisted message, dusting off my hands.

  For the record, the douchebag quarterback who thought he was all the shit was wrong about me. A fact he didn’t accept until the officer slapped the cuffs on him. Funny how a heavy dose of reality helps reveal the real truth. It also set me on a path. So maybe I should be thanking the bastard for waking me up. Or, I might have traveled down the same path as my piece-of-shit father and the mother who brought me into this world.

  And today the cycle started all over again with that damn fortune cookie and its little white slip of paper thanks to my friend. She pressed it into my hand, and the second it touched my palm, I swear it was like an invisible sonic wave triggered something in the cosmos, setting the whole wheel in motion again.

  I should have known what was about to happen. The same tingles erupted over my skin today as they did every time before. A skittering nervous feeling that settles in the pit of my stomach and one I have no control over.

  But did I read the signs? No. I admit, my focus was on him.

  Maddox way-too-old-and-way-too-off-limits Spencer. My one-time professor, the current dean of Blackthorne University, and the sole reason I love hitting the stage six nights a week.

  If James Bond ever had an American doppelganger, Maddox fits the bill down to the kissable cleanshaven jaw and the sexy way he fixes his cufflinks when he gives lectures. There are very few details I know about the man, but I do know he’s never so much as whispered a curse word in my presence, is not married—I checked—and favors three-piece suits like a drag queen loves her falsies.

  The only thing missing is the accent, but his deep, rumbling baritone makes up for it in spades.

  Movie star perfect with eyes the color of the waters off Fiji, dimples in either cheek and wears a dark scruff on the weekends that has me clenching my thighs till Monday. I know because I’ve run into him on Sunday evenings while out and about.

  God help me! I’ve never loved scruff more.

  Ripped muscles and tanned skin hide under those suits and in my fantasies, I’m peeling back the layers, ready to lick every inch of him.

  I also know the hunger he has for me. I see it in eyes despite the efforts he takes to try to hide it from me.

  The entire two weeks he filled in for my law professor is a blur of information. Two weeks of watching him from the back-right corner were torture and bliss all in one. He was like some old-world warrior thrown into contemporary times.

  Fantasies came hot and fast, and all I could do was daydream. So I did. Oh man, did I ever. For those two solid weeks I drank in every aspect of that man down to the polished tips of his shoes and the square set of his shoulders. It didn’t take long to figure out he is former military and after that realization hit so did the fantasies of his playing Tarzan to my Jane and rescuing me from this shitty life like some badass hero. But that’s strictly in my head where it belongs.

  I’ve spent more than one class daydreaming about him tying me up with his favored golden silk tie and doing very dirty things to my body. And then doing them all over again come morning. In my fantasy he takes my virginity slow and sweet and then claims every inch of my body with his mouth and cock hard and fast.

  The deep rumble of motors coming up Main Street sends ripples across puddles of water left over from the late afternoon rain, and I climb out of my head and into the alter ego I don around this time six nights a week. Sometimes seven, if I’m lucky. The sound of the motorcycles is so profound I feel it shake the ground beneath my feet as I park my car and head inside.

  Overhead, the blue glow of Insomnia’s sign welcomes me. Along the front a thick, red velvet rope hangs between metal poles leading to the entrance, keeping the long line of men and women at bay with huge muscled guys fighting to keep back the rapidly growing crowd at the top of the stairs.

  Dark brown eyes sweep over my body as I hit the landing. The doorman means no harm so I let it slide. Every man has their weakness and obviously for Sloan, I’m his. “Evening, Ms. Sugar,” He uses my stage name and welcomes me like he does every night in a gruff voice. It seems that characteristic comes as a requisite of the job.

  A guy well over six feet with wicked tattoos webbing arms as thick as my thighs and a deep burly voice to go along with the macho look smiles down at me. Women at the front of the line waiting to get in don’t bother masking their sneering jealousy and I mentally pat myself on the back for having something they want even if it as fake as the boob job on the brunette two heads back.

  People always take for granted the walk of life they live. Some easier than others but by no stretch of the mind are these rich and glitzy people living the hard hand-to-mouth life I’ve grown up on. Their white picket fences and nine-to-five lives are worlds better than the worry-filled days of scraping by to live, but I don’t hold their ignorance of my world against them. I’m happy they are happy, only I wish I could find that level of comfort and ease. I fear it may never happen.

  None of these people had to hide the fact they wanted better out of life from their parents. I did, out of fear of what my drug addict of a father would do if he ever discovered I wanted to leave him. If he ever found out I applied for Blackthorne University and got accepted, he would have laughed in my face and found a way to tie me to him since I was the only one stable enough to hold down a job that paid the bills.

  When I received my acceptance letter, it was a miracle Dad missed the mail that day. He was busy being passed out I guess because the next day he was back in rehab for another long stint and I didn’t hesitate. I packed my bags, took my last paycheck from flipping burgers at a diner and didn’t worry how I’d pay for college. All I knew is that I couldn’t blow my chance. Something these frivolous, glamorous people don’t have a clue about.

  I couldn’t take another nauseous round of watching my father slowly killing himself with his addiction. So I stopped watching.

  I’ve worked every single odd dead-end job since hitting town. Now I’m a virgin stripper in a swanky club one town over from school. It's a city that's just big enough for no one to know my face.

  Sloan bends to unclip the rope for me, and I rise to press a friendly kiss to his cheek before walking through. He might be a bear on the outside, but he’s a softy on the inside.

  “Thank you,” I offer with a light touch to his bulging forearm.

  “Anytime, Sugar,” he whispers back with a wink.

  A quick glance over my shoulder at the growing crowd tells me I’m in for a real treat tip-wise this evening. And not a moment too soon.

  Glitzy, glamorous women in sparkly, skin-tight dresses and spiked heels are mixed among the gentlemen just as preppy and posh as their counterparts. All looking to throw money away if they can get past the bouncer.

  And I’m right there to happily take what they no longer want.

  A place like Insomnia pulls the wealthier crowd, but it is nothing more than a glorified strip club for the rich and attracts both sexes. I don’t judge. If the rich want to throw away money, I’m not too good not to pick it up.

  But I can’t help but wonder what it must be like to be any one of these people. My eye lands on one woman in particular with refined red locks of hair tumbling over creamy shoulders and shining green eyes. Men surround her and for a second I wonder what it would be like to have any man I wanted. One in particular with piercing blue eyes rimmed with thick black lashes.

  Panic pierces my normally impenetrable armor of indifference I’ve worked long and hard to build, but I’m caught off guard for a moment. The flash of red and a burst o
f familiar bubbly laughter tumbles me into a tar pit of bad memories and suddenly I can’t inhale. All I can see is my mother’s red hair covering her face and her lifeless body.

  My foot falters on the stairs, but before I make the tragic scene of falling flat on my face a set of strong hands catches me.

  I’m pulled into a broad chest, and for a second I let the soft cologne of the strong man chase away the darkness. Out of nowhere the thought of it not being Dean Spencer there to catch me causes my heart to hurt.

  I stand and clear my throat, keeping my eyes on my feet the whole time to hide the hideous red I know is splashed over my cheeks.

  “Thanks, Sloan. It’s been one of those days. The manager in?” I act as if nothing has happened and shrug off my moment of weakness.

  “Don’t worry about it. Go on it, she should be, last I heard,” he answers gruffly opening the door wide. I hope he can hear my silent appreciation for no questions as I disappear inside.

  New management has taken over and today’s paycheck failed to arrive as scheduled and no notice of a change. Just another problem I have to deal with.

  My gaze rakes over the crowd one more time, but I don’t see the familiar set of blue eyes. Then again, I never do, so why should tonight be any different?

  Cool conditioned air welcomes me, along with a blast of thumping music that reaches into my chest and gets my blood revved up. Girls are already on stage warming up tonight’s partiers and pumping excitement into the crowd so tangible I can feel the strokes against my skin like a lover’s touch. The platform is raised above the crowd with three poles for multiple strippers enclosed by a row of seats for the brave and horny looking to slip singles into barely-there thongs. I can see money is already starting to flow, and my heart pounds in my chest.

  Beyond the stage seats are more discreet tables tucked away in the shadows and the reach of stage lights.

  That’s where he sits every night, and each time I see the dean at his usual table, I take my place center stage and reveal every sweet, delicious curve of my body to him over and over. And he comes back for more. But when the sun comes up and he sees me in the halls of his school, it’s like the previous night never happened.

  Only the familiar caress of his gaze raking over my body, the feel of his dark, controlling power brushing against me, his body heat reaching for me tells me he’s watching. When that happens—and I make sure it does every day—he turns away and closes his office door, breaking the enchantment.

  It’s a cycle that is slowly driving me crazy.

  Every night I’ve worked here, he’s never failed to be at the same table, another untouched drink in front of him with the same stoic expression on his face as he watches me take it all off. I wonder if he knows I do it all for him? Not at first, but it only took one time and after that I was as hooked as he was.

  How could he know if I’ve never told him my body flushes with excitement when I feel his eyes take me in as I reveal the hard tips of my breasts? That the attention of no other man wets the strip of my thong? Only the feel of his gaze caressing my curves has that effect on me.

  Habit squints my eyes into narrow slits as I peer into the darkness only to find his table empty. I won’t lie, not seeing him there makes my chest tighten painfully. Has he finally grown tired of our silent game? I don’t know how I feel about that so I don’t ponder on the thought more than a second.

  I slip into the darkened corridor, leaving the party scene behind me for now and make an immediate right down a short hall ending in a dead end. Tucked behind a velvet red curtain is a black door with a keycard slot. I swipe my badge and push through with a discreet buzz.

  Ten minutes is all it takes for me to peel off my ripped jeans and faded white V-neck T-shirt and slide into my ensemble—a gold, glittery number with a matching skintight wraparound short enough to let a little sexy cheek peek out from the bottom and perfect for teasing a crowd into a frenzy.

  “Oh, babe, look at you! Damn, you’re gorgeous with all that California tanned skin!”

  Sunset, a girl with honey golden hair with flaming orange tips and round, pink-tipped tits bursts through the door with a smile as she pulls singles, fives and the occasional twenty from the band of her G-string. Most girls don’t mind strangers touching them, but I never could get used to it. I’m a maverick compared to all the other girls and have to find creative ways to keep men from touching me when they want to give me money.

  “Roll your eyes all you want. You’re gonna make your mystery man’s dick harder than steel tonight in that little number. I’m almost jealous. He makes broody look so fuckable.”

  My brows shoot high but I can’t argue with her observation. “Tell me about it,” I murmur.

  “Hmm-mm. He’s out there right now staring into his drink waiting for you—better get a move on.”

  Something in me sighs just a little at the news. God, I’m so messed up it’s not even funny.

  “I wish he’d do something about said hard dick,” I mumble more to myself than to anyone else.

  “It’s good tonight, girls. Work those poles and shake what your momma gave ya tonight!” She waves her loot over her head before slipping into her robe and plopping her lush, sweaty body into a chair next to mine.

  My phone dings, and I flick open the new email with the BU letterhead across the top as the club’s in-house stylist sets to work on my makeup.

  My heart sinks to the floor among all the feathery boas and discarded nipple pasties.

  Sunset’s dramatic eyebrows lift in worry. “What is it, Suga’? What’s wrong? Everything okay?”

  I don’t think “okay” is remotely close to the word I would use to describe what I am right now.

  Fucked royally, maybe. And with a cactus and no lube sounds about right.

  I stare at the email and blink a couple more times. “I’m kinda overdue on my school payment and this is my second notice. One more and I’m out. I thought I would have the money today, but without our paycheck…” I press a hand to my forehead.

  “It says I have to make my payment by Monday.” Tears threaten to ruin my fresh makeup as my stomach works through a couple of dry heaves.

  “Whoa, there, sweetie. Take a couple of deep breathes. Do you have anything saved up? Can they take a partial?”

  “It doesn’t work like that and yes, but I’m still short.” I read over the email one more time.

  “You know I’d give you all my tips if I could—”

  “No!” I jump in before she can finish her thought. “Keep your money. You have two little ones who depend on you. I’ll figure this out somehow. Do you know when we’ll get paid? Did management say anything?” I ask as the stylist sets to work on my hair next. Within minutes I have luscious curls and sexy cat eyes that will rake in the money.

  Hopefully.

  Sunset sits back in her chair, playing with the tips of her hair. “Nope. None of us do. Something about new management wanting to go over the books before dishing out money. Whispers here and there say they are looking to change up a few things.”

  “God, I hope that doesn’t mean firing any of us.” If nothing else at least that. I can’t afford a single day without some kind of money coming in.

  I can tell by the faces of the other girls they feel the same way I do. Pissed off.

  I push to my feet and grab for my robe, when my phone rings again. This time it’s with a text from my landlord.

  Rent. I’m going to need it in full, sweet tits.

  My fingers tighten around the thin device as anger jets through my body. My cheeks flame with the amount of rage building. That little bald, dickless fucker.

  “Where are you going?”

  I’m by the door before I know it. “Since no one else has the balls, I’m going to see about our money,” I seethe through clenched teeth.

  “It’s almost your turn onstage.” Sunset takes my arm and I know she’s trying to calm me down. “Let it go. You don’t want to do anything that will make
them fire you, babe. It’s not worth it. Give them a day or two. Everything will work out.”

  “That’s just it, I don’t have a few days. I appreciate your efforts, but nothing ever works out from waiting around, in my experience.”

  Between tips and pay, I usually have enough to cover both rent and tuition and afford enough food to get me by. It helps that the club offers its employees one meal while on the clock. Sometimes that’s all I get.

  I’d be fine right now if my lousy landlord didn’t refuse to replace the water heater and stove, which both crapped out on me last week. It was either shower in the school gym and eat whatever I could find cheap and on the go or fork out the money.

  I grab the handle and turn at the same time Sloan strolls through with a clipboard. I guess his shift on the front door ended and he’s on stage duty.

  “Where you off to?”

  “I need five, Sloan.”

  He shakes his head. “Not gonna happen. It’ll have to wait. You’re on.”

  I can see there’s no room for negotiating, from the hard set of his lips. The man had a job to do and he did it well.

  Damn it.

  “Now, Sugar. Sorry.” He shrugs.

  Well, crap.

  Defeated, I toss my phone and robe to Sunset and make my way to the curtain. It’s almost impossible to shove aside the shit going down in my life, but I don’t have a choice.

  Stress has worked my muscles into tense knots along my shoulders. Maybe the interruption was a good thing.

  I can work out the kinks over the next fifteen minutes and alleviate a little of the stress while I’m at it and come up with some sort of plan that doesn’t involve me being forced to drop out or getting dropped from school.

  Dancing does that for me. The feel of music caressing me like a lover has my hips swaying and blood pumping. I grew up wanting to be a prim and proper ballerina with the pretty pink leggings and fluffy tutu, but I traded in all those dreams for a pair of stripper heels and a high college tuition bill.