Filthy Professor: A Bad Boy Professor Romance

by Amy Brent

  FILTHY PROFESSOR

  A Bad Boy Professor Romance

  Amy Brent

  Contents

  Filthy Professor

  Sports Secret Baby Romance

  Billionaire Romance Collection

  Older Man Younger Woman Romance

  Call me Daddy - A Daddy and Virgin Romance

  Exclusive Sneak Peek - Filthy Boss

  More Steamy Romance by Amy Brent

  Copyright © 2017

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  This is a work of fiction. While, as in all fiction, the literary perceptions and insights are based on life experiences and conclusions drawn from research, all names, characters, places and specific instances are products of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously. No actual reference to any real person, living or dead, is intended or inferred.

  Personal Note

  Hey,

  I am Amy Brent. I love reading and writing steamy romances that are full of heat, heart and humour!

  I have included a few bonus stories right after the main book - because I know you will want to read more steamy stuff like this as you enjoy a superbly ecstatic, mind blowing, toe-curling experience in FILTHY PROFESSOR.

  If you are a fan of taboo romance, you will definitely enjoy the OLDER MAN YOUNGER WOMAN ROMANCES.

  NEW EXCLUSIVE: I am super excited to give you an exclusive copy of my new book titled - CALL ME DADDY. This one is a daddy and virgin romance and you won’t want to miss the steamy action in there. It is a standalone with HEA.

  BTW, My editor loved CALL ME DADDY so much that he wants me to write a complete Daddy and Virgin Romance Series. As always, I welcome your opinion.

  Also included is an EXCLUSIVE SNEAK PEEK from my best selling book - FILTHY BOSS! (Warning - this one is really Filthy).

  I hope you have as much fun reading this book as I had writing it!

  So go on, Spoil Yourself Crazy!

  xoxo, Amy

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  Also get the three part series - The Billionaire’s Property for FREE!

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  Filthy Professor

  That’s it, I can’t stand it anymore! I’ve spent months trying to get Professor Logan Clark to notice me. I dress sexy, I gaze into his eyes, I lick my lips when he looks at me. I want to get him out of his classroom and out of his clothes for a little private, one-on-one tutoring…

  COURTNEY SHAW: I’m a smoking hot red head with a sex drive that would make a porn star blush and a major daddy complex. Older men are my thing, and lots of them have sampled the sweet treats I have in my panties. So why isn’t Logan Clark jumping at the chance to be with me? Even after our little oral exam in the restroom he keeps pushing me away. Is this his idea of torture? Well, two can play at that game…

  LOGAN CLARK: Damn this girl, doesn’t she understand that there are rules against professors having sex with students, no matter how smoking hot and sexy they are? She doesn’t seem to care that screwing her could get me fired. I’m not going to risk my job just to have sex with her. No way. Not even after she drops a wet thong on my desk and shows up naked at my door. I’ve worked too hard to get where I am at this school. I’m not going blow it all for her. At least that’s what I keep telling myself…

  Courtney Shaw

  I bit my lower lip as I watched him pace across the front of the classroom with his head down, deep in thought, talking with his hands, trying to explain an advanced accounting theory to the moron who always sat on the front row and always asked questions everyone else already knew the answers to.

  Professor Logan Clark was tall, like six-foot-something, with sandy blond hair that curled over his collar and hung over his forehead like a teenager’s. He jerked his head to the side sometimes to get it out of his eyes.

  Speaking of eyes, his were like two piercing blue orbs that lasered into my soul when he glanced my way. Sometimes I would ask a question just to get him to look at me. Sadly, he would just answer the question and move on, seemingly without noticing that I had been licking my lips and soaking the crotch of my panties the entire time he was looking at me.

  I studied his face, though I had already committed every inch of it to memory. He had a deep tan, as did most everyone here in southern California in the late summertime. I’d never seen him without the stubble of a five o’clock shadow on his cheeks and chin. I thought it was so fucking sexy, the way he scratched his chin when he was trying to make a point.

  He always wore baggy jeans that hung low on his narrow hips and tan work boots that looked like they’d been taken off of a migrant worker back in the seventies (I’m only 22, so that seems like a thousand years ago).

  I could tell that he was muscular beneath the wrinkled white shirt and crooked knit tie he always wore. He wore the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, exposing the sinewy muscles in his forearms and hands. And he always wore the shirt untucked, which frustrated me to no end because it kept me from checking out his package. Rumor was that he was hung like a horse. Well, you certainly couldn’t tell it by looking at him in the classroom.

  His round shoulders and a thick chest pushed against the thin material of the white shirt. The shirt was tight across his broad back, looking like it might split at the seams if he were to flex his muscles. I’d spent months wondering what he looked like beneath those baggy professor clothes. And I wasn’t alone. All the girls talked about him after class. He was out favorite topic.

  Wonder what would Professor Clark looks like naked?

  Do you think he’s really hairy or is would his chest be baby smooth?

  Do you think his pubes are as blond as the hair on his head or are they be darker, like the stubble on his chin?

  And do you think his pubes are thick and curly, or do you think he keeps them neatly trimmed?

  Or, be still my heart, do you think he’s shaved clean… down there?

  How long do you think his cock is?

  Do you think his cock is circumcised with a big mushroom head?

  Or maybe his cock is as natural as the day he was born, more snakelike than bulbous fuck stick?

  I barely listened to their school girl chatter because none of that stuff mattered to me. I’d take Logan Clark any way that I could get him. I’d sat in his accounting class for three months dreaming about having his cock in my mouth and in my cunt, regardless of its shape or size.

  And now I was running out of time to make my fantasies come true.

  There were only two weeks left in this semester and I would be graduating in a month and taking a job with a big accounting firm in Chicago, working for my stepdad, Earl Shaw. I’d already signed the offer letter and they expected me to start in the fall.

  It was a done deal and my mom would kill me if I tried to back out on it now; even if staying in Cali to fuck Logan Clark was the reason. Time to grow up, Courtney, she liked to say. And she was right. I was twenty-two. Time to put all that silly stuff behind me.

  I’d move away from sunny southern California for good, without ever getting to know Logan Clark in the way that I wanted so desperately to know him.

  I dreamt of him when I slept.

  I fantasized about him when I
made myself cum with the goodies in my secret toy box.

  But other than answering my occasion question about accounting, he’d never even looked my way.

  Maybe my roommate, Mindy, was right.

  If I wanted to fuck Professor Logan Clark before I left Golden State for good, I’d better get my sweet ass in gear.

  Courtney

  Okay, I know what you must be thinking: wow, what a skanky slut this bitch must be, sitting in class thinking about sucking her professor’s cock. Get your mind out of the gutter, you little whore, and on your studies where they belong!

  The truth is, I’m not a skanky slut or a little whore, at least not in public. I’m just a normal, healthy, twenty-two-year-old woman with a daddy complex and a sex drive that would make a porn star jealous.

  I couldn’t help it. For as long as I could remember, even in my early teens, my desire for sex had been overwhelming.

  I started letting boys feel my titties over my shirt and rub my crotch when I was thirteen. I let a boy slip his hand under my shirt to feel the round globes of my breasts when I was just fourteen.

  My boobs came early, like a prize from Mother Nature, so why should I have deprived boys the chance to feel me up and deprived myself the joy of experimentation.

  I remembered when one boy whose name I couldn’t even remember squeezed my nipples so hard it made me whimper in pain. He quickly pulled his hand away and started apologizing. I put his hand back on my tit and told him to keep doing what he’d been doing because it felt fucking awesome.

  The first boy to slip his hands inside my jeans and panties and feel the hot moisture of my young pussy, was Bobby Rigsby, who was fifteen at the time. He shot his load in his pants as I tugged on his short cock through his jeans. He was so embarrassed he ran away without another word, leaving me standing under the bleachers during the football game with the smell of his cum on my fingers and a fire burning between my legs. I licked him off my fingers and went to get a snow cone. I was barely fifteen.

  I became a sexual explorer in high school, doing everything except letting a boy put his cock inside me. He could finger me all he wanted because I was a horny little thing and it felt fucking amazing, but I was terrified of getting pregnant, so no cocks allowed, even with a rubber.

  My mom had me when she was sixteen, and she often reminded me how tough it was for her to be a young, single mom, at least until she met and married Earl, my stepfather when she was eighteen and he was thirty-one.

  So, I’d let a boy stick his cock in my mouth, come in my hand, and, if I really liked him, slide it into my ass; but my pussy was off limits.

  I guess I was considered the school slut because I made no bones about being sexually active, though I was very particular about who I fooled around with.

  I lost my virginity my senior year to a transfer student from Mexico City named Greg Rivera. It didn’t occur to me at the time why I was willing to let Greg pop my cherry when I wouldn’t let other boys get close. I mean, I had been with much hotter guys that I wouldn’t let fuck me. There was just something about Greg that made my nipples tingle and my water works gush like a river.

  He was brooding and dark, with hair as black as a crow’s wings and eyes black as night. He picked me up in his dad’s work truck and we drove to the lake and fucked like rabbits on a blanket in the bed of the truck. Greg was a rough lover who didn’t know the meaning of the words “take your time”. He hadn’t learned to be tender, so my cunt was sore the next day and my popped cherry hurt like a bitch, but I never regretted letting Greg be my first.

  We screwed every chance we got over that summer. We taught each other to be unselfish lovers. I told him exactly what I liked and he told me exactly what he liked. We experimented and learned together. And neither of us ever walked away unsatisfied.

  Greg had a summer job at the FoodMart and would steal condoms by the box from the pharmacy. I loved having him inside me, but I still wasn’t willing to chance having a baby in there.

  It wasn’t until my mom saw Greg working at the grocery store that I understood why I’d let him be the one to pop my cherry. He was bagging groceries two lanes over and we were pretending not to know one another. Mom noticed him immediately, though she had no idea that we were sleeping together.

  “He looks like your dad when I first met him,” she said quietly, giving Greg a long look that I thought was a little creepy.

  “He does?” I said with a frown. I squinted at Greg and felt the juices pooling in my panties. “I don’t see it.”

  “When we get home look at that picture of your dad I gave you last year,” she said. “You’ll see.”

  The picture she was referring to was the only photograph I had of my bio-dad; the boy who had knocked her up with she was just fifteen. She only knew him as Jose, the son of a migrant farmworker picking oranges on my grandfather’s farm. He was seventeen when the photo was taken, standing in front of an orange wagon next to my mom, then a gangly girl with pigtails and bony knees that she parted for him. Once the oranges were picked, Jose and his family moved on and my mom never saw him again.

  She caught Greg and I looking at each other. She narrowed her eyes at me and shook her head. “Be careful, Courtney. Don’t do what I did.”

  The next day, I was put on birth control and getting a lecture about sex from a woman who could have been taking lessons from me.

  She was right about one thing: Greg could have been my father’s clone. I stared at the fifteen-year-old photograph with my mouth hanging open. The resemblance was uncanny. For a moment, I worried that we might have the same dad, but when I showed Greg the photo and voiced my fears, he just laughed and assured me his dad was fifty-eight and named Mario.

  My friend Felicia, whose mom was a therapist, said I had a daddy complex. She said I gave up my cherry to Greg because he reminded me of my dad.

  “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard,” I said. “And just gross.”

  “It’s not that you wanted to fuck your own father, idiot,” she explained, rolling her eyes. “It’s that not having him around has left some kind of void in your brain that you filled with Greg, a boy who looks just like him.”

  “Ah, okay…” It sounded like a good theory, but what the fuck does a sixteen-year-old know about such things. All I know is that I never had sex with Greg again. I wouldn’t even let him touch me. Every time I looked at him I thought of my dad.

  It wasn’t until I started college and began fucking men much older than me that my daddy complex really became apparent.

  I no longer fucked dark Mexican men who looked like my dad.

  I only fucked men old enough to be my dad.

  Men like Logan Clark.

  Logan Clark

  I dug my fingers into Martha’s fleshy hips and held my breath so I didn’t cum too quickly this time. The last time we fucked we were both shitfaced after the monthly faculty dinner and had sex in the backseat of her Volvo in the parking lot of Ruby Tuesdays.

  I normally don’t cum that quickly; not since high school. The mistake I made was letting her suck my cock too long in the lady’s bathroom. By the time we got to her car, and she pulled up her skirt and peeled off her pantyhose and panties, I was already ready to explode.

  She wiggled herself backward onto my cock and slid her hips back and forth a couple of times and that was all she wrote. I shot my load before I even knew what was happening.

  Luckily for her and me, I was able to hold the hard-on long enough for her to get her rocks off. There’s nothing more embarrassing to a guy than shooting his load too quickly, especially with a woman like Martha Warner, who would have never let me forget such a fucking faux pas.

  Martha could be a ball-busting bitch. She already gave me shit about enough stuff. I didn’t need to add premature ejaculation to the list.

  This time things had gone much smoother because she didn’t have the chance to blow me in the restaurant bathroom. After the monthly faculty dinner, she invited me to her pl
ace for a nightcap. Okay, that’s not exactly how she put it. It was more like, “Professor Clark, I want you to come back to my place and fuck me till my knees buckle.”

  It wasn’t an invitation. It was a command. And since she was the Dean at Golden State and held the keys to my future, I readily complied. I would be eligible for tenure in a few months, which would give me the job for life. If I had to fuck an attractive fifty-year-old divorcee to make that happen, it was a small price to pay.

  We managed to make it just inside the door of the huge Victorian house the university provided her with before tearing each other’s clothes off.

  Martha was ravenous, nearly ripping the buttons off my shirt as she tore it open and literally jerking me around as she tried to unbuckle my belt. I pushed her hard against the wall and pressed my lips to hers as I peeled off her white silk blouse and unhooked the bra that held her huge tits. Her tits came free with a bounce. They hung low on her chest, but were still full and firm and sported the largest nipples I’d ever had the pleasure of sucking.

  Martha grabbed my cock and moaned in my ear when she found it long, hard and ready. She tugged at it as I unzipped her skirt and pushed it down her ample thighs. I was a little surprised to find that she was not wearing her usual pantyhose and granny panties. Smart planning on her part. She knew where we’d end up before she even left her house that day. And she didn’t want to slow me down.

  My hand went between her legs. Her bush was thick and curly, her cunt hot and dripping. When my fingers slid over her clit and across her folds, she tightened her grip on my cock and commanded me to follow her into the bedroom.

  “I want to watch you fuck me,” she said, still holding my cock to lead me into her master bathroom. The bathroom had a long vanity and a long mirror on the wall above it. She leaned forward to brace her palms on the vanity and stuck out her big ass. Her bulbous tits hung swung from her chest.