by Parker Grey
I’m hard on my students.
All semester, Melody has been sitting quietly in the back of my class - a straight-A student with a perfect 4.0 GPA. A nice, polite, well-behaved, good girl.
The kind of girl I want to see on her knees in front of me, begging with her big, wide eyes. Even though touching her could get me fired and barred from teaching college ever again.
But when she asks me to be her thesis advisor, I say yes, and soon sweet, almost-innocent Melody is in my office, her ripe curves and pouty lips practically begging me to take her.
Dominate her. Claim her. Make this straight-A student my dirty girl.
It’s just an innocent crush…
I know it’s a total cliche to have a crush on your teacher, but I can’t help it - he’s ruggedly handsome, incredibly smart, totally in control…
…and even from the back row I can see the monster in his pants.
I know I shouldn’t be paying these dangerous games with him. If we get caught, the consequences would be total disaster — but every time he growls my name, I practically lose my mind.
Take me, professor. Make me yours.
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Double Dirty Mountain Men
An MFM Ménage Romance
Chapter One
Rose
I lean forward, into the steering wheel, trying to see out the windshield. The wipers on this piece of junk do more harm than good, and since it's snowing more heavily by the second I can barely see where I'm going.
I have to be almost to the main road, I think, even as panic sizzles through my veins. This shortcut isn't that long, right?
As if in response, there's a huge bang and the enormous old pickup truck swerves dangerously, the wheel jerked out of my hands. I seize it again and slam on the brakes, skidding to a stop within inches of a tree.
My hands are shaking, and it's not just from the cold. Tears prick at the back of my eyes, but I make myself breathe deeply, get control of my emotions, and look in the rearview mirror.
There's a rock. It was just a huge rock that I couldn't see in the road. Nothing exploded.
"You're fine," I whisper out loud to myself. "It's gonna be fine, you're almost there."
I take another deep breath, shift the truck back into first, and move it forward slowly. This shortcut over the mountain is barely a road — it's more of a dirt track — and the snow is making it slippery and slick, not to mention the potholes and the rocks.
It was a stupid idea, and I know it. But I had to work a double at my waitressing job in town, and I wanted to get home before the "snowstorm of the century," as all the news is calling it, struck.
Not that anyone's waiting for me, but where else could I go?
I drive around a huge rock and under some low-hanging branches, trying to tell myself that this all seems familiar from the time my dad and I took this shortcut years and years ago, but it doesn't. Not at all. One part of Blanton National Forest looks like every other part.
It's fine, I tell myself, trying not to panic too much. This road has to go somewhere, and the main road is soon. Once you get there, it's free sailing home.
I relax just a little, still peering through the windshield.
And then there's another bang.
I slam on the brakes, gripping the steering wheel as hard as I can, but this time it doesn't jerk out of my grasp. The truck just rolls slowly to a stop, even though my foot isn't on the brake.
No, I think. No, no, no...
A thin tendril of smoke leaks from underneath the hood, barely visible in the snowy twilight.
"No!" I shout out loud, tears in my eyes.
I jerk the parking brake on, get out of the truck, and lift the hood. It's hot and I burn my fingers a little, but the moment I get it up thick, black smoke starts pouring from the engine.
I have to let it slam shut, coughing, my eyes and nose streaming. Frantically, I get back into the truck and try turning it off and on, giving it gas, messing with the clutch, but it's all completely useless. And I know a little about cars, but only enough to change the oil — not enough to fix whatever's gone wrong.
I start crying. I can't believe I was dumb enough to do this, and now I'm going to have to spend the night in the truck with nothing more than the ratty old blankets my dad keeps in here.
But when I reach my hand behind the front seats, there's nothing there. Just rough automotive carpet, so I look down. Sure enough, even the crappy old blankets that were behind the seats are missing.
That means all I've got is the clothes I'm wearing and my winter coat, which is so old parts of it are threadbare. I can't spend the night in it. I'll freeze to death for sure.
Now I'm sobbing. I check every nook and cranny in the truck, just in a case a blanket can magically fit into one of them, but it's useless, and getting darker with every second I waste. After ten minutes I'm freezing, sobbing, and can't feel my hands.
That's when I know: I don't have a choice. If I stay here, with this broken-down truck, I'll probably die.
But if I walk for the main road, I might not. They're both bad options, but I have to do something.
I grab my purse, keys, and take everything that might be even slightly useful from the truck — a flashlight with dead batteries, a wrench, an old map, and a handful of napkins — and I set off down the dirt track. I walk as fast as I can in my old sneakers and jeans, trying to warm myself up.
It's not really working. The snow is coming down harder than ever, and it's melting on my jeans and sneakers, soaking them through. These shoes are totally inappropriate for the terrain or the cold, and they're slippery and my feet are freezing.
Just keep going, I think. It can't be much further. It can't.
I walk on, mind going numbly blank. I don't really think about anything other than putting one cold foot in front of the other, again and again.
After a while I can't feel my feet any more, and I can barely feel my legs, but that hardly even registers with my brain. I think I'm stumbling more than I'm walking, but it doesn't matter. Nothing matters, except I have to keep going, because it's almost dark.
As I round a bend in the road, I bang one foot on a rock I didn't see, and I go down, one knee on the ground, my hands both in the snow.
It's not even cold any more, and I take a deep breath, summoning all my willpower to get back up.
Just as I do, I hear a noise. There's a rustle in the dark forest to my right. Then a branch snaps.
It's a bear, I think, and I know that the thought should panic me but it doesn't.
I look over, wondering if I should run or something. There's a low growl, almost a muttering sound, and slowly, I stand again, all my limbs numb, and face the forest and my fate.
Two huge men, both tall and wide, with eyes that sparkle in the cold like jewels, step out of the forest.
Chapter Two
Logan
It's not a deer.
It's a girl.
We're both so surprised that for a moment, we just stare. Because not only is it a girl way out here, miles from any semblance of civilization, but she's gorgeous. Even though she looks like hell and she's wearing a winter coat, her curves are mesmerizing — not to mention she might be the most beautiful girl I've ever laid eyes on.
"Who are you?" she calls, her voice delicate and breathless.
It snaps me out of my reverie and I practically run toward her, followed by Knox. She's obviously cold, lost, and in serious danger right now, and we need to do something fast.
I get to her first, though.
"We're with the forest service," I say, taking her shoulders in my hands. "Where did you come from?"
The girl just shakes her head vaguely.
"How much further is the main road?" she asks, her voice still faraway.
Next to me, Knox frowns, his dark brows knitting together.
"This trail doesn't connect," he says, his voice rumbling. "It's a dead end."
She just blin
ks.
"What?"
"You're in danger right now," I say, trying to get her to focus. "Do you have a vehicle that we can take you to?"
She shakes her head, finally looking me in the eyes.
"It broke," she says, her voice nearly a whisper. "I thought this was a shortcut."
Knox and I exchange glances. She's out here alone, no vehicle in sight, snow coming down hard, her eyes blurry and unfocused.
"We've gotta get her to the cabin," I say.
Knox just nods once, gruffly. From him, that's enthusiastic agreement.
"What's your name?" I ask the girl, as gently as I can.
"Rose?" she whispers, like it's a question.
"Rose, we're going to take you to our cabin," I say.
She nods, swaying slightly back and forth, and I realize there's no way she can get herself back to our four-wheel-drive truck, let alone to our cabin.
"Rose, I'm going to—"
"Watch out!" Knox growls as Rose suddenly starts falling.
I catch her reflexively. She's soft and light in my arms, and makes the softest noise, her full lips parting just slightly.
Instantly, despite the circumstances, I think about those lips wrapped around my cock, her huge blue eyes looking up at me. I shake my head to get the image out of it, but it doesn't work. I'm already half-erect, just watching this girl fall over.
"We need to get her to the truck," Knox mutters.
I shift Rose in my arms. She doesn't fight me at all, though I can feel her shaking.
"Let's go," I say.
Knox looks at Rose, then at me, something I can't decipher on his face.
We set out, back through the woods.
Rose hardly moves the entire trip, barely more than a light weight in my arms. Knox and I are moving as fast as we can, nearly running to where the Forest Service four-wheel-drive truck is parked in a clearing.
I feel like there's a fish hook lodged deep in my chest, and it tugs at me every time I look down at Rose. I don't know why. This isn't the first time that I've rescued someone in the woods, but I've never felt this deep well of concern before.
But then again, no one else has been mind-blowingly gorgeous, either. Every time Rose's eyelids flutter and she looks at me, something in me wakes up and roars, like she's silently begging me to keep her, protect her — and take her.
Like he can read my mind, Knox looks back at me, glowering.
When we finally get to our truck, Rose is barely responsive. Knox opens the back door and I put Rose in gently, then climb in behind her.
As I close the door, Knox and I exchange another look. Like he wanted to be the one sitting in the back instead of the one driving, but I got here first. He gets into the driver's seat, turns it on, and cranks the heat. Cold air blasts from the vents as he turns the vehicle around, going as fast as he dares over the rough, bumpy, snow-covered track back to the cabin.
Rose tries, weakly, to clear her throat. I'm already pulling my thick down coat off along with two layers of sweater and a fleece, and the instant I'm down to just my undershirt, I start unbuttoning her coat.
"I need this," she murmurs, trying to fend my hands off.
"No, you need warmth," I say, pushing her hands aside. I'm a little too rough, but there's no time for fucking around.
"Coats are warm," she protests softly.
I yank the buttons of her coat off and pull her forward, tugging it over her arms. It's old and ratty, just a thin, cheap coat, probably from Wal-Mart or something.
Holding it, I'm amazed she's not dead.
"Coats are only warm if you've got body heat," I remind her.
And then I grab her around the waist and pull her around, so her back is flush against my chest, pull my thick coat around both of us, and wrap my arms around her.
She's freezing, still shaking, so cold she's like an ice cube against me. None of us speak for the ride back to our forest service cabin, but after a few minutes, Rose gradually seems to come back to life, at least a little. She stops shaking, and her skin isn't icy any longer, just cool.
Behind her, I'm hard as a fucking rock. I have both my arms wrapped around her narrow waist, her small-but-full breasts pushing against me with every single breath.
She's got strawberry blonde hair, and even though it smells a little bit like coffee, it also smells like citrus and flowers.
As we get close, Rose takes a deep breath, her chest rising against my arm, and she wriggles just a little, her ass pressing against my nearly-painful erection. I grit my teeth, trying to will myself soft, but there's no way it's going to work.
Then she turns her head, pressing her cheek against my chest. I barely know her name, but a completely insane protective urge falls over me in that instant, like I'd do anything to keep this girl safe.
Chapter Three
Knox
I brake so hard that the truck slides a little as I pull up next to the cabin. The heat is on full blast, and I'm starting to sweat in my layers of winter gear and thick coat, but I couldn't care less.
In the back seat, Rose is practically blue, though the color's starting to come back into her face. Thanks to Logan taking off most of his clothes and holding her tight in his arms, her face now pressed against his chest.
I glare into the rearview mirror.
Of course I'm worried about her. Of course I want her to get warm. She was probably a few minutes from going into hypothermic shock — it's a fucking miracle we stumbled across her when we did.
But that doesn't mean I want it to be Logan she's leaning against like that, his arms around her. Rose is fucking stunning, the kind of beautiful that makes your mouth go dry and your dick stand up instantly.
The kind of girl I want.
As I turn off the ignition, a quick memory flashes across my brain, suggesting itself to me.
Logan and I have shared before. Only once, and the girl didn't work out, but watching her nearly overwhelmed by taking on the two of us at once was fucking incredible.
For an instant, as I get out of the truck, I glance into the backseat. Rose's eyes are half open, sky-blue and watching me.
And I wonder what she would look like overcome with pleasure, sandwiched between Logan and me. I go rock hard instantly at the thought of those eyes, hazed over with pleasure, her head thrown back.
Then I shake my head, trying to chase the thought out, and open the back door.
"Come on," Logan is saying softly to Rose. She sits up straight, his coat enormous wrapped around her small frame, and then scoots over toward me.
I don't even ask if she can walk, I just scoop her into my arms and then kick the door shut, heading for our cabin. She's light, soft, and supple, and she snakes one arm around my neck, holding on.
I grit my teeth and thank every fucking saint on the planet that we saw something moving strangely out on the trail and didn't just ignore it. Even though Rose has barely said a word yet, the presence of someone so small, delicate, and helpless sparks a deep protective need inside me.
The cabin isn't big or glamorous, but it's our home for the winter, and it does pretty nicely for us. I put Rose down in front of the radiator and crank it all the way to high as Logan comes in the door, stomping his boots free of snow on the mat.
"Give me your hands," I tell Rose.
She obeys, looking up at me with those crystal-blue eyes. Her hands are still freezing, the fingers slightly blue, and I turn them over carefully in my own, searching for signs of frostbite.
She wasn't even wearing gloves, I think. What the hell was she doing?
Even though she's stopped acting like a zombie, she's still moving slowly, like she's half-asleep. I've seen it before in people close to hypothermia — hell, I've felt it myself. As soon as she warms up she'll snap out of it.
"Her clothes are still damp," Logan says.
He's standing by the front door, just watching Rose and I, the lines of his jaw set hard.
"Go find her something dry," I say, as
he pulls his boots off, then walks in his thick wool socks toward the bedroom we share.
We have separate beds, of course. We only share a bedroom because the cabin's not very big.
I look down at Rose, who's blinking now, like she's coming out of a daze, her wide blue eyes looking around, taking in the cabin's rustic wood walls, the furniture from the 1970s, the raw wood furnishings. Most of what's here is either forty years old or has been made by forest service rangers who stayed in the cabin at some point, so it's mish-mash of things.
"Rose," I say, and she looks up at me.
Something tightens in my chest.
"We need to get you out of those clothes," I say. "They're still damp from the snow, so you're losing body heat by wearing them."
"Right," she says, her voice still soft but less soft, like she's finally getting some spirit back. "Is it okay if I borrow something? I don't really have a change of clothes on me."
I almost smile. Logan comes back into the main room of the cabin, carrying a pile of garments that all look like they're plaid flannel, along with a fur blanket draped over one shoulder.
"I think this will all be way too big," he says, setting the pile on a chair. "But it's what we've got."
Then he pauses, and we look at each other. I stand a little straighter, and so does he.
"Why don't you make a fire?" I suggest, my voice coming out lower and more dangerous than it usually does.
His gaze flicks to her. After a moment, he smiles.
"Sure thing," Logan says.
Chapter Four
Rose
I feel like I'm coming back to life, standing here in the warmth. I was so cold that, for a little while there, I swear it made me dumb — even when these two men miraculously showed up out of nowhere, all I could think was oh.