Dirty Professor

by North, Paige

  “I can’t believe you’re here,” I tell him, after a long moment of quiet. “How did you know where I’d be?”

  Chase turns and looks down at me. “I bribed Gregory’s assistant to tell me where he was having lunch.”

  “You didn’t.”

  “I did.” He grins, and then turns serious. “I want you to know, Addison, I’m not…I know this is a lot. I’ll give you all the time you need.”

  “I don’t need that much time,” I say, butterflies colliding in my belly as our eyes lock.

  “Good,” he says, and then his lips are on mine, and I feel all the fear and tension draining from my body.

  For the first time in as long as I can remember, it feels right.

  His tongue slides into my mouth and I sigh.

  Chase pulls back and looks at me. “You have no fucking idea how badly I missed you,” he says, his voice husky. “It was excruciating.” He kisses me again, this time the intent behind the kiss clear.

  My nipples stiffen under the dress I’m wearing.

  Thankfully, we don’t have to wait too long, because the cab pulls up outside a gorgeous building and then we’re getting out, Chase is greeting the doorman, and then we’re headed up to an insane penthouse apartment.

  Chase’s apartment has a view that must cost in the millions, and of course the décor is modern, the space open and gorgeous.

  But I don’t give a shit about any of that right now, because as soon as we are alone in his apartment, I just want to be close to him.

  He looks at me, his blue eyes searching, making sure I’m okay.

  “I want to,” I whisper.

  Chase stares at me and nods his head. “Come on, then.” He takes me by the hand and leads me into his bedroom.

  We’re kissing again, more fully and passionately now, and his hands are roaming up and down my body, like he can’t get enough of me.

  I press into him, feeling his hardness pushing back at me. My hands slides down and grips his cock through the fabric of his slacks, and he groans.

  “Shit,” he says. He suddenly picks me up and then carries me to the bed, where he lays me down. He looks at me, his eyes hungry. “I’m going to fuck you so deep, and I’m not going to stop until we come together.”

  I close my eyes, letting the dirty words wash over me, letting everything go, losing myself in him.

  And then he’s slowly undressing me, taking his time, kissing my bare skin all over. My lips, my neck, collarbone, the curve of my breasts, and then my nipples as my bra falls away. He sucks my nipples delicately, and I cry out, as my hands find his chest and grip his toned, muscular pecs.

  I start unbuttoning his shirt frantically. I need to feel his skin, his body against mine.

  It’s like I’m dying of thirst and he’s my water, my salvation as I crawl through the desert.

  And that’s when I realize just how badly I’ve missed Chase Brooks, and I smile through tears.

  He stops, looking at me with concern. “What’s wrong?” he asks, pushing my hair back from my face.

  I shake my head, smiling still. “I’m just happy,” I tell him. “I’m just happy you’re here.”

  He caresses my cheek, his eyes kind and soft.

  “I love you, Addison.”

  The words send shockwaves through me, the emotion behind them true and real. “I love you, Chase,” I say, and I’m wrapping my legs around him, ready to beg. He’s taught me well.

  “Have patience,” he says, smirking a little, but I know neither of us can stand the waiting anymore.

  His muscular, hard body is soon poised over mine, and he positions his long, thick cock against my entrance. I’m slick with need, with lust.

  And then he pushes inside of me.

  “Ahh,” I sigh breathily as he forces himself deep into my pussy, my walls closing in around him.

  “Shit, you’re wet for me, baby.”

  I close my eyes, gripping him to me and wrapping myself around him, feeling his heart pound against mine.

  He slides out, and then pushes through my folds again, his pelvis pushing and grinding into mine, hip to hip now.

  His eyes close.

  It’s pure ecstasy, and we’re both feeling it. Like our bodies are meant to be this way, to be together, intertwined always.

  Soon, Chase is fucking me, slowly and rhythmically, and I’m moving in time with him. His hips are swiveling, his long cock sliding in and out of my swollen pussy, and we’re both slick with sweat.

  He kisses me, his tongue slides into my mouth and his hands slide up and grip mine, pressing my hands up over my head.

  Now he’s fucking me faster and harder, and my breath comes quicker.

  “Chase—”

  “I’m going to come soon,” he says into my mouth.

  “I’m going to come, too,” I breathe.

  And soon he’s roaring, his hips are slamming against me and he’s fucking me exquisitely deep, penetrating to my core.

  When my orgasm hits, I feel my eyes roll back in my head and a wave of love and pulsing pleasure shoots through my center and all the way up my spine.

  Chase is shooting everything into me, the cords of his muscles standing out in his shoulders and neck as he arches into me, forcing himself deeper than he’s ever been before.

  Afterwards, we collapse into each other, sweaty, laughing, our limbs loose and our voices soft.

  We talk about now.

  We talk about the future.

  We even talk about the past.

  “You know, I intentionally leaked my book to the media,” Chase says, at one point in the conversation. Like it’s no big deal.

  I stare at him, my eyes wide. “You leaked your own book? Why?”

  Chase chuckles. “Because I knew it would get the press off of your back, and honestly, protecting you meant more to me than some stupid fucking book.”

  “Chase,” I whisper, my eyes tearing up again, knowing he was always thinking of me, even when we were apart. I feel his love radiating through me.

  “It’s always going to be you, Addison,” he says, and then he wraps me closer in his arms and kisses me.

  And I know it’s true.

  EPILOGUE

  ADDISON

  "Oh my God!"

  Kensie comes barreling towards me, clad in a hot pink dress that shows her strong swimmer's shoulders.

  "You look unreal!" I exclaim, throwing my arms around her.

  "You look unreal," she says. She fingers the edge of my new dress-- peacock blue, my absolute favorite. And Chase's favorite on me.

  "Thank you so much for coming," I say.

  "I wouldn't miss this." Kensie lets her eyes roam around the lavish apartment, with the table of my books on display just outside the foyer. "I know I keep saying it, but congrats. I'm so proud of you."

  It means everything to me that Kensie flew all the way here for my book release party. I link arms with her and introduce her to Amaya and Greg. "Are you the one who told her to say 'Who dis?' when unrecognized numbers called?" Greg asks, and Kensie admits she might have had something to do with it.

  I survey my party. Chase's spacious apartment-- our apartment, I'm still getting used to saying-- is one of my favorite places in all of New York. I catch his eye across the room, where he's chatting with some publishing people, and he winks at me. My parents are on the other side of the room. Once I stuck up for myself and they realized I wasn’t going to get off this writing thing, they came around. I think my dad would still prefer me to get my MBA, but my book deal and impending movie deal did a lot to help with that.

  "When does the movie start filming?" Kensie asks me as we make the rounds.

  "December." I am still in shock that's happening. "Some of it will be shot here, and a lot will be shot in Vancouver, if you feel like a little Canadian vacation."

  "You know I do," she says.

  Chase breaks away from his group and comes over to us. "So glad you could come," he tells Kensie, giving her a hug.<
br />
  Rex glances at us, does a double take when he sees Kensie, and practically catapults himself over here. "Remember me?" he asks her. "We met for five minutes at a taco bar."

  Kensie and Rex begin chattering away and I’m beaming, watching them.

  "Nice party," Chase says to me while our two best friends talk.

  "Nice party," I say back. "Getting a lot of questions?"

  "I don't mind," he says. "I'm excited about things. A new series isn't something I contemplated before, but I think this is going to be good. You have no idea how relieved I am to be able to write without worrying about living up to the craziness of my old career."

  "Oh? Not going to be fighting me for the spotlight?" I ask, giggling.

  "No way." He slides his arm around my waist. "I'm more than content to let you have that for awhile."

  Rex takes champagne flutes from a waiter and gives one to Kensie, who beams at me. "Are we doing a toast before the actual toast?"

  Chase takes two flutes himself and hands one to me. "I think the toast will be just fine without a pre-toast. I think we should just slam these motherfuckers like we did in college."

  He downs his champagne. Rex and Kensie do the same.

  "You lose," Rex says, pointing to my still-full flute.

  "I've never seen you not immediately drink champagne," Chase says.

  Kensie's watching me with a funny look on her face.

  "You don't want it?" Chase asks. "It's good, I promise."

  "It's not that." I smile at Kensie, and put my hand in my new husband's. "It’s just that I'm not supposed to drink while I'm pregnant."

  Chase’s eyes comically widen, and then he’s got me in his arms and he’s hugging me tightly and spinning me. He kisses me, and then he’s looking down at my belly in awe.

  I laugh. “You can’t see anything yet,” I tell him, feeling my face flush.

  “Are we sure?” he asks, his voice husky with emotion.

  “Yeah,” I nod. “I’ve taken three tests just to make sure.”

  Chase’s expression lights up as he grins, the most relaxed, positive smile I’ve maybe ever seen on his face. But then again, we’ve both been smiling a lot these past months.

  There’s been a lot to smile about.

  “A baby,” he whispers, and I can hear the emotion in his voice. “A baby.”

  “Our baby,” I say. He grips my hand in his and doesn’t let go.

  Neither do I.

  And I know now that neither of us ever will.

  THE END

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  And now continue reading for the FREE bonus book, Panty Dropper!

  Bonus Content: Panty Dropper by Paige North

  A Sexy Standalone Contemporary Romance

  Chapter One

  I was looking into the eyes of The Panty Dropper.

  I squirmed a bit in my seat in the conference room and wondered what the hell I had gotten myself into. My first day on the job and we were talking about this specimen of a man, who I only knew by one name: The Panty Dropper.

  All five women who were at the meeting, notepads and pens out and ready to work, oohed and gushed over the photos being passed around. They all looked so smart and chic, dressed in stylish tops and perfectly-fitted dresses, accessorized and styled to the max—all to go to work. I’d put in half the effort, even though it was my first day on the job.

  I guess when I thought of a writer I saw someone in yoga pants and a topknot. I’d done a little better than that—black, loose pants and a button down with flats. I thought I couldn’t go wrong, but looking around the table, I knew I was out of my league.

  Even the view of the Hollywood sign off in the smoggy distance couldn’t hide the fact that I was in over my head. After applying to every magazine, newspaper, journal and news site I could find, it had been Crush, and only Crush, who agreed to hire me.

  Turns out employers want editors with experience and writers with bylines, but how could I get the experience if no one would hire me? Luckily Crush took a chance on me and I was grateful for the work—even if I didn’t read the magazine—and anxious to get my first assignment. I wanted to make a good impression. I just didn’t think that at my first meeting on my first day, we’d be talking about someone named The Panty Dropper, whose chiseled face was scattered across the conference table in more than a dozen photographs, from paparazzi shots to red carpet events.

  “Look at her, she’s blushing,” said one of the girls, watching me with a smirk.

  “I bet they don’t have men like that back in Maine, do they?” asked the girl sitting next to her, and the two laughed.

  “No, I bet Maine men are outstanding,” said the first. “I bet they’re all chopping wood in red flannel shirts, muscles bulging…”

  “I think I see some bulge in this picture,” said the girl next to me, leaning over to take a closer look at the photo. Everyone laughed.

  “Alexa, Bethany, let’s pretend we’re professionals,” said Kait, the magazine’s editor in chief. “And be nice to the new girl. Actually, before we get into the good stuff, why don’t you introduce yourself to everyone?”

  Kait stared down at me from the head of the conference table. Everyone quieted, and all eyes turned on me. Now they could all get a good look at this stupid outfit I’d chosen for my first day at work, this cheap, ill-fitting ridiculousness that made me look, I now realized, more fitted for sitting in a retirement home than sitting in the offices of one the top women’s magazines in the country. I’d overthought my wardrobe last night, something I did far too often, and never to good results.

  “Um, hi,” I said, giving a funny little wave to the other women in the City Living department of the magazine, the same department I’d been hired to work in. I dropped my hand back in my lap. “Yeah, I'm Sophie Scott. From Maine. Um, I just graduated and I’m, well, really happy to be here.”

  They kept looking at me, waiting, for what I had no idea. I could hear the a/c click on, and a chill went down my arm.

  “Okay, then,” Kait said, looking bored and unimpressed. God, I was blowing it already. “That’s Sophie who graduated from Maine.”

  “I didn’t graduate from—” I began.

  “Now let’s get back to work,” Kait finished, not knowing or caring that she cut me off. Which was fine. I was there at Crush to do a great job. I’d listen, and learn, and work really hard. That was my goal. Do well, and move on to a better, more intellectual magazine or journal and work on something more substantive than the fluff they wrote here…

  I think their big think piece for the newest issue was “how to have an orgasm in less than ten seconds.”

  Oh, no, I suddenly thought. What if I had to write an orgasm story someday soon? I slunk down in my seat a little lower, not wanting anyone to look at me for any reason. It was my first editorial meeting, and I was there to listen. Nothing more.

  “Back to The Panty Dropper,” Kait said, pointing to the photo before me. “We all know who he is—or do we? Sophie, do you know who that man is?”

  I looked back at the photo before me. It showed a man in a slim blue suit and dark sunglasses walking purposefully across a street. Frankly, it looked like a fashion shot for the magazine, but it was a paparazzi shot. From the full-body picture it was clear this guy was fit—I could practically see the muscles in his thighs and biceps beneath the tailored suit. His dark brown hair was thick and wavy. His jaw was hard and defined—like the rest of him, if pictures don’t lie. He was incredibly handsome.

  But as to who, exactly, he was? I didn’t know. But I didn’t want the others to know that I was clueless.

  “Right, the panty dropper,” I began. “He’s that guy, everyone knows him.” I nod my head enthusiastically, as if what I
’m saying actually means something. “He’s that really famous guy, he’s rich, successful…” Looking at the picture, I could just see panties falling out of his pocket because he was so successful. At his job. Selling panties?

  I could already hear Alexa and Bethany across the conference table snickering at me as I spun my wheels.

  Kait let out a deep, disappointed sigh. She leaned across the table and took the picture from before me. “This, as most of you know, is Leo Armstrong, twenty-seven, the most sought-after bachelor in all of L.A. and the head of relative newcomer Epix Studios.”

  “Also their youngest head in history,” said Bethany. Unlike me, she was dressed simply and fashionably in a slim, cap-sleeved green dress. I tugged on the collar of my shirt, a new level of discomfort filling me.

  “I’d like to give him head,” muttered Alexa, and none too quietly either. They barely tried to stifle their laughs.

  Kait ignored them. “Leo Armstrong is the president of Epix Studios. Every girl L.A., from the fledging starlet to the seasoned Oscar winner wants to sleep with him or at least get an audition with him—”

  “On his couch,” said Alexa, and Bethany swatted her arm.

  “And of all the women he’s dated,” Kait continued, “and there have been a lot, no one knows anything about him personally. There’s never been even the tiniest whisper of what it’s like to date him. He’s the most famous person in this town and no one knows what he’s really like. We’re going to change that.” Her sharp eyes took in all the women at the table. Then she said, “One of you is going to date Leo Armstrong.”

  A hush fell over the room. No one was laughing anymore.

  Even though I didn’t know these women—I didn’t even know all their names, save for Bethany, Alexa and Renee, the girl who sat next me, studiously taking notes—I realized I was excited for them. If this guy were some famous Hollywood big shot, plus totally hot, it would be a fun story to work on. Who wouldn’t want to date a rich famous guy and write about it? My dating experience was limited, relegated to Paul, who I dated for a couple of years in college, and who cheated on me. The worst part was, he wasn’t even that good looking. I’d spent my college years so focused on my studies so that I could get a great job as soon as I graduated. Now I saw the irony of limited dating experience as I sat in the offices of a magazine dedicated to the art of the blow job.