by Lila Younger
“You’re amazing Willow,” he says between panting breaths.
He scoops me up and strips my clothes off, then carries into the living room. A familiar ache starts up between my legs, the kind only Deacon can satisfy. I’m so wet between my legs I’m worried I’m going to ruin his couch, and I lean across the back of it instead. His hands squeeze my round, pale ass before spreading wide my cheeks, his fingers sliding deep inside my cleft. Desire floods my body, radiating out from my groin as he circles my clit tightly. Deacon’s other hand massages my heavy breast, peaking my nipples into points as he leans over me. I wobble on the couch, letting the rough friction of his fingers against my most sensitive areas build my pleasure.
I cry out his name as he touches me, making my pussy ready for his cock. Finally he takes his cock and positions it between my legs, and in one swift thrust, plunges into me. I slide and twist under him, using the couch as leverage to send my hips back up against his. My back is arched, the position perfect for letting his cock rub up against my g-spot. He rides me hard and fast, both his hands flicking and rolling my breasts as he slams into me again and again. The sound of our bodies coming together fills the air as Deacon pulls me back and flush against his chest. I close my eyes, my head against him as he fucks me thoroughly. I don’t care that he’s moving and using me for his pleasure. It feels wonderful to surrender to him completely.
My orgasm over takes me like a speeding train, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it. I scream out his name over and over, my body tightening around him in spasms that send him over the edge too. Each time he thrusts into me, my pleasure peaks again, until I’m seeing stars and my voice disappears completely. His grip on my breasts tighten until we’re completely pressed against one another, his cock emptying his hot seed into me in spurts. Finally he lets go and I fall over onto the couch, my legs turning to jello. He cuddles up to me, pulling me on half on top of him so we can both be comfortable.
Minutes later, I come back from the sleepy afterglow of my orgasm.
“So... does this mean that what happened today wasn’t a bad thing?” I ask just to be sure. I would never be able to live with myself if Deacon gave up what he loved just for me.
“It wasn’t. In fact, it might very well be the start of something great.” Deacon pauses for a moment, his breath still ragged from coming twice. “You know, I could really use you. Sheffield & Martin has a pretty nice ring to it, don’t you think?”
I lean in and kiss him on the lips. I can feel his smile, and it makes me happy too.
“I think it sounds perfect.”
Epilogue
Willow
Five months later...
I wait nervously on the uncomfortable chair, the celebrity gossip magazine in my hands forgotten. I’m debating whether or not I should go to the bathroom again. We’ve already waited here for almost fifteen minutes, so my name should be called soon, but can I really hold it in for the whole scan?
“Just go,” Deacon whispers beside me. “I’ll make sure they know where you are if they call your name.”
“How did you-?”
“You always need to go to the bathroom,” he replies.
I huff and get up. For the most part I try not to waddle, but when I’m in a hurry, forget about it. I can’t believe I’m already this huge at twenty weeks. Pregnancy really is no joke. I quickly do my business in the bathroom and hurry back out. Nope, my name hasn’t been called. Why do doctors do this? I swear, they make you show up on time, but I’ve never once been seen on time. I sit back down and Deacon gives my hand a squeeze.
“You excited?” he asks.
“Yeah,” I say.
“There’s a chance that they won’t be able to see it on the scan,” he warns me.
“I know.”
He glances back down at his phone. He’s researching birthing classes in our area. It’s adorable. As soon as I told him I was pregnant, he went into research mode. He likes to know what’s going on and be in control, and this pregnancy is no different. I haven’t even had to crack open What to Expect When You’re Expecting because he’s already got it memorized. That’s just his way of adapting to events. To be honest, we weren’t planning on having kids so soon. Deacon had big plans for opening up his firm. We’d even started to look into a few different office spaces. But as soon as he heard, he got this huge grin on his face.
I’m going to be the best father in the world, he promised me. And I know he will. He knows what it’s like to not have one after all. And he would never do that to his kid. He’s been great with Jordan too.
Deacon had asked me to move in with him when I told him I was pregnant. I was worried, because of course, where would Jordan go, but he assured me that there was more than enough space for her. There were at least three bedrooms for her to choose from in the house, or if she needed more privacy than that, he offered her the guest cottage in his backyard. I wasn’t sure how she would take it; after all, we would be leaving our family home. But surprisingly she was more than ready to go. She felt stifled and suffocated by the ghosts of our parents everywhere she turned. A new place would be good. I wished that I had known that. My thoughts were to change as little as possible, but I guess the reminders were too much for her. Maybe things would have turned out differently for her.
As of right now, she’s retaking some classes and working at a clothing store at the mall. And when we found out that we were having a baby, she offered to help nanny them. Our little family of two has doubled in just a few months, and it seems like just what she needs. She has focus now, and we are fighting so much less.
“Willow?” the nurse calls from the door.
I grab my purse and hold onto Deacon’s hand as we follow the nurse into the back. The ultrasound room is cold, and I have to awkwardly get up onto the bed. The technician squirts some gel onto my stomach, turns off the light and we begin.
The last time I looked at my baby, it was just a little bean, barely a blip on the black and white monitor. This time, there’s a lot more there. Its heartbeat fills the room, and I have to swallow back tears. I look over at Deacon. He’s got a look of amazement on his face too.
“That’s our baby,” he whispers to me, squeezing my hand.
The technician pauses suddenly.
“One moment,” she murmurs, consulting the file.
Panic seizes my heart. Something’s wrong. I should have eaten my prenatals. I should have choked down more salads instead of egg rolls and pickle sandwiches. I try to sit up and look at the screen, but I don’t really understand what any of the blobs are anyways, so I fall back. I look at Deacon, worried.
“Did you- Did you guys know you’re having twins?” the technician finally says.
“We’re what?!”
“Mmmhm. Twins. See this? Here’s one head. And here’s.... The other.”
I can sort of see two rounded shapes, but all I can think of is ‘that’s why I need to pee all the time!’. The woman leaves to go and consult with the doctor, leaving us in the room together.
“Deacon,” I say. “Twins.”
“I know Willow. I know.”
“How are we- how are we going to do that?”
“We will. Don’t worry about that. You’re going to be a great mother. And you’ll have me there to take care of them, and you.”
“Twins though. Twins!” I say over and over. I’m still in kind of a shock.
“That’s right. We’re going to be the parents of twins,” he says kissing me.
I turn over slightly to him. Again I wonder if our baby, our babies, I correct myself, will have his nose, or his cheekbones, or his eyes. I sometimes still can’t believe that it’s happening, but more than that, I can’t believe that I’m getting my family back again. And with someone whom I love so much. Fatherhood has changed the way I look at him, made him even sexier to me, if that was even possible.
“I love you Deacon,” I whisper softly to him.
“I love you too Willow,” he
says.
*****
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Enjoy the first chapter of Filthy Professor...
“KAITLYNNNNNN! OVER HERE! KAITLYN!”
I wince at the voice of my roommate Tiffany. Even in a crowded airport, she can manage to stand out. I follow the line of heads that have whipped towards her and... yep, it’s definitely her. Tiffany is tall, like an Amazon, with rioting red curls and crazy curves that makes her look like Jessica Rabbit come to life. The fact that she’s wearing a university sweatshirt with TAU (Taylor Anderson University) and yoga pants does nothing to diminish her looks. Already some of the curious glances are turning into awe mixed with lust, and I don’t blame them. She doesn’t notice them though. I think she’s immune, or too used to it. Instead my roommate barrels forward, arm outstretched for a hug.
“HEY ROOMIE!” she yells in joy, attracting even more attention. “MERRY LATE CHRISTMAS!”
“I’m right here Tif,” I say, but really I’m not that mad. How can you be with that much positivity?
“Sorry, sorry,” she says, then shoves a coffee into my hand. “This one’s yours. I’ve already finished two!”
She grabs my trolley for me while I take a nice, fortifying sip of coffee. The airplane stuff is weak, plus I try to avoid drinking too much of it so I don’t have to try and squish past two other people to get to the bathroom. That’s the only downside of a window seat. I always feel awkward asking everyone to move. The lack of coffee, paired with the fact that I took the earliest flight I could, has me feeling like death warmed over.
The two of us head to where my bags are waiting on the carousel, then out of the airport. It’s a gray, dreary day in the Pacific Northwest, and the sun looks like it’s ready to give up and hide behind the rainclouds looming over the sky. Even though I love it here, I’d trade the weather for what we have in California in a heartbeat. A gust of wind blows by, making me shiver.
“Come on,” Tif says. “I’m parked close and it’s freezing out here. I think someone says it’s the coldest day on record or something?”
We go around the line of taxis to the glass walkway that leads to the parking garages.
“So how was your Christmas?” I ask.
“Good. Boring. You know what it’s like,” she says.
I do. Tiffany actually lives in Martin, the tiny town where our university is. During the school year, it’s a bustling place, but when the students leave, it’s almost a ghost town. Nearly everyone who lives there full-time is working in some way related to TAU and its students. She says she wishes she could go anywhere else, but the university gives her almost half price tuition because her dad’s part of the maintenance crew.
“What about you?”
“I got some clothes,” I shrug. “And the new iPhone. My cousins were here this year too, which meant that Mom was too busy showing up Aunt Patricia to bother me.”
“I’m sorry,” she says sympathetically. “But hey you’re here now. No more putting up with that crap for another four months.”
She’s right about that, and it’s the reason why I took the red eye in the first place. My parents are, well, not great parents. They’re not even good parents if I could be completely honest. I’m not sure why they even had me, because it seems like all I am is a huge burden to them. Back in high school, I would hear my mom mutter about how I ruined her perfect pageant body and my dad grumble about the price of private school and wish that I hadn’t been born, but now I realize that they wanted a kid so they could look like the perfect family, not be one. I was like an accessory that they didn’t realize would grow up into an actual person. It wasn’t until Tif became my roommate and I met her family that I realized none of it was my fault.
“Hey,” Tif says, shaking me out of my mood. “I just remembered something. Rumor has it that there’s a hot new professor in town.”
“Really?” I ask skeptically.
Almost all the professors at school are fifty years or older. There’s even one guy in the philosophy department that’s so old he can barely walk to his lectures. I ask Tif if he’s the one who got replaced.
“Old Man Douglas? No way. I’m pretty sure that guy will be teaching until the day he drops dead. No, it’s someone else. Dad doesn’t know who, but he did say that the new guy looks like a movie star.”
“I don’t trust your dad’s idea of what a hot movie star looks like.”
“I don’t either,” she says with a laugh, “but I saw this guy myself yesterday buying groceries and I can testify that he looks good. Like, I’m-two-seconds-away-from-spraying-whipped-cream-and-licking-it-off-you-in-the-checkout-line good.”
“Did you talk to him then? Get a name? A department? Something?” I ask, twisting in my seat and facing her.
“No Kaitlyn, I was too busy scraping my mouth off the floor to remember to ask. Plus, the poor guy was running errands. He didn’t need to be bothered by a student. He’ll be getting that soon enough once all the crazy froshies come back.”
I think for a moment.
“How do you know that it’s really him and not some hot new neighbor?”
Tiffany beamed at me.
“I followed him. Uh huh. Straight to the building where all the professors have their offices.”
“You didn’t! Forget about the crazy frosh. He’s going to be worried about you,” I gasp. Tif was pretty daring, but even that’s a bit much for her.
“Relax. He didn’t notice a thing. Just wait until you see him Kaitlyn. He’s dreamy, with these incredible lips and a smoking hot body like a fitness model. And that strong jaw... I’d show up in class every day for him.”
I raise my eyebrow in disbelief. Tif has never gone to all her classes. If it’s held three times a week, she goes two. If it’s twice a week, she goes once. I have no idea how she’s managed to get this far in university that way, but she has.
“Teacher’s shouldn’t be allowed to be this sexy,” she insists. “I’ll bet you anything that if there’s ever a chance of a student-teacher sex scandal, this year’s it.”
And oh, how right her words are. Only I didn’t know it yet.
***********
I want to throw up.
My alarm is blaring, each beep driving itself into my skull with excruciating pain. I slam down on the snooze button and chug the glass of water that past me had the foresight to get before passing out last night. As is our tradition, Tif and I got caught up on each other’s news over a jug of wine and Massimo’s Pizza, the local joint that delivers at any hour of the night (they do especially well on the weekends, no surprise). Because of the weird timing of my flight, I made the mistake of thinking it was Saturday, when really it was Sunday. Tif of course, just went along with everything.
So here I am with the hangover from hell.
I screw my eyes shut, but that only makes the pounding worse, so I open them again and slowly push myself up off the bed.
I need coffee.
And grease.
My movements are slow and cautious, because the last thing I need is to upset my headache by getting up too fast or falling over. I don’t think I’m still drunk, although I’ve had that happen to me more than once before. Once I make it into our tiny kitchen, I start up the coffee and lean against the counter as my coffee drips and burbles into the pot. I take a fortifying sip, dump in a bunch of milk, and take a few more gulps down. The caffeine works its magic, pushing the headache back enough that I can focus on what I need to do today.
Since it’s the first week, I don’t have too much to worry about, but I like to go on the first day anyways so I get off to a good impression with my professors. There’s also the
fact that I have to meet with my thesis adviser, Prof. Durand, and tell him how much (or little) I accomplished over winter break. That’s not going to go over well at all. But first, I have to get myself together enough to head to class. So I scrounge around to see what Tif has left over for breakfast. There’s eggs and milk, but no cereal, and the idea of cooking isn’t appealing at all, so leftover pizza it is. I eat it cold, then head into the shower where I indulge in the hot spray of water until Tif bangs on the door.
By then I’m late, so I have to rush, so I blowdry my hair, throw on an off the shoulder sweater tunic, leggings and a pair of boots, shove everything into my backpack, button myself up in my wool coat, fill up a tumbler with coffee and book it out the door. Luckily I live only five minutes from campus, so it doesn’t take me too long to get to school. On the way I double check my schedule online, and figure out where my rooms are. Today of course, I’m all the way up on the third floor, and to add insult to injury, the Humanities building is perched on top of a brutal hill that leaves my legs, butt and lungs screaming by the time I get to the top. Who knew that two weeks stuffing my face could undo all that walking from fall semester?
I get to the door with a minute to spare, the queasiness in my stomach rising again. I’m looking forward to collapsing into a chair and zoning out for half an hour, but there’s a sign taped to the door saying that they’ve moved. Frustratingly enough, it doesn’t say where they’ve moved to, just that class isn’t here. This is ridiculous, I fume, and hurry off again. Was there an email? I thought I checked this morning, but maybe I missed something? I hop on my phone to try and text Jason, my art history buddy, to see if he’s heard anything. Because I’m busy texting, I don’t see the stairwell door opening as I throw my weight against the bar to open it and I fly through, hitting someone square in the chest and spilling my coffee.