Teach Me: A Bad Boy Professor Romance (The Me Series Book 1)

by Penelope Marshall

  He reached down, kneading my breast, intermittently slapping it, his head tilted toward the ceiling, engulfed by the pleasure of the moment. I knew once he came he wouldn't do anything to release me from my angst, but my body throbbed for it anyway, begging for the attention my mouth was receiving. He made a few more hard passes, and then a sudden onslaught of saltiness filled my mouth. I winced, trying to prevent myself from choking, as the warm liquid slid down my throat. He pulled out, letting the excess drip onto the chair between my legs.

  Slipping himself back into his pants, I looked at him longingly, wishing for the chance to use it.

  He smiled as he un-cuffed and unwrapped the belt from around my throat. "Tomorrow," he promised, kissing me gently on the cheek before he left, locking the door behind him.

  I sat there for a moment, rubbing my sore wrists, wondering if a 'tomorrow' would ever come.

  Probably not.

  I sighed as I stood, picking up the chair to return it to the corner of the room before I walked to the shower to wash off the last thirty minutes.

  ESCAPE

  Rez didn't visit me the next day, or the next, which was unusual for him. Maybe I had been replaced by a younger, more pliable girl? I had to admit the thought of being replaced made me happy and jealous at the same time.

  What kind of freak am I? Maybe I'm suffering from Stockholm syndrome?

  I spent countless hours reading romance novels filled with damsels in distress and Prince Charmings, noting the stark similarities between their lives and mine…minus the Prince Charming part, of course. He looked the part, though, and sometimes, just sometimes, he felt like my Prince Charming when he pressed his lips to mine. But that was me just grasping at straws, trying to rationalize my situation.

  I didn't see Rez again until the third morning when my eyes fluttered open to the sensation of a tongue ravishing the soft flesh between my legs. Even though the advance wasn't invited, the skill he displayed still coerced a visceral reaction from me. The sensation forced shivers down my legs, extending out through the tips of my toes. So enthralled in the moment, I bit my bottom lip to keep my mouth from asking him to stop.

  Spreading my legs even farther apart, I grabbed onto a fistful of his light brown hair, immersing myself in the tantalizing savagery. I moaned as a flash of heat washed over me, the preamble to my climax. He selfishly pulled away, taking with him the pleasure that he had been doling out, always knowing right when to stop.

  He knew what he was doing, right when he was doing it. Every move calculated for his maximum pleasure. Pushing himself up to his knees, he grabbed my legs, flipping me over to my stomach. My cheek pressed against the white comforter as Rez slid into me with his solid dick. I clutched the material and closed my eyes, pretending I was somewhere else…anywhere else. Why try to enjoy it? I wasn't going to get mine anyway.

  "Tell me you like it, little slut," he ordered, grabbing a fistful of my hair.

  "I like it, Sir," I exhaled.

  His thrusts quickened, his cock hardened, and I knew he was about to cum. His grunts grew louder as he yanked on my hair, pulling my head back; he made one final hard pass then paused to enjoy his release. The grip he had on my hair loosened as his fingers raked down my spine.

  I waited. Pulling away before he was done pissed him off like nobody's business; a mistake I made once, and only once. Finally sliding himself out, he tapped the thickness of my ass with it a few times. The slapping sound it made tantalized me. I closed my eyes, hoping that he would slide it back in, and let me enjoy myself, but of course, that's not how Rez worked.

  He leaned forward, kissing me lightly on the cheek, and spouted off his usual promise. "Tomorrow."

  The bed jostled up and down as he worked his way off the edge. The sound of his metal buckle clanging together preceded the slamming of the door.

  I lay there alone. Used, and unsatisfied. I waited for the sound of the two locks and the chain to run across its track, but the sound never came. I only heard the sounds of the creaking floorboards as he walked down the hall.

  Is he testing me? Or did he forget?

  I waited for what seemed like hours. I showered. I read a book. I paced to the door several times, but I dare not touch it. The excitement of a possible escape healed every sore muscle—every bruise. My body was ready to make the arduous journey away from his clutches.

  The sun had begun to set, and I knew if I didn't make my move soon, I would miss my chance. I picked the least revealing outfit I had available to me, a black skin tight mini dress that could hardly pass for a long tank top, let alone a dress. I threw on a black leather bomber jacket and a pair of black stiletto heels. Not the most appropriate outfit for a getaway, but I had to make do with what was available to me.

  I walked over to the door, reaching out my hand to grab on to the cold brass knob. I hung my hand in mid-air as I contemplated the consequences of my actions. My fingers slid over the knob, twisting it, and then pulling it open with no opposition from the deadbolts. It just opened. Opened as easily as any door I had ever opened in my life. I peered out, looking up and down the hall, not spying a soul in sight.

  I took a deep breath and took my first step through the threshold of the door. The floor creaked as my foot touched down, just like it creaked whenever Rez left the room. I looked over my shoulder one last time, eyeing the bed where all the debauchery for the last two years had taken place.

  That damn bed. That fucking bed. Heat overtook my body, the rage swelling in me like a volcano. I turned back toward the room, picking up a match from my dresser and lit it. A smile fell over my face as I tossed the match on the finely made bed. The comforter smoldered for a moment and then burst into a beautiful red and orange flame. Crackling as it burned up years of servitude.

  I turned, strutting out the room, content in the fact that I had sent Rez a message. A message that I'd hope he would interpret as, "Fuck you, Sir!"

  I hurried down to the garage and pulled a set of keys from the lock box hanging on the wall. I decided to steal Rez's favorite car, the Maserati, just to add salt to the wound. Maybe I would leave it somewhere for him to find, or maybe, just maybe, that shit would be at the bottom of the Pacific by morning. I screeched out of his pristine garage, the lacquered floor taking on the black tread marks from the brand new 20" Pirelli low profile tires he had installed just last week. I know this because the tires were the only thing he talked about the entire time he fucked me last Thursday afternoon.

  I made it down the 5 freeway to the Plaza Boulevard off-ramp. I wanted to see my parents since I hadn't seen them in years. As I waited for the cars to pass so I could merge onto the street, I looked down at my dress, realizing this might not be the best outfit for them to see me in after so many years, but I was sure they wouldn't care.

  Pulling on the hem of my dress, I tried to stretch it out as far as I could, in the hopes that it would reach my knees. Who was I kidding? There wasn't enough material to make it half way down my thigh, let alone my knees.

  I tapped on the steering wheel, impatiently waiting for the last car to pass.

  "Finally!"

  I pressed on the gas and sped off down Plaza, toward Highland Avenue, the main drag in National City. If it had been a Sunday night, the whole street would be littered with old school cars, low riders, and on-lookers partying on the sidewalk. I used to love going there with my father to catch glimpses of cars he used to wish for as a teenager. It was something special that we shared.

  I made it past Highland, and onto B Avenue, where the familiar blue and beige French Quarter apartments had stood for as long as I could remember. Sliding into a parking spot, I wondered how my parents would receive me after so many years.

  Should I tell them what happened…where I've been?

  I took a deep breath and stepped out of the car, heading for the metal security gate, wondering if I even remembered the code to get in. Seeing the keypad, the numbers came back to me in a flash.

  2124#

/>   The black gate buzzed, and the lock clicked open, reminding me how prison cell doors were opened. I walked through the hallway which led to the central common area, shared by all the units. Passing by the old pool, which had been filled up with concrete by the owner one summer, I heard the ghostly sounds of me and my cousins swimming during summer break, the smell of barbecue wafting over the entire complex.

  Damn, I missed that!

  Before I realized it, I was standing in front of my parent's apartment—my old apartment. I rang the bell and waited. There was a shuffling of feet nearing the door and the sudden turn of the knob. The door creaked open to an old woman holding her cat.

  "Yes?" she asked.

  I looked around and over her, hoping to catch a glimpse of my parents. None of their furniture was there—at least any of the furniture I remembered.

  "Can I help you?" she asked again.

  My gaze shifted back to her. "I'm sorry. I'm being rude. I'm looking for Mr. and Mrs. Martinez."

  She shook her head. "Shame what happened to them."

  "Shame?"

  "You're asking about Liz and Jerry?"

  "Yes. My parents."

  Shocked, she dropped the cat, covering her mouth with both her hands.

  "Your parents?"

  She motioned me to come in. I shook my head, knowing that once I walked in, I wasn't going to like what I heard.

  "I'll stay out here."

  "This is not something you want to hear while you're standing up, mìja."

  I stepped inside of the familiar apartment and made my way to the couch directly in front of the door.

  She sat next to me. "They were murdered here."

  I bolted out of my seat. "What?" I yelled.

  She looked up at me. "They think it was a mob hit, the way they were shot. On their knees—like animals."

  Tears welled up in my eyes as she continued to describe the horrid event.

  "I was living next door at the time, and I'm the one that called the cops when I heard the gunshots."

  "Why are you living in their apartment now?"

  "The manager couldn't rent it out because of the murder, so he offered it to me for half the rent, and I couldn't turn it down."

  I shook my head. "So you get a discount because my parents died here?"

  She rested her wrinkled hand on my shoulder. "I didn't say it was right, mija."

  I shrugged her off. "No, it's not right."

  "I can't possibly understand how you must feel, but life goes on for the rest of us. I do know that your parents loved you, and they never stopped searching for you. Matter of fact…" her words trailed as she stood from the couch and rifled through a drawer in the kitchen.

  I watched her carefully, wondering what she could be looking for.

  "Here it is," she said, holding a piece of paper as she walked back to the couch.

  "What is it?" I asked, taking the white eight-by-eleven sized sheet of paper with a huge black and white picture of a younger me printed across it.

  Across the top, the word 'MISSING' was printed in bold red ink.

  "Your parents plastered these all over the neighborhood for years. They never gave up. They loved you, mijita."

  My eyes welled up with even more tears. I didn't know one could feel so much sadness and loss in a single moment. This must've been how my parents felt all that time I was missing, and even though I didn't need to hear every sordid detail, I sat down to listen. If they had to go through it, then I should have to as well. In the back of my mind, I knew it was Angelo who killed them. After all, he did all of Rez's dirty work.

  That piece of shit!

  Angry, I shot up from the couch, and announced, "He killed my parents!"

  "Who did?" the woman asked, grabbing for my wrist.

  I backed away. "Nothing! Forget I was even here; it might save your life," I said, running out the door, leaving the flyer on the couch.

  "Wait!" she yelled.

  Wait for what?

  There was no one here for me. That asshole had taken away everything I'd ever cared about—my self-respect—my parents. There was nothing left for me.

  Making my way out of the apartment complex and back to the car, I headed toward the freeway, wiping the streaming tears from my eyes as I swerved in and out of traffic.

  I didn't know where I was going; I just knew I needed to get as far away from the city as I could. Maybe I'd take the drive to Arizona. I had an aunt there who always treated me like a daughter and, right now, I needed a mother figure in my life.

  CALM WATER

  HUNTER

  The other side of town….

  It had been a warm evening, and I was sipping on a cold beer watching the eerily calm water dance with the moon from my favorite spot on the sand. There was nothing better than this—not a warm woman in my bed, or a fat wad of cash in my wallet could compare to the freedom I felt at this moment.

  I closed my eyes to breathe in the salty sea air, feeling somewhat connected to it; as if it were a childhood friend ready to pick up where we had left off so long ago. When I was a young boy, a current dragged me out further than I had ever been before, and though I tried valiantly, I couldn't swim back.

  For hours I treaded water, hoping my parents would see me and send rescue. But rescue never came. My adolescent muscles could no longer muster up the strength to keep moving, so I decided to stop and let the sea take me. She had won, and I would concede victory to her.

  I stilled my arms and legs and exhaled my last breath as I set my gaze toward the afternoon sky. Sinking quickly into the water, my lungs struggled to pump what little oxygen was left in them. It burned, every cell screaming for air as the sky slowly faded into an abyss of blackness.

  My eyes opened to seagulls circling over me as I lay on the gritty sand, my throat burning from the copious amounts of sea water I vomited as a result of the near drowning.

  My muscles ached from the hours of treading water, so I lay there, paralyzed with fatigue.

  Sometimes I wondered if it all had been a dream; or if the ocean had taken pity on me and released me from her grip, waiting for another day to finish the job. She'd have to wait a little longer.

  I was under contract with Citadel, a private security company which only hired ex-SEAL's, and no silly ocean was going to break a contract with them…maybe not even God Himself could.

  After gulping down another sip of beer, I inhaled another deep breath; my lungs needed the relaxing air every once in a while. That was the only problem with working for a security company—there was always someone to protect, someone to rescue, but never enough time to relax. Too busy to breathe, and too busy for anything more than a one-night-stand in whatever country I happened to be dropped off in.

  But that part didn't matter too much to me. Women were trouble anyway. They were always ready to drop you for the next best thing—a man with a bigger paycheck, a bigger house, a faster car, or an extra stripe on his uniform.

  "Fuck 'em," I muttered, taking another swig. "Fuck her."

  And by her, I was referring to my ex-girlfriend, Stacy. She was about as shady as they came, and the funny thing about it was, I was stupid enough to fall for her charms. She played the game well, and I fell for it, hook, line, and sinker.

  She was a pretty little five foot two inches worth of Latin sass, who I had met at a bar in Tijuana one night while out with my friends. She talked me into buying her a beer, and I woke up next to her the following morning. I suppose I should have known we weren't going to work out. We were like oil and water when we were together, the only thing we saw eye to eye on was what position I was going to fuck her in that particular day.

  Stacy liked her sex—a little too much. Two months before we were supposed to get married, one of my best friends, Ari, caught her having sex with Drake, one of my teammates, on the beach while I was out on an extended op. When I couldn't get her to answer the phone, I called Ari to go over and check on her. In retrospect, I guess it would've been
hard to answer a phone while she was getting her ass pounded into the sand.

  I shook my head and took another drink. "What a cunt," I said under my breath.

  Guess I wasn't fully over the betrayal since it still made my stomach churn every time I thought about it.

  But what hurt most was Drake's backstabbing ass. If I could've killed that son-of-a-bitch, I would have, but he wasn't worth going to jail, or losing my job over. Neither of them were. I guess I should've considered myself lucky. He saved me from marrying that cheating bitch. Probably should have sent him a box of chocolates or something.

  Or something.

  I chuckled to myself.

  From behind, the sound of a car door opening and closing pierced through the night air.

  Who the fuck is here this late?

  I jumped to my feet for a better look, trying to squint, but the lack of light prevented me from gleaning who the nearing shadow belonged to. I pulled my 9 mil from my holster and cocked it, pointing it toward the shadow with my finger readied on the trigger.

  "Who the fuck's there?" I shouted to the shadow.

  The ominous figure stopped, then began to move toward me again.

  "Stop right there," I warned, firing a warning shot into the sand next to the shadow's foot.

  "It's me, Hunter," a familiar voice breezed by.

  "Me who?" I asked, still aiming my gun.

  "Ari. It's me, man. Ari."

  I lowered my gun. "Ari, why the fuck are you sneakin' up on a motherfucker like that? I could have shot you."

  He chuckled.

  "Your ass wouldn't be laughing if you had a bullet lodged in your forehead right now," I said, holstering my gun.

  Ari and I had grown up in the same neighborhood. Unfortunately, he had taken up with the wrong crowd and ended up in jail more times than I could remember, and all this before we even turned eighteen. So when we decided to join the Navy together, he was deemed ineligible due to his arrest record. I never judged him for his choices in life, but I made it clear if he ever involved me in anything that would jeopardize my career with Citadel, I would slit his throat.