by Parker Grey
I light the “Pine Spice” candle on my mantle and then step back, taking in the scene. The fire’s going below, finally; the living room is clean; the lasagna is in the oven, staying warm. I even decanted the wine so it can breathe.
All I need is for Melody to get here, and then the night will really be perfect.
Right on time, at six sharp, there’s a knock on my door and I grin as I go to answer it.
The second I see Melody’s face, I stop grinning. Her face is botchy and her eyes are red and puffy.
She’s been crying.
“What’s wrong?”
She shakes her head quickly and walks into my house, past me. I close the door against the cold, baffled.
“Tell me,” I say, my voice sterner than I mean it to be, because I can’t stand to see Melody hurt.
I’ll kill whoever hurt her, I think, my fists balled. If someone laid a finger on her, I swear I’ll kill them.
She takes a deep, shaky breath, her eyes never leaving my face.
“Professor Calvino told me about you,” she says, her voice wavering.
I don’t know what she’s talking about, and I stare at her, blankly.
“That you fuck undergrads all the time?” she says, tears coming into her eyes.
My heart squeezes in my chest.
“It’s not true,” I say, taking a step toward her, reaching for her shoulders. Melody takes a step backward. “I don’t fuck students, Melody, that’s...”
“Really,” she says, her voice pure acid. “Because I’m a student and we’re fucking.”
“That’s different!” I say. “What did she tell you?”
Melody takes a deep breath, and I can tell she’s trying not to sob.
“That you had a sexual relationship with a student once, and probably have had more that no one knows about,” she says, glaring daggers. “And she was right about that part, so it stands to reason she was right about the whole thing. How many? One per semester? One per class per semester? How many other kittens are there?”
“None,” I say, holding my hands out toward her. “Melody, you’re the only one, I swear.”
I take a deep breath, ready to come clean.
“I made a stupid mistake when I was in grad school,” I say. “I was a teaching assistant and I had a one night stand with a girl in my class. She thought she could get a better grade out of it, she couldn’t, long story short, now everyone thinks I’m a pervert who has sex with my students.”
Melody arches one eyebrow.
“It’s just you, ever since,” I say. “Melody, I swear. The rest of them seem like — like children, except you, and you’re beautiful and pure and smart and sexy as hell, and I wish I didn’t want you like I do because it would sure make my life less complicated.”
Her bottom lip is quivering, like she’s about to cry again, and she looks away.
“I love you,” I say.
She looks at me again, this time incredulous. I’m incredulous, because I don’t know where that came from. I didn’t mean to say it, I just did.
And it’s true.
“I need to think,” she says, and walks past me for the door again.
“Melody, I promise,” I say. “Cross my heart, hope to die. Anything.”
She shakes her head again and opens the door, then stops on the threshold and turns back to look at me.
“I don’t know,” she says, and leaves. I watch her walk down my drive and then away from my house as the snow falls. I want to chase her, but I know it won’t do any good, because she’s nothing if not stubborn.
Back inside my house, I want to shout and punch things. I want to take the lasagna out of the oven and smash it on the ground, throw the wine against the wall, let the fire burn the house down. But instead I force myself to think while I drink scotch.
I have to let her know. I have to convince her that she’s the only one, the only girl I’ve truly wanted in years, the only person I’ve ever felt this way about.
I sit quietly. I think. I’m a professor; thinking is what I do.
I don’t go to bed until I think I have a solution.
I think Greg sensed the urgency of this meeting, because he scheduled it for nine on Monday morning, the soonest it could be. My stomach is tying itself in knots as we sit in big, comfy chairs on opposite sides of his desk and he studies me carefully.
“Well, Ethan, I give up,” he says, bringing his coffee mug to his lips. “What’s this about?”
I’m about to risk everything. My career. The job that I love. The life I worked so hard for. If I get fired, I have no idea what I’ll do — it’s not like there’s a big demand for Latin translators these days.
But I have to try. I have to get Melody back, to prove that I’m willing to go to any lengths for her.
I take a deep breath.
“I’m in a relationship with a former student of mine,” I say, my voice surprisingly steady. “She’s an undergrad.”
His eyebrows arch upward instantly, and his coffee mug freezes halfway to his mouth.
“Ethan, are you serious?” he asks.
Chapter 25
Melody
Professor Sharpe calls me thirty-four times on Monday. He texts me again and again, but I mute him and ignore his voicemails. I just can’t look at them right now, can’t hear him lie any more.
I don’t know if he’s lying. I want to believe him. I do, but I don’t want to be an idiot, either. People don’t change, and I know that.
When I get home for the day, I check my email, still bundled up in my coat and scarf. A dozen emails from clubs and organizations, telling me how I should spend my after-school time; a promo email from the Gap; a few from friends.
And an email from Greg Cohen, the chair of the Classics Department.
I sit up straighter.
Melody,
I need to speak with you about an important matter. Could you come to my office tomorrow morning at ten?
Best,
Gregory Cohen
Oh fuck. I have no idea what this is about — Professor Sharpe? The A minus on my quiz? My thesis? Something else completely?
I feel like I’ve swallowed a lead weight as I pull my phone from my pocket and unmute Professor Sharpe’s texts. Just as I do, another one comes through:
I told Professor Cohen about our relationship.
Oh God. Oh God.
I don’t actually know if I could get in trouble for this. It can’t be a good idea, but could they fail me? Expel me? Worse?
What the hell could be worse?
I’m useless that night. I don’t get any homework done at all, and when Erica gets back, I’m just watching Netflix on my laptop in bed. I tell her I’m not feeling well, since it’s not like I can tell her the truth.
I don’t sleep well.
I’m outside Professor Cohen’s office at nine forty-five the next morning, just waiting anxiously. At nine fifty he walks down the hall, coat and scarf still on, and sees me sitting there.
As he unlocks his office door, he nods at me, and I follow him in nervously, sitting in a chair while he takes his outer layers off. He sits behind his desk and rubs one hand over his balding head.
Then he sighs.
“I might as well get right to it,” he says. “Ethan Sharpe tells me that you’re in a relationship with him.”
My face flushes bright, bright red.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” he says, and leans back in his chair. “Melody, I have to tell you that while it’s not against policy for students to become involved with professors, as long as they’re not in that professor’s class, it’s rarely a good idea.”
I swallow and try to think of something to say, but my mind goes blank.
“On the other hand, I’ve been divorced twice, so it’s not like I could give much good relationship advice. You’re not being coerced or anything, are you?”
I shake my head, and he nods, then grabs a list from the side of his desk.
�
�Okay then,” he says. “Last but not least, we need to get you a new advisor.”
I call Professor Sharpe the moment I’m out of the Classics Department. It’s a bright, sunny day, even though there’s snow on the ground, so it’s nearly blinding outdoors.
“Melody,” he answers, breathlessly.
“Why’d you tell?” I ask, standing on a street corner, watching cars go by.
“I wanted you to know I was serious,” he says, his voice quick and low. “I want us to be together, Melody. Really together, because there’s no one else and there never will be, and I didn’t want to hide anymore.”
I pause. There never will be? Really?
My heart skips a beat.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before,” he says.
I clear my throat.
“That’s okay,” I say. “I... I’m sorry I freaked out and called you a liar.”
I think I can hear him smile over the phone.
“Forgiven,” he says. “Do you have class today? I want to show you how sorry I am.”
My heart beats faster, and my pussy throbs. I do have class, but Linguistics 240 has a pretty lenient absence policy — I can miss four whole classes before it affects my grade.
Meaning I can miss one today.
“No,” I say. “Not anymore.”
“Good,” he says. “Meet me at your apartment.”
Chapter 26
Professor Sharpe
I’m already standing outside her building when Melody walks up. I was supposed to teach today, but I emailed my Latin 102 students that I’m not feeling well and canceled class.
I don’t need class, I need her.
“Hey,” she says when she walks up, bundled up and braced against the cold. “Professor, I’m sorry I—”
I don’t let her finish her sentence. I just kiss her, her face cold but her lips warm. For the first time, we’re out in the open, standing on the street, where anyone could see us.
It feels incredible.
When she pulls back there’s a mischievous sparkle in her eye, and she bites her lip quickly. I still don’t think she knows she’s doing it, but I’m already rock hard watching her.
“Did you come by just for that?” she asks slyly. “Or do you want to come in? Erica’s in class all day.”
I kiss her again and push her gently toward her apartment door. The moment we’re inside, still taking off her hat and scarves and gloves, I kiss her again, more urgently this time and she yields below me, her soft, warm body ready for taking.
I slide my hands under her shirt, unfasten her bra, and pinch both of her hard, pebbled nipples between my fingers. She moans into my mouth, sucking on my tongue, and I push her backward into her bedroom, kicking the door shut behind her.
“I don’t fuck undergrads,” I say into her ear, pinching a little harder. “Just you.”
“I know,” she whispers.
I pull her shirt off and push Melody onto her bed, bending over her and taking one nipple in my mouth, sucking and licking it hard. She moans again, her hands in my hair, and I move to the other, already unbuttoning her jeans, desperate to taste her yet again.
I don’t understand it. Usually I’m bored of women by now, just going through the motions of sex until the time is right for me to end things, but not with her. I crave Melody and think about her constantly when we’re not together.
I slide her jeans over her hips, spread her thighs apart and run my tongue between her soft, delicate lips before swirling it around her clit, her body already buzzing and humming as I lavish attention on that sensitive button. This is about her right now, about how much I need and love her, and I want her to come again and again until she can barely speak.
“Professor,” she whispers somewhere above me, her hand tight in my hair. I move my tongue faster, sliding three fingers into her dripping pussy. She practically sucks me into her, moaning again, and I lap at her clit as hard and fast as I can, curling my fingers inside her channel.
“Please let me come,” she moans. “God, please—”
I suck hard on her clit and drive her over her the edge, feeling her clench around me like a fist closing.
“Jesus, you’re good at that,” she murmurs.
I don’t stop. I take my fingers out of her and work my tongue down to the delicate bud of her asshole as she gasps, then insert two fingers there, feeling her stretch as I suck her clit into my mouth yet again. She moans and bucks underneath my hand and mouth, losing herself completely to pleasure.
Good. I need her almost delirious with pleasure and utterly relaxed, because I’ve got something in store for her. Something that will overwhelm her completely, overpower her, and make her come uncontrollably hard.
I stand, bending over her and kissing her on the mouth. She sucks at me greedily, tasting herself as she tries to sit up, but I push her back down by the shoulder.
“I want you in my mouth,” she whispers, between kisses, her voice soft and her eyes closed.
The thought of her swallowing me makes my balls clench closer to my body, but I push her back anyway.
“Not now,” I growl. “I need to be inside you, now.”
With that I pull her to the edge of the bed, her knees over my shoulders, and plunge myself into her sweet pussy with a groan.
Melody’s back arches and she cries out, her hands clutching the sheets on her bed. I lean over her to push myself even deeper, hitting that sweet spot in her that makes her almost lose her mind with pleasure.
“Fuck me, Professor,” she moans when I find it.
I fuck Melody hard and fast because that’s how I need her right now, like I’m drowning and she’s a life raft. With every stroke, I hit the sensitive spots inside her, and soon she’s moaning and thrashing, nearly screaming with sheer pleasure.
It just makes me go harder. She’s mine and I know what she wants.
Finally, she explodes again, her pussy muscles gripping my cock so tight that it nearly hurts. I see sparkles in front of my eyes, the low ache in my belly, but I force myself not to come. Not yet.
I thrust into her a few more times, gently, slowly, and watch her regain control. She runs one hand over my chest as I do, pushing myself deep, and opens her dazed eyes to look at me.
“This feels so fucking good, Professor,” she murmurs. “What are you doing to me?”
I pull out of her dripping, drooling pussy and open the drawer in her bedside table.
Chapter 27
Melody
It was a stupid question, I know, because he’s pulling out the lube and slathering his thick, long, perfect cock with it. I’m breathless with anticipation even though I practically haven’t stopped coming since we got to my bedroom.
I start to roll over and get on my hands and knees, but Professor Sharpe stops me.
“I want you like this,” he says, stroking his cock and grinning slowly. “I like watching your face when I’m inside your ass.”
With one thumb, he starts stroking my clit idly as he positions the head of his cock at my back entrance. I take a deep breath, relax, and let him slide into me, his whole monster sinking deep in one stroke.
I make a pure, primal, guttural noise. When Professor Sharpe fucks my ass, I feel so filled and so good that I can barely move, like he’s in absolute, complete control and the only thing I can do is surrender to him.
“Tell me how much you like it,” he commands, his thumb still rubbing my clit. He starts thrusting slowly, gently. I know he doesn’t want to hurt me but right now I’m craving it hard and fast, until I’m screaming nonsense words because I can’t think of real ones.
“I love your thick cock in my ass,” I moan, because I’ve finally almost learned to talk dirty. “Fuck me hard, Professor.”
He drives himself deep again, harder this time, his balls slapping against my ass, and I moan, my eyes sliding shut. It feels good, fucking incredible, but it’s also dirty, filthy, something I never thought I’d do.
I never tho
ught I’d beg a man to put his cock in my ass, but here I am.
“Fill me up,” I beg. “Make me come again.”
There’s a look of complete and total concentration on his face as he starts going harder and faster, and soon I feel my brain shorting out from how good it feels and how dirty it is.
“Make me come,” I beg, over and over. “Make me come with your big cock, please.”
With a grunt, he does, and I swear my entire body shivers as I orgasm, every muscle tensing, my fingers and toes curling. I can hear myself shouting but I have no idea what I’m saying because there’s nothing here but sheer, pure pleasure.
I come back down to earth, and realize he’s still rock hard, still fucking me mercilessly.
“Come in my ass, Professor,” I say. “I love feeling you come there.”
A slow, wicked grin spreads over his face, and he slows. I just stare, baffled, because I have no idea what else he could possibly have planned.
“Do you trust me?” he asks.
“Yes,” I say instantly.
“Completely?”
“Yes.”
Without another word, he reaches into my bedside drawer and pulls out the dildo — the one that, six weeks ago, I thought might be too big for me. I just watch him, clueless, as he slides the tip of the dildo down me, from my belly to my clit until the head is nestled between my slippery lower lips, just above where my asshole is stretched around his cock.
Then it clicks, and I gasp, alarmed.
“Shh,” he says. “Trust me, kitten.”
I pause for a moment. The thought is hot as fuck, but can I really do that? To be honest, it seems logistically impossible — two big cocks in my tight little body at the same time.
But then Professor Sharpe pushes the head of the dildo inside me just a little more, thrusting lightly into my ass, and I’m hit by a wave of pleasure so intense I can’t even move, let alone make a noise.
“You’re so fucking beautiful right now,” he whispers. “I love it when you feel so good you can’t even move.”