Getting Schooled (Craving #9) Page 4

  Her blue irises remained pinned on mine, and she stared at me for what felt like fucking ages. My heart hammered, my head cursing me for allowing her to seduce me so easily.

  She shifted from one leg to the other, crossing her arms. “So will your wife be joining you at the dinner tonight?”

  I stared back at her, my heart still racing. “I haven’t asked her yet.”

  Olivia just nodded, silence filling the space between us. “Well then, I suggest you ask her.”

  She brushed past me toward the door, but I grabbed her elbow to stop her from leaving, only to pull her closer. “Look at me.”

  She did. With those sheer blue irises, she stared up at me, making me feel like she could see right through to my soul. It was fucking amazing and disarming at the same damn time.

  God, she was beautiful. Without a doubt the most beautiful woman I had ever seen.

  With the back of my hand, I skimmed my knuckles down her flushed cheeks. “Will you go with me to the annual dinner tonight?”

  A smile spread across her face, those gorgeous heart-shaped lips seducing me—leaving me wanting to kiss her again. “Well, I don’t think I’m in a position to deny my professor anything at the moment.”

  I cocked a brow. “You’re not in a position to deny your professor…or your husband.”

  “Oh, that’s right. I almost forgot about my dear, handsome husband.” Her eyes glinted with mischief, and I wished we had more time so I could fuck her on every desk in my goddamn classroom.

  “Miss Reed, huh? Nice move using your maiden name.”

  She shrugged. “It wouldn’t have been nearly as fun if it was Mrs. Noah Scott prancing around in a short little skirt.”

  I let go of her and grabbed my briefcase. “Talking about a short, little skirt. Put these on.” I held out her panties. “I’d hate for every horny college guy to see up my wife’s skirt. It’s enough that the entire lacrosse team got an eyeful of what’s mine.”

  “A girl’s got to do what a girl’s got to do.”

  I scowled. “Ah huh.”

  A naughty grin curved at the corners of her lips when she took the panties. As she shimmied into them, I walked to the door, then watched as she sashayed toward me. Lifting her up on her toes, she placed a soft kiss on my lips. “Happy birthday, husband.”

  I smiled. “Thank you, wife. It’s the best birthday gift ever.”

  She frowned, every contour of her face screaming with naughty intent. “Wait until you see what I have planned for dinner.” Oh, shit.

  The End

  About the Author

  All the way from Cape Town, South Africa, Bella J lives for the days when she’s able to retreat to her writer’s cave where she can get lost in her little pretend world of romance, love, and insanely hot bad boys.

  Bella J is a Hybrid Author with both Self-Published and Traditional Published work. Even though her novels range from drama, to comedy, to suspense, it’s the dark, twisted side of romance she loves the most.

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  http://www.facebook.com/BellaJ1983

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  http://www.twitter.com/bellaj_author

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  http://www.bellajromance.weebly.com/

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  https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/14278529.Bella_J_

  The Brazen Lounge

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  Black, White, and Gray

  By HL Nighbor

  Chapter One

  Olivia

  My throbbing head reminds me of last night and the five too many tequila shots I did thanks to my best friend’s insistence. As I finished one, another appeared, ready to take its place. When I went to The Bulldog Tavern last night to celebrate the end of summer break before the kick off of my final year at Spring Hill University, the plans did not include getting wasted, but now I find myself paying the ultimate price.

  If the marching band playing in my skull didn’t give away the massive hangover currently wracking my body, the litter box in my mouth certainly would expose my condition. I swallow in an attempt to moisten my dry throat and rid myself of the taste of death. My eyes remain closed, knowing the minute I open them, the light will pierce the center of my brain.

  I attempt to stretch my arms above my head but find them pinned by a large, heavy arm. My eyes fly open, and I wince at the stabbing agony. I don’t recognize my surroundings, but I do know two things.

  One. I’m not in my apartment.

  And two. I’m naked.

  Completely naked.

  Not a scrap of clothing to be found on my body.

  In a panic, I attempt to shift from my bedmate, whom I currently don’t remember. The extremely masculine, strong arm grabs me and pulls me flush against a hard body in a similar state of undress as my own. Glancing down, I view a heavily tattooed forearm wrapping around my waist.

  Shit.

  I lay still and wait for the person behind me to settle back in. After a few minutes, I slowly shimmy myself out of his hold and off the bed. The only thought in my mind is a plan of attack to get myself out of here, preferably without waking whoever’s bed I spent the night in.

  I stumble inside the en-suite bathroom without turning around to determine who participated in last night’s extracurricular activities with me, grabbing articles of clothing thrown around the room on the way. A perfect place to regroup and come up with a game plan.

  I quickly close the door behind me and release the breath I find myself holding. I peek in the mirror, and the image of a girl who thoroughly enjoyed herself last night stares back at me.

  My wavy brown hair lays in a tangle down my back. I frown at the makeup smears that reach down my face from under my eyes and stroke the stubble burn covering my cheeks and neck with my fingers. My sore, swollen lips and the bite marks decorating my breasts provide evidence of drunken sex. Vigorous, drunk sex, and lots of it.

  I turn on the water and use a hand towel in an attempt to clean up some of the remnants of the evening from my face. The subtle scent of cologne lingering on the towel sparks a familiarity but not quite enough to remember who wore it. Using my fingers, I gently try to comb through the rat’s nest on my head to make myself more presentable before I take my walk of shame.

  My first ever walk of shame after my first ever one-night stand.

  Fucking tequila.

  I’ll be sure to thank my best friend next time I run into her. The bitch.

  With my hair semi-tidied, I redress and find more stubble burn and bite marks on my inner thighs. I wince at the ache radiating from between my legs. An ache which can only come from being used hard and well.

  Damn.

  It appears I enjoyed myself thoroughly last night. Too bad I can’t remember any of the details. My memory is still fuzzy due to lack of sleep and an over-indulgence of alcohol the night before.

  I flush the toilet, wash my hands, and redress myself. As quietly as I can, I open the bathroom door with the hope of not waking my partner in sexual games. Escaping unnoticed is in the forefront of my mind.

  As I reenter the bedroom, the sight before me stops me in my tracks. Daniel lays in the bed sound asleep, and the events of the night before come rushing back to me in a fury.

  Drunken dancing. Hot, indecent dancing. Bodies grinding together and lips all over each other in a hot, sweaty tangle under the dim lights of the bar’s dance floor. Intense, crystal blue eyes surrounded by thick, dark lashes staring down at me, hooded in primal lust. My fingers running over closely shaved dark hair and the sensation of a couple of days of beard growth against my skin.

  Flashes of making out in the alley behind the bar enter my mind. My legs wrapping around his trim waist and my body pressed against the brick wall of the building by his muscular, solid torso as we attack each other in a fury of attraction and need. My lower back scratched from scraping against the rough wall. My hands running over tight, smooth fl
esh as they explore every defined muscle of his upper body.

  I find myself appalled at my total disregard for safety as visions of stumbling up the stairs to an apartment of a man I didn’t know surge into my memory. The two of us unable to keep hands off each other as our clothes fly off in haste before the apartment could even be unlocked.

  My core aches as I remember the slamming of the door with our bodies as he takes me for the first time against the hardwood despite our height difference, making me feel petite and sexy. The sight of tattooed arms flexing with every upward thrust and the delicious taste of his skin as I wantonly explored every available inch with my mouth. The sensation of my teeth sinking into his shoulder as he drives me to my first orgasm of the night. The tingling in my body tempts me to climb back in bed for a repeat.

  Heat flares within me, recalling the hours upon hours of dirty sex. On the kitchen counter. Bent over the dining room table. In the king-sized bed I climbed out of moments before. Lots of sex into the wee hours of the morning when we finally passed out in a pile of pure satisfaction and utter exhaustion.

  His demands echo in my head as I remember submitting to every single one without question or hesitation, allowing him to command my body in a way I’ve never experienced. I find myself surprised by these actions as I would never describe myself as submissive, even in the bedroom. Something about him had me under a spell.

  Oh. My. God. I’m having an out of body experience.

  This isn’t me.

  I’m not this person.

  I recall wantonly begging him over and over, screaming in total unrestrained bliss as I aggressively ran my nails down his back as I reached the pinnacle of pleasure. I remember his strong hands pinning mine above my head as his tall frame laid over my tiny one, leaving me feeling sheltered and protected, and how my pleasure heightened when he pulled my hair and smacked my ass as he took me from behind.

  Daniel rolls over, and I freeze.

  No.

  No. No. No.

  I can’t be here when he wakes up. Pure mortification flows through me. Last night will go down in history as the biggest mistake I’ve ever made.

  I tiptoe slowly into the living room and find my purse laying inside the apartment door, the contents strewn all over the floor when I dropped it in a frenzy of sexual need. My shoes were flung across the room without care. Not normally a promiscuous person, my face heats with my recollection of my shameless actions.

  Gathering my heels, I slowly walk to the entry and pick up my purse, replacing the items littering the carpet below. I exit, carefully shutting the door behind me, trying to keep from making a sound. The only thing able to make this morning worse would be getting caught by Daniel trying to leave.

  With the door closed, I take the stairs two at a time, needing to escape my foolish actions, and rush into the vacant parking lot. My red Acura sits alone, a stark contrast to the black asphalt. The quietness of the morning amplifies the sound of every step I take.

  Climbing in, I place my purse in the passenger seat next to me and fumble with my key, dropping it in my lap before I get it in the ignition. Waiting for my car to warm up, I rest my forehead on the steering wheel and release a sigh of relief for pulling off my getaway undetected.

  I notice my school catalog peeking out from under my purse. Snatching it into my hands, I frantically flip through until I reach the section for the Creative Writing Department. I scan the pictures of faculty, reaching the one I’m searching for, and it confirms my worst nightmare.

  Fuck.

  I slept with Professor Daniel Montgomery.

  Pulling out of the parking lot of the complex in a hurry, I internally curse myself.

  Professor Montgomery has been the talk of the Creative Writing Department since the day they announced him as the professor of the new Contemporary Culture in Creative Fiction course.

  Usually a new employee of the University would not be a big deal, but the gossip ran rampant with his appointment. Being the youngest professor to ever be hired into the department garnered a lot of attention. Add in the fact he’s hot, and the perfect mix of becoming the subject of collegiate fodder exists.

  When I say hot, I mean underwear model hot.

  Like cream your panties with one glance hot.

  Dark, thick hair sits atop his gorgeous face, complete with chiseled cheekbones and a strong, square jaw. Plump, luscious lips which beg to be kissed and his tanned complexion causes his clear, blue eyes to stand out in stark contrast. Brightly colored tattoos cover most of his sculpted body.

  After drooling over his picture in the announcement of the department email I received over the summer, he became the subject of many fantasies. I planned on admiring him from afar, as would every other female creative writing major, and some of the males too, without a doubt.

  I never, in a million years, would normally act on my attraction. Even though I test limits from time to time and occasionally push a few boundaries, the rules regarding a relationship between staff and students are abundantly clear, as are the consequences.

  Nope.

  Forbidden.

  Prohibited.

  Not allowed.

  Leave it to me to allow alcohol and a hot guy to affect my common sense and throw the rule book out the window. I’ll be honest. I didn’t just throw the rule book out the window. I fucking burned the damn thing and danced on its ashes.

  Way to go, Olivia.

  Now I hope when I walk into his class Monday morning he doesn’t recognize me, and I can keep my attraction for him under control. Holding my desire in check will be the hardest part, because my body craves another taste.

  Badly. Like an addict craving another fix.

  Everything in me screams to turn around, run back up the stairs, and take him for another ride.

  Not happening. It’s the hangover talking. I got this. No problem.

  Maybe if I keep telling myself this, it will become true. Because, if not, I’m screwed.

  I send up a silent prayer asking for strength and cross my fingers.

  Chapter Two

  Daniel

  “Welcome to Contemporary Culture in Creative Fiction. I’m Professor Montgomery. Today we will be going over the course syllabus and my expectations for the term. Those in the front row, please take a copy of the syllabus and pass the stack to the person behind you.”

  After the students finish passing back the materials, I commence my discussion regarding the course grading and format.

  “Many of you may believe this class will be an easy A, but I can assure you, this is not the case. This class will challenge you to dive deep into contemporary culture and the impact it has on current creative fiction and vice versa. Over the next hour, we will review the syllabus to give you an understanding of my expectations of you throughout this course.”

  As my eyes drift to the back of the large lecture hall, there she sits, as gorgeous and tempting as I remembered. My thoughts wander to the night we met. The painted-on jeans and the plain white tee she wore, similar to what graces her petite frame currently.

  Olivia.

  Even thinking her name stirs desire deep within me as I want another go with her.

  The last thing I imagined when I went to The Bulldog Tavern the other evening was taking home a sexy, little brunette. I knew I took a big risk even entering the bar since students frequent the establishment, but being in my late twenties, I still like hanging out with the younger crowd, and I figured I would be able to maintain my head. However, the few drinks I consumed provided enough lubrication to blur my judgment and prove me wrong.

  I close my eyes and take several deep breaths to keep my impending erection at bay. When I reopen them, I find myself staring directly in her dark-brown orbs at the back of the room. From my spot up front, there’s no mistaking the flare of recognition or the flush washing over her face.

  She ducks her head, avoiding eye contact, and shifts in her seat to hide herself behind the students in the row in front
of her. She’s as affected as I am.

  A sensation I can’t explain powers through my body, and the overwhelming urge to go to her comes over me. I tightly grab the edges of the podium in my hands, knuckles going white, to keep myself in place and attempt to distract myself with my lecture as I step around the structure to pace the length of the room.

  “Please note this course is not for the faint of heart. We will be exploring tough topics such as drugs, religion, morality, and sex.” I stare directly at Olivia as I say this, recalling the sex we enjoyed.

  Oh, the sex.

  I remember how her tiny frame and lush curves fit perfectly against mine and the softness of her wavy brown hair as I ran my fingers through it. The sound of her husky voice as she cried out in pleasure echoes in my mind. I recall every detail of her and the night we spent together as if a live action reenactment plays on a big screen in front of me.

  Fuck. The smell of her perfume and sex still lingers on my bed sheets, and I can’t bring myself to change them.

  It was hot and electric. The chemistry off the charts.

  We came together in an explosion of epic proportions, the two of us in sync with each other in a dance of pure perfection. I led and she followed, causing manly pride to surge through me as I took her to a level she probably has never experienced before. I, also, reached a new level of sexual satisfaction which always lay outside my reach with other partners.

  A student dropping a book distracts me from my mental replay, and I step back behind the podium, adjusting the erection pressing firmly against the zipper of my jeans.

  Damn. I haven’t had issues controlling my dick since I went through puberty.

  Refocusing on the task at hand, I resume my discussion. “In one week, each of you will receive a topic for your final assignment. These topics will be assigned randomly, and none will be duplicated. The final assignment, which will be sixty percent of your final grade, consists of two parts, a written response and an oral presentation.”