Dirty Professor (7 page)

I broached the topic pretty casually, so it wouldn't sound suspicious, wondering how open Emily would be to Bryce not living much longer. When she tossed that Kinsey Millhone series out there, I felt ill. I don't have eleven more Bryce books in me. I just fucking
don't.

Plummeting to the ground? Sure, how? Falling from a building? Parachute won't open? Or maybe he just gets shot point-blank? It could happen. I scribble a few more ways Bryce can meet his end, then rip the paper from its pad, wad it up and chuck it into my home office wastebasket. I know damn well that this book will probably end with another woman on his arm and another villain disposed of.

Emily wants Bryce to win the fucking Nobel Prize in Chemistry. Fuck that.

It's a gray sky out the window, the first cool day of the semester. I'm told that around October, the Oregon weather will turn to shit, and as much as I'm looking forward to those rainy days, which are my favorite writing days, I can't get excited about leading Bryce Bowker, ace douchebag, though more close calls to ego-bolstering victory. He makes shit happen in his lab, he gets his dick wet (usually multiple times, with multiple women) and he sidesteps death. Lather, rinse, repeat. And nobody is fucking sick of him yet?

I need a distraction.

Addision.

She gave me her cell number, so I dial it and she answers on the second ring.

"I feel like getting out of the house," I inform her. "Let’s get a room at the Promenade."

"That's where my parents stay." Her voice is crisp, all business all of a sudden.

"Oookay," I say. "Are they staying there currently?"

"No."

"Then what's the problem?"

"I don't know." There's a pause. "I'm kind of busy."

"Doing what?"

"Working on being more visceral."

Aha. "So that's what the attitude's about."

"I don't have an attitude!"

"You sure?"

Another pause. "I just thought you were a little harsh. And then I saw that everyone else went to taco beer night, and it was just kind of like, 'oh, shit,' and I've been kind of bummed, I guess. Which maybe I shouldn't be because frankly, I don't want to ruin my love of Green tacos by eating them with Luna who probably hates tacos. I'm surprised she even went."

"Taco beer night?" I can't help smiling-- Addison's voice is cute even when she's ranting-- but it's concerning that the rest of my students are deliberately leaving her out. "So you just weren't invited, or what?"

"Nope. Just saw the pictures they posted."

"Fuck," I say, but my mind is already moving onto her naked, laid out in bed at The Promenade, her legs spread as I devour her sweet little pussy. “Don’t worry. We'll have our own little party."

"Wee-eelll..." I can hear her wavering, and I know she wants to. "But are you going to be nicer to me in class?"

Oh, God. A strike of something – anxiety – pulses through me.
Don’t shit where you eat.
But I’ve been very clear with her, I tell myself. She knows this isn’t going to lead to relationship. I don’t do relationships. If she’s upset about what happened in class, it’s about what happened in class. Not about us. "Yeah, sure. Just meet me there. I'll text you the room number when I check in."

An hour later, I'm turning on the shower in the giant slate and granite bathroom in my hotel suite when I hear Addison's knock, the soft rapping I've come to recognize from my rental house door. I wrap a towel around my waist, shuffle through the suite and open the door.

Addison’s standing there looking stunning in a black maxi dress and light jacket. She opens her mouth and doesn't close it.

"Well, come in before someone walks by," I hiss, tugging her elbow.

"I always dreamed of a hot guy answering the door in just a towel," she says as she steps into the suite, "But I didn't think it would be today."

"It's your lucky day," I say, pulling her close. "Or maybe it's an apology."

"Can't it be both?" Addison pulls back to lock her eyes-- more greenish, in this light-- on mine before sweeping her gaze around the suite. The king-sized bed is visible through a double doorway, and the floor-to-ceiling windows show the small town and the forest beyond, leading up to the mountains. "Definitely romantic," she says in a soft voice.

That same sliver of anxiety slides through me. It’s not supposed to be romantic. Romantic is not shacking up with your professor at a clandestine location so he can fuck you without anyone knowing.

"Sexy,” I correct her. “And it would be sexier if you were naked too. I slip her jacket down her shoulders. Our lips crash together as I finish pulling her jacket off and play with the straps on her dress, slipping them down over her soft skin. The dress comes down, revealing black and ivory lace-- nice, very nice. It'll be nicer off of her, but for the next twenty seconds, I can admire how gorgeous she looks in it.

I lead Addison into the bathroom, kissing her shoulders as we walk. I can feel her nipples poking out through her bra, and I give them soft twists as we near the shower. She lets out breaths of pleasure as I play with her tits before reaching around and unfastening her bra.

Her body is soft and supple, and I love the way her breasts feel in my hands-- not silicone, and not huge, but round and pert. Her pink rosebud tips feel even better in my mouth. I reach between her legs. She's already soaked through her panties. "Won't be needing these," I whisper, pulling at them, and she maneuvers her way out of them, kicking them across the bathroom. She must have shaved again because she's the same unreal level of smoothness that she was a few days ago.

She gives me that
Mmmm
I like, and whispers "More."

I nudge her toward the shower. "Get in there." She obeys. I follow her and let the water pour over us while I play with her clit. All I want to do is drive into her, but I wait it out, teasing both of us, fingering every part of her curves and crevice, keeping my touch light and then shoving my finger inside her.

Addison moans and leans her head back. Shit, that's so hot.

"Tell me," I say above the water. "Did you get an attitude with me earlier?"

"Maybe." I stick another finger inside her and she gasps. "Yes!"

"Are you sorry?"

Addison nods, which I would accept, but the way I'm making her answer me is making me so rock hard and she feels too good around my fingers. "Say it."

"Sorry," she rasps, licking her lips like she's absorbing the sensations I'm sending through her.

I work my fingers in her, doing circles, a little rough, like I mean business. "You really shouldn't get too snarky with me," I say in her ear. "I'm your professor."

"Ohh,
Gooddd."

I send her over the edge with that. She bucks against me and fights to catch her breath, and then leans against me, eyes closed.

We stand together for a few minutes, just feeling the water splash over our skin.

My cock is rock hard, and I push her up against the side of the shower, her cheek pressed against the hard granite.

I slide the head of my cock over her ass, being careful not to go in, but letting her know I could if I wanted to.

I can’t take it any longer, and I push into her, hard, and she arches her back into me as I start to fuck her, the water sliding over our bodies, the steam rising around us.

She feels amazing around me, snug and tight and so fucking smooth.

I pull her back toward me and kiss her mouth, her tight supple body pressed against mine as I come inside of her.

Finally, I turn the faucet off, step outside for towels, and wrap her naked body up in one of the giant white terrycloth sheets. "Good girl," I tell her, before scooping her up and carrying her to the bed.

A
DDISON

I feel kind of dazed after that shower. The heat on top of the steam we generated ourselves zapped my energy, and I've been enjoying laying here on this huge bed with my head nestled in the crook of Chase's elbow.

I can sense him looking at me. "What?" I ask.

He just smiles and shrugs. "Can't I just look at you?"

"I guess so," I say. I still can't believe Chase Brooks wants to spend his time looking at me. He could have any woman in the world, and he’s here with me. I never thought I'd get to come in a luxury hotel suite shower. With Chase Brooks.

"I think Roger Moore is my least favorite Bond," he tells me, flipping through the channels. "How about you?"

"I'm ambivalent, as long as Daniel Craig wins best Bond."

"No way. Connery."

"Is it hard to watch these?" I ask as Chase lingers on the Bond movie for a minute. "Do you constantly weigh every element of these films against Bryce when you watch, or are you able to relax and enjoy them?" I’m running my fingers down over his naked chest, enjoying the feel of his body. Every muscle is defined, every part of him chiseled and worked to perfection. I wonder what it would feel like to be that beautiful, to be so perfect. Does it get old? I wonder. Being able to get anything you want because you’re so damn good looking?

"I can't turn my mind off," he says. "Not completely. So I've never been able to relax all the way. The back of my mind is looking for similarities and wondering who's better."

"Bryce is in a class of his own," I assure him. "Trust me." I run my hand further down his body to his stomach, counting the muscles of his abdomen. One, two, three, four, five, six pack.

"That he is," Chase agrees, but his tone is flat.

I know he's been struggling to write his next book, but maybe it's going worse than I thought. "Still not in the groove yet with number fifteen?" I ask gently.

He shakes his head, saying nothing. I lift my head to look at his face. It's twisted into disgust.

"What's happening with that?" I ask.

"Nothing." He lets out a sigh and looks away. "I just want to kill off my main character. No big deal."

What?!

"I don't think I heard you properl,” I say, trying not to show my surprise. “Did you just say you want to kill off Bryce Bowker?"

"Yes."

"But--" I can't wrap my head around this. "But that would be like killing off Jack Reacher!"

"Yeah, well."

"Are you serious?"

"Dead serious."

"Why?"

"Because I fucking can't take his shit anymore." I almost smile, because Chase could be bitching about a real person, the way he sounds. But after so many books and movies, and worldwide love, Bryce almost is a real person. "He's the same bastard in every book, and I can't do anything new with him. He's an egomaniac and pretty fucking narcissistic. You know?"

"I..." I never thought about this before. "He could be, but that wouldn't be my first complaint with him."

"Oh? And what would be your first complaint?"

"He has way too much sex. Like, sex with people he only looked at two seconds before. And there's never any mention of condoms, and he never seems to worry about getting someone pregnant or-- or worse. You'd think a scientist of all people would be the first person to consider those possibilities." I feel my face turning red, because of course I’m not talking about Bryce. I’m talking about Chase.

Chase is studying my face with a look of faint amusement on his face, like he wore for a few seconds while Luna and I debated over cliche endings. "He's selfish as fuck, that's for sure."

"Does he?" I prop myself up with my elbow. "Ever think about sexually-transmitted... stuff?"

Chase nods. "I'm sure," he says, "that as a chemist, with all the pussy he gets, he is on top of his sexual health."

"I'm sure."

"And I'm sure that the next lady he keeps company with has nothing to worry about."

"Good," I say.

"You really think rubbing Bryce out would be on the same level as killing Reacher?"

"For sure! Or Bond. Or-- or Inspector Gadget."

"Inspector Gadget?" Chase laughs silently, his chest jumping. "Really?"

"You can't tell me you can resist that show. Or the theme song. Do do do doo, Inspector Gad-get. Do do do do do do dooo,
oooh ooooohhh."

"It's true. Bryce never had a theme song remotely that awesome."

"Are you sure you want to kill him?" I can't fathom it. "After everything?"

"He's done a lot for me, sure. But I think maybe it's time."

I lean against Chase, absorbing this news. "Who else knows you're considering this?"

"Only you."

Only me. I'm the only one in the world besides Chase himself who knows that the end is nigh for Dr. Bryce Bowker? I can't even. I don't know how Chase can even. Kill off one of the world's most beloved heroes?

...Only me.

My heart flutters a little. I can't help it. This beautiful man, this bestselling author and Hollywood favorite, just told me out of everyone else on this planet, and now I'm the only one who knows.

That is a
gigantic
turn-on. I push my body closer to him, tangling my legs with his. He’s warm and strong, and the ache between my legs pulses harder.

I sit up on the bed and face Chase. He reaches up and pulls my towel down, his blue eyes traveling from my face to my bare chest. I trace the sculpted lines of his abdomen once more, then gently pull his towel away from his lower body.

His cock is already standing up for me. I love the way it feels in my grip. He's so beautifully endowed, so perfectly shaped, and I revel in the wet droplets that seep out onto my fingers.

Chase coaxes me on top of him, and I straddle him, still stroking his erection with my hand. I look down at my instructor. His eyes close and open, close and open, and he finally narrows them to slits. "If you're going to do that, then at least do what I tell you."

"What's that?"

"Put your hands above your head."

I oblige him, giving him an unobstructed view of my breasts.

"Fuck," he mutters.

I close my eyes, blushing again at the way he looks at me, the way he makes me feel so beautiful, the way he makes me feel like I’m the only woman in the world he could ever look at the way he’s looking at me now, with a mixture of desire and lust and protection.