MY HOT TEACHER: (Volume 5 of the "My Hot..." series; a stand-alone, New Adult novel) (15 page)

Being loved is absolutely the best.

He dips his hands into the bowl again and goes to work on my feet.  He rubs my sole in a way that makes me cry out with gratefulness. 

He’s my man.

He cares for me.

He wants me to feel good.

The tender force of his thumbs against my heels works out all of the tightness.  I don’t even have the force of will to hold my legs up for him.  He does all of the work.

He kisses the back of my neck, gently turns me over.

Why have I been worrying?

Warm oil on one’s breasts, administered by strong hands that possess the proper amount of force and grace is the closest thing to heaven.  He kneads them as he has done so often before—always arousing me greatly—but the oil makes our passion that much more liquefied.

Down my belly, out to the sides of my hips, along the front of my legs.

Then, finally, after being greased from head to toe, he lays his delicious body on top of mine.  He entwines our fingers.  He kisses me deeply.  He caresses my cheek with his fingertip.

“You’re very beautiful, Celine.  You must believe that.”

“You make me feel beautiful.”

He kisses me again and runs his fingers through my hair.

It seems as if he wants to go from this foreplay to tender lovemaking but I sense from his hesitation that he isn’t hard enough.  I reach down, stroke him, enjoying the way my hand, slick with oil from his palm, glides along his shaft. 

His surge returns.

He enters me.

Oh, Professor, I love you so much!

But I don’t say it aloud.  I don’t want anything to ruin this perfect evening.

We make love in the sweetly sensual way I’ve hungered for so often.

Not that I don’t relish his creative approaches but sometimes it’s just nice to have it this way, harmoniously, two people focused on sharing their bodies and all of the affection that goes with it.

His thrusts become more rapid and his sounds match his rising effort.  We kiss.  But his mouth breaks away suddenly and he turns his head to the side, increasing his focus on the actual penetration and withdrawal, the repetition of his exertions.  His heart beats with even greater force.  I feel an unusual tension in him, as if he’s straining, reminiscent of my night with Randy.

He pulls back too far and slips out.

“Shit,” he mutters.

I feel his cock against my inner thigh and it’s too limp to start over.

Undaunted, I squeeze out from under him and begin an expert licking up his shaft, flicking across the head, teasing it.  His renewed strength thrills us both. 

He enters me once again.

It goes on like this, repetitive, silent.  His head stays turned to the side.  He focuses less on kissing, more on keeping his hard-on.

To help him along, I say, “You own my pussy, Sir.  You make it yours and no one else’s.  I’m your student, always.  No one makes me feel this way but you.”

“Shhh,” he says.  “Not tonight.  I want you to focus completely on your enjoyment.”

What a lovely thought.

But it’s difficult.

All of it seems like such a strain for him.

I want to tell him to relax, it’s no problem.  But I suspect he’ll think I’m condescending and perhaps become more upset.

He slips out again, unable to re-enter.

I make a move to go down on him but he touches my shoulder and says, “That’s okay.  No problem.”

I gently push his hand away and continue to descend.

He’s on his back and I work him hard, deliberately, and with great skill.  I use aggressive licking under his balls at the spot I discovered in Randy’s pick-up truck, pressing against him with my nose. 

The Professor thrashes under me.

There’s a moment when he tries to arch his hips away, seemingly ready to start lovemaking again, but I really don’t want him to stress it, so I hold his cock fast, suck him with renewed verve, use my fingers to caress up and down on the same spot below his balls.

He howls.

As his orgasm surges I feel it swell in my mouth.  I don’t know how I know to do this but just as he reaches full climax I press my fingers hard into that spot below his balls and hold them there with great firmness. 

The result is the longest orgasm I’ve seen him have, seemingly going on forever as my fingers force-feed a huge surge of blood and my pressure keeps it from retreating.

He screams with pleasure and finally has to pull away.

We lie side by side for a moment, stare up at the ceiling.  My body still glows from his warm touch.  I love that I can inspire such great passion in him.

Finally, he moistens his fingers one more time in the bowl and reaches between my legs.

“That’s okay,” I say, not concerned with my orgasmic pleasure, simply keen on basking in the glow of another wonderful night with my man.

But perhaps he misinterprets, somehow thinking I’m disappointed in him, because he rises abruptly and makes his dash for the bathroom and shower.

I’m back to staring at the ceiling.

Is he upset because he lost his erection a few times?

Granted nothing like this has happened before, but it’s no big deal.    It was an incredibly fulfilling evening.  He seemed intent on making love without any Dom/Sub dynamic.  Did he take this traditional approach because of my distance and lack of focus last Tuesday?

OMG!
  Does he think the whole fantasy threesome from the time before is too much for someone as inexperienced as I am and this is how he’s making it up to me?

I can’t wait for him to return so I can tell him it’s no big deal.  I loved it!  I loved tonight!  I love everything about him!

When he comes out of the shower, as usual, he’s ready to say goodbye.

I blurt, “Everything was fantastic.  I didn’t need an orgasm.  I was focused on enjoying what you had done to please me and what I had done to please you.”

“That’s great,” he says, not in Professor Beard’s tone of voice, not in the Professor’s, but what can only be Alan’s, because it borders on sarcastic, as if he doesn’t believe me.  He almost seems displeased. 

Perhaps sensing my reaction, he says, as nice as he can, “It’s cool.  Really.  Thank you for sharing.”

But even that lacks the warmth a singled oiled finger had recently transmitted.

I dress in silence.  He seems eager to have me leave, so I hurry.  I make one last attempt at the front door to depart on a positive note.  I tip up on my toes to kiss him on the lips but he turns and I get the cheek.

As I bicycle home I’m not sure whether it’s the cold wind or strong emotions that has my eyes moistening...because it suddenly dawns on me that my theories are incorrect.

He tried hard to please me, out of kindness he wanted to please me, but his flaccid response is an obvious reaction to getting heavier and heavier into his new lover as each week passes...and now he longs for
her
in his bed on Tuesdays as well.

Which means I simply don’t do it for him anymore!

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

I walk into my dorm room and break into a huge happy smile and give Katia a loud bubbly “Hi!”

She takes one look at me and says, “He broke up with you, didn’t he?”

I should’ve known there’s no way I can hide anything from her.

All of my emotions swell once again.  My best friend instantly tosses her laptop and notes for her paper to the side, gets up from the bed, steps toward me for a deep embrace.

I say, “He didn’t break up with me, it’s just not working.”

We sit on the bed, crushing Katia’s notes.  I recount how the night went, that as good as if felt for me, the usual passion seemed to be missing for the Professor.

“Why?” asks Katia.

That’s all I thought about as I pedaled home:

“He’s worried the Dom/Sub thing is too much for me because I was so out of it last Tuesday after he had introduced the threesome fantasy the week before which added tension that affected tonight’s performance.  Or...

“I’m giving off negative signals because of my anxiety over him breaking up with me, then getting back the one night, finding the card, smelling the perfume, which has me worrying he loves someone else.  Or...

“He felt insecure, ego bruised, because it was the first time he hadn’t performed at his usual standard.  Or...

“He
is
in love with someone else!  And he’s doing his best to nurture me along until the semester is over thus avoiding a painful break up that he knows I can’t handle but since his thoughts are elsewhere I no longer excite him the way I used to!”

We lie down on the bed, on our sides, looking straight at the other.

“Celine, I don’t have any conclusions for you, not even speculation.  I don’t know how anyone can figure out what makes this guy tick.  But you do need answers and it will be better for you to know the true thing instead of stressing over multiple things.”

“How am I going to know that?”

“Stalk him!”

“What?  I can’t do that.  He doesn’t deserve it.  I start following him all over campus they’ll bring me to the same hospital they sent Benjamin to.”

Katia shakes her head.  “No sense going hairslasher on his ass...as hot as it is.  But I think something’s definitely up.”

Now I’m shaking my head.  “I don’t have the time nor the inclination to hide in the bushes, follow his every move.  He’s enough of a distraction as it is.”

“I don’t think it’ll take up much of your time,” says Katia.

“What?”

“With the Professor being an OCD creature of habit I think you just need to sneak a ride over to his house on Thursday at what used to be your usual time.  If there’s no one there then let’s conclude it’s all in your head.  If there’s someone there, well, at least you know what you’re up against and can move on as you see fit.”

I close my eyes and take in a deep breath.

She’s right.  If something’s going on that’s probably the day and time.

But it would be such a bold move, so unlike me, the girl who took what the various Walls boys gave without a peep.

I turn on my other side, face the concrete wall. 

Something has to give.

“I’ll do it.”

“Awesome!” declares Katia, totally stoked, instantly tugging on my shoulder so we face each other again.  “Let me come along...
please
.  If someone’s there I have a few choice words and it would be the all-time BFF ambush!”

I shake my head and explain that regardless of what I might discover I don’t have any urge to get even.  The Professor has been as straightforward as he can be, considering his emotional handicaps, and has been very good to me, taught me so much, and I’m the one who first cheated with Randy. 

“No disrespect.  I just want to find out exactly what’s going on.”

“I understand,” says Katia.

We pick up her papers off the floor.

Katia stops suddenly. 

“Hey, I know what’ll cheer us up: a Skype session with Benjamin.  I want to tell him it isn’t polite to slash hair or wave his dick.”

I veto that as well.

Katia can’t hide her disappointment.  She’s such a good friend.

“Well there is a home lacrosse game tomorrow afternoon,” I say with a mischievous smile.  Katia’s suddenly all ears.  “And Starting Lacrosse Goalie failed so many subjects that he didn’t graduate and is now taking classes and acting as team manager.”

Katia beams as she says, “We’re going to the game!”

It isn’t pretty, but it’s hilarious.

We sit in the front row of the bleachers which only has a five yard separation from the home team sideline.  Starting Lacrosse Goalie mingles among his teammates with water bottles he extracts from a six-pack carrying case while barking at them to keep the pressure on.  There are only about forty people in the stands and even less on the visitor’s side across the field.  The crowd is mostly made up of friends, girlfriends, and parents of the players.  Whistles blow, players shout orders to each other, the coach screams.  The fans give a semi-hearty cheer every time a home goal is scored.

Katia waits until about midway through the first half when there’s a timeout and a serious lull in the action.

She cups her hands around her mouth, shouts, “Hey, Waterboy, I hear you only get it up to porn!”

The small crowd looks a bit stunned but she does get Starting Lacrosse Goalie’s attention.

He gives her The Finger.

“I didn’t ask for The Finger!” yells Katia.  “Though from what I hear it’s bigger than your pencil dick!”

This time some in the crowd chuckle.  She now has the attention of the team and the coach as well.  Everyone looks at the boy holding the water then back to her, wondering what the fuck is going on.

A couple of players say something to him then laugh. 

He bites his lip with anger.

Starting Lacrosse Goalie, aka Waterboy, looks Katia square in the eye, reaches his hand down to the crotch area of his Walls issue sweatpants, cups his dick and balls, flashes his teammates an ugly grin then arches his hips up toward Katia while hefting the whole package in her direction.

The players guffaw.

Undaunted, Katia screams back, “I didn’t ask to see the eraser nub either but hold on let me get out my electron microscope!”

The crowd, the players, even the coach peal with laughter. 

Is than an official smirking?

Either way the whistle blows, play resumes, the one Public Safety officer on duty approaches Katia and escorts us both out, as several girls, and even a few guys—to Starting Lacrosse Goalie’s great consternation—give Katia a hearty round of applause.

Apparently in his time he put off a lot more people than just me.

This is the first time I’ve ever been kicked out of anything and it feels kind of cool.

As we exit the gate and the officer turns back to the field Katia holds her hand up for a one final high five.

I oblige.

Together we chime, “BFF ambush!”