Her Dirty Professor (9 page)

It takes him a minute to recover. He sits down on the couch to rest, a silly smile on his face. “That was amazing,” he says. He grabs my waist and pulls me toward him.

As he undresses me, there’s a familiar pressure deep in my groin that I only feel when I’m with him. It’s that need to have him inside me. A yearning ache.

He pulls my pants off and my panties. He does the same thing I did to him, teasing, toying with me. His fingers flutter over the top of my mons, tickling me. Then his finger dips into the cleft, finding my clit. Swaying, I enjoy the sensation of being touched on that most tender part. His narrowed, hungry gaze slides over my body, before he pushes me down on the couch. He grabs my knees and pulls them apart, then positions himself and sinks into me. I squirm beneath him, bucking my hips as he envelopes my breast in his mouth, flicking the tip of my nipple with his tongue.

The way he bends and folds my limbs like some kind of marionette is welcomed; I have no control over my body. I want pleasure and don’t care how I get it. At one point he flips me over onto my stomach and enters me from behind. While pushing into me, I feel him spread my butt cheeks apart with his hands. His wet finger glides along the cleft of my ass, back and forth several times until coming to a stop at my hole. There’s a distinct pressure that I’m not expecting. Is he . . . yes he is. His finger enters my asshole. I’m so stunned by the sudden intrusion that I’m not sure what to do. At first I just lie here, doing nothing. His dick in my pussy feels so amazing, and surprisingly, the addition of his finger in my ass only enhances it. So I let it happen.

I’ve always wanted to try anal, but never thought it would be for me. That’s the kind of thing brave, outgoing girls do, not shy bookworms. As he pumps his finger in and out, getting me closer to my orgasm, I start to think maybe I’m one of those brave girls, after all, because I’m loving it. I arch my back, urging him on.

“You like that?” he asks.

“It feels so good,” I moan.

The second he enters another finger, I’m coming.

“Yeah, baby, cum for me,” he says.

I’m crying out his name, unable to contain my voice. He pulls his cock out of my pussy and puts it up against my asshole. At first I think he’s going to try and shove his monster inside of me and I’m genuinely terrified. But he doesn’t. Instead, I feel the wet, sticky warmth as ropes of cum spit into my open asshole.

I lie where I’m at, flaccid, and happy.

When he’s done, I roll onto my side, and he lies down beside me so we’re facing each other.

“Move in with me,” he says.

I laugh. Clearly he’s still in a postcoital haze. “Funny.”

“I’m being serious. I don’t live that far from campus, and since I’m not working I can drive you there. And this way I still get to see you every day. My house is plenty big enough for the both of us, and . . .” The cutest smile stretches across his face. “We can fuck like rabbits every night and just fall asleep in bed. You won’t have to worry about going home at night or sneaking off in the morning.”

“Aww, I see where this is going. You just want your own personal blowup doll around whenever you want to get laid.”

He playfully slaps my ass. “You know it.”

“I see how it is.”

His smile slips away and his expression becomes serious. “Really though, I want you to move in with me. I love you. I want to have a life with you. I wouldn’t have given up my job if I wasn’t serious about making this relationship work. I’ve never felt like this about anyone in my life.”

The air grows heavy in my lungs. I love him too, more than anything. My parents will freak when they find out I’ve left the dorms and moved in with an older man—my former teacher, nonetheless—but I don’t care. I want to be with him.

“Yes, I will move in with you.”

He kisses my forehead, the tip of my nose, and then my lips, and I’m the happiest I’ve ever been.

G
eorgia comes into the bathroom
, where I’m brushing my teeth and grabbing the things I forgot to pack and putting them in our overnight bag.

“Are you sure you feel up to meeting my parents?” she asks. “I can tell them you have the flu.”

I spit out toothpaste and rinse my mouth. “It’s been a year since you moved in with me, I think it’s finally time I met them.”

She fixes my collar and kisses me. I take her hand. “You ready?” I ask her.

“I think so,” she says with a deep breath and a smile.

We double-check our packing list and head for the airport.

After a long flight and a four-hour layover, our plane finally lands. This will be my first time meeting Georgia’s parents, but I’ve actually talked to her mom several times on the phone, just friendly chatter to get to know one another more. When she sidelined me, asking me to come to their Thanksgiving dinner, I wasn’t sure what to say, and so I just said yes.

“Why would you do such a thing?” Georgia had asked, panicked out of her mind. She’s concerned about what they’ll think about me being ten years older than she is and a former teacher at the university she attends. Not that she never planned to tell them; she just wanted to ease her way into the conversation.

After a year of us being together, the subject could’ve found its way into a conversation sooner, but I never said that—they’re her parents and she can deal with them how she wants. Of course we won’t tell them that I was
her
teacher and our relationship is the reason I’m no longer employed there. If they don’t ask, I won’t bring it up. If they do, I’ll just explain that I found opportunities elsewhere—which is true. I’m now working in a lab, creating chemical formulas for cosmetic and skincare companies. Sort of a dream job, utilizing my skills as a chemist instead of teaching others how to hone theirs. Had I not met Georgia, it might not have ever happened.

I pull the rented car up to a small, quaint house with the all-American white picket fence out front, and a giant oak tree with a tire swing hanging from its limb that has been there so long the tree has started to grow around the rope itself. Must’ve been left over from Georgia’s childhood. I can imagine a younger version of her, with knobby knees and sun-kissed, long, awkward legs, as she kicked at the ground to push herself higher. Early Christmas lights are hung, gearing up for the holidays, and pumpkins and Indian corn decorate the porch. There are several cars in the driveway.

“My brothers are already here,” Georgia says.

I have to admit, I’m a little intimidated by the idea of meeting her entire family at the same time. There are three brothers in all, two of them fully grown, married, and with kids of their own, as well as a younger brother still in high school.

“Great,” I say. “Can’t wait to meet them.”

I’d hoped to ease into the situation by meeting her parents first and getting them to like me, before meeting the older, protective brothers. I figured if I had the parents’ approval, the brothers would follow suit. Now I have to impress everyone at the same time. I just hope I have it in me.

I’m carrying two bottles of champagne in my arms, the same Dom Perignon that I’d bought for my first evening with Georgia.

The Christmas lights flicker on and the front door opens before we’ve made it to the porch. Her parents crowd in the doorway, their smiles beaming at their daughter.

“George,” her dad says. The nickname is funny and suits her, in a way.

Her dad is older than I was expecting, probably in his late sixties, with silver hair and a kind face. Her mom, on the other hand, can’t be older than early fifties, with long dark hair and streaks of blond that twist up in a bun. Maybe the age difference between me and Georgia won’t be an issue, since it’s clearly the same situation as her parents.

“And you must be Loche,” her mom says with outstretched hands. I take her awaiting hands and she gives mine a squeeze.

“So nice to meet you, Mrs. Brightly,” I say.

“Please, call me Angela.”

“Come on you two, let’s go in before the food gets cold,” her dad says.

It’s probably already cold. We were supposed to be here and hour ago, but with our delayed flight, there was nothing I could do.

Inside, the house is exactly how I pictured it would be: cozy, lived in, pictures of their family covering all available surfaces. We go into the dining room, where the table has been set. The rest of her family has already taken their seats and are waiting on us.

It’s a large table with an elegant lace tablecloth and gold runner down the middle. Large clear vases filled with cranberries and dried flowers in fall colors make up the centerpieces, and the entire room is lit with candles. It’s comfortable and homey, filled with tvoices, laughter, children, and memories being made.

“This is my oldest brother, Cameron, his wife, Jenny, and their two kids, Marley and Trixie,” Georgia says, introducing me. Cameron is well groomed, a kind of nerdy looking guy, his wife a bit overweight but pretty. Their two small children, neither of them over five, keep reaching for the candles, their mother patting at their hands.

The middle brother’s name is Blake. He eyes me skeptically, but it’s a bit over-rehearsed, like he’s been practicing at being intimidating. If he wasn’t nearly a foot shorter than me and about seventy pounds shy, it might’ve had the desired effect. His wife has a terrible case of resting bitch face and looks as though she’d rather be anywhere but here at the moment with her young children arguing over silverware at the table.

The youngest, London, sixteen, has sort of a goth thing going on, wearing eyeliner and black clothes. He wears headphones and plays a handheld video game. I feel like I already know these people from everything Georgia has said about them.

“Hi, everyone. It’s good to finally meet you,” I say.

I go around the table, shaking hands and exchanging pleasantries until I get to London, who ignores me. We sit down to eat. Mrs. Brightly brings out a large turkey, and there’s every side dish I can imagine. They go about the table and say what they’re grateful for. The two older brothers say their jobs and family. Georgia’s parents say the same. London says “tits” and his dad threatens to send him to his room, and the younger kids who know what tits are laugh.

This causes enough of a distraction so that the family forgets that Georgia and I haven’t said what we are thankful for, but I lean over to her and whisper, “I’m grateful for you.”

“Funny, I was gonna say the same thing about you,” she says, nudging my arm with an elbow.

We start eating. I’m in and out of different conversations with the older brothers when Georgia’s mom asks, “Will the two of you be staying in Georgia’s old room tonight?”

Her dad’s eyebrows rise as if it just now occurred to him that Georgia and I might be sleeping together.

London looks up for the first time, his black eyeliner gooped up in the inner corners of his eyes.

“I better not hear you going at it tonight,” he says.

“London!” cries Mrs. Brightly.

Cameron slaps him on the back of the head and tells him not to talk like that in front of the children.

Georgia’s dad just shakes his head like he’s used to this kind of behavior.

It’s quiet for several uncomfortable seconds.

I’m not sure what to say. Not about London, and not about our sleeping arrangements. We hadn’t made prior plans. I wanted to get a feel for the place and Georgia’s family, gage my comfort levels before deciding what to do and what options were available to us. I just assumed I’d be sleeping on a couch somewhere, which is fine since we’re only here for a couple of days.

“Actually,” Georgia says, “I figured Loche and I would find a motel in town. That way the little ones will have a place to sleep.”

I breathe a sigh of relief.

“Are you sure?” Mrs. Brightly says. “There’s plenty of room. We can bring out the air mattresses. I don’t want you to spend any more money than you have to.”

“We’re sure, Mom.”

After dinner, we head toward the Hilton. Being around her family was nice, and I enjoyed hearing stories about Georgia’s life when she was younger, but the screaming children were a bit much. One day I’d like to have a few of my own with Georgia, but until then, I’ll enjoy the silence.

Once we’re in a suite, Georgia goes to the mirror in the bathroom and takes off her earrings and washes off her makeup. “I’m so sorry about my family. They can be over the top.”

While she’s busy in the bathroom, I take the engagement ring out of my pocket and put it in my overnight bag among my toiletries. Then I take off everything but my boxers and prepare for bed.

“Are you kidding? I like your family. Your brother London was a trip.”

I was going to give her the ring tonight at dinner with her family watching, but with her little brother being a tool and all the kids running around screaming, I couldn’t find the right moment. Both Georgia and I are quiet people, more intimate than outlandish—other than the time I made that porn. I suppose it comes from years with our heads in books. I don’t think Georgia would appreciate some public spectacle of a proposal like I’ve seen from others. Something more intimate seems closer to her style. Something genuine, from the heart.

I’ve scraped my brain for ideas on how to propose. If this keeps up, it’ll never happen. I decide just to go for it.

Even though I’m closer to my bag than Georgia is, I say, “Babe, could you grab the ibuprofen from my overnight bag, please?”

Concern touches her voice. “Why, are you all right?”

“Just a little headache.”

She goes for the bag. The ibuprofen isn’t in there. She’ll search through every inch of the bag before realizing that.

She was in the middle of changing into her night clothes when I called on her and is only in a thong and bra. I smile at the sight of her gorgeous round ass spreading as she squats to look inside. The content of my bag is being tossed aside as she searches.

“I don’t think . . .” Her voice trails off. She must’ve found it, but I can’t tell for sure because her back is to me.

The waiting is giving me heart palpitations. Seems like forever as she sits there, silent. She’s probably wondering if she was supposed to see it. If maybe she found it by accident and had ruined some great surprise I had planned. But after a year, she knows me better than that.

I get up off the bed and walk toward her. She slowly stands from her crouch and turns toward me. The velvet box is cradled in her hands, tears shimmer in her eyes, and her nose turns pink.

“Is this what I think it is?” she asks, her voice thick with emotion.

I take the box from her and kneel down on one knee.

Her hands cover her mouth and the unshed tears spill over.

I show her the ring. A two-carat princess-cut diamond solitaire with a platinum band. She stares into the box, eyes growing wide.

“Georgia Brightly, will you marry me?”

She lets out a quick sob, a burst of sound, before clamping her mouth shut, and nods vigorously, unable to get words out. Then she simply says, “Yes!”

I take the ring from its cushion and slip it on her finger. A perfect fit like I knew it would be. I’d taken one of her other rings to the jewelry store when I was having it sized, just to make sure.

As soon as I’m on my feet again, she throws herself in my arms, and we both tumble onto the bed in a heap of entwined limbs with me on top. Her arms wrapped around my neck, she kisses me hard and deep, her grateful tongue searching out for mine. Her tongue tastes like strawberry—it’s always sweet even without chewing gum or eating candy. By the time I release her mouth from mine, my dick is at full-mast and aching to be inside her.

Sitting up, I dig beneath her until I find the clasp of her bra and unleash her from its burden. The small, delicious mounds of her breasts are too inviting to ignore. I lip at a puffy pink nipple, sucking it into my mouth, while my other hand pinches and pulls at the other.

She clings to me with her silky thighs, moaning and arching her back to push her panty-clad pussy against my steel cock.

I release her breast from my mouth and kiss the hard tip. I spread her legs apart. When I position myself in front of her, I grab her heels and place them on my shoulders, and I slowly rock into her. She moans as I slide my hands down her narrow waist. I reach for her full hips and take hold, pulling her closer, pushing in another inch.

Once I’m fully engulfed by the velvet walls of her vagina, I lean forward, folding her in half, our faces nose to nose. Gently kissing her soft mouth, I tell her, “I love you so much.”

I want to burrow beneath the satin layers of skin, crawl between her wet folds, be so deep inside of her she feels it in every fiber of her being.

She looks up at me with the most radiant smile. “I love you too.”

* * *