PleasuringtheProfessor (4 page)

“Wait here,” he whispered. She closed her eyes as he got up,
not wanting to break the sensual spell, and when he came back, he’d brought
something with him.

She started as she realized he was tying her hands above her
head. “What the…?”

“Shhh,” he soothed, using a length of red silk to tie her
hands together and then tie them back to the bed post. He kneed her legs open
wide as he did so. “Shhh, you’re my little prisoner tonight. Does that scare
you?”

She felt his hard cock, heavy against her stomach, and it
didn’t. It excited her. “No,” she said.

“Good. Because it’s all about pleasure between us, isn’t it,
honey?”

She nodded. She felt pleasure, tremendous pleasure as he
moved against her, smoothing her long hair, kissing along her randomly, a
shoulder here, a palm there, an eyelid and then the tip of one breast. All the
while his cock lay heavy and sheathed against her hip, her belly, signaling he
felt pleasure too.

“I’d like to tie your legs open, too, but I couldn’t find
another scarf.” His hands palmed the inside of her thighs. “But you pretend
I’ve tied them open, okay? Will you do that?”

She moaned as he pushed her thighs even wider still. “Put
your heels down, just like that, and stay spread open for me.”

She obeyed. He fingered her exposed pussy, spreading the
moisture from her depths to her clit. “You tasted so good down here. Do you
know that? So good that when I was eating your pussy I felt like I’d died and
gone to heaven. Is that trite? Do you expect more from me, honey? Some kind of
clever, well-written patter?”

“No,” she moaned.

“No? So what’s this thesis going to say? I’m a hack? A
washed-up old hottie?”

She opened her eyes. “What?”

And he was suddenly, satisfyingly on top of her. The weight
of his chest, his legs against hers, struck her as so unaccountably right. And
when he slid his sheathed cock into her cunt, she groaned. Even though, as
instructed, she held her thighs wide open, he ensured she continued to do so by
placing one palm on each of her inner thighs and pressing down. “Wider,” he
murmured. “That’s right. Spread your legs for me so I can fuck you.”

With her hands tied above her head, she could not hold on to
him or try to control the pacing. He pulled his cock out of her slowly and then
paused, right on the brink of re-entry, holding back until she could have cried
out for the lack of it. Then he quickly rammed his cock back in and held
himself still, deep within her. Sucking in her breath at the pleasure, she felt
almost unbearably full with him until he started to move again. This time it
was with quick hard jabs of his cock, some shallow, some deep until she was
writhing helplessly underneath him, yanking at her binds.

Fucking her with that wild, uncontrollable rhythm, he
taunted, “Why are you struggling? You’re so wet. You like this, don’t you?”

And it was true. Somehow the dominance of it spoke to
something within her and though she yanked at her bonds, it might have been to
assure herself they were there and not to try to escape them.

She moaned and he relinquished his grip on her open thighs
only to slide his hands roughly up her body, along her hips and over her
heaving breasts with their hard, sensitized nipples. She felt each touch of his
fingers, each casual caress with intense pleasure that only heightened the
pleasure she felt at his cock thrusting between her legs. When his hands
finished their journey up her body, he fisted them in her hair and his mouth
took hers. His kisses were hard, like his fucking.

With one impossibly deep lunge of his cock, they both came, his
hands slipping beneath her ass at the last minute as she shuddered, hugging her
to him.

When they drifted down from the climax, he pulled out of her
and peeled off the condom, throwing it to the floor. Without a word, he got up
and went into the bathroom. Perplexed, she pulled at the red scarf, but for all
their play, he had tied it pretty tightly and her writhing had only tightened
it. Now that their lovemaking was done, though, she felt exposed and
vulnerable, and oddly unsettled about the random things he’d said to her before
and during this last bout of passion.

“Can you untie me please?” she called out over the sound of
the running water in the bathroom.

He came back in, incongruously brushing his teeth, a task he
paused in only to remark, “You know, I never went in much for kink. But I have
to admit the sight of you tied with red silk is strangely moving. I wish I had
some nipple clamps or something.”

Then he went back to brushing his teeth, wandering back into
the bathroom.

Jesus, what had she gotten herself into?

She didn’t know whether to be relieved or apprehensive when
after a moment, he came back in, sans toothbrush. Watching her from the side of
the bed, arms folded across his wide chest, he said, “How many guys have you
fucked?”

“What?”

“Okay, narrow it down to profs. How many professors have you
fucked?”

If this was some kind of variation on the student-sleeps-with-professor
fantasy, the edge of hostility in his voice kept her from enjoying it. The best
defense being a good offense, she stopped struggling against her silken binds,
and said, “I never picked up a puritanical streak in your writing, but I’ll
have to go back and look closer. Clearly, it’s there.”

He smirked and then straddled her, low on her thighs,
sitting back on his heels so she didn’t take his full weight. “If you think a
writer puts everything of himself into his work, you’ve got a lot to learn.”

“Right. Like how someone I could have admired for so long
could turn out to be such a jerk in real life.”

“I’m disappointed a student of your caliber should have such
a limited vocabulary. That’s about the tenth time you’ve used the word jerk to
describe me. Don’t you have anything more varied?”

“When you find something that works, stick with it, I always
say.”

He leaned up and untied her binds. Admiring his flat abs and
defined pecs as he did so, given the context, was so wrong. But damn it, she
couldn’t help herself. When her wrists were free, she started to use her palms
to lever herself up and out of bed, and he leaned back off her to let her do
so. Or so she mistakenly thought. Starting to scoot off of the bed, she was
startled when he yanked her back, flipping her face down, and those damn silken
ties came into play again.

Struggling didn’t do much good, so she didn’t bother as he
tied her hands behind her this time.

“Have you become a serial killer or something during your
recent sabbatical?”

“It’s not a sabbatical.” He pulled her up on her knees,
coming up behind her on his knees as well, so that she was practically sitting
on his lap, faced away from him, hands tied as securely behind her back as they
had been moments before to the bed posts. “I’m through. All washed up. Haven’t
you heard that?”

“No, I hadn’t. About the serial killer part…?”

He laughed, so close she could almost feel it in her ear.
With one knee, he kicked hers farther open, so that she straddled his lap. His
fingers came up to skim her shoulders lightly, then moved forward to run the
backs of his hands along her breasts. “I’m going to kill you with pleasure so
you can go back to your campus and give a really good accounting of yourself.”

She shook her head.

“Oh, sorry. Kill you with pleasure is kind of trite too.
See? I’ve lost my spark of genius.”

His light touch wandered down to her hip bones, then farther
in. She stirred, feeling him stir as well against her backside.

“Are you mad because you slept with me?” she murmured even
as he petted her. “Was that some kind of betrayal of whatever self-destructive
creed you’ve got going for yourself?”

“Don’t psychoanalyze me, please. Save that for your thesis.”
He bit the lobe of her ear lightly, as his fingers found her clit again.

Much more of this and she was going to be numb. And yet, as
he rubbed lightly, gently, she found herself turned on again. If she had ever
been turned off, that is. And incredibly, his cock was hardening against her
bottom. Suddenly, the position he had put them in had slightly menacing
connotations.

Not that her accusing him of being a serial killer hadn’t
had menacing connotations. But she hadn’t been serious about that. This, she
didn’t know.

Oh, she hoped he wasn’t thinking of…

As if telepathic, he dipped his middle finger into the
wetness between her legs and then brought it around swiftly to between her
cheeks and pressed with the tip of his finger into an entrance that still was
virginal. She tensed up, causing him to laugh, though he didn’t remove his
finger, the tip of it embedded there now, feeling foreign but, she had to admit,
sensual as well.

“What’s the matter? Is this a bridge too far?”

“Yes,” she said firmly.

Liam’s finger still in her sweet little asshole, he wound
his other hand around to her cunt, knowing she would still be wet despite her
apparent resistance to the idea of anal sex. He thrust two fingers inside her
and felt her clamp around them.

“You’re awfully tight for somebody who’s so experienced.”

“How do you know how experienced I am?”

“Well, a girl who fucks a stranger as soon as she meets him
doesn’t seem like she’d be too discriminating.”

He worked her even as he needled and her hips started to
move. Damn her, she was so fucking sexy. When she was giving him head, despite
what he’d said, he’d had to recite lines from Shakespeare mentally just to keep
from coming with every soft, wet touch of her mouth.

Her hands tied behind her back now, she was helpless,
completely open to him. He flicked his thumb against her clit as he plumbed
both her entryways and she moaned.

“You weren’t a stranger. I did know you,” she whispered.

He stopped abruptly. “Like hell you did. You only know what
Friedman told you.”

“Friedman? Professor Freidman?”

He pulled his fingers out of her. Enough foreplay with this
conniving little seductress. His cock was rock hard again and he would use her
for her intended purpose. He fumbled for another condom, donned it and, placing
one hand firmly on the top of her back, pushed down until her sweet ass was in
the air, the red silk of her binding trailing practically between her cheeks.

“What are you doing?” He could hear the distress in her
voice. “I don’t want to…I never have…”

“Relax. I’m not going to fuck you up the ass.” He kicked her
knee farther out and brought her hips up to him, taking his cock in hand and positioning
himself at the hole he really wanted anyway. “I’ll just take this sweet pussy
again, since you so nicely offered it to me.”

He thrust inside, where she was so warm and wet and tight.
For a minute, he pretended she was who she had claimed to be, just a girl who
had wandered in from the storm. Not… He blocked the thought and pulled out
slowly, resting his hand still on the top of her back, feeling the silky-smooth
skin there. The friction of her pulling him back was so incredible, he closed
his eyes, and his hands wandered down to where her hands were tied.

He fingered the bindings. “Does this hurt you?” he
whispered.

She thrust her hips back, taking him in aggressively, and he
sucked in his breath.

“No,” she said, her cheek resting against the coverlet, her
ass in the air and her warm, wet cunt welcoming him. He thrust again, putting
his palms on the bed to give him leverage, leaning over her, fucking her hard
now.

As turned on as she was, there was something so very, very
missing here. Stunning herself, she whimpered, “Stop.”

She had barely whispered it, and with the way he was
pounding at her, she was surprised he even heard it, let alone responded. But
he did.

He stopped.

Both of them were breathing hard, his cock still throbbing
in her, her breasts still heavy and so wet between her thighs she was probably
staining the sheets. She said nonetheless, “Stop this. I don’t want this.”

If he hesitated, it was only for a second. Then he pulled
out.

Her face buried in the coverlet, she did not look at him.
Not yet. “Untie me.”

His hands as he did so were matter of fact and she could
hear his breathing had slowed. As had her own.

She climbed out of bed. Staring down at him as he lay back
against the pillows, she rubbed her wrists, which did sort of hurt. “I guess I
made a mistake thinking you could be anything like your writing.”

“Yeah? And I guess I made a mistake falling for some
cockamamie story about you stumbling on to this cabin and then obligingly
screwing you ten minutes after you got your foot in the door.”

She shook her head in disgust, although whether it was at
herself or him, or both of them, she didn’t know. “God, you’re paranoid. You
know that?”

“Come on. Let’s get back on track here, Mary.”

She didn’t bother to correct him. He knew her fucking name.
She stalked into the other room, finding her tee-shirt and her jeans and
slipping them both on, not bothering with the underwear. To her astonishment,
he followed her out and leaned against the door frame casually. His cock was still
hard and covered, and when she looked at it, he said, “We don’t want to waste
one, do we?”

She shook her head, grabbing her still-damp boots. Where the
hell were those knee socks?

“Come on, though. Let’s see some good old-fashioned work for
your grade. Now that you got your clothes back on, it seems to me they came off
a little too quickly last time. My fault, I know. But consequently I didn’t get
the proper opportunity to thoroughly enjoy the view. So how about you strip for
me?”

“Strip?” she repeated incredulously. She didn’t know why she
was bothering to continue to converse with this asshole, but he was being so
outrageous and her temper was rising so high that she couldn’t stop herself.

“Yeah. I know you’re a bright girl and all that. I know
you’re bound for glory and wouldn’t condescend to bare your tits for a living,
but let’s pretend you have to take a job in a strip club to pay your tuition
instead of Mommy and Daddy footing the bill.”

“For your information, my parents didn’t pay for my
schooling. I worked my way through. Waiting tables, not stripping, just for the
record.”

“Whatever. I couldn’t give a shit. You’re trying to
interview me, not vice versa. Remember. So before I pour out all my pathetic
little secrets, why don’t you shake that cute ass of yours and keep me turned
on?”

“Fuck your interview.”

“What a dirty little mouth you have, Mary.”

“Clarie,” she spat out, not able to stop herself.

“Mary, Clarie, whatever. Anyway, you didn’t want an
interview. We both know what you wanted. You wanted to screw the subject of
your thesis so you could titillate all your literary pals back home. You fucked
the once-promising, washed-up Liam Conner after dissecting his work to win that
most coveted of academic accolades, the PHD, from one of his worst enemies.
Fine. Mission accomplished. I hope you didn’t need a videotape of it or
anything, but I’m sure your powers of narrative are pretty good. That story
about getting lost here in a snowstorm. Nice.”

“Paranoid,” she muttered, grabbing her bag.

“Professor Friedman sent you a text, by the way. Be sure to
text him back with all the details.”

“Professor Friedman? Don’t be ridiculous. Why would he?” She
fumbled for her phone without meaning to, in part because the text alert was
buzzing again. She read the message, and the one before. A. Friedman. Ally.

You’re welcome for the directions. Did you bag that
washed-up hottie yet? I want details. I promise I can swing a better grade for
you if you spill.

She looked up at Liam.

“Are you fucking Friedman too? Because if you are, I have to
say he hasn’t taught you anything about giving head. Tell him I would’ve
expected more. But we’re both older now. He’s probably not trying so hard
anymore. Back when I knew him, he was quite the Romeo. Or so Kate told me.”

Kate? “Your wife?”

“Shut up and get the fuck out.”

He wrenched the condom off his cock, incongruously still
hard.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” he said as he undoubtedly realized
she was noticing his erection. “Now it’s had some pussy again, it’d be
clamoring for the dog next door probably.”

“A. Friedman is
Ally
Friedman, my friend. Not Alex
Friedman. Not Professor Friedman, his daughter.”

She didn’t know why she was explaining this to him. She
glanced at the second message.
So, come on, did you like the route I gave
you to avoid the construction? LOL. I’m hoping you stopped for directions at
that cute little cabin right off the dead end road you ended up on. If you
didn’t, call me and I’ll tell you what you missed! You won’t fucking believe
it.

“Ally Friedman is my best friend. My very obnoxious best
friend, who majored in math and thinks my literary pursuits are absurd because
she secretly hates her father ever since she found out he slept with
practically her whole class when she went to NYU.” She looked up at Liam. “But
not me. Never me. Professor Friedman’s a creep. Even if he is my thesis adviser
and the foremost scholar on, well, on you.”

“Christ, I hate that guy,” Liam muttered.

She held her phone out to him. “Ally’s always teasing me
about what she calls my crush on you. She hates you as much as she hates her
father probably, just because that’s what he’s made his name in. You.”

He took the phone from her and glanced at the second
message.

“She gave me this route,” Clarie said as he read the screen.
“Claimed there was construction. She must’ve gotten a little thrill out of
thinking that this might happen. I’ve always claimed my interest in you was
just scholarly and she said that was bullshit. I guess she was right after
all.”

He said nothing.

“But I never thought you were a washed-up hottie. A
brilliant, totally fucked-up hottie maybe.”

“I’m an ass,” he said, handing the phone back to her.

“No.” She waited a beat. “Jerk says it so much better.”

One corner of his mouth crooked up.

“And to be perfectly clear, I didn’t set out to
bag
you. I just—I was overwhelmed when I met you and you were so…so here, so real.
So
in person
.”

That probably sounded funny to him. “I can see how you must
have thought I was a real sleaze, a slut.”

He shook his head.

“I don’t know how Ally would have known this was your
cabin.”

“Alex and I were friends once upon a time. He probably
mentioned it.”

“Friends.”

“Yeah, until I found out he was fucking my wife.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I think that’s my line. I’m sorry. Clarie,” he whispered.
“I just saw that text and completely lost it. I thought Alex put you up to
this. I’m…irrational…when it comes to him. I remember now that he had a
daughter about your age.”

They stood unspeaking for a moment and, God help her, she
stuck her neck out. “Was that what this was all about? All the anger? Because
you thought Professor Friedman put me up to this?”

Was that what this was all about?
Not really. Not if
he was honest with her, which he supposed he should be at this point. He owed
her that much.

“No. Being angry is pretty much my status quo most of the
time. I would’ve slipped back into it sooner or later and driven you out. If I
hadn’t seen that text, I probably would have come up with some other reason to
turn on you.”

He left her with that, going back into the bedroom to pull
his pants back on. He felt naked enough as it was. By the time he went into the
bathroom to splash water on his face in an attempt to avoid going back in to
face her, and sat on the closed lid of the toilet for a while staring at drifts
of snow outside the small window, he half wondered whether she’d be gone when
he came out. If she was as smart as she seemed, she would be.

No such luck. She was sitting on the sofa when he emerged
from the bedroom, brooding at the fire, her legs folded up underneath her. He
had absolutely no right to feel so goddamned relieved about it.

She must have gotten the fire going again as it was roaring
now. She didn’t even look up when he came in. “So are you going to say
something obnoxious to make me risk my neck and go out into that snowstorm
tonight rather than share this cabin with you?”

He went and sat beside her. He didn’t touch her, though. “I
don’t know. I’ve used all my best lines and you’re still here.”

“I don’t believe it’s possible for Liam Conner to have used
up all his best lines. They’re still to come.”

He dropped his head back against the headrest of the couch.
“That kind of comment is why you’d be better off going out into that snowstorm
rather than staying here with me.”

She turned to look at him finally. Her eyes were reddened.
Christ, he’d made her cry on top of everything else. “Why? Why do you say
that?”

He lifted his head. “Because you don’t know me.”

“No!
You
don’t know
me
. I know you.”

He tentatively reached his fingertips out to the soft curve
of her cheek. “You’re right. I don’t know you. But I know enough about you to
know you’re too good and smart to delude yourself about a man who isn’t who you
think he is.”

“And what’s that?”

“Somebody you refer to in the third person when you’re with
him.”

“I was joking.”

“No. You weren’t.”

She turned back to look at the fire. “What did you think
about me? Before you saw the text, I mean?”

He laughed despite himself. “I believe the words ‘manna from
heaven’ crossed my mind.”

She smiled, and it was so lovely that he hated to chase it
away again. But he had to. ”I’m a fuck-up, Clarie. If I was any kind of a good
guy, I’d order you out right now.”

“But you’re not?”

“Hell no…as long as you’ve still got condoms, of course.”

Her smile vanished. Then she said, tightly, “See? That was a
pretty good line.”

“But it’s true. You’re a beautiful, incredibly hot girl and
I’m no better on that score than any other guy.”

“So I could be any girl?”

He hesitated. “The truth is, I don’t know.”

She appeared to be digesting that. Just as he was about to get
up to pour himself a whiskey—this was a hell of a conversation to try to take
sober—she said in a rush, “I’ve lost people I love too.”

He ought to get up anyway and get the whiskey. Down it in
one gulp and say something like “big deal” or “thanks for sharing.” But he
wasn’t quite at the kicking-puppies stage yet. Besides, her big blue eyes had
turned on him, a little watery still, but so intense he couldn’t look away. He
felt…something. And it wasn’t sexual.