Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 83760 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83760 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
“Jesus.” I roll my eyes, happy she’s not locked in the bathroom as I sneak in and lock the door. Kicking off my white Converse, I quickly strip off all my clothes and almost scream as the cold water stings me. Instantly, I turn on the hot water and lean my back against the cool tile as I wait for it to warm.
“What should I do?” I close my eyes and try to breathe. Might as well give up trying to fight this. My pussy is literally a gooey mess. Reaching for my wet breasts, I swallow a groan as I pinch my hard nipples. My eyes close, and I see his ocean-blue eyes staring at me as his hand grabs the back of my hair, snarling for me to open my legs.
“Fuck,” I hiss as my middle finger rubs my swollen clit back and forth. I’m so achy and wet, and all I want is… him. My eyes dart open. Focusing on the steam as the hot water dances near my toes, I rub my clit hard, already climbing.
“Yes,” I whimper as I go over, orgasming on my finger, my pussy pulsing as I open my eyes and try to get ahold of my breathing. Beforehand, I didn’t have a face to think about, but now… now, I have Dean Powers, the most unattainable man I could ever think about having.
He’s your professor, the freaking dean. I’m not positive on this, because we’re both adults, but I have to think it’s against the rules to have any type of relationship with a professor… And then there’s the whole “he wants me out of his class” thing. Maybe he wants me to drop the class because he’s actually interested. That kiss was amazing.
“Right, Alex, I’m sure that’s it,” I hiss, grabbing my shower gel and quickly washing myself. You have to get Dean Powers out of your head. After a deep, cleansing breath, I let the steam and my coconut shower gel soothe me because there’s no way in hell I’ll ever forget him.
My twin has basically been my personal bodyguard, which is absurd since he’s been having sex for at least three years. Complete double standard for me. Not that I was all that interested in any of the high school guys back home, but Jude would never have allowed it. He got suspended our senior year for fighting with one of his buddies after the guy asked me to a dance. Thankfully, he was the star quarterback in the state, so it was only for a day.
And I love him for wanting to always be there for me, wanting to defend my honor. But come on, I’m almost nineteen. Yet another reason I wanted go out of state. Because no matter who I pick, he’ll always think I deserve better. So, basically, I’d die a virgin.
“Poor Jude.” I bite my bottom lip as I turn off the faucet. If he knew what happened today, how I had a life-changing kiss with my professor…
Absently, I dry myself, nicely fold the towel as I grab my pink silk robe, and peek out the door. Hmm, Miley Cyrus is not playing anymore. I wonder if I could be lucky enough to find that Skylar is gone.
I tiptoe out, then roll my eyes because this is stupid. I live here, at least for the time being. I need to get a lot of reading done. Maybe I’ll order a pizza. That way I can have it for dinner and have the rest for breakfast tomorrow. My mind is already going over the massive amount of work I need to get done. I intend to earn straight A’s. Heaving my monstrosity of a backpack onto my bed, it strikes me that the one thing I could really work on is being more organized. I feel like I never want to throw anything away in case I need it later. Unfortunately, all it does is create a massive amount of disorganization, but hey, no one’s perfect.
I grab my philosophy textbook and sit on the bed. Reaching for my phone to order a pizza, I wonder if I should see if my sister is actually home and might want a slice. The house is quiet, though, and something tells me she won’t. I lean back and contemplate whether I want extra cheese on my pie, locking all thoughts of my hot professor away.
BRETT
“We’d love to have you over for dinner,” Mrs. Coolidge coos at me, her hand remaining on my forearm. Her husband stands to her right, laughing with Phil Datson, one of the professors of the Economics Department. The Coolidges are generous donors, so I smile at her—even when her eyes narrow on my lips—then lean back in my chair, bringing my arm with me.