Page 1 of Forbidden Heroes

The Professors’ Sweet Treat

They're twice my age and hit the triple D’s in spades: Dominant, dirty and delicious.

But they're untouchable. Forbidden. That's the rule. If I'm honest I've always followed the rules.

Until them.

When a dare from my best friend lands me in nothing but a red thong and f*ck-me-heels in front of these possessive, gorgeous men maybe all my sweet, dirty fantasies will come true.

And you want to know the sexiest and dirtiest secret of all? They want to claim me as theirs in ways I've never imagined. But at what cost? I might have won the dare, but I could lose my heart and my scholarship if anyone finds out I'm the professors' forbidden sweet treat.

One

Emberly

“Hello, earth to Emberly. Did you hear what I said?” My best friend snaps her fingers in front of me and the naughty, filthy sinfully decadent fantasy playing out in my mind fades to reveal the beautiful raven-haired woman across from me. Her bright green eyes drink in my expression with her all-too-knowing look.

She purses her lips into a pucker and slouches back in the booth. From this angle, not many can see us as we watch the restless crowd of college students gearing up for a well-deserved spring break that kicks off tomorrow.

I blush deeply and try to hide the scarlet on my cheeks behind my glass of iced tea, but my friend knows me better. I offer a small grin as an apology I don’t really feel. What can I say? There is no cure for what I have. Well that’s not entirely true. There is one, but I can’t have the one thing that would resolve my issue.

Them.

So here I sit, every Thursday like clockwork because they are here.

Same day.

Same hour.

Every week.

And like every week nothing more than a few stolen glances ever happens.

If I were to examine that too closely, the peek behind the curtain would reveal more than I care to understand about myself.

I scoop a healthy amount of salsa onto my chip and force myself to focus on the burst of tang against my tongue instead of the muscles I’d rather have it running over.

It’s cheesy to think all that tanned muscles would taste more delicious than chip dip, but that’s where my mind is right now. The extremely good-looking, extremely single and utterly sinful Professor Elliot James and his long-time best friend and fellow professor Samuel Riley make the strip of my panty’s wet morning, noon and night. And twice as slicked up on Thursday.

Professor Elliot has nothing about him that screams academic with his bulging muscles like he’s some MMA fighter. No way that man doesn’t have a problem finding enough cloth to stretch across his broad back and expansive chest given how tight his dress shirt clings to every contour. I know without seeing behind all those white buttons he has a washboard stomach and a treasure trail I want to lick.

Professor Samuel isn’t any better at being the professorly type with his sleeve of tattoos and preference of jeans and rolled up sleeves. I’m sure the female student body and fellow faculty members are not scurrying to tell them to change any time soon.

I dip my gaze back to my table when one of them flashes a dark look my way.

Oh, and did I mention forbidden? Of course, I couldn’t pick a couple of fuck-happy jocks for my duo fantasy. That would be far too easy for me, I guess. No, my horny muse goes after not one but two of my professors the very week I start school at Blackthorne University.

That was three years and six months ago.

Two insanely attractive older, dominant, lust-worthy perfect men have my eye and I can’t have them.

Both have broad shoulders, chiseled jaws made for licking and kissing and thick dark hair that has me wanting to drive my fingers through it rather than study the contents of the books they’ve loaded me down with. If I didn’t know better I’d say they were brothers, but a little snooping on the internet put that theory to rest. They are just good friends.

Tonight they sit at their usual table pushed back from the crowd of rowdy college kids as they pore over papers and shoot the breeze after a hellish first quarter of the year.

My gaze slides back to the far corner of the bar where the shadows are dense and I gasp quietly when a hungry fierce, steely gaze connects with mine over the distance as if Professor Samuel senses my gaze on him. My pulse hikes and my breath catches as a shiver runs the course of my entire body only to strike my core with an electric shock. But then, just like every week, I blink and it’s gone. But the raw need that lingers and rides me hard never fades as quickly.

If I were alone and if there were a fewer people, maybe I’d slide my fingers over my throbbing clit and alleviate some of the ache they stir within me.

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