Page 12 of Bad Professor

“That’s cool.” I drain half of the beer and set the glass on the coaster. “I don’t either.”

“You do so,” she accuses. “You practically seduced me in the hallway outside the bathroom, feet away from the guy I was on a date with.”

“That was a first for me.” I drift closer, not wanting to frighten her even more, but the pull toward her is pretty intense, despite her uneasiness. “Usually, I go into the bathroom to my seducing.”

Tilly stares at me, her lips parting. Her lipstick has been wiped clean, or maybe it’s been kissed off by that guy—

No. She wouldn’t do that with him, and then me. Besides, I saw her leave, and he was still sitting at the table, so no kissing. “That was a joke.”

She hunches her shoulders. “See? I’m so bad at this.”

I take a step closer, grateful that she doesn’t move away, and reach around and pull the clip from her hair, letting it tumble around her shoulders. “Pretty.” I take a few strands between my fingers. “Tilly. Is that short for something?”

She’s still staring. “What are you doing?”

“Trying to make you comfortable enough to kiss me.”

Tilly presses her lips together like they’re about to betray her. “Is that it?”

“It’s whatever you want. This is your call. I’m just here to… worship.”

Her eyes darken and there it is—the lust I saw earlier. The desire. I let my hand fall onto her shoulder, stroking the soft skin.

She closes her eyes with a shiver.

“Is that what you want?” I ask in a quiet voice. “For me to worship you? To do whatever I like to make you happy?”

The tip of her tongue peeks out and she runs it over her bottom lip. I follow its trail with my finger. “Do you want me to kiss you?”

A nod; quick and eager.

“Or do you want me to kiss somewhere else?”

Her eyes flash open with surprise. A pause, and she nods again. That’s all the encouragement—or consent—that I need. “Whatever you want,” I tell her as I drop to my knees on the carpet.

There’s a gasp, but she’s not stopping me.

I’ve been with women who need me to take the lead. I’d rather be the one to call the shots. But I will always respect a woman’s decision, even when I’m so hard that all I can think about is getting inside her.

I bunch up the hem of Tilly’s dress and guide her hand to it. “Hold this, please.” And then I’m faced with pink satin covering heaven on Earth.

I kiss her through the satin, wetting the fabric with my tongue. Her scent is intoxicating—sweet and musky. “I need to taste you,” I mutter.

When I glance up, Tilly’s eyes are half-closed and she’s nodding. I wonder, whoever her husband was, if he knew how to treat her like she deserved.

Gently… but only until she asks for more.

I peel Tilly’s panties down her hips, down her legs, and help her step out of them.

Every woman has her own shape. Hips that flare out, or so narrow that she seems breakable. Breasts are always different. A woman’s ass isn’t like any other woman’s ass.

My hands are on Tilly’s ass as I slide my tongue through her folds.

I don’t understand men who don’t want to do this all day, every day. Touching a woman like this—touching Tilly—in her most intimate spot is a heady experience. Hearing her breath catch in her throat, pants turning to soft moans, cries of pleasure—

Tilly isn’t making any noise at all.

The room is silent, other than the soft sounds of my tongue moving against her. I groan, and Tilly shudders.

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