Page 49 of Bad Professor

I take off my shoes by the door and follow her into the living room. There’s a book by the chair, a laptop on the couch. It’s not quite as neat and tidy as when I was here the other night.

I catch Tilly’s eye. She looks uncomfortable. I can’t say that I’m very relaxed. Everything about me is tight. Tense.

I’ve already got a hard-on that is straining at my jeans.

I’ve felt this way with the others—that I’m about to do something wrong. There’s an element of excitement in breaking the rules, hoping you don’t get caught.

Is that what it is for me? Doing something bad? Is that what gets me off?

Tilly gets me off. It wouldn’t matter if she was a student or not. I wanted her before I saw her in one of my classrooms, so that should prove it.

I want her more now, but that could be because I’ve already had her.

“Jade and Jordan.” Tilly points out pictures of the girls.

I study the pictures of the blonde teenagers. “They look like you.”

“The kitchen is this way.”

“I know. That’s where I found the Post-it notes.”

Tilly looks at me with wide eyes. “I don’t know how to do this,” she whispers.

I cup her cheek. “You keep saying that, but you’re doing just fine.” Leaning down, I rest my forehead against hers. “Better than fine.”

“You make me better than fine.”

“I think that’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.”

I stop her laugh with a kiss—a gentle brush of lips that takes the arousal I’ve been feeling and ramps it up a hundred times.

And then I take the kiss deeper, Tilly’s lips parting under mine. Moving against mine. Her hesitant tongue is the first to explore.

That has me ready to explode.

Tilly fists her hands in my shirt. “I thought you were hungry,” she says against my mouth.

With my hands on her hips, I back her out of the kitchen. “I’m hungry for more than food.”

“Dexter…”

“Tilly. Please.”

She leads me into her bedroom.

I pull her dress over her head, she pushes down her panties. We both reach for her bra, but I get it first. I slow things down by sliding my hands around her ribs to unclasp the bra at the back, and then running my hands down her bare back as she shrugs the straps down her shoulder.

And then the breasts are bare, and they are glorious. Full and ripe, with nipples like cherries on the top of a sundae. I take my time with them—stroking and caressing, teasing the peaks with my fingers until Tilly’s breath comes in little pants.

“I dreamed about these,” I husk. “The way they fit in my hands. The way your skin tastes. The way you like it when I do this.” I roll a nipple between my thumb and finger, pinching it to watch Tilly’s eyes widen.

“You like it, don’t you? Tell me.”

“Yes,” she whispers.

“You want me to use my mouth, don’t you? Tell me what you want,” I demand, taking her hips and pulling her close so I can grind my hardness against her.

“I want your mouth—” Her mouth is so close. A shift, a lean down and I could kiss her.

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