Page 35 of Sinful Professor

“Let me help you,” she whispers.

I want to protest, but both of my heads need help right now. So, maybe if she can take care of my cock, my brain will come back online and let me finish things out. I rise and walk over to lift her into my arms. Then I carry her to my bed and lay her down. As quickly as I can, I strip and cover myself with a condom. I crawl over her and sigh as I push myself inside her.

“Everything,” I breathe as I brush my hand over her cheek. “You are my everything, Sadie.”

“And you’re mine,” she whispers back.

I smile and press a soft kiss to her lips. Then I love her with as much tenderness as I can. Singing the lines of the song against her skin as I tease her with soft kisses across her collarbone and her neck and the swell of her breasts. All the while, she whispers her love to me. Her sweet words bringing me closer and closer to the edge. And she’s right there with me. I can feel it in the subtle tension in her body as she moves with me.

“Sadie,” I pant.

“Yes, Brock,” she mewls. “I’m with you. Give me more.”

No sooner do I increase my rhythm, I’m lost. She cries out my name as she comes with me and the ending of the song fills my head as I keep pushing into her, making this moment last as long as I can. When I collapse on top of her, she immediately wraps her arms around me and holds me close.

“So good,” she pants. “Always so good.”

“Thank you,” I breathe. “I love you, Sadie.”

When I lift my head, she’s smiling at me. I smile back and kiss her. Then she giggles and pats my ass.

“Well, go finish it,” she whispers. “I want to hear it all.”

After another hard kiss, I do just that. I clean myself up and stay naked as I settle back at the piano. Sadie does the same on my couch, but she doesn’t pick up her book. No, she keeps her focus on me, and I love it. Twenty more minutes pass and I’m done.

“Okay,” I smile at her. “Are you ready?”

“Always.”

“Come here,” I say. “Sit beside me.”

When she’s settled, I take a deep breath and begin. She rests her head on my shoulder and wraps her arms around my waist while I sing. After I release the last chord, I feel the first tear on my skin. I turn my head just as she straightens. Although she’s crying, she’s smiling.

“That’s so beautiful,” she whispers. “I love it.”

“Not as much as I love you.”

With the bulk of my work finished, we decide to head out for the rest of the day. We take a leisurely stroll through the city zoo and then find an out of the way restaurant for dinner. By the time we get back home, I’m content to simply hold her in my arms until we fall asleep.

So, that’s what we do.

Twenty-Four

Reluctantly, Brock and I talk about Bianca on Sunday afternoon. After he showed me that he has all the original files of the songs she stole, at least we know she can’t try and flip the tables on him and claim that he stole her songs. Of course, there are other ways she could try and make trouble for him, but we agreed not to worry about it unless it happens. Or in my opinion, when it happens.

We spend the evening watching old movies and making out on his couch. When we turn in for the night, I ask him to bring another fantasy of mine to life. And he is more than willing to oblige. With a great amount of delight, I ask him to tie me to the bed. After asking if I was certain, he kissed me and pulled out what was necessary. Then he spent the next hour making me mindless with his sweet torture and incredible pleasure. I think we both fell asleep with smiles on our faces that night.

The next week passes the same as the last. When he can, he comes to my office to eat lunch with me, or we walk somewhere close by instead. This week, however, I continue to dress in the clothing he likes me to wear. And I’m getting more and more used to wearing, too. By Friday, I think the rest of the staff has figured out the reason why. When I’m questioned, I happily tell them about Brock and me. Even the Dean of the School of Music stops by to express his delight for our relationship. Without my asking, he tells me why.

“That Bianca was no good for him,” he says lowly. “And knowing that she’s making a name for herself with his work is even more disgusting.”

“You know about that?” I gasp.

“I do,” he sighs. “And only because he made a habit of composing songs alongside his students when he was teaching composition.”

“Oh,” I breathe. “Does he still teach that class?”

“Unfortunately, not,” he grimaces. “He asked for someone else to take that class when Bianca left him.”

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