Page 19 of Sinful Professor

“I meant your song,” she whispers.

“And I meant us, my sweet Sadie,” I tell her. “That song is because of us. Because of you.”

“Do you like that one enough to send it in?” she asks.

“Yes,” I nod. “I do. I can probably have it finished tonight.”

“How can I help?”

“Come home with me,” I beg. “I need my muse within my reach tonight. And when I finish, I’m going to thank you for helping me.”

“And how are you going to do that?” she grins.

“That’s up to you, goddess of mine,” I growl. “Give me your next fantasy, and I’ll make it a reality.”

Thirteen

I’m lying on top of Brock’s baby grand in his apartment. Completely naked as I watch him work through the bits and pieces of his song. Well, my song, if you ask him. And we’ve already started to play out another one of my fantasies, as his sex slave.

Of course, as the night has gone on, I don’t feel like a slave at all. Any time he’s gotten stuck on something, he’s closed the keyboard cover so I can offer him my pussy, which he has eaten until I’ve come three times already. And when that wasn’t enough, he either pulled me onto his lap to ride him or found the closest suitable surface to fuck me on.

“I may not be able to walk tomorrow,” I sigh as he kisses me back to life.

“I’m not apologizing for that at all,” he chuckles. “Just make sure everyone knows exactly why you can’t function tomorrow, and I’ll be happy.”

“Trust me, Dr. Rush, everyone knows exactly why I’ve been so happy this week,” I smile.

“Good to know,” he nods.

Then he kisses me again and his stomach growls for the half dozenth time. I insist on cooking dinner and he relents only because he’s certain he can finish in the next ten minutes.

“And if you can’t?” I ask coyly.

“Then I suppose I’ll be making a meal of you in my kitchen.”

“No walking tomorrow it is,” I tease.

He laughs at this and kisses me long and deep before lightly caressing my ass and letting me walk away. When I pull my dress on, he clucks his tongue and sighs heavily. I just smile and go about finding something to make. In need of something substantial but quick, I opt for pasta Alfredo with chicken. He doesn’t finish in ten minutes, but when he does join me in the kitchen, dinner is ready, and I insist on eating first.

Although he tried to argue with me, as soon as he had the first bite in his mouth, he was silent for a solid ten minutes as he cleared his plate and then served himself seconds. I’m smiling at him when he looks up to ask if I need more wine.

“Please,” I smile. “Did you even taste anything?”

“I did,” he chuckles. “It’s wonderful. And I guess I was hungrier than I thought.”

“Looks like it,” I laugh. “You do need to fuel your body with real food, too.”

“Indeed,” he says darkly. “Then I can keep my strength up to take care of you.”

“No,” I tell him quickly. “Tonight, I want to take care of you, Brock.”

He growls and adjusts himself. Then he nods.

“Okay,” he says. “What do you have in mind?”

“Do you trust me?”

“Of course,” he laughs.

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