Page 12 of Rolling with my Professors

Pushing against the edges of the window, I try to force myself backward, but she raises a hand and wiggles a finger for me to come down.

My cock goes so hard so fast, I double over in pain and fall away from the window.

Regrouping, I pull my drawer open and change into my swim trunks because I want to let go and be wild for once in my life.

Moments later I’m stepping onto the back porch. Their laughter stops.

“Only stodgy old professors wear bathing suits to this kind of party,” Mila taunts.

She spins on Rutherford’s lap, her beautiful smile and breasts facing me.

Is this how other people live—wild and carefree? Rumors are always circulating at the university, but I ignore them. I can’t ignore Mila facing me while straddling my roommate’s lap, though. The bubbles make it impossible to see her pussy, but knowing that she’s splayed obliterates what’s left of my restraint.

I step in, suit still on. “The birthday boy figured something should be unwrapped at his party.”

Their faces contort. Mila gets it first. “Oh my god, it’s your birthday. I totally forgot. I would have made that salted caramel cheesecake.”

She’s made it for my last five birthdays, with the exception of last year when Josh broke up with her. It’s almost as amazing as she is.

“No worries. I was supposed to be at the conference.”

“Sorry, man,” Rutherford says.

“Are you serious about the unwrapping thing?” she asks.

“I’m not a stodgy old professor.” I play into the game, not quite ready to admit what’s happening… but I damn sure don’t want to be the stodgy old guy. Forty-five has a lot of good years ahead of it. And my cock is making sure I know that it’s still ready to act like a teenager.

Mila looks over her shoulder, and Rutherford winks.

She slides off of him, straddles me, and trails her fingers down my chest, into the top of my waistband. Scooting backward, she says, “Lift up.”

We navigate my trunks over my erection, she tosses them way out of the hot tub, and I’m shocked when she returns to me instead of Rutherford. Shouldn’t we talk about this first?

I clarify, “You don’t have to do anything. No expectations, with our history and all.”

She leans forward, trapping my cock, her tits pressed between us, and slides up and down, decidedly teasing me. “Ditto.”

“Did you say, ditto?”

She pauses the sliding that had my cock about ready to blow. “I want this, but if it’s weird, we don’t have to.”

“You’re okay with this?” I ask Rutherford.

“That’s part of what we talked about and were going to share with you.”

“The three of us?”

Her fingers find their way to my tip and swirl on it. “You looked so mad at Aubergine Affair, I wasn’t sure—”

“That was in public. I’m questioning things privately.”

“What did you think about?”

I wrap my hands around her waist and reposition her so my cock is tapping at her entrance. Our eyes lock. “I thought I’d never have a chance with you.”

Pulling her close, my lips slant on hers, the cravings I’ve suffered for years are met with equal eagerness. I massage her breast and roll her nipple in my fingers, learning what makes her squirm as if racing to make up for lost time. All the while, my cock slides against her pussy.

It’s a fantasy I’ve dreamed for years, minus the spectator, but I don’t care. I can finally show her everything I’ve felt, and how a man should make her feel.

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