Page 16 of Falling for Carla

“I don’t know, you’re the one who was stalking me, Professor Sheffield,” I said wryly.

“I think after this you can call me Drake. And I’m not a stalker. I’m one of the good guys.”

“Right, cowboy, you’re a good guy charging down an alley with a gun,” I said with a nervous laugh.

The nervous laugh was because I was trying to flirt with him. Cowboy? When did I ever say the word cowboy before? This was too weird. And he was…really sexy. Commanding and protective and supportive. Yeah, I didn’t need to be thinking that. Not at all.

“I’m going to call a ride,” I said. “Thanks for waiting with me.”

“I’ll wait a little longer if you don’t mind,” he said. “If you won’t let me drive you home.”

“I’m fine. I’ll wait inside the bar. I promise,” I said, my heart beating fast.

Professor Sheffield—Drake—just leaned back against the building, arms crossed, as if he was content to stand there waiting. I tapped the app and ordered a ride. I tipped my phone screen to where he could see it, showing him that my ride would be there in three minutes.

“Put my number in your phone,” he said, and recited the numbers, “text me when you get home.”

“Otherwise, you’ll come out with guns blazing?” I said, teasing him.

“Maybe. I didn’t get to shoot anyone tonight, so I’ve still got plenty of bullets,” he said sarcastically.

“Thanks for your help tonight,” I said. “My ride’s here.”

“Keep your head on a swivel. I’m not sure that guy was a random grab,” he said, his voice as somber as mine had been a minute earlier. I nodded.

When I got home, I found Brenda asleep on the couch with a sticky note on her head that said, ‘tried to wait up 4u too sleepy xoxo’. I laughed. Then I put a blanket over her and went to take a shower.

I noticed the scrapes then on my fingertips where I’d tried to grab for the wall. I shuddered thinking of those black moments when the man had me in a hold and was hauling me into a dark alley. I was thankful for my self-defense class, thankful for my cell phone and thankful for my professor who showed up just in time. He’d sort of been watching over me, not what most guys would do on a night out with their buddies. But he’d noticed the guy and his cop senses had tingled or something and so he kept guard over me in a way, even catching sight of me as I turned to go back into the bar for my phone. I was extremely grateful he’d decided to go after me.

Then it hit me. Not the terror of what might have happened to me if he hadn’t been there, but the fact that part of the jittery restlessness I was feeling was---sexual tension. I was hot for teacher. I squeezed my eyes shut, mortified.

But there it was, the simple truth. I had a crush on my Crim 4 professor. The kind of crush that wasn’t just feeling a little shy and in awe of him. The sort that really wished he’d bend me over his desk and fuck me. Right there in the auditorium where he taught my class, on the desk where he sat his laptop to project the slide deck on the screen behind him. I could almost feel it. The roughness of his big hand on the small of my back, pushing me down over the side of his desk and yanking down my shorts.

I felt myself blush, even though I was alone in the shower. I figured part of it was the intensity of my escape tonight, the extreme situation we’d been in together. He had protected me. It was primal and my body responded to it with a sexual urge, a drive to mate with the male who saved me. There had to be a biological reason, some ancestral memory that you wanted to be with the guy who could fight off a wooly mammoth for you or whatever. Maybe that was why I shut my eyes and let the water stream over me and slid my fingers between my thighs.

Back at the bar, Drake insists on giving me a ride. He starts the car, and his handsome face is lit only by the blue glow of his dashboard. ‘Are you sure you’re okay?’ he asks me. I start to say I am, but I shake my head, telling the truth. No, I’m not okay. I was about to be hurt badly by that man—raped, kidnapped, murdered. There was no telling what he would’ve done to me. And I was safe but shaken, sitting a foot away from my professor who was also a gun-toting cowboy type who rescued me.

‘I’ve worked a lot of crime scenes. It isn’t uncommon for the victim to feel the trauma of the attack afterward when there’s time and space to process it. If there’s anything I can do to help—' he begins.

‘Make me forget,’ I say without hesitation.

‘What do you--?’

Before he can finish asking the question, I lean in and whisper to him, ‘I want you to fuck me until I can’t remember what happened tonight,’ and he growls, ‘I can do that. Only one thing I need to know—you want to go to my place or do this right here?’

‘Your place,’ I say, even though I’m turned on by the idea of right here and right now.

He palms the back of my head and his mouth covers mine, hot and demanding, not at all the reserved professor now. He makes me breathless with want, desire pooling between my thighs where I can feel myself getting slippery and puffy in response to his kiss. His thumb brushes over the pulse at my throat and he grins against my mouth, ‘you sure you want to go to my place?’ and I giggle, which isn’t like me. ‘If you hurry,’ I say, meaning it.

Drake drives fast, runs a stop sign, takes me to his apartment. As soon as we’re in the door, we’re all over each other. His mouth is hot and gives me no quarter, no pause for breath. I’m trembling all over, desire like a storm ripping through me, giving me the shakes. Smooth hands slide around my waist and then he has my little floral crop top off. My back against the door, his hands and mouth fondle my breasts. I’m practically ripping off his shirt to get my hands on his bare skin. Wild with the spikes of pleasure from his mouth on my nipples, I still grab his face and bring his lips back to mine. Searing joy and pure relief course through me as his mouth covers mine and our tongues meet in some primal dance. In seconds, his hand is under my skirt, a big warm palm cupping my sex possessively, not fondling or stroking yet, but claiming as if to say I am his, every part of me, especially this part of me.

I’m so wet now he must feel it through my panties. I’m not ashamed. I’m thrilled by it, by how lewd it is to have my professor’s hand between my thighs. I gasp, breaking our kiss, and meet his heated dark eyes. “Where do you want me, Professor?” I manage to gasp.

“Everywhere—" his voice breaks as he kisses my neck, sending sparks through me, arousing me more. I reach out and rub my hand over the tented front of his jeans. His iron-hard erection was so big—there was no way I could get my hand around it. Thick and massive, at least nine inches of California’s fines. My inner muscles clenched, needy and impatient for him. His fingers flexed over my sex when I touched his cock through his jeans, and I felt a trace of wetness beneath my hand, feeling powerful and thrilled that he wanted me as much as I wanted him, that precum was leaking from that big cock for me. My mouth came open with naked want and he covered my mouth with his, tongue in my mouth, one hand behind my neck, holding me still, gentling me when I was so wild with arousal that I was writhing in his arms.

“Over my desk,” he breathed, “the way I’ve imagined you a hundred times.”

He pulled me off the door and guided me to an office, a big mahogany desk covered in papers, a laptop and printer. He stepped behind me, kissed my neck and ran his hands down the front of my body, possessive. His big hands cupped my breasts, plucked the nipples, and I looked down to watch him, his pale hands contrasted to my olive skin, and the filthy look of my dark nipple between his finger and thumb as he tugged and pinched and sent fiery lush waves through me until my legs shook, unable to hold me. I leaned my head back against him and his mouth found my neck again, licking and sucking as I sagged against him, weak with desire, wanting darkly for him to do with me whatever he wished, just to fill me, use me, take me.

---