School Me Dirty: A College Romance Read online

  School Me Dirty

  A College Romance

  Parker Grey

  Copyright © 2016 by Parker Grey

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

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  I’m a good girl - but they both want me!

  As the only daughter of the Nero crime family, I’m practically a princess - and I get treated like one.

  That is, until the Diamante family breaks into our mansion, crashes our Christmas party… and two very sexy men take me hostage.

  Colt and Dante are huge, ripped, possessive, dominant, totally in control…

  …and these two sinfully hot hitmen want to share me.

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  Chapter 1

  Melody

  A bead of sweat trickles down the valley between my breasts, and I fight the urge to wipe it away, tapping my pen against my notebook to distract myself.

  Even though it’s fifteen degrees outside, the university has the heat in this building turned all the way up, and it’s stifling.

  “And so, the sack of Rome in 410 A.D. was, in many ways, the end of the western Roman Empire,” Professor Sharpe says, his deep, rich voice practically echoing through the lecture hall. “Of course, the Byzantine Empire would continue for another thousand years, but that’s another class.”

  As he speaks, he unbuttons one cuff of his shirt and begins rolling his sleeve up, still talking about Roman governmental reforms.

  I can barely hear him over the sound of the blood rushing through my ears as I curl my fingers around my pen, just watching his sleeve rise higher and higher. He rolls it just past his tattoo, to the crook of his elbow, then starts the other sleeve.

  Just the sight of his forearms is enough to make me tingle there, and I cross my legs in my short skirt, hoping I don’t seem suspicious. My thighs are practically shaking, and I can tell I’m so wet I’ve already soaked through my panties.

  After a few moments, he turns to the blackboard again, both sleeves rolled up, and I swallow hard. His gray pants cup his hard, muscular ass, and I can’t help but think about sinking my nails into that perfect, firm flesh, raking them up his back as I cry out.

  “Any questions?” Professor Sharpe asks, dusting his hands off.

  His bright green eyes roam the medium-sized hall, and he flexes his square jaw as he looks from student to student, waiting for someone to raise their hand.

  I hold my breath and look at my notes. I’ve written things down, and I’ll be able to decipher them later, but I’ve been so nervous about asking him that I’ve barely listened.

  “No one?” he says, his tone light and casual.

  Then I look up. His eyes land on me, and I feel like my stomach ties itself into one giant knot, like I’m a deer in the headlights.

  He knows, I think, clamping my thighs together even harder. He knows that I go straight home and masturbate after class, that sometimes I don’t even make it to my apartment and do it in the bathroom here.

  He knows that I spent half the class thinking about him bending me over the desk and fucking me as hard as I can, making me moan his name over and over again...

  “Guess I explained everything perfectly, then,” he says, a slight smile around his eyes. He’s still staring at me, and I don’t think my heart’s beaten yet. “See everyone on Tuesday.”

  The rest of the class rises, and mercifully, someone blocks our line of sight. I exhale in a rush, fanning myself with my notebook. I put my school supplies away slowly, gathering the courage to go up to him once everyone else has left and ask...

  When I finally get up, there are a few students already standing around the lectern, and they take their time asking their own questions while I wait. I know I shouldn’t, but I want to be alone with Professor Sharpe. I don’t want some sweaty nerd breathing over my shoulder while I ask what I’m about to ask him.

  You’re a sweaty nerd too, I think.

  Finally, the last student is talking to him, so I pull down on my skirt and walk toward the lectern. I don’t know what I was thinking this morning, wearing something this tight and short or a top this low-cut.

  Well, I do know what I was thinking, I just shouldn’t have been thinking it.

  I was thinking, I want Professor Sharpe to see me as a woman, not a little girl.

  I want him to see how grownup I am, even if I’m only twenty.

  It was stupid, because now I have to talk to him dressed like this, and I’m so nervous my feet are sweating.

  The other student leaves. Professor Sharpe looks at me and nods, and I walk up to him, heart hammering in my chest.

  “Hi, Professor Sharpe,” I say, glad my voice isn’t shaking. “My name is Melody Canter, and I’m—”

  “I know who you are,” he says, smiling slowly, the skin around his eyes creasing.

  I stop short.

  He knows who I am?

  “You do?” I ask awkwardly, caught off guard.

  I shift my weight from one foot to another, excruciatingly aware that I’m dressed for a frat party, not a history lecture.

  “Certainly,” he says, his deep voice quiet, his eyes boring into mine. “You wrote an excellent paper on the emperor Julian’s attempts to convert the Roman Empire back to paganism.”

  I’m blushing. My whole body is blushing, because of course he knows the papers I write and that’s it. He’s at least fifteen years older than me, and even though he doesn’t have a wedding ring I’m sure he’s got a girlfriend or something.

  “Thanks,” I say, and clear my throat.

  “What can I do for you, Melody?” he asks, his voice still quiet.

  I take a deep breath.

  “I’m a sophomore and our major declarations are due at the end of the semester,” I say, the words tumbling from my mouth. “And I’m going to declare a Classics major, so I need an advisor.”

  He’s just watching me, like he’s waiting.

  “Would you be my advisor?” I ask.

  “That’s a complicated question,” he says, crossing his arms and leaning against a blank spot on the chalkboard. “I’m afraid I’m one of the tougher advisors in the department, and I demand more of my advisees than most.”

  God, just the way he says it makes heat flow down through my body as I think about the things he could demand from me — that I lie back on the desk, spread my legs, say his name...

  “That’s okay,” I squeak out.

  “Other professors will be easier,” he warns me. “If I’m your advisor, I’ll ride you hard.”

  I swear I can almost see the outline of his cock through his well-fitting gray pants, but I force myself to look at his face, not the monster down below.

  And make no mistake: it’s a monster, but I already knew that. I’ve been staring at it in awe for most of a semester, and I’ve got no problem with Professor Sharpe riding me hard.

  Or me riding him. All I have to do is take my panties off and he could take me right here in this classroom...

  “That’s fine,” I say. “I’m up to it.”

  He lifts his briefcase to his shoulder and smiles at me again, but this time there’s something new in his eyes, something glimmering and hungry.

  “Good,” he says. “Let’s talk this over in my office.”

  Chapter 2

  Professor Sharpe

  I unlock the door to my office, then point Melody to a chair and sit behind my
desk. She glances around with her huge blue eyes, taking everything in as she yanks on her skirt again, trying to keep herself covered as she sits in the chair facing my desk.

  “I assume you’re familiar with the coursework,” I start, lacing my hands on the desk.

  Melody nods, her mahogany hair falling over her shoulders. I force myself not to look down, even though I’m nearly certain I could see a tiny peek of her panties if I did.

  “And you’re also aware that you have to maintain a certain GPA,” I go on, the words on autopilot. “Though if all your work is as excellent as it is in my class, that shouldn’t be too hard.”

  Melody smiles and looks down, crossing her legs as she does. I’m glad I’m sitting behind my desk, because being this close to this girl — this student — has me rock hard for the millionth time this semester, my cock straining at the zipper of my pants.

  “I’ll keep my grades up,” she says, a half-smile on her face.

  I nod, then go on with the requirements for being a Classics major as she blinks, smiles, and agrees with me.

  Thank God I do this all the time, because I can barely think straight with her right here. I’ve been watching this girl all semester — the way she blushes when she asks questions in class, the way she bites her pen sometimes when she’s thinking, her perfect lips sucking on it carefully, her pink tongue just barely visible, the way she walks out the door of my classroom.

  I want those wide blue eyes staring up at me as she gets on her knees, her pink tongue darting between her lips as she carefully takes my cock in one hand and then, slowly and carefully, takes it into her mouth millimeter by millimeter.

  My balls tighten at just the thought.

  “Of course,” she says in response to something I’ve said. “I’m thinking of applying to grad schools after college, so my thesis would be really important.”

  I keep talking, but her skirt’s inching up her thighs bit by bit, the neck of her shirt low, her shoes totally impractical for the weather we’re having. She’s uncertain of herself for sure, but there’s no way she knows the effect it’s having on me.

  She’s too young, I remind myself. She’s your student.

  If anything happens, you’re fired, tenure or not.

  You’re already skating on thin ice after that incident when you were in grad school. Don’t be stupid, Ethan.

  We talk about her thesis. I force myself not to think about spreading her legs on my desk and drinking her sweet honey while she moans my name, my tongue in her tight little pussy.

  Jesus, of all the women to turn me on this much, why did it have to be a student? Why couldn’t it be someone less dangerous, like a coworker or my stepsister?

  “Well, I’m happy to take you as an advisee,” I say. “Just remember, I’m much harder than most advisors.”

  In more ways than one, I think.

  “I don’t mind hard,” Melody says, then blushes. “Actually, I think I prefer it.”

  For just a second, I look at her lap, her tiny skirt ridden almost all the way up to her hips. A tiny triangle of her white panties is visible between her thighs, and I have to force myself to stay seated instead of walking around the desk and bending her over it.

  “Good,” I say. “By the way, I’m having all my advisees over for hot chocolate and snacks on Saturday night. Certainly not mandatory, but you’re welcome to come if you’ve got nothing more exciting planned.”

  She shakes her head a little too vigorously, then blushes pink.

  “Not at all,” she says.

  “Perfect,” I say, and stand without thinking.

  My erection is practically halfway across my desk, a goddamn tentpole sticking out of my pants. There’s nothing I can do except pretend it’s not there, even though we both see it.

  She also stands, looking me determinedly in the eye. We shake hands.

  “See you Saturday,” she says, opening my office door.

  “Yes,” I say, and she leaves.

  I take a deep, deep breath, because it’s nerve-shattering how much I want to fuck this twenty-year-old undergrad, this girl who I absolutely can’t touch.

  My cock is so hard it hurts, so I close and lock my door quickly and pull down my blinds. I’ve got one hand firmly around the bottom of my shaft before I’m even sitting down again, and I have to bite back a groan as I stroke myself.

  Think about porn, I command myself. Think about a coworker, your waitress last night, an ex-girlfriend.

  Anyone but Melody. Anyone.

  I stroke harder and faster, carefully trying to keep my mind blank as my cock fills my fist, so hard I think it might burst.

  Then she pops into my head again, her big eyes and perfect lips and tiny skirt, walking into my office.

  Stop it, I think.

  Fantasy-Melody walks around my desk, her big innocent eyes watching me jerk off, her lips parted, her chest heaving. My cock twitches in my hand, and I stroke faster, thinking about the same fantasy I’ve had a million times.

  Now she’s bent over my desk, my hand in her hair, her skirt around her waist, her pink pussy exposed. Please, she says in the fantasy, begging with her eyes, and I drive myself into her tight hole, her eyes rolling back as I fill her up, tight and wet and hot —

  I come with a grunt as my balls tighten instantly and I shoot spurt after spurt of thick, ropy cum, gritting my teeth together against the groan threatening to explode from my chest. I pump my fist up and down my cock again and again until I’m totally spent, breathing hard.

  Then I open my eyes, and realize I just came on the floor of my office. Again, because I can’t control myself when I think about Melody.

  I sigh, then zip my pants up and grab a tissue.

  Chapter 3

  Melody

  I practically run home to my apartment, Professor Sharpe’s voice echoing in my head.

  I’ll ride you hard.

  I keep telling myself that he just means he has high academic expectations of his students, but I can’t forget the look in his eye when he said it, the way he practically growled those words at me.

  The monster in his pants when he stood to shake my hand.

  I drop my keys twice when I try to unlock my front door, because my palms are still sweaty. I’ve soaked completely through my panties, and now the tops of my thighs are wet, my pussy absolutely aching.

  It was all I could do not to spread my legs in front of the Professor, let him watch as I peeled my panties off, slid one hand from my soaking slit to my clit and showed him what he does to me.

  Finally, I burst in through the front door of our apartment, with one mission only: get to my bedroom, lock the door, and make myself come until I stop thinking about Professor Sharpe.

  “Hey Melody,” says a voice from the kitchen, and I turn my head in surprise. I thought Erica had class this afternoon, but I guess she’s skipping again.

  “Hey,” I say, poking my head in so I don’t seem rude, or worse, like I really want to fuck my professor.

  “You gurht mm akuj,” she says, a spoon in her mouth. There’s a jar of peanut butter open next to her. Luckily it’s hers, not mine.

  “What?” I ask, impatiently.

  She swallows.

  “You got a package,” she says. “I put it by your door.”

  I frown, because I don’t remember ordering anything.

  “Thanks,” I say. “I’m gonna go study for a while.”

  “Cool,” she says, plunging the spoon back into the peanut butter.

  The package is fairly big but not heavy, so it can’t be books. I take off my coat and shoes, then sit on the edge of my bed and open it with my keys.

  When I see what it is, I freeze for a second and stare.

  And then I remember ordering something from the internet.

  Last weekend, Erica dragged me out to a party. I had one glass too many of jungle juice, and even though I was talking to a cute undergrad for a while, all I was thinking about was Professor Sharpe — how much I w
ished I were with him instead of the frat boy, how much I wished he were the one grinding against my ass to dirty rap music.

  So, I made some excuse and left, because I knew the frat boy was going to be a terrible substitute. I went home, fired up the internet...

  ...and ordered a massive dildo with a suction cup on one end. I’d seen one in the porn I’ve been watching — and there’s been a lot lately — and at the time, it seemed like the only thing that might quench my thirst even a little.

  Thank you, drunk Melody, I think. You knew exactly what I was going to need.

  I run my hand down the giant dildo. Even though it’s purple, it’s realistic otherwise — well, except for being nearly a foot long and so big my fingers don’t fit all the way around it. That’s wildly unrealistic, but this is why dildos exist.

  Still, I get even wetter. It’s not the Professor’s cock, but I can pretend that it’s him filling me up and stretching me out, him taking me mercilessly, over and over again, as hard as he wants.

  My pussy gushes at the thought, and I pull the dildo from the box, stand, walk to my door, and peek out.

  No Erica in sight.

  I scamper to the bathroom, praying that she doesn’t catch me carrying an enormous dildo, then lock the door after myself. I strip in seconds, then stand in front of the sink and stroke the fake cock, biting one lip, giving myself this moment of delicious anticipation.

  At least wash it off first, I remind myself. Come on.

  I nearly laugh out loud at myself, but I stick it in the sink and lather it up with hand soap. The suction cup sticks to the porcelain, making the cock jut upwards as I wash it.

  Before I know it I’ve got both hands wrapped around the thing, sliding up and down, slick with soap, and my juices are running down the inside of my leg. I know it’s completely ridiculous to jerk off a silicone cock, but I close my eyes and imagine Professor Sharpe, sitting in front of me, and now I’m stroking him while he watches, a commanding look in his eyes.