Chapter Twelve
Lacey
Professor Gibson stands outside of Olly’s open door with a bottle of pinot noir and a confused look on his face.
Olly leans against his doorframe, arms casually crossed over his chest. His gaze rakes down the professor’s body, and I picture every dirty thing he would have done with the professor if he’d been in the office with us.
This is really happening. I get to keep Olly and this exciting new side of myself I’ve just discovered.
“My apologies, I have the wrong apartment,” Professor Gibson announces.
Nerves might have had me ducking for cover only days ago, but with Professor Gibson’s taste still on my tongue and Olly’s touch still burning my skin, it’s time to be the leading lady in my own story.
“You have the right apartment,” I say and step out from behind Olly.
Professor Gibson’s face pales as he looks from Olly to me. “What is this?”
I smile, trying to ease his concerns. “It’s okay. Please, come in and I’ll explain.”
A blue button-down shirt covers the arch of muscles beneath his sleeves, and sleek black pants hang low on his waist, drawing my eyes to his thighs. Warmth fills my cheeks as I remember his weight on my tongue.
Professor Gibson catches me staring and only hesitates for a moment before stepping through the doorway and into Olly’s apartment.
He places the bottle of wine on the glass coffee table with a clink and slips both hands into his pockets. “That explanation would be welcome.”
Olly’s fingers touch my back, his warmth and acceptance reminding me I can have anything I want; I just have to ask for it.
“I’m a writer,” I begin. “And my next book is about a… Naughty Professor.”
“Excuse me?” Professor Gibson asks, his brows narrowing in confusion.
I walk to Olly’s bookshelf, his print collection of my titles proudly on display, and hand one to him. “I am L.A. Wright.”
He takes the book from me, his narrowed brows rising as his confusion turns to surprise. “You write erotic romance?”
“I do.”
He turns the book over in his hands, inspecting the cover then flicking through the pages. “Curious. You’re not what I expected.”
“Excuse me?” His comment catches me off guard. For all his poetic speeches about respect in class, Professor Gibson is as juvenile as the rest of the world.
“I’m not judging,” he replies, and the earnest look on his face thaws my annoyance. “I never expected an author of this content to be so young and…”
“Enticing,” Olly finishes, standing so close behind me that heat from his body sends pinpricks of desire up my spine. His fingertips brush down my arm in a slow, featherlight touch and down to my upper thigh where the hem of my skirt meets skin.
He scratches his nails back and forth across my thigh, making my legs tremble. I lean into him, using his body to hold me steady as he bunches the fabric in his fist and slowly drags it up.
Professor Gibson’s eyes lock on Olly’s fingers while my eyes soak in all of my Naughty Professor’s reactions. His lips part, and his chest heaves with each ragged breath.
Olly’s hand stills millimeters from exposing my bare flesh. “Do you know why you’re here, Professor?”
I’m not sure what Olly’s plan is, but my body is tuned to his touch, trusting and willing.
Professor Gibson’s throat bobs, and he drags his eyes up, taking in my flushed face and swollen breasts before turning to Olly. “I had an idea, but… I’m not exactly sure now.”
Olly’s fingers slide back and forth across my hip bone, each dip bringing the pads of his fingertips so much closer to the wet mess forming between my thighs. “Lacey is a romance author, but she isn’t as sexually liberated as you profess.”
Professor Gibson flicks his tongue over his bottom lip in a nervous gesture, making it glisten. “I’m not sure I follow.”
Olly’s fingers stroke dangerously close to where I need him, then retreat. I whimper in annoyance and arch my hips, seeking his fingers.
His throaty chuckle tickles my ear, slides down my neck, and fills my chest. The fabric of my shirt stretches across my nipples, sharp like needles, teasing as it scrapes across the sensitive tips. “Tell him what you want, Lovely Lacey.”
I want Olly to stop teasing me, but that’s not what he means. “I’ve been relying on other people’s experiences to be the inspiration for my stories. I want my own.”
Professor Gibson’s sigh sounds more like a moan. “What do you want from me?”
“My next title is about a Naughty Professor.” I reach for the hem of my skirt, tug it from Olly’s grip and drag it up to my hips. “Can you show me how naughty a professor can be?”
His eyes fall to my bare pussy, glistening with moisture.
His lips part in a slow, uneven breath.
“I’m… not sure… that would be appropriate,” he argues, but his eyes watch me with the same hunger running through my veins.
He makes no move to leave. Instead, he watches, transfixed as Olly’s fingertips creep along my thigh, finding my soft, wet flesh.
I let out a low moan as my body shudders in temporary relief. Olly kisses my shoulder as his fingers dip between my folds, pushing, stroking, and curling.
Professor Gibson shifts his hips, and his wrist twitches in his pocket. The slight movement draws my attention to his crotch.
Is he touching himself?
I want him to peel open his zipper and let me watch as he tugs himself to release, but that would be such a waste when I have three eager holes willing to suck it from him instead.
A sudden image hits me, my sweaty body pressed between Olly and the professor, two hard cocks sliding in and out of me in sync.
I sag against Olly, panting, the fantasy so intense my arousal spikes to an impossible level. I already know Olly’s response to this fantasy, but what about the professor’s?
As though sensing my need, Olly’s fingers curl, finding that secret spot deep inside and drawing a gasp from me. His hot breath pants against my shoulder. “Tell the professor what you want him to do to you right now.”
I tilt my head to the side, giving Olly’s lips more access to my neck but locking my eyes with the professor’s. “I want him to pinch my nipple.”
Professor Gibson looks from Olly to me, aroused and unsure.
Olly pushes the strap of my shirt down my shoulder until it’s hanging halfway off my arm, exposing my naked breast.
Professor Gibson lets out a curse under his breath but doesn’t move.
The confidence I felt when he walked through Olly’s door begins to wane. Is this too much for him?
I don’t want him to go, not when I’m so close to getting what I want, but Olly’s hand is on my breast, and words escape me. He cups and weighs, caressing my nipple with his thumb as he brushes it back and forth, flicking the pebbled tip.
“Like this?” Olly pinches my nipple between two fingers.
A sharp, unexpected spark shoots to my belly, curling downward and pulsing beneath my clit. “Yes.”
Olly kisses my neck again, his breath tickling the sensitive skin beneath my ear. “What else do you want the professor to do to you?”
“I want him to kiss me.” I snake my hand down Olly’s arm to his wrist and squeeze the fingers curling inside me. “Here…”
Olly’s moan vibrates on my shoulder, and his hips rock into my ass, his erection full of dirty promises.
The professor stands on the other side of the room, watching.
Olly presses open-mouthed kisses down my arm as he moves to stand before me. His greedy, wet mouth suckles my breast as he shoves the other strap of my shirt off my shoulder and down my hips until my clothes pool around my feet.
A tremble rushes through me as I stand naked and more exposed than any of my characters on the page, but I’m not panicked or embarrassed. Need, desire, and a sense of empowerment I only ever experienced when lost in my fantasy worlds surge through me.
Olly kneels at my feet and presses soft, reverent kisses to my thighs, driving my blood pressure up and making my stomach clench in anticipation.
Then his mouth is there, hot breath tickling me in my most sensitive area. Heat grows beneath my skin with each flutter of his tongue, and my knees wobble, but Olly doesn’t stop. He licks, tasting more, rolling his tongue over my clit and sliding his fingers inside me again.
Desperation claws at my insides. I grip my hair, then my breasts, trying to anchor myself.
Olly’s tongue swirls in a way that makes my toes curl. I stumble forward, then quickly grip his head to hold myself steady. Olly’s assault doesn’t end. His fingers stroke and curl, arousal leaking from me and his tongue lapping it all like a man starved.
A soft grunt reminds me that we aren’t alone.
Professor Gibson grips the arm of the sofa, his breath heavy, his eyes on Olly’s mouth.
I watch him as I claw at Olly’s scalp, rocking my hips and fucking my lover’s fingers and tongue.
Coils tighten in my belly, drawing me closer and closer to that release.
Professor Gibson’s elbow jerks back and forth, his fingers still hidden in his pocket. His cock is so hard that I can clearly see the outline beneath his pants.
My belly tightens.
Olly wraps his arm around my thighs, pulls me closer to his mouth, clamps his hot lips over my aching clit, and sucks.
Pinpricks of tension burst beneath my skin, blurring my vision and stealing my breath.
Olly holds me tight as I rock against his mouth, riding his fingers until the last wave of relief crests.
I barely have a moment to recover before he stands before me, eyes wild like a man possessed. He squeezes my hips and tugs at my hair as his tongue fucks my mouth, tasting like sex.
Breaking the kiss, I look over Olly’s shoulder to Professor Gibson as I pop the button on my best friend’s jeans.
I am creating my own experiences.
I am my own inspiration.
I am the leading lady of my own story. “I want my Naughty Professor to stroke his cock while he watches me fuck you.”
Professor Gibson’s hand stills in his pocket, shoulders tense, but his eyes are hooded and intense.