Chapter 6
JESSIE
I’ve prepared for my second tutoring session the way I prepare for everything. Methodically, academically. I have questions in my notebook with color-coded annotations.
It lies open on my lap, the header reading Lesson Two: Male Reproductive Anatomy. I’ve underlined it twice in green. Below that reads Practical Applications?
I added that this morning while I was lying in bed thinking about him again.
Right now, I’m sitting in the same leather chair I was in when he knelt before me, spread my legs, and—
Oh God, I can’t think about that right now. I’m already getting hot. I have to focus. Be a good student for Professor Holt.
He’s leaning against his desk with his muscled arms crossed and his sleeves rolled up to the elbow, showing the bulging veins and raw strength. We’re pretending this is purely academic, but we both know why I’m here.
And it has absolutely nothing to do with my GPA.
Oh, and have I mentioned his forearms? Because I need to.
With his sleeves rolled up like that, I can see the tendons shift under his skin whenever he moves his hands.
I’ve seen the anatomical diagrams of the forearm extensors and flexors before, but none of them prepared me for what they would be like on this man.
“So,” he says, nodding at my notebook. “You have questions.”
“Yes, I have questions.”
“About the course material?”
“Yes, of course.” I nod. “About…anatomy.”
The corner of his mouth moves. The ghost of a smile sweeps through me like a warm wind. “Okay. Go ahead.”
I look down at the first question. I wrote it at two in the morning while I was lying in bed, sweating as I recounted our first session. Thinking about his hand on my arm when he told Belcher to get lost.
I wrote the question down, then, on the lowest setting, slid my vibrator between my legs. It couldn’t have been less than a minute before I climaxed, but it was nothing compared to the three orgasms he gave me.
Nothing.
I switched it off and denied myself any more. If I experience that kind of pleasure again, I want it to be from him. It can only be from him.
“First question,” I say, fighting to keep my voice steady. “Male erectile tissue. The textbook describes the mechanism of male arousal as a vascular event. A complex neurovascular process involving arterial dilation and venous occlusion.”
“That’s right.” He nods, impressed.
“But it doesn’t say what it…feels like. Subjectively.”
His arms uncross, and he sits straighter. My heartrate increases. I wonder if he can tell.
“That’s your question, Miss Monroe?”
I swallow. “Yes, that is my question.”
He studies me a moment with those intense green eyes. The moment stretches on for what feels like forever. It’s like he’s making a decision. Then something moves behind his eyes. It’s mysterious, but it feels like approval.
“It feels like pressure,” he says, his voice calm and controlled. “Uncompromising, building as your whole body narrows its intention on one thing. Everything else becomes secondary.”
I’m starting to feel light-headed and simply nod as he stretches his right arm over his head. God, look at those biceps.
“The mind slows,” he continues. “And while you’re standing in your office with a female student who is asking you what an erection feels like…it becomes difficult to think about anything else.”
My pen hasn’t moved. I’m not even taking notes. Looks like I’m having a hard time thinking too.
“Q-question two,” I manage to say.
“Already?”
“I have seven…”
That ghost of a smile appears again. I tremble. “Please, continue.”
“The textbook also says the male refractory period is much longer than the female’s.
But it also says that sustained psychological stimulation can maintain—” I glance at my notes to make sure I get this right.
It’s also hard to look at his ruggedly handsome face right now.
“Can maintain readiness beyond the initial vascular event. What would count as sustained psychological stimulation?”
Professor Holt is quiet for long enough that I am forced to look up.
His eyes are narrow, penetrating, filled with heat and depth. For the first time, he looks like a man who has been asked a question he can’t answer. At least not without confessing something.
“You,” he replies slowly. “You sitting in that chair with that cute notebook, asking me these questions. That would count.”
My body reacts and does several things simultaneously. My breath stops, my nipples go erect, and the place between my thighs—the one with ten thousand nerve endings—pulses like a pounding drum. And my hand moves on its own: I am the sustained psychological stimulation…
I can’t take this any longer. Seven questions? What was I thinking?
I can feel the arousal between my legs. My face is burning from the blush. I’m falling apart.
Time to skip to the last question.
“Can I see it?”
The silence that follows is so tense I can hear my own heartbeat. August doesn’t move for at least three seconds. It’s an anxiety thing. My brain just defaults to measurement when it doesn’t know what else to do.
Then he stands. And reaches for his belt.
My chest tightens.
He moves slowly and with the deliberateness of someone who is fully aware of what he’s doing. He knows this is wrong, but he’s doing it anyway. And he wants me to understand that.
And I do.
My chest tightens as the leather slides through the buckle. The top button pops, and his zipper comes down.
Despite my best efforts, my jaw drops, and my eyes widen. What I’m looking at is not what the textbook prepared me for.
The textbook had a diagram of the male reproductive anatomy. In the diagram, the phallus was four inches long and labeled with nice clean arrows pointing to the glans, the shaft, the frenulum, the scrotum. It was very informative but clinical and sterile.
What August holds in his hand now is not the diagram. What stands out straight from between his legs is at least twice the size from the book and thick—thicker than my wrist, I’d be willing to bet. He wraps his strong hand around it, and I watch the muscles in his forearm flex.
“The corpora cavernosa,” he says, his voice frayed at the edges. “Two chambers of erectile tissue that run the length of the shaft.”
The shaft…
The word buzzes through me like a jolt from my new toy, sending my already humming body into a new state of arousal.
“When engorged, they cause the rigidity.”
I swallow hard, and when I speak, my voice comes out at least an octave higher than normal. “It’s—” I start but have to swallow again. Jeez, I sound like a fairy! “The diagram I saw…the scale was misleading.”
August’s mouth twists now into an actual smile, a devilish smirk that seizes me like his bulky arms.
I feel it now. I’m sitting in a puddle.
“Diagrams are standardized for the average,” he says with unbridled confidence.
“And you…are not average.”
“Neither are you, gorgeous. Neither are you.”
He comes around the desk and stands before me, his erection standing out straight like a flagpole. Like a Spartan spear. From this distance, his enormity is even more striking. My tongue traces my lower lip on its own, and I realize I’m drooling.
I’m looking up. He’s looking down. My breath is uneven. His is deep and controlled.
You know what he wants you to do…
Cautiously, I reach up and wrap my fingers around him.
He makes a sound. Not quite a groan and not quite a gasp. I don’t even know how to classify it. But I like it.
“L-like this?” I ask tentatively. I genuinely don’t know. They don’t cover this sort of thing in the book.
“Tighter,” he says, closing his hand over mine, adjusting my grip. His head sinks, his forehead nearly touching mine. “Fuck, yes. Just like that.”
I move my hand up and down, stroking him as he guides me, testing angle and speed. The feedback from August is immediate, and knowing that I have this kind of power over him has me elated.
When I twist my wrist slightly at the tip, he sucks in a breath. And when I squeeze down at the base, he slams his palm flat on the desk to brace himself. That’s when I see a bead of moisture that has gathered at the head.
“The frenulum,” I say, tracing the underside of the ridge with my thumb, thinking of the diagram I studied. “The textbook said it was the most sensitive part—”
“Jessie.” His hand grabs the edge of his desk, his knuckles turning white. “You must stop quoting the textbook while you’re doing this, or it’s going to be over very fast.”
Again, his words strike me, scorching me with pride. Such a big, strong, rugged man, and I can make his body jerk with a single movement of my hand.
I love this… I love it.
“Can I…use my mouth?” I ask. His chest expands as he looks down at me. “Please, teach me, Professor.”
His eyes are wrecked. Green and shadowed but also glassy with something I’m learning to recognize: lust. Something that goes far beyond the anatomical framework we’ve been working within.
“Is that question four?” he asks, the edge of his lip twisting. Wow, he already sees right through me.
I nod and smile up at him. “How’d you know?”
He exhales slowly, reaches a hand out, and threads his fingers through my hair. I know what to do without him even telling me. The same thing he did during our first session.
I drop to my knees before him.
He adds pressure to my head immediately. Not pushing, just gently guiding, pulling me closer. “Start with the head,” he says. “Lips first. Tongue after. I’m long, so don’t worry about taking it all just yet.”
Oh, I’ll take it all. I’m going to be an A+ student.
I press my lips to the tip of his cock, coating them with the moisture dripping down. Pre-cum. That’s what I think it’s called.
“Christ,” he growls, his voice lacking composure.
His hand is shaking against my scalp. This man is an accomplished surgeon who performed open-heart surgery, and his hand is shaking because of me.
The power of that knowledge floods through me, hot and wild, taking me to a place I’ve never been before.
“Open your lips,” he grits out. “Take it in, use your tongue underneath.” I do just as I’m told. He tosses his head back and lets out a sound that I already yearn for. “Yes, Jessie. Fuck. Just like that.”
He said I don’t need to worry about depth, but I want to. I want more. So much more. I want all of it. So I try.
Without him adding any more pressure to the back of my head, I lean in and swallow at least three more inches of his cock. The pressure on the inside of my throat is both frightening and thrilling at the same time. I’m on the verge of choking, but the heat and thickness of his shaft is delicious.
“Fuck, Jessie,” he gasps, trying to pull back. “You’re going to make me—”
But I don’t pull away.
I go deeper, almost taking him down to his balls. I’ll get him all the way next time.
And that’s when I feel it.
The muscles in his cock flex. His shaft expands. He speaks, his voice chattering like a recording on fast-forward. “The ejaculation reflex is mediated by the—by the sympathetic nervous system—”
He’s panting like an animal. His words are fractured. His hand twists into a fist in my hair. It hurts, but I like it. I love everything about this. After everything he did for me in our last session, all I want to do is pleasure him.
“Seminal fluid is produced in the—fuck—the seminal vesicles and prostate—” Somehow, his clinical dirty talk is perfect. I feel a pulsing between my legs. A desperate desire to be filled. “Jessie, I can’t hold out—”
He comes.
His body goes rigid, and I feel the pulse of his release on my tongue—warm and salty and bitter at the same time. I know some girls don’t like it, but to me, Professor Holt’s cum tastes like the most delicious dessert imaginable.
I swallow it all. And not because it’s the thing to do but because I want to. I look up at him, eyes locked as he watches me with an expression of adoration that sends my heart into the sky.
I did it. Hell yeah, I did it.
Once his climax finishes, his hand loosens in my hair, and he cups my cheek, his thumb gently caressing me the way he caressed my arm in the quad.
“Jessie,” he says, panting. “Jessie, I—”
He lifts me to my knees and pulls me up against him. Wrapping his arms around me, he kisses my neck, holding me so tight I can feel his heart pounding through his chest against mine. I’m absolutely on fire for this man.
How did I get so lucky to end up in his class?
“I’ve spent my whole life being in control,” he says. “I built a life here where nothing was meant to be uncertain or unplanned. But then you walked into my class, and you know what happened then?”
My eyes sting and blur as tears begin to pool. “No.”
“I lost control.”
My heart is doing something that should probably be monitored in a medical setting.
“August—”
“I’m in love with you, Jessie,” he says. His expression shifts, as though he realizes he should not have said what he just did. He shakes his head. “Love, of course, is the neurochemical bonding of two people which involves elevated dopamine—”
“August!” I say, raising my voice to stop him. He does, looking down at me with a possessiveness that shakes me. “You’re not giving a lecture.”
My heart is racing. My whole life I’ve been focused. Never had a boyfriend. Never even had an orgasm. And now this impossibly sexy man—a man twice my age—is professing his love to me.
It doesn’t feel real. It shouldn’t be. But there’s no denying it.
“I’m falling too,” I tell him. “I don’t know the chemistry behind it. But I’m falling. No. I’ve already fallen.”
His expression shifts. It softens but also solidifies, as if he’s picturing our future together. Maybe I’m misreading it, but that’s what I’m doing right now. That’s what I’m doing as he leans in and kisses me slowly.
Doesn’t he care that he might taste himself on my mouth? Apparently not. It’s the most intimate thing—excluding all the other things—that’s happened between us. And his hands frame my face with such delicacy that I feel like a treasure.
When he finally pulls back, he traces my lip with his thumb. “Same time Thursday?”
I honestly don’t know if I can wait until Thursday, but he’s a busy man, and the last thing I want to do is be a nuisance.
“Can’t come soon enough,” I reply. There’s a pause, and we both smirk at the double meaning.
I find my notebook and pen, and on the way out, scribble under the first four of my questions: Question five through seven postponed until next session.
Glancing over my shoulder as I leave the office, I see the look in his eyes and realize something.
We are both past the point of no return.
We were past it the moment I walked into his class.