School Me Dirty

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School Me Dirty

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 stand, 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 the 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.”


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