Page 9 of Falling for Mindy

“This,” I said, loosening his belt, tearing at his button and zipper. I opened his trousers, and his thick cock sprang free into my waiting hands and mouth. I wrapped my lips around the crown of his big, hard cock. He tasted clean and salty, the flavor of his precum like brine on my tongue.

“You don’t have to—” he said hoarsely.

“Yes, I do,” I moaned around his cock, sucking, sliding my mouth down his length and taking all I could. I had to wrap my fist around the base of his cock because he was too big for me to take. Even half of his length filled my mouth, brushed my throat and made my sex clench with need. I licked and sucked, his hands messing up my hair, stroking my jaw, even as he ground out a noise that made my nipples harden and my breath catch.

“Too good—you have to stop,” he growled at me. He pushed my face away. I looked up at him from where I kneeled at his feet, my lips red and swollen from his kiss and from sucking his dick, my eyes bright with excitement. “I don’t know who taught you to do that—” he said, raking a hand impatiently through his hair, “but that was dangerously good. I don’t mean to spill in your mouth. I mean to have all of you.”

Shuddering as he helped me to my feet, I swayed a little as I stood. He pushed my shirt up and dragged it over my head unceremoniously. His face was buried in my breasts before I knew what was happening. I was bent back over his arm, his hot mouth on my nipple through the lace. I moaned and he put his hand over my mouth.

“Quiet,” he said as he nipped my breast. I sucked his finger between my lips shamelessly, licking his fingertip and sucking it. He unfastened my bra with one hand and let it fall to the floor, devouring my bare nipple in his wet mouth as I arched against him, wanting more. It was a sizzle of pleasure and an agony of yearning at the same time, every pull of his mouth on my sensitive, tight nipple, the press of his arm in the small of my back as he held me up. I gripped the back of his shirt to try and hold on. He moved from one breast to the other, licking, sucking, the hard, wet length of his bare cock against my belly. I wrapped one leg around his, hooking my knee over his thigh, making sure he knew my intentions.

An instant later, his hand was between my thighs, a knuckle pressed to my slit, pushing into my wet pussy. I made a noise, and he uncurled his finger, sliding two long fingers inside me. I swallowed hard around the lump in my throat, and he kissed me softly, insinuating his tongue between my lips as he fingered me. I whimpered and shook my head. “No,” I managed.

He withdrew instantly, stepping back, releasing me. “I’m sorry,” he said.

“No,” I insisted, moving in and wrapping my arms around him, “Not no I don’t want this, no I want to come with you inside me and not before,” I purred. The lines of his face smoothed out and he dipped his mouth back to mine. Softly, he moved me to his desk, lay me down on it with infinite care, palming my head as he eased me onto my back, my legs hanging off the edge of his desk. He stripped my panties off and ruffled up my skirt.

“You’re sure you want this?” he said, so careful, so considerate.

“Absolutely,” I said, “I want this every second you’re lecturing or taking roll or walking across the room. It’s how we belong. Just like this,” I said.

Professor Quinn slid his palms up the inside of my thighs, big hands parting my legs. His fingers traced my sex tenderly, making me tingle with the sensation, and then I felt the blunt head of his cock brush against me.

He stroked my belly and my hips, teasing me, winding me up even though I was already really turned on. He was being so considerate, making sure I was aroused enough to take his incredible size, but there was no reason to worry. I was so wet, so excited for him.

“I’ve wanted this since I saw you at the bar,” I admitted, as if a confession was called for.

“So have I,” he said, “No matter how much I fought it, I knew I’d never win. I couldn’t make myself stop wanting you, stop being attracted to you. I’m so—I’m hesitant to begin. Is that the most foolish thing you’ve ever heard, Ms. Sayers? A professor reluctant to fuck his student because he wants to savor the first time with her? Because it will be nothing but a memory soon,” he said to me.

I blinked back tears, so emotional over what he’d said. It had been too much, and I felt it too deeply. It was over the top, completely romantic and exactly what I felt about him. Like this was a life-altering moment and I was about to have Professor Quinn inside of me for the very first time.

It didn’t escape my notice that he said he wanted to savor the first time, as if there would be more. As if we’d be together a hundred times and not only one stolen tryst in his office. My heart was pounding. He cupped my face in his hands and kissed me. As our tongues mated and our bodies strained to be even closer, my professor thrust deeply into me. I caught my breath, stunned by the huge size of him. Even though I’d just had him in my mouth, and I’d stroked him all over with my hands, it was different. The sensation of his heavy, thick cock tunneling into my body, filling me so full that I couldn’t even kiss him back. His kiss stopped. “Are you okay?” he asked softly, his lips nipping at mine.

“I think so,” I panted, “You’re just really big.” I gave kind of a stupid giggle then.

“Forgive me. I’ll make it up to you,” he said. He eased out of me one inch at a time, and then reached between us to touch me.

“No, I’m fine. You don't have to,” I protested.

“I want to,” he said in a smoky voice that seemed to curl through me.

His big fingers were tender and deft, stroking the lips of my sex, teasing around my clit, arousing me further with an expert caress. “I only want to make you feel good. If it feels tight, I need to make it better.” With that, my professor sucked my neck again, sending electric pulses through my entire body with his wicked mouth. Soon, my pussy was dripping at his touch, and I started to say please over and over again.

“I can’t, I can’t wait anymore. Please, Professor,” I gasped.

“Since you asked so nicely,” he purred, dipping his tongue in my mouth as his iron-hard shaft penetrated me, gliding easily in my wet, eager channel. I was stuffed, gasping for breath, pounding on his back as my pussy trembled and clenched, flutters of orgasm beginning already just from being penetrated. I threw my head back, wound my legs around his lean hips and rocked against him. Every thrust took me higher until the pressure on my clit and the sensation of his deep, heavy rhythm broke me. I grabbed a handful of his hair and dragged his mouth to mine as I started to come in a white-hot blur.

I woke up, shaking, sweating on the couch, my hand stuffed down my sweatpants. I shut my eyes, ashamed. I’d been having a very realistic, detailed sex dream about Professor Quinn. Again. Apparently, my sexual awakening had less to do with Jason Momoa’s turn on Game of Thrones and more to do with a college professor at Berkley.

It was so cliché and ridiculous. The man had no interest in me. I was one of his students, and not even one who’d make eye contact with him during his lectures. I answered questions while looking over his right shoulder and pretending he was someone else. Some women pretended their sexual partners were someone else so they could come. I had to pretend my professor was someone else so I didn’t come right there in my wooden chair in the front row of his class.

I scolded myself. I tried getting a drink of water, turning off the TV, throwing away the trash and turning off the kitchen light. I got into bed, still dizzy with desire and still throbbing. I needed to finish myself off. Again.

It was a fantasy, pure and simple. Well, not pure exactly. Forbidden and sinful, then.

I lay in my bed and reached for my vibrator. I switched it on and in seconds, my body was flooded with sensation. I shut my eyes and it was Professor Quinn sweating and panting above me as he drove his cock into me again and again, pounding me relentlessly as I came. The orgasm was short and not quite satisfying, but it took the edge off. Afterward, I lay there and stared at my ceiling fan and was grateful I only had the man for one class. If I had to see him more often, it would be the semester from hell.

CHAPTER 6