Tempting Her Teacher: Forbidden Lovers Duet, #1

By Dizzy Hooper

Little Sophie Bell comes back from college all grown up. She may not be his student anymore, but she's still forbidden fruit…or is she?

Sophie

The summer after my freshman year, all I want to do is hang around the pool and catch up with my friends. But when my former teacher needs my help with a project, how can I refuse?

Mr. Warren was my first crush. He's gorgeous—and about twice my age. Seeing him again brings back all my old feelings. His hot gaze on my body makes me want his hands there, too. My skin is aching for his touch.

He rejected my advances back when he was my teacher. But I'm not his student anymore. I'm eighteen, and I'm determined for him to be my first…

John

Sophie Bell is temptation incarnate. Her young curves are the stuff of my dirtiest, filthiest fantasies. How many times have I imagined bending her over my desk and claiming what's mine?

Now she's back, and she may be legal, but she still used to be my student. Touching her means risking my reputation--and probably my job.

But Sophie's hot mouth and willing body prove too much to resist.

All I can offer her is taboo pleasure and a summer of sneaking around.

Turns out, she wants to offer me everything. Her body. Her virginity. And her heart…

Tempting Her Teacher is the first in a planned duet. No cliffhangers, no cheating. Just a red-hot May-December romance with a guaranteed happy ending. Everyone is 18+, so enjoy guilt-free!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dizzy's Dreams Publishing
• Release date: Sep 17, 2018
• ISBN: 9781393276937

Book preview

Tempting Her Teacher

Tempting Her Teacher

Dizzy Hooper

Contents

1. Sophie

John

2. Sophie

John

3. Sophie

John

4. Sophie

John

5. John

Sophie

John

6. Sophie

7. Sophie

John

8. Sophie

John

9. Sophie

John

10. John

11. Sophie

12. John

Sophie

13. Sophie

John

14. Sophie

15. John

Sneak Peek at Possessing His Pupil

Thank you

Excerpt from Snowed In With The Pack

Also by Dizzy Hooper

About the Author

1

Sophie

I really can't thank you enough for coming back and helping us out, Principal Jenkins says, guiding me down the hall.

I smile brightly at her, for all that I'm barely paying attention. You know it's no problem.

My heels clack on the worn tile, and I instinctively reach out my hand to let my fingertips trail along the rough cinderblock wall. It's hard to believe that it's only been a year since I've been here, and yet it feels like a lifetime ago.

I graduated with honors last spring. After a tough first year of college, I was ready for a nice, relaxing summer, hanging out with old friends and lazing around the pool. That's exactly what I did, too—right up until I got the call.

The secretary at my old high school had to have emergency surgery. She was going to be out of commission for weeks. With the freshman orientation coming up, they were desperate for someone to fill in for her. Someone who knew the ins and outs of the school. Someone who'd, say, volunteered in the office for ages, and had practically run the event the year before.

So I'd put away my tiny string bikini and donned the most professional clothes I had. They're paying me for my time, which helps, but it's not the real reason I said yes.

Oh, no. I clench down deep inside, my untouched pussy going damp beneath my lacy, white panties.

The real reason steps out of his classroom at the end of the hall. Our eyes lock.

Mr. Warren.

The freshman advisor for the school. My old art teacher. My mentor…maybe even my friend.

My crush for the last three years. My sporadic pen pal since I've been away at college.

The man I've pictured every time I've rubbed my little clit and silently, secretly gotten myself off.

The man I'm determined is going to be the first to be inside me.

He's as gorgeous as ever, of course. He has this golden olive complexion and piercing dark eyes. Broad shoulders and a trim waist. He's pretty young for a teacher at this school—thirty? Maybe thirty-five? Just old enough for little threads of silver to appear around his temples, lending distinction to the thick, black waves of his hair. The times he's stood beside me in the past, he's towered over me, and he's always smelt to me like the woods. Like sex.

As we approach, my breasts tingle with hot awareness, and oh God. I should have worn a padded bra. My nipples have to be poking through the slinky fabric of my bralette, obvious through my plain white blouse.

Mr. Warren's throat bobs, and he licks his lips, his gaze drifting down my body, caressing my barely legal curves. I let my own gaze slip lower. He's wearing jeans today, and if I'm not mistaken, there's the beginning of a serious bulge forming at the front of them. My pussy throbs, imagining that the sight of me walking toward him could be getting his cock hard.

I've never seen a cock in real life. Only in my dirty fantasies. I've messed around with boys at school a time or two, but it's never gone further than kissing or maybe a quick squeeze of my still-clothed boob. Every time I've had the chance to do more, Mr. Warren's face has flashed across my vision, and it's never felt right. No one can compare.

No, it's him I want. Tears threaten the corners of my eyes.

I need him. His hands, his touch, his kiss. So bad it aches, deep inside.

I suck in a breath, trying to push down the desperation that makes me feel hot all over, my skin too tight and my pussy wet.

We come to a stop a half dozen feet away from him. It's all I can do not to melt into a puddle at his feet.

Oblivious, Principal Jenkins, gestures toward him. You remember Mr. Warren of course.

Of course. My voice trembles.

Sophie. He smiles, but it's strained. I falter.

Maybe this was a terrible idea. Maybe he doesn't want me. Maybe he'll reject me, just like he did the one time I got up the guts to throw myself at him the week before graduation.

Shame burns through me at the memory, but arousal is even hotter in my blood. He'd put his hands on my arms, gripping them hard enough to leave bruises, and stared at me with blazing desire in his eyes.

Before he'd pushed me away and said he couldn't. He wouldn't.

But he didn't say he didn't want to. I've clung to that scrap of hope all year.

I'm clinging to it still.

I'll let you two get to work, Principal Jenkins says. I know you've got a lot to do.

We sure have. Mr. Warren's eyes burn.

Principal Jenkins' footfalls echo through the deserted hallway as she takes her leave.

And then it's just me and Mr. Warren. Alone.

Electricity zips through the space between us, and my pulse races. My dripping pussy goes slicker with nervous anticipation.

I've dreamed of this scenario a thousand times. In my fantasies, he always made the first move, though.

Suddenly, as he stares me down, I feel like exactly what I am—a clueless virgin. My fantasies drift away.

And I'm frozen on the spot.

John

My blood is on fire.

Little Sophie Bell is all grown up. When she first walked into my freshman art class five years ago, she was stick-thin, with braces and frizzy hair and fucking knee socks, for Christ's sake. She was the picture of innocence. She was a child.

I worked with her and taught her. I admired her developing mind, and fuck me—yeah, I admired her developing body, too. Sophomore year, she came back from summer vacation with this ripe little pair of perfect, perky tits. She tamed her hair into soft, red-brown ringlets and started slicking something glossy and pink on her full lips. Taunting me. Making me wonder what they tasted like.

Or what they'd feel like pursed so tightly around my aching cock.

Junior year, the knee socks were officially retired, leaving those silky legs bare. She got hips and an ass that wouldn't quit her senior year, and I hated myself so much for noticing either. She wasn't a child anymore, but I'd have lost my job and gone to jail if I'd so much as touched her.

Hell, if I'd so much as let on that I realized there was anything to be touched.

But in the back of my mind, you're damn right I knew. I imagined setting her on my desk and parting those creamy thighs. I bet she's got the softest, pinkest little pussy. I bet she tastes sweeter than cream, that she'd get so wet if I so much as breathed on her.

That her tits would fit like perfect, round weights in my hands.

Sweet, innocent little Sophie Bell.

Well, maybe not completely innocent. Last spring, she cornered me in the photography studio one day after school. She thanked me for helping her with her portfolio, for all the letters of recommendation that helped her get into her first choice school. And then she placed a shaking hand on my arm and leaned in, and I swear to fucking God my cock just about ripped a hole in my pants, it was so eager to get out and bury itself in her tight, virgin cunt.

The hardest thing I've ever done in my life is turn her down. I had no choice, but the look of hurt on her face… the way she never met my gaze quite the same again…

It fucking killed me, is what it did. It tore my heart out and stomped on it.

And my dick has never forgiven me. How many times have I laid on my back in my lonely house, alone, fisting my aching cock in desperation, imagining I'd thrown caution to the wind and taken what she was ready to serve up to me on a silver platter. I've fantasized about fucking her on every surface in this school, in every room. I've dreamt about the knee socks and the shape of her sinful lips and the wet, tight clench of her pussy, and fuck, fuck, fuck.

My only salvation since that day is that I haven't really had to see her again. There was the awkward last week of school of course, and then a quick hug at graduation that had me running to the rest room to furtively, shamefully rub one out before any of the parents wrote to the school board about my enormous hard-on.

Since then, she's sent me a half dozen letters that I've read and re-read, telling me about her life at college. I've held them to my face, too, searching out her scent with my cock in my hand, because I'm that disgusting and perverted of a man.

I'm thirty-seven and drowning in lust for an eighteen year-old former student, and now she's here. Right in front of me, and we have a shit ton of work to do to get ready for the three-day freshman orientation that starts on Wednesday, and all I want to do is slam her against the wall and finally get my mouth on hers. Shove my fingers under her flouncy pink skirt and press them into her soft folds. Finally find out what she sounds like when she comes.

Fuck, she looks like a wet dream, too. There's still this innocence to her, but her face isn't as round or as soft as it used to be. Her hair is a little shorter, the style more sophisticated. Her tits are definitely bigger, the round flesh pressing against a thin white top that does nothing to hide her hard nipples.

But none of that makes any of what I want less wrong. I wouldn't go to jail for fucking her any more, but I could absolutely still lose my job. Even if I didn't, could I ever forgive myself? I'm an educator, for fuck's sake. I love teaching. I'm good at it. People trust me with their children.

Her parents trusted me with her when she was a child. And fuck me if that doesn't just make me harder. I want the woman she is now, but I remember the little girl she was, and I want to take her innocence in my hands. I want to fuck her, violate her, ruin her.

I never, ever, ever want to let anyone touch her. I want to keep her innocent and sweet—forever.

And no matter what I want, the one thing I know is that she shouldn't be allowed within about a thousand yards of a sick fuck like me.

For a moment that feels like an eternity, she stands there, staring at me. The air feels heavy, electricity humming through the space between us, and everything about her is screaming for me to close it. To lean in and take what she told me a year ago was mine.

It'd be so easy…

I avert my gaze and take a step back. It's the second hardest thing I've ever done.

Everything about her is inviting me in, but it's my job to say no. It's my job to remember that what I want to do to her is wrong.

No matter how much my body tries to tell me that it's right.

2

Sophie

I'm not imagining things. I'm not .

Back when I was his student, Mr. Warren made my stomach clench and my pussy wet. He leaned in to give me critiques on my artwork and he brushed my hand, taking the