School Me Dirty: A College Romance: Get Dirty, #2

By Parker Grey

I'm hard on my students.

 

All semester, Melody has been sitting quietly in the back of my class - a straight-A student with a perfect 4.0 GPA. A nice, polite, well-behaved, good girl.

 

The kind of good girl I want to see on her knees in front of me, those big wide eyes begging me.

 

Touching her could get me fired and barred from teaching ever again. But when she asks me to be her thesis advisor, I say yes, and soon sweet, almost-innocent Melody is in my office, her ripe curves and pouty lips practically begging me to take her.

 

Dominate her. Claim her. Make this good girl my dirty girl.

 

It's just an innocent crush…

 

I know it's a total cliche to have a crush on your professor, but I can't help it - he's ruggedly handsome, incredibly smart, totally in control…

 

…and even from the back row I can see the monster in his pants.

 

I know these are dangerous games I'm playing with him. I know if we get caught, the consequences would mean total disaster — but every time he growls my name, I practically lose my mind.

 

Take me, professor. Make me yours.

 

School Me Dirty is a very dirty standalone romance about a college sophomore and her naughty professor - but it's complete with a super-sweet Happily Ever After ending and, of course, no cheating!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Complicated Octopus Press
• Release date: Oct 2, 2022
• ISBN: 9781957049151

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

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 get up, 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 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.

CHAPTER TWO

PROFESSOR SHARPE

I unlock the door to my office, then point Melody to a chair and sit behind my desk. She glances around with her huge blue eyes, taking everything in as she yanks on her skirt again, trying to keep herself covered as she sits in the chair facing my desk.

I assume you’re familiar with the coursework, I start, lacing my hands on the desk.

Melody nods, her mahogany hair falling over her shoulders. I force myself not to look down, even though I’m nearly certain I could see a tiny peek of her panties if I did.

And you’re also aware that you have to maintain a certain GPA, I go on, the words on autopilot. Though if all your work is as excellent as it is in my class, that shouldn’t be too hard.

Melody smiles and looks down, crossing her legs as she does. I’m glad I’m sitting behind my desk, because being this close to this girl — this student — has me rock hard for the millionth time this semester, my cock straining at the zipper of my pants.

I’ll keep my grades up, she says, a half-smile on her face.

I nod, then go on with the requirements for being a Classics major as she blinks, smiles, and agrees with me.

Thank God I do this all the time, because I can barely think straight with her right here. I’ve been watching this girl all semester — the way she blushes when she asks questions in class, the way she bites her pen sometimes when she’s thinking, her perfect lips sucking on it carefully, her pink tongue just barely visible, the way she walks out the door of my classroom.

I want those wide blue eyes staring up at me as she gets on her knees, her pink tongue darting between her lips as she carefully takes my cock in one hand and then, slowly and carefully, takes it into her mouth millimeter by millimeter.

My balls tighten at just the thought.

Of course, she says in response to something I’ve said. I’m thinking of applying to grad schools after college, so my thesis would be really important.

I keep talking, but her skirt’s inching up her thighs bit by bit, the neck of her shirt low, her shoes totally impractical for the weather we’re having. She’s uncertain of herself for sure, but there’s no way she knows the effect it’s having on me.

She’s too young, I remind myself. She’s your student.

If anything happens, you’re fired, tenure or not.

You’re already skating on thin ice after that incident when you were in grad school. Don’t be stupid, Ethan.

We talk about her thesis. I force myself not to think about spreading her legs on my desk and drinking her sweet honey while she moans my name, my tongue in her tight little pussy.

Jesus, of all the women to turn me on this much, why did it have to be a student? Why couldn’t it be someone less dangerous, like a coworker or my stepsister?

Well, I’m happy to take you as an advisee, I say. Just remember, I’m much harder than most advisors.

In more ways than one, I think.

I don’t mind hard, Melody says, then blushes. Actually, I think I prefer it.

For just a second, I look at her lap, her tiny skirt ridden almost all the way up to her hips. A tiny triangle of her white panties is visible between her thighs, and I have to force myself to stay seated instead of walking around the desk and bending her over it.

Good, I say. "By the way,