Chapter 144 Craving My Student's Pussy
PROFESSOR'S POV;
I thought once would be enough.
I thought fucking Isla on my desk would satisfy this sick craving and I could go back to being the respectable professor everyone believed I was. That I could look at her in class without my cock hardening. That I could hear her voice without remembering how she screamed my name.
I was wrong. So fucking wrong.
Because now that I'd tasted her, felt her tight little pussy clench around my cock, heard those desperate whimpers as she begged me not to stop—I was addicted. And addicts don't quit after just one hit.
It had been three days since she'd been in my office. Three days of torture sitting through faculty meetings while my mind replayed every detail: the way she looked bent over my desk, the wet sounds of my cock driving into her, the smell of sex that lingered in my office for hours afterward.
I jerked off in the shower that morning thinking about her. Twice. And still showed up to my evening Ethics lecture with a semi that wouldn't quit.
She walked in exactly two minutes before class started, wearing a sundress that made my jaw clench. Yellow. Innocent. The kind of dress that said "good girl" while everything underneath screamed the opposite. She met my eyes as she made her way to her usual seat—front row, center—and the corner of her mouth lifted in the barest hint of a smile.
She knew exactly what she was doing to me.
The lecture was a special evening session, something the department scheduled once a month for students who needed extra credit or had scheduling conflicts. Smaller crowd. Only about fifteen students scattered throughout the two-hundred-seat auditorium.
I tried to focus on my notes, on Kant's categorical imperative, on anything except the way Isla's legs crossed and uncrossed as I spoke. But every time I glanced her direction, she was watching me with those dark eyes, biting that bottom lip, and I knew she was thinking about it too.
Thinking about me bending her over this very podium.
An hour and fifteen minutes. That's how long I had to maintain my composure while my cock strained against my slacks and my mind conjured increasingly depraved scenarios.
When I finally dismissed class, I busied myself erasing the whiteboard, waiting for the last few students to file out. I heard their footsteps fade down the hallway, heard the heavy door close with a solid thunk.
Silence.
I turned around.
Isla sat in her front-row seat, one leg crossed over the other, that yellow dress riding up her smooth thighs. She hadn't moved.
"Miss Rivers." My voice came out rougher than I intended. "Class is dismissed."
"I know." She stood slowly, gathering her books with deliberate laziness. "I had some questions about the material."
"Office hours are tomorrow—"
"I can't wait until tomorrow, Professor." She walked toward the podium where I stood, her heels clicking against the tile floor with each step. "I need your help now."
Every rational thought in my head screamed at me to maintain boundaries, to remember where we were, to think about the cameras in the hallway, the janitors who made rounds, the risk of everything I'd worked for going up in flames.
But then she was standing right in front of me, close enough that I could smell her perfume mixed with something else—arousal. She was already wet.
"What exactly do you need help with?" I asked, my hands gripping the edge of the podium to keep from touching her.
Her eyes dropped to the obvious bulge in my pants, then back up to my face. "I think you know."
Fuck it.
I grabbed her wrist and yanked her behind the podium, pressing her back against the wall where we'd be hidden from the door's window. My mouth crashed onto hers in a bruising kiss, swallowing her gasp. She tasted like coffee and mint gum, and when her tongue slid against mine, I groaned into her mouth.
"You're a dangerous little thing," I growled against her lips, my hand sliding up her thigh, pushing that innocent dress higher. "Sitting in my class, eye-fucking me for an hour while I'm trying to teach."
"I couldn't help it," she breathed, her hands clutching my shirt. "All I could think about was you bending me over that desk again. Feeling your cock inside me. I've been wet since I walked in."
My fingers found the edge of her panties—lace again, this girl had a thing for lace—and I could feel the dampness soaking through. "Jesus Christ, Isla. You're fucking drenched."
"Because of you," she whimpered as my fingers slipped beneath the fabric, stroking through her slick folds. "Only you, Professor Bennett."
I pushed two fingers inside her without warning, and her head fell back against the wall, mouth open in a silent moan. She was tight, hot, already clenching around my fingers like she'd been waiting for this all night.
"You want to know what I was thinking about during that entire lecture?" I asked, pumping my fingers slowly while my thumb found her clit. "I was thinking about fucking you right here. Right where you always sit, looking so innocent while you're fantasizing about my cock."