Chapter 28 Chapter Two of Grade Me Harder (GMH)
“Think I didn’t notice?” he muttered, voice harsh and low. “Every time you crossed your arms under these tits in class. Every time you leaned forward while pretending to take notes. You’ve been asking for this.”
I didn’t deny it. Couldn’t.
My nipples tightened under his gaze, skin flushed with red palm print and hunger.
“Beautiful,” he muttered, almost to himself.
I pushed my tits together, and he thrust between them with a low groan. His cock slid through the soft swell of my cleavage, slick and hard, the head brushing against my chin each time he rocked forward.
He gripped my shoulders and kept thrusting between my breasts, breathing heavy, hips snapping harder as his self-control frayed. The sound of skin on skin, our mingled breath, the wet slide of him through my cleavage—it was pure heat.
“Open your mouth,” he growled.
I did.
The next thrust had the head of his cock brushing against my tongue, and I moaned at the taste of him—raw, masculine, overpowering. I flicked my tongue over him, and that was it.
His breath caught. His body shuddered.
With a broken sound, he came—thick, hot spurts across my tongue, my lips, my chest. His hand fisted in my hair as he held me there, watching every second like it was burned into him.
We stayed like that for a moment, both panting, both wrecked.
Finally, he let go, brushing my hair from my face with an oddly gentle touch. Then he pulled me to the table and moved in between my legs, spreading them apart. I shivered, not just from the cold air that caressed my pussy but from the heated desire and feel of having his thick cock pressed against my cunt.
And then he was inside me.
Thick. Hard. Stretching me in a way that stole my breath. He filled me like he’d been waiting for this—like every argument, every look, every smug smile had led to this exact moment.
He gripped my hips and drove into me with a roughness that made the desk creak. My hands scrambled for purchase, nails digging into polished oak. Each thrust was punishment and reward all at once.
“You think you can saunter in late,” he gritted, slamming into me, “flash your little panties—”
I gasped as he hit that spot.
“—talk back like you run the room?”
Another hard thrust. My body jolted.
“You don’t.”
I whimpered. “Fuck—”
He grabbed my hair and yanked my head back just enough to whisper in my ear.
“I run everything in here. You want to challenge me, Ava?” His voice was a snarl now. “Then take it.”
I did.
I let him wreck me over that desk, moaning his name like a confession. I let the ache build until it was unbearable until my legs shook and my voice broke.
I was still bent over the desk, skin flushed, chest heaving, my cunt stretched and dripping around him. The air smelled like sex, paper, ink, and wood polish—everything academic, everything filthy.
He didn’t pull out. Didn’t even slow down. Just leaned forward, one hand braced beside my head, the other reaching across the desk like we were in the middle of a casual office hour.
Except I was bare-ass naked from my neck down, and his cock was buried deep inside me.
He picked up the paper—my paper—and laid it out in front of me like a goddamn study guide.
“See this grade?” he said, smacking the red-stamped ‘C’ like it offended him. “This is what happens when you try to coast on being a tease.”
He thrust hard, brutal, enough to make my thighs shake. I gasped, clutching the edge of the desk.
“Pick it up.”
My hand trembled as I grabbed the sheet. He reached around me and adjusted my grip so it was perfectly straight. Then he slapped my ass once, hard, and said, “Read the first question.”
I tried. My voice wavered.
“‘Compare and contrast the central th-themes of—’”
“Louder.”
“‘—power and morality in—’”
He slammed into me mid-sentence, and I gasped, the words faltering.
“Don’t stutter,” he growled. “You weren’t stuttering when you walked in here with that fucking attitude, were you? Acting like you didn’t want this. Like you didn’t need me to teach you.”
I whimpered, trying again. “Compare a-and—oh, God—”
His hand moved to my throat, not choking—just reminding me who was in charge. “You call this analysis? No thesis, no fucking argument. Just a string of half-baked ideas.”
He withdrew slowly, dragging the thick length of his cock out of me until only the head remained inside—then slammed it back in with a sharp grunt.
“Do you even know what you’re writing about, Ava?”
“No,” I breathed, broken, eyes fluttering shut.
He slapped my thigh. “Open your eyes. You’ll read every question while I fuck the ignorance out of you.”
I moaned helplessly, fingers crumpling the essay. He leaned in, lips brushing the shell of my ear.
“Next question.”
I tried again, voice barely a whisper. “Discuss how the protagonist’s internal—oh fuck—conflict r-reflects—”
He cut me off with another deep thrust, faster this time, punishing. My body jolted forward, my tits rubbing against the desk.
“Reflects what?” he mocked. “The way your pussy clenches when you’re being told what to do? The way you fucking drip for me while pretending to care about literature?”
My legs trembled. My knees buckled. I couldn’t hold the paper anymore. It slipped from my fingers.
“Pick it up.”
“I can’t—”
“You can. Or I’ll stop.”
That had me grabbing it again, hands shaking, trying to breathe.
He reached around me and rubbed my clit in slow, deliberate circles, fingers slick from where we were joined.
The paper was shaking in my hands.
Not because it was cold.
But because I was bent over his desk, legs spread, pussy soaked, and my professor’s cock was still buried inside me, thick and pulsing, keeping me wide open like he owned every inch.
“You think you’re smart?” he murmured, dragging his teeth along my ear. “Think you can flash your tight little body, tease me in front of the class, and not expect to get punished for it?”
I whimpered, mouth dry, my ass arched high like he’d trained me this way. What had this sexier was that Professor Wolfe still had his Grey suit and trousers on, looking more like the professor he was—except he was fucking and punishing his rebellious student.
He didn’t move. Just stayed deep, stuffed so far I could barely breathe.
“Next question,” he ordered.
I stared at the words, but I couldn’t see straight. My mascara was smudged, my thighs were slick, and my brain had stopped working countless thrusts ago.
“I—I—”
“Then I guess you’re not trying hard enough.”
His hand slid up my back, into my hair, and yanked my head back as he finally pulled out, only to thrust back in with a brutal snap of his hips.
I screamed.
Not from pain. From the way it hit. Deep, angled, perfect. He knew my body now—knew how to fuck me stupid, and was doing it on purpose.
“I asked you a fucking question.”
“‘A-analyze how the—oh, fuck—secondary characters—’” I stuttered the words as he slammed into me again and again, the paper getting wetter from my shaking hands and the heat and mess dripping down my thighs.
“Keep going.”
“—how they r-reflect the—nnngh—” My back bowed. I couldn’t focus. Not with him slamming into me like he wanted to break the desk. “Please—Professor—”
He leaned down, lips against my temple, breath hot and dark. “No. You’re not begging your way out of this. You earned this lesson.”
He pulled out again. I nearly sobbed at the emptiness—then yelped when he flipped me over, shoved my papers to the floor, and pushed me back until my ass was right at the edge of the desk.
“Spread your legs.”
I did, shamelessly. My pussy was soaked, puffy, aching for more. I could feel his release leaking out of me already, and he hadn’t even started again.
He stared down at the mess between my thighs like it was art. “Look at you. Ruined. And we’re not even close to done.”
He fisted his cock and slapped it against my clit, over and over, until I was squirming, panting, trying to grind against him.
He didn’t let me.
“You want it that bad?” he mocked. “Then beg.”
“Please,” I gasped. “Please fuck me. I’ll do anything.”
“Oh, I know you will.”
He slammed into me again, this time from the front, watching every second as my body stretched to take him. I cried out, hands scrambling for the edge of the desk as he started to pound into me relentlessly.
“Loud little thing, aren’t you?” he growled. “Bet that whole hallway knows who owns your pussy now.”
“Y-you do,” I whimpered.
“What was that?”
“You do, Professor—fuck—it’s yours.”
He growled, low and feral, then reached between us and started rubbing my clit again, fast, unforgiving.
“You’re going to come again,” he ordered. “You’re going to cream all over my cock while you look me in the eyes and tell me you’re my dirty little toy.”
“I—I—” My voice broke, tears brimming from the pressure building in my core.
“Say it.”
“I’m your dirty little toy,” I sobbed, eyes locked to his. “Use me—please, just don’t stop—”
And that was it.
My orgasm hit me like a fucking truck—sharp, wet, overwhelming. My body locked up, spasming around him, milking his cock as he roared out a curse and came again, hot and deep, filling me until I felt it dripping out around his thrusts.
He didn’t pull out.
He didn’t even stop moving.
He just leaned in, licked a tear from my cheek, and whispered, “Bring a better draft next time. Or I’ll have to tutor you again.”