Her Dirty Professor Series (21+)

She listened quietly, then peeled a Post-it note from the pad on my desk and wrote down a name and number.

She said it was a friend of a friend, someone who might be able to give me some evening work; not a lot of hours and for good money. He might even be able to give me an advance.

My heart soared at the prospect of being able to do something to help my parents and keep my internship. Nadine told me all she knew was he had connections with clubs and high-end restaurants, and I’d be a hostess or something like that.

I called as soon as she walked away. He asked who sent me, and when I told him, he said to come to his office at 9 p. m. the next day, Saturday, and gave me the address. Said I came with a good reference, so he was sure he could help me out.

Nadine told me to dress like I was going to a five-star restaurant, so I spent the better part of today looking through clearance racks with my friend Karen until I finally found this red silk Calvin Klein dress that had been marked down three times. It accommodated my curves in a way even I thought looked pretty darn good.

Unfortunately, as it turns out, it wasn’t exactly the work I thought it would be.C0ntent © 2024 (N/ô)velDrama.Org.

When I met Mr. Salvatore tonight-no last name-he said I was exactly what he was looking for. He proceeded to give me a rundown of the potential monetary arrangements, all of which had my hopes up, and the hours I’d be expected to work. He then started describing the duties of the job, none of which sounded like hostess work to me. By this point, I was already starting to panic and look for the nearest exit, and then… he took his cock out and told me it was time to audition.

Fast forward to me running out into the rain without calling my Uber for a ride.

And now, here I am.

Soaking wet, in more ways than one. Holding the hand of this monster-sized man, whom I know nothing about-including his name-only that he hit me with his car. But there’s a feeling I’m getting from him that he’s responsible for me in some way, and as much as my rational mind tells me it’s insane, I have to say that I like it.

As he holds my hand, we pull up to the hospital. He looks over, and I see his face a little better in the bright lights from the front of the building.

He licks his bottom lip, then his front teeth, and I notice one is chipped, but it only makes him sexier to me.

“Sit tight. I’ll get a wheelchair.” He squeezes my fingers one last time then lets them go.

“I don’t need a wheel-” He brings two fingers to my lips and presses, narrowing his eyes in a way that tells me there won’t be any negotiation.

As I watch him move out of the car and through the sliding doors into the emergency room, I realize I’ve decided he’s probably not a serial killer.

But as my heart flutters in my chest and my palms sweat, I think… he might just be the death of me.

Vito

BY THE TIME WE PULL up to her apartment after the hospital, it’s 3 a. m., and Esme is resting her head against the passenger window with her eyes closed. The bright red lipstick has faded, showing me the cherry pink of her natural lips.

Her dress has long since dried, but while it was wet and clinging to her, I drank in every delicious inch of her voluptuous body. She’s from another age. The Venus of paintings that hang in museums have nothing on her, and for the first time in as long as I can remember, my cock is awake from its seemingly perpetual slumber.

During our time at the hospital, I sat with her and held her hand while they took blood because she looked like a lamb going to slaughter. When it was over, I didn’t let go, and she didn’t pull away. The way her eyes looked to me for comfort lit up something inside of me I’ve never felt until now.

We were quiet most of the time, even though I wanted to know all about her. But it wasn’t the time. It was too sterile an environment, and there was too much going on for me to give her the attention she needs when she tells me all the things I’ll need to know.

Because I will need to know.

At least I now know her name. Esme.

Just the shape of that name in my mind is making me hard. I also know she’s first-year pre-law at U of M. Sweet, beautiful, smart. Trifecta.

I did ask if there was anyone else she wanted to call, but she said no, and while I wanted to press her for more, I held back. She’s only just met me and doesn’t know yet what’s going to happen between us.

She did get a text from a friend while we were waiting and told me she let her know where she was. I’m not sure how much of that was to make sure I knew she wasn’t alone. She said the friend works nights, but after hearing where Esme was, she said she’ll be checking in to see how Esme is doing in a few hours when she gets off work.

She kept saying how she wasn’t really hurt anyway and didn’t want to be more of a bother than she already was.

Wow. She has no idea how much she is not bothering me.

When I asked her again what she had been doing running out into the street at that time of night, she gave me some whitewashed story about meeting someone a few blocks away for a drink and that it didn’t go well, then her Uber didn’t show.

I immediately wanted to grill her about who it was and exactly where they were. I was ready to find the fucker and pound his ass into the ground. But just as I started to ask her more questions, a nurse came in, and I decided to drop it. At least for the moment.

A few hours later, they finally gave her the all-clear, but with any bump on the head it’s best to be cautious. And while I barely know her, I already know I’d lay waste to armies to protect this girl.

I shut off the Suburban and watch her sleep for a moment. I’ll admit my fantasies about her are more than indecent. Bordering on depraved, and it shocks me.

Not just because I probably have twenty years on her, or that she’s a beauty the likes of which I’ve never seen, but because I don’t remember ever having this particular range of emotions before.

It’s been many years since my interest was last piqued by a female. More than I can count. I’m no monk, but with the empty feeling I had about most of the women who were drawn to me in the past, I guess I just decided I’d go without.

My sister, Maria, keeps telling me I need to feel that spark. That’s how I’ll know.

Well, Esme is setting off a shit ton of sparks.

I watch her sleep for another few minutes, and as much as I know I could watch her for hours, I decide she needs to get inside and into bed. I reach over and brush her blonde hair off her shoulder then run my fingers down the flesh of her arm, and my already half-hard cock thickens at the contact.

“Hey.” I move my hand back upward and trace my thumb on her neck, and she sniffles then looks over at me with glazed eyes.

“God. Sorry.” She pushes her hair back behind her ears, brushing mine as she looks at me with those seductive, turquoise eyes, and I’m lost again in the feeling that I’m falling. “I fell asleep.”

“It’s okay. You’ve had a big day.” My cock twitches as I look into her sleepy face, wanting to see her like that in the morning. In my bed. After fucking her into unconsciousness.

“Thank God tomorrow is Sunday and I can sleep in.” Her lips curve into a soft smile. “I mean today, I guess.”

“Let’s get you inside.”

“Really, I’m fine, you’ve done more than enough…”

“Sorry, I’m not leaving you. Doctor said someone should be with you for twenty-four hours.”

“I know, my friend is coming when she gets off work at six. I can handle it for a few hours.”

“Nope.” I step out and move around to her side of the car, opening her door and wrapping her in my arms. “You’re my responsibility at the moment.”

What I want to say, what I’m feeling… is she is my responsibility. Period.

From now on.

And I don’t care how crazy that sounds.

“You’re stubborn.” She smiles, and it lights up my heart.

“I can be.”

We walk up the two flights of stairs to her door. It’s an old Victorian house converted into apartments. Not a total dump, but not where she deserves to live, either. And in the back of my mind, I make a note to change her living situation-soon.

Inside, she flips on a light, and I look around. Her place is neat but small. The living room is open to an efficiency kitchen where I see a single plate and glass resting on a floral dishtowel next to the sink.

There’s a bowl of oranges on a two-person cafe-style table with an older laptop and a stack of textbooks on one of the chairs. The soft floral scent in the room is almost like her own but not nearly as sweet.

For a simple apartment, the decor is warm and original. Pops of orange and yellow draw my eye around the room, and the furniture-although simple and looking like it has a decade or more under its belt-has been paired with colorful quilts and modern pillows that give the entire space a creative sophistication I could see spread in a magazine.