After Class

AFTER CLASS by MEGAN HART Amber Quill Press, LLC http://www.amberquill.com

After Class An Amber Quill Press Book This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the author's imagination, or have been used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental.

Amber Quill Press, LLC http://www.amberquill.com

All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the publisher, with the exception of brief excerpts used for the purposes of review. Copyright © 2004 by Megan Hart ISBN 1-59279-280-4 Cover Art © 2004 Trace Edward Zaber Layout and Formatting Provided by: ElementalAlchemy.com Published in the United States of America Also by Megan Hart Driven All You Can Eat The Clear Cold Light Of Morning Convicted Dream Upon Waking An Exaltation Of Larks Friendly Fire From Distant Shores Lonesome Bride Love Match Love Me Two Times Monster In The Closet Nothing In Common Opening The Door Passion Model Playing The Game Pot Of Gold Right To Remain Riverboat Bride Sand Castle A Siege Of Herons Trial By Fire With Steps Like Knives

Dedication

For AR, the man who feeds my professor fetish fantasies. And for DPF, the man who gets the benefits of them

AFTER CLASS

"Ms. Damron, can I ask you to stay after class for a few minutes? I'd like to discuss your essay." Karrie stopped in the doorway, her back stiff. She'd been anticipating those words. In

fact, she'd deliberately made certain she was the last person to leave the room for just that reason. She turned to face Professor Allen with her face a carefully expressionless mask, but she couldn't keep her voice from sounding as sharp as nails from a gun. "Of course, Professor. What would you like to discuss?" The professor looked at her over the tops of his half-spectacles and glanced toward the door in a silent request to close it. Karrie took a deep breath and shut the heavy wooden door and, for good measure, slid the bolt shut to lock it. She'd been waiting for this, but now that it was here, nervousness vibrated in her stomach. She'd written her final essay on the subject of "The Role of Female Sexuality in Traditional Fairy Tale Literature." Professor Allen, a well-known misogynist, was probably going to flunk her. "Please, Ms. Damron, have a seat." Professor Allen's languid British accent brooked no argument as he indicated the chair across from him, but Karrie shook her head. "No, thanks. I think I'll stand." He took off his glasses and set them down on the wide wooden desk. Standing this close to him, it was impossible to ignore the color of his eyes, a muted, unusual greenish-gray. She could also smell his cologne, something spicy and masculine and just as impossible to ignore. She returned his stare boldly, measuring him as he'd so many times measured her. He broke the silence before she did. "This will only take as long as you want it to." His voice is like honey. She fought the shiver threatening to ripple up her spine and peak her nipples against the thin fabric of her sweater. She lost the fight, but that defeat was something she'd grown used to over the past nine months of sitting in Professor Allen's classroom. "I'd like to discuss your premise regarding symbolism and feminine power." "I'm sure you would." The words blurted out of her and earned another raised brow, this time accompanied by one of the smirks she told herself she hated. "You seem very sure of many things, Ms. Damron." He sat back in his chair, right ankle propped on the opposite knee, hands steepled under his chin. His eyes never left hers, but she felt the weight of his gaze on every portion of her, from her now-straining nipples to the juncture of her thighs. She kept her head up, knees locked, even though her legs felt like collapsing beneath her. Right onto her knees, which was frankly where she'd like to be in front of him. She cursed her weakness. She was no Cinderella, no Sleeping Beauty to throw herself at the feet of the first strong man who crooked his finger at her. "Tell me something. Did you write that paper because you believe in it, or did you write it because you wanted to piss me off?" That rough language, spoken in that honeyed voice, made her clit throb in a sudden, embarrassing spasm. Karrie locked her knees tighter together, praying the flush she felt creeping up her throat stopped before it hit her cheeks. She licked her lips before

answering, and his gaze went to her mouth with the swiftness of a snake striking at a mouse. "I believe it," she said, her voice stronger than she'd have believed she could make it. She looked at his face, easier to focus on now that his attention was riveted to her lips, but when he looked up again she was caught. "But also because I knew it would make you angry." "Really?" Allen slid his own tongue along his lips, mimicking, on purpose, the gesture she'd unconsciously made. It left his mouth glistening. He did it again, more slowly and deliberately this time, like he was tasting something. Me, she thought, her mind a daze of arousal. He looks like he's thinking about tasting me. All at once she knew how Little Red Riding Hood had felt, looking at the Big Bad Wolf. The well-known tale had mentioned the teeth, but what about the wolf's tongue? All the better to lick you with, she thought, and lost again to the shudder radiating from her pussy. Allen gave a throaty chuckle that snapped her out of her erotic haze. "How amusing." "It wasn't meant to be amusing." "I know. It's good to be passionate about something." He still sounded amused, damn him. The man was a monster. Chauvinistic, arrogant, self-absorbed...delicious, Karrie finished in her head. Delicious and dangerous. She squared her shoulders. "I don't appreciate you mocking me." There. She'd said it, what she'd been longing to say for so long. "Is that what you think I'm doing?" "You know it is." He was on his feet so fast she gasped and took a step back, but the second desk behind her blocked her from getting away. She'd known he was a tall man, and an imposing one, but until just now, she hadn't realized how big he was. He loomed over her. Made her feel small, petite...defenseless. His smooth, liquid voice oozed over her like molasses dripped from a spoon. "I prefer to think of it as challenging you." He'd loosened his tie, she noticed. And unbuttoned his shirt. She caught a glimpse of his chest. Bare skin, a few curling dark hairs. The scent of him filled her and took her breath away. She looked up and was caught again in his eyes. Mesmerized. "You are possibly the brightest student I've ever taught," he said. "And certainly one of the most creative. Most of my graduate students would never think of using children's fairy tales as an allegory for women's rights."

"Don't you want to qualify that as one of the brightest female students?" she challenged. Professor Allen shook his head slowly, almost imperceptibly. "No, Ms. Damron, I don't. You see, you don't know me as well as you think you do." "This from the man who, on the first day of class, told me I'd have to work twice as hard for the same return as the male students, simply because of my gender?" He tilted his head a fraction, and now she felt his gaze burn along her cheek, down her jaw, to stop again at her mouth. "I said it. But not because I thought less of you than any of those others." Karrie's lips parted. His gaze sharpened. "Then why?" He hadn't moved, but she felt him all over her, covering her, felt his arms around her and his mouth on hers. She felt the press of his hands on her ass and yes, dear heaven yes, she felt his cock inside her. "As the only female student in the class of all men, it would have been far too easy for someone to assume I'd grant you privileges denied your male colleagues. I've seen what rumor and speculation can do to the reputation of a young woman assumed to have garnered a special sort of attention from her professor. If you didn't work harder than the others, their jealousy might have made them believe your success in my class to be the result of impropriety on my part, rather than your efforts." "You mean to tell me you were so rotten to me all this time because you didn't want the guys in the class to think I earned my degree on my back?" Anger--real anger--flared in her, and she put her hands on her hips. "As long as it was clear you hated me," Allen said, "nobody could claim you were sucking my cock." Again, the brutal bluntness of his phrasing shot a bolt of pure desire through her. She wasn't going to let him get away with this, though. Not after nine months of hell. "Well, it worked," she lied. "Because I hate you. Are you satisfied?" He pursed his lips in the mocking frown he'd used so often in the classroom. "No, I'm not. You see, Ms. Damron, I don't hate you." "You don't?" Again, the nearly imperceptible shake of his head. The frown twisted into a faint smile. "I certainly do not." Everything she'd been about to say refused to even stammer out of her. The words lodged in her throat, choked her, made her gasp for air, and this time when her lips parted, Professor Allen slid his mouth along hers with the same smooth, expert manner he did everything else. She couldn't pretend to be caught unawares, not when she'd imagined this moment for months. Karrie's mouth parted farther beneath his, and Allen's tongue slipped inside.

His arms went around her back, his fingers splayed on the soft material of the sweater that no longer provided her any protection. His touch burned her, but there was no pain. Only a mounting pleasure that increased with every second he plundered her mouth with his tongue. He broke the kiss, not her, and when she opened her eyes, it was to see his intense gaze only inches from her face. "Very well done," he murmured and brushed his lips against her jaw, down to the spot in her throat where her pulse beat. "And now I have to ask, has the Sleeping Beauty awakened from the Prince's kiss, or has my mouth acted like the poison apple?" He referred to her paper, which theorized common fairy story themes symbolized the struggle to control and dominate feminine sexual power. Her clit, throbbing against her panties, had the answer for that. "I'm not dead, am I?" His hand came up to cup her breast, and his thumb caressed her nipple in a way that made her bite her lip at the pleasure. "I'd say no. Most definitely not." Her butt nudged the desk behind her more firmly, and with a small effort, she sat herself upon it. Her legs parted, and her skirt rode up until her thighs showed. Allen moved between them immediately, his arms still holding her upright so she didn't fall backward onto the desk. "You're wrong to think I don't like women," he whispered into her ear. "On the contrary, I love them. I adore them. In fact, I worship them." Kisses and nibbles punctuated every word. The hand on her breast moved down her body to slide up beneath her skirt. The thumb that had so wonderfully teased her nipple now stroked her magic bean through the soft cotton of her panties. Karrie's head fell back and a soft moan escaped her lips at the contact. "Do you know how many times I've had to forcibly restrain myself from touching you like this?" Honey became gravel as he growled in her ear. "How difficult it was for me to keep you at a distance, when all I wanted was to taste you?" His finger slipped beneath the elastic of her panties and found her slickness. The shudder that wracked him when he discovered how wet she was for him sent a thrill of satisfaction through her. He groaned against her neck and pushed his finger inside her as far as it would go. Karrie tilted her hips upward, pressing her clit against the heel of his hand. She contracted around his finger, and he moaned again, breathy on her neck, and the sting of his teeth made her gasp her as he bit a little too hard. The small, sweet pain made her arch her back. Her breasts pressed upward against his chest. One arm still held her to him while his other hand worked its magic, sliding in and out of her while her clit rubbed on his palm. Awash in the torrent of sensation, she rode his hand, oblivious to anything but the way he was making her feel.

He kissed her again, harder this time. Fiercer. His tongue echoed the thrusts of his finger, and he fucked her mouth like he was fucking her pussy. Her climax built, but she didn't surge over the edge. She rode the rising wave, crested with it, but just as he'd known how to taunt her mind into scholastic brilliance, Allen also knew how to tease her body into an explosive climax. "You're so tight," he broke from her mouth to say. "I want to feel you come. Go over the edge for me." With a low cry, she started to do just that. The first spasm of orgasm rocketed through her just as he withdrew his hand. Frustrated, teetering on the brink, but not quite able to leap off, Karrie let out another low cry. Allen lowered her onto the desk. In the same smooth motion, he pushed her skirt up to her waist and put his mouth to her center. His mouth was hot, his tongue probed her clit through her panties, and his lips closed around the erect button. Her entire body jerked with desire. His hot breath seared her bare skin; he'd pulled away the material between them. In the next minute, she screamed as his tongue found her exposed flesh, and he licked her swollen nub. All it took was once upon a time to send her spiraling into bliss. He kept his mouth pressed to her pussy, and she rode his lips and tongue the same way she'd ridden his hand only moments before. She came, long and hard, in a series of rippling orgasms that left her gasping. She forced herself to take a breath, and the oxygen rushing into her lungs opened her up to the next set of climactic spasms tearing through her body. Before she even had time to recover, he was kissing her again. It felt incredibly stupid to call him professor at a time as intimate as this and, just as he'd always seemed one step ahead of her in the classroom, he seemed to anticipate what she was thinking now. "Say my name," he whispered in her ear, "and untold riches shall be yours." Like in the story of Rumpelstiltskin, except unlike the queen in that story, Karrie needed no trickery to discover the magic name. She already knew it. It was as unusual as the color of his eyes or his enthralling scent. "Richter." She gave him the name, and he rewarded her with a groan. "And will you let down your hair for me?" He whispered in her ear. "Will you allow me inside your castle of glass? Say the magic words that will enslave me to you forever after?" He really had read her paper, had paid attention to her premise that only when feminine sexuality was acknowledged and celebrated, not discouraged and dominated, did the prince finally manage to complete his quest. He wasn't trying to force her into something she didn't want. He was asking her permission, something the princes in fairy tales usually struggled with far more difficulty to do. She gave him what he wanted. "Please," she whispered against his cheek. "Fuck me."

It took only a instant for her to slip into his hand the small foil packet she'd kept in her purse for an occasion she'd never expected to encounter. Another moment for him to slide inside her, fill her, to fuck her like she so desperately desired. He really did have the most amazing eyes. Now they locked on hers, his face intense with concentration as he moved inside her. The desk was hard under her back, and he slipped an arm under her to pull her toward the edge, so he could stand while she rested her ass on the table edge. Karrie took his tie in one hand, wrapped it around her hand, and used it to hold him close as he thrust inside her. She was on the verge again in another minute, ready to come again, her body alight with desire. She said his name again, and he moaned hers. Both so close, so close, and she hooked her ankles around his ass to make him fuck her harder. Faster. "I want to feel you come around my cock," he told her through gritted teeth as he thrust. "The way you came on my tongue." And she did, harder even than the first time, though she would have said that was impossible. His mouth muffled her hoarse shout as he kissed her again. His body stiffened, and he clutched her to him with a final thrust that scraped the desk backward along the floor. He moaned her name as he climaxed, and the sound of it sent another final flurry of spasms shooting through her. Spent, breathing hard, they rested in each other's arms for a few minutes before he withdrew with a sound of regret. He pulled her skirt down around her thighs again, tidied himself up, and then pulled her into his arms for one last, lingering kiss. "I'm going to miss you in my classroom," he said. "But I think I'm going to enjoy seeing you out of it far more." Karrie kissed him back, tugging his lower lip playfully between her teeth, then licking the spot she'd nibbled. "And what do you expect to do now I've successfully used the power of my femininity to enslave you?" "Isn't there really only one option for me?" he asked her, suddenly serious. "You wrote the paper, Karrie. You know the answer to that. We live happily ever after." And that, she thought as he kissed her again, is the best ending a story could ever have.

Megan Hart Megan Hart began her writing career in grammar school when she plagiarized a short story by Ray Bradbury. She soon realized that making up her own stories was better than copying other people's, and she's been writing ever since. Megan began writing short fantasy, horror and science fiction before graduating to novel-length romances. She's published in almost every genre of romantic fiction, including historical, contemporary, romantic suspense, romantic comedy, futuristic, fantasy and perhaps most notably, erotic. She also writes non-erotic fantasy and science fiction, as well as continuing to occasionally dabble in horror.

Megan's goal is to continue writing spicy, thrilling love stories with a twist. Her dream is to have a movie made of every one of her novels, starring herself as the heroine and Keanu Reeves as the hero. Megan lives in the deep, dark woods with her husband and two monsters...er...children. Learn more about Megan by visiting her website: http://www.meganhart.com **** Don't miss Driven, by Megan Hart, available now, from Amber Quill Press, LLC

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