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  As in, the famous author Joshua Cullen. The guy who wrote those Blake Thrasher books, the CIA operative/Indiana Jones, who manages to find the priceless historical artifact, get the girl, and save the world from certain doom. That guy. Sarah was just going on and on about him today, how he’s agreed to come and teach a few creative writing courses while Prof. Lee went on sabbatical. I had signed up before I knew. He’s an alumni, even donated the proceeds of one of his latest movies, which explains why the shiny new Liberal Arts building is named after him. My roommate did say that he was hot, but this is a whole other level. The man is like a god, somehow apart from other men.

  I try not to jump as our hands touch, a bolt of electricity running between us. My hand instinctively rises to my hair, pushes it behind one ear.

  “Leah,” I manage to spit out. “You’re that author.”

  “I am ‘that author’,” he agrees, leaning up against the rail beside me. “You’ve read my books then?”

  “No. Should I?”

  I’ve seen the books of course, and the ads for the movies, but my mom has never allowed me to read or see them growing up. ‘Pulp fiction is like junk food for the brain,’ she used to tell me. ‘Better that you stick to the classics Leah. Dickens, James, Fitzgerald. Stuff that will help you get into a good college.’

  Joshua Cullen laughs, a deep sort of laugh that softens the lines of his face, making him more accessible somehow.

  “Please don’t,” he says to me. “It’s refreshing to meet someone who’s isn’t going to ask me when I’m ever going to write the next book. The writing I enjoy; the journalists, the lack of privacy, the constant prying into my life I could do without.”

  Which is a bit rich, coming from a guy who, according to Sarah, has gone from high profile relationship to high profile relationship. Even if he doesn’t want to be famous, he has to know that the women he’s dating are, and that comes with paparazzi.

  “You could stop signing movie deals and dating starlets,” I point out.

  He shoots me a look, and I wonder if I said the wrong thing. But then he smiles.

  “I suppose I could, couldn’t I?” he says. “So tell me Leah, since you don’t read my books. What do you read?”

  “Who says I do?”

  He leans in, his warmth practically radiating against my bare arm. I shiver just a little, whether it’s because of him or the breeze, I don’t know. His eyes, on closer inspection aren’t exactly black after all. They’re hazel, flecked with gold, piercing as he focuses his attention solely on me.

  “I can tell,” he says certainly.

  “Well you’re right. I read almost everything- Tolstoy, Hemingway, and Austen. All the greats, I guess. But I enjoy other stuff too. I would have read your books too but my mom- my mom never allowed it,” I finish, flushing with embarrassment.

  Seriously. What twenty one year old still listens to their parents anyways?

  “The greats,” he says slowly. “And do you enjoy all these books you’ve read?”

  This stops me short, because honestly, they don’t. Especially Tolstoy, though everyone is always impressed by the fact that I slogged through it. But that was the image that I thought I was, a good, studious girl who worked hard in school and was going to make it to one of the top universities in the country.

  “No,” I say honestly, and it feels so good to say it out loud. “Most of them were dry and awful. I actually prefer Romance. That’s why I’m taking your creative writing course actually. I thought it would be fun to learn to write.”

  A look passes over his face so fast that I couldn’t tell what it was, and then he’s pushing off from the fence.

  “I should go. There’s a lot I need to do to prepare for my lectures. It’s a pleasure to be able to meet one of my students.”

  “You too,” I say softly, gazing up towards him.

  There’s a second where I think he’s going to change his mind, tell me what he was thinking after all. His eyes are so intense that they pull me in, almost physically, I discover as he breaks the connection and leaves. I straighten myself back up, and then I can’t help but sneak one last glance at my professor.

  Joshua

  I walk into my lecture hall fifteen minutes ahead of schedule and Leah is already there, along with one other student. Her dark hair curls around her pretty face, blue eyes stunning against her creamy skin. Her body’s soft and curvy, even though she’s dressed modestly in a sweater and denim miniskirt. Big pillowy breasts, and an ass that’s begging to be squeezed. That’s the thing about actresses. They’re all obsessed with being thin, and beautiful though they might seem at first, they’re so fragile up close. I was always worried I’d snap them in two. And then there was the way they’d act, hanging off any man who could get them a role in a movie. No thanks. Leah was the complete opposite, a modern day Snow White, and just as good, judging by how she’s got everything out and ready for the lecture today. I try not to stare at her too long, because I’m pretty certain she’s not used to being looked at. But damn, it’s hard when everything about her seems designed to draw me in.

  The university’s code of ethics, like any institution of learning, stipulates that there’s no fraternizing between teacher and student. Even though I’m here at the request of the dean, I’m not exempt from it. But it chafes, to have to follow the rules. I’m used to doing whatever I want, to having whatever strikes my fancy. And Leah definitely fits that category. She’s different from all those supermodels and starlets, and not just because she doesn’t have to wear any makeup to look good. There’s a gentle wholeness to her, a naturalness that makes me think maybe this time, the person underneath matches the person outside.

  And okay, she looks so damn innocent, I just know it’d be fun to corrupt her, to ram my cock roughly into her tight little pussy, grab tight onto those curvy hips as I bent her over this desk and claimed her. I want to hear her moan my name, grab onto me as I gave her a mind shattering orgasm.

  Damnit, now I’ve got a hard-on.

  I sit down quickly at the table in front of me, pretend to go over my notes for today’s lecture while I tell my cock to calm the fuck down. I can already see the tabloids if someone decides to snap a picture. Being called a playboy is annoying enough.

  The hall fills up quickly with students. This is Creative Writing, but it’s an upper levels class, and in an attempt to ensure that only those who actually want to join do, instead of a bunch of folks who only want to see someone famous, the Department Head and the Dean didn’t announce my arrival on campus until the first day of class. Shockingly, the plan worked, and I only have 16 students. I’ve asked each of them to bring their best work with them, so that I would have an idea of where the writing levels of the class are, and they’ve deposited it at my desk. Surprisingly, Leah’s brought nothing.

  “Alright folks, let’s get started,” I say, getting up.

  The bulge in my pants is under control, but I avoid looking at Leah all the same.

  “It’s a small class, so I hope you are all here because you truly want to be here. It’s going to be a wild ride this semester, I’m hoping. I’m not cruel, but I’m not here to tell you that you’re the next Edgar Allen Poe either. Some of you might think, as a writer of thrillers, I have no clue what it means to write the next great American novel. That maybe I’m pandering to the masses, while what you’re doing is Art. That’s fine. What I’m here to teach you has nothing to do with that sort of thing. I’ll be focused on plotting, on characterization, on imagery, and a whole load of other crap that spans across genres. And yes, I’ll focus a little on the publishing side of things, on queries and the process behind it, because at the end of the day, we write because we want our stories to be read. Because we have something to say. If this doesn’t sound like your cup of tea, you’re more than welcome to go, and I’ll not fault you for it.”

  I pause, sixteen sets of eyes staring back at me. Most of them look excited. I suppose it’s a good start. I never thought I�
�d be a teacher, and I’m not sure how good of one I’ll be, but I am here to try my best. If not for the encouragement of my own professors, I would not have pursued my writing either. Basically, I’d like to pass it on. And if for some reason I help the next J.K. Rowling publish a book, then all the better.

  “Good,” I say. “Glad to hear you all want to stay. We’re a small group, and we will all be critiquing each other. Why don’t we say a few words of introduction to start?”

  I nod to the student in the first row on the left, before turning to grab the attendance. I think it’s ridiculous to have to do this when all of them are supposedly adults now, but the university doesn’t seem to care. The amount of paperwork is ridiculous, and I have a feeling I’ll be spending as much time on that as I will teaching.

  Most of my students come from creative backgrounds. Some of them have written plays, and most have entered in more than one writing contest. It’s a pretty good group actually. When it comes to Leah, I can’t help but pay extra attention.

  “I’m Leah,” she says, biting her lower lip. “I’m, I’m a big reader, and I write mostly novels. I’ve got lots of ideas, but somehow, halfway through it, I always lose track.”

  She stops, unsure of where to go. Her blue eyes blink at me beseechingly.

  “That’s happened to me many times too,” I say. “For every Blake Thrasher novel I’ve written, there’s at least three drafts that I’ve abandoned. It’s rare to have an author whose vision is so clear that they’re able to put everything down in one shot. It happens sometimes here and there, but not on every book.”

  Leah smiles at me with her luscious pink lips, soft pink dusting her cheeks. It feels like the sun coming out from behind the clouds, I can’t help but smile back. Look at me, like a dumb teenager with a crush. She quickly looks at the next student, and I try to put on a look of distant interest as the guy talks about how wants to write crime. Or mystery. I’m not fucking sure to be honest, because I’m still thinking about Leah’s smile.

  I want to see that smile again.

  Class drags on forever. I want to cut it short, but that would do a disservice to my other students, and I’m not a big enough asshole to put my dick’s wants ahead of them. As soon as the clock hits 12:30 though, I dismiss them and ask Leah to stay. The students slowly file out, until finally it’s just the two of us. I stand and go to close the door before I sit back down. Leah hovers by my desk, unsure of what’s happening. Her blue eyes worried, her hands crossed tightly over her breasts, not to push them up, but to hold onto herself tighter.

  “You’re not in trouble,” I clarify, and her shoulders relax. “I’m guessing that you’ve never been in trouble have you?”

  “No professor,” she says demurely.

  Just like I thought. Good through and through. I lean forward to hide the bulge growing in my pants.

  “I noticed that you didn’t bring a sample of your work.”

  Leah ducks her head.

  “I didn’t have any to bring you.”

  “One of your drafts would have worked,” I point out. “You’ve got plenty of them.”

  At this she reddens even more, the adorable blush spreading from her face down to her chest.

  “You said to bring my best,” she says at last, looking at me square in the eye. “And they aren’t. None of them are. That’s why I’m here. It’s the same problem with every one, and I don’t know what to do to fix it.”

  I raise my eyebrows.

  “And what problem is that?” I ask, more curious now than ever.

  “I-I’ve never been in love,” she confesses almost under her breath. “I’ve never even had sex.”

  Her confession stuns me, and I’ll admit, it explains a lot. But it doesn’t drive me away. In fact, it makes me want her all the more, knowing that no man has had her before, that I would be the first to make her come, to make her scream my name in sheer pleasure. My erection was painfully hard now, and it took everything in me not to stroke it, to release it and shove it into Leah’s virgin little mouth.

  “Why not?” I manage to grit out. “Surely a beautiful young girl like yourself would have men throwing themselves at you.”

  Leah flushes even more, shaking her head.

  “It’s not that, I just never found a situation right for it. I mean, I’m not waiting for marriage or anything,” she hurries on, “but I didn’t want it to be with some pimply guy who didn’t know what to do. I didn’t want it to be disappointing…”

  She trails off here, realizing that I’m in front of her, towering over her. I reach out a hand, push those dark curls behind her, my hand stroking her neck.

  “You were waiting for someone who would take it from you, weren’t you Leah?”

  Her eyes are huge pools of blue, her pearly pink lips parted and glistening.

  “Yes,” she breathes. “I am.”

  I pull her to me in one swift move, kissing her and making her gasp. Leah melts against me as I claim her mouth, need and lust making me rougher than I normally would be. Her hands slide up my chest to wrap around my neck, and I lift her up onto the desk, shoving aside the papers on it, pressing my cock against her pussy. She surrenders to me, lets me take control as I plunder her mouth. She tastes like brown sugar, and I want, I need more. My hands rove over her body, those huge breasts, kneading them until they pop above her bra cups, rosy red nipples poking straight out towards me. My cock grinds into her, and I hear her soft moan, which only makes my dick even harder.

  My hands are ripping off my shirt, her sweater in an effort to get us as naked as fast as fucking possible. I haven’t checked the schedule for this room, and there could very well be another class in here in less than thirty minutes. The time crunch makes everything more urgent, more hot, the threat of being caught spurring the both of us on. I kiss her all over, her cheek, her chin, down that soft neck of hers, licking and nibbling as she gasps my name. Her breathing is quick and shallow, her heartbeat fluttering against the hollow of her neck as I press my lips over it.

  And then I’m kissing her breasts, the full creamy orbs heavy in my hands, pink nipples standing at attention. I suck one into my mouth, than the other, lick and tasting her as she arches her back with pleasure. My hand reaches down, pushes the denim skirt above her hips as I bite down on her breasts, my cock practically spurting as I hear a soft little whimper from her lips. There’s so much I want to do, but it will have to wait another time, because there will be another time, I know that much for sure.

  Leah’s thighs are already wet, my fingers slippery as I trail my blunt fingers over her gushing cunt. The lips swell under my touch. I’d play longer but I don’t want to wait, and neither does Leah judging by the way she’s tossing her head back, lost in bliss. My fingers hook onto the waistband and pull her panties down. Jesus, I think, as I spread her legs, her whole pussy on display.

  “What a pretty little pussy you have,” I say thickly.

  Her folds part for me, pretty as a flower, soft and glistening pink. Her clit is stiff and heavy, the tip beaded with her nectar. I pull her hips toward me, sending her leaning back, wanton and spread out on my desk. What a fucking view. I would love to go in her straight, break her open with just my cock, but it’s too big for that. Instead I trail a finger down over those puffy lips, swirling the cream over it and making it nice and wet before I push into that steaming flesh. Leah’s breathing becomes hard, her pussy walls contracting against this intrusion. Even with just a finger it feels tight.

  “Have you ever touched yourself Leah?” I ask.

  She shakes her head, eyes closed with pleasure as I rub my finger up and down. I let my thumb skate over her clit, and her whole body jumps. I slide it in and out, making loud wet sounds as I ease her open for the very first time. Her moans get louder, her whole body moving as I slide all the way up to the knuckle.

  “Why not?” I ask, stopping.

  “I’ve never- I’ve never found anyone I wanted,” she whispers.

  I sli
p a second finger into her with the first, spreading them inside of her, pushing against those tight pink walls. Her pussy is so beautiful, so wet and slick, dripping with honey. I want to lean in and take a taste, but I don’t, my breathe hot against her clit, making her jerk up towards me.

  “And now?”

  “I want you,” she says, so soft I could hardly hear her through her pants.

  I reach out my tongue, delicately curve around her sweet clit, practically vibrating with need.

  “Louder,” I tell her.

  “I want you,” she says, her voice trembling. “I want you to fuck me!”

  “Good girl,” I murmur, and dive in.

  My tongue sucks her clit into my mouth hard, making her scream. My fingers pushes even deeper into her at the same time, pushing up against the front, that sensitive bundle of nerves that makes her gush so sweetly for me. My tongue licks all over her tight cunt, already stretched to the limit with two fingers inside of her. I taste all of her, drinking up every drop, licking over her folds, sucking on those pussy lips and that little clit until she comes, her whole body shaking. Leah’s thighs tighten around my head, her hips gyrating into my face as she rides her orgasm, my mouth there to catch every bit of it.

  I lean back, content to watch Leah slowly wake back up, dazed and sated from her orgasm.

  “You ready baby?” I ask, my chest heaving with exertion as I fought to keep my lust under control.

  “Yes,” she says. “Fuck me Professor. Take my virginity.”

  I need no more encouragement than that. I whip off my belt, undo my pants, pushing my boxers off with it to finally unleash my cock. The huge shaft is practically pulsing, veiny and red, my balls already high and tight. Pre-cum’s been dripping out of the tip already, coating my cock with all the lube I need. Leah’s eyes widen as she takes it in, my hands guiding the massive tool to her entrance. Slowly, pushing her pussy apart, I drive my cock in. Immediately I’m met with resistance, because even though I fingered her, it’s never enough, especially when Leah’s a virgin. I can already feel her muscles tightening, preparing for the pain ahead.