Pretty Dirty (Dirty Bad Things Book 2)(73)

“All for you,” I whimper, feeling myself about to tumble right over the edge.

“Now soak my cock with your cum, baby girl. Make that pretty pussy come all over my cock until your sweet cream drips from my balls.”

I bury the scream in his mouth, kissing him with everything I have as the climax shatters through me. My hips jerk, the feel of his enormous cock rubbing against my clit sending me reeling through my orgasm. Christian roars into my lips, his tongue wrestling hotly with mine as he slams his hips into me. I gasp as I feel his big cock throb and twitch against me, pulsing like liquid steel. And then I feel it. I can feel his hot, sticky cum squirting against my pussy, covering my thighs, and filling my panties. He groans, his hands tight on my thighs as he pumps rope after rope of cum against me, until slowly, the two of us come to a stop.

His powerful arms circle me, pulling me tight to him as he kisses me fiercely. And I lose myself in his lips, until I really am sure this is a dream.

Finally, he pulls ways, his sharp blue eyes sparking fire as he holds my gaze. Somewhere in the distance, a bell rings.

“You should get to class,” he murmurs, his hand cupping my jaw as he moves in to kiss me tenderly.

I nod, my heart racing as I lose myself in his eyes.

“Later though, Tempest,” he growls. “I’ll be with you later.”

“Yes, please,” I whimper, kissing him.

I turn slightly and start to reach for the tissues on his desk, when he stops me.

“No,” he growls. He reaches down and pulls my panties up, pulling them tight against me. I moan, feeling so filthy and like such a dirty girl with his hot cum so messy in my panties, soaking into me.

I feel like his dirty little girl.

“I want you to keep this there,” he purrs.

“I will.”

He kisses me, and I swear my feet leave the floor for a moment.

“Don’t you dare clean up,” he growls, his eyes sparking and his grin hungry.

I whimper, nodding.

“I’ll be checking later,” he murmurs, stepping away. He doesn’t make a move to cover or dress himself standing there shirtless and his pants undone with his thick cock — still glistening wet from my pussy — hanging big and gorgeous between his legs.

“Please do,” I whisper, blushing as I slip my bra back on and reach for my shirt.

Christian grins as another bell rings.

“Now get to class, Ms. Kensington.”

I nod, buttoning the last button of my blouse and straightening my skirt. I squeeze my legs together, my pulse jumping as I feel his sticky cum soaking through the lace of my thong and coating to my thighs.

“Thank you, sir,” I whisper, biting my lip, turning, stepping from his office, and wondering how long he’ll make me wait before he gives me more.





7





Tempest




It’s all I can do to keep from screaming like a lunatic, or grinning like an idiot as I make my way through the halls to class. All I can think of is what I’ve just done, with Christian. I get to the classroom and take a seat, and still, the only thoughts going through my head are all the ways he put his hands on me, or his mouth, or the way his cock felt so hard and hot against my skin.

The rest of the class filters into the room, mostly paying me no mind, and all I can do is sit there simmering in the toe-curlingly dirty thoughts of what’s just transpired in the Headmaster’s office. Everyone here already thinks I’m a bad girl, but they have no idea how bad I really just was.

The feeling persists through the class, where I can barely pay attention to what we’re discussing. But it’s when I head into my next class that the quick pulse and the flighty, sexy daydreams of Christian are interrupted by horrible, horrible reality.

Because it's the next class where I have to face Professor Hershman. As in, the Professor Hershman whose car I smashed up last semester.

No one wanted to hear the whole story. No one believed me anyways, and this fucking town saw me as the troublemaker anyways. But again, no matter what image I might portray of myself, I’m not some psycho little bitch who’d just go out and smash a windshield for no fucking reason.

Oh, I had a reason.

You see, Professor Hershman likes to get hands on with teaching his students. Very, very hands on. As in, grabbing my ass after class, repeatedly.

I’d told him to stop. I’d threatened to tell my parents, or Doctor Lindon. But he’d just laughed and asked who I really thought people would actually believe: the tenured professor, or the troublemaking outsider with the bad reputation.

I’d been furious, and stewed in my hatred for the man, and his disgusting way of getting away with being a total creep. But if it’d just stopped there, that’s all it’d be. I would have finished the year pissed and disgusted, and probably told him to go fuck himself a few times, but that’s where I’d have left it.

But then there was Amy.

Amy and I weren’t friends per se, but we were close to being that I guess. She wasn’t at Thornbull very long, but she was another outsider like me, and another “not from here” new resident of West Haven. We hung out a few times, and ate lunch together, and sort of bonded over both being looked down on by most of the other students. And like me, Professor Hershman was after her too — another outsider to prey on, since she had no connections in this town.