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“Long as hell. I’m tired and have a shit ton of homework. Who hands out homework on the first day of classes?”
“That asshole our freshman year…what was his name?”
“Professor Boswell,” I muttered, having forgotten about the one class Drake and I had together at Boston College before I’d flunked out. We’d hated the fucker, but while Drake had aced that class, I’d failed because I’d been serious about partying while my friend had focused on graduating.
“Should I feel sorry for your ass or laugh?”
“Fuck off.” I was jealous as hell he would be fucking for money while I buried my face in a goddamn textbook instead of an ass, headache already throbbing in my temples.
“I’ll bring you a six-pack for breakfast tomorrow,” Drake offered, and I grinned.
“I don’t have class until ten, but I’m not fucking up college again, so no booze before dinner from here on out.”
“You’re going to kill it this time around. I have faith in you.”
I grinned, getting the warm fuzzies inside. “Love you, boo.”
“Fuck off.”
Kissy noises left my lips, and he replied by fake gagging in my ear. “You love me,” I sang.
“Damn right I do, but I gotta go. Elite’s limo is picking me up in five.”
“Don’t forget your little black bag,” I ordered, once more envious over the lube and sex toys he’d be using while I messed with notes and a laptop. “Bust a nut for me, will ya?”
“Definitely.”
“Bastard,” I muttered after hanging up. Blowing out a heavy exhale, I stayed put in my comfy heaven, allowing myself a few more minutes of rest before dragging my ass into the kitchen to scrounge up something to eat for dinner. Fuck knew I would need the energy to get started on my homework.
At least I didn’t have a demanding job waiting on me once I finished for the day like some of the other students. I ended up having a second class with Jazzie, and they told me how they waited tables on weekends and ran the cash register at a twenty-four-hour pharmacy Monday through Wednesday nights. When they would find time to study baffled the fuck out of me.
Thoughts of work and the demands on me trickled away as I went back to my first class.
My Italian Prince Charming lived rent-free in my fantasies. And I’d had a fuck ton while struggling to pay attention to other professors drone on about stuff I needed to hear but hadn’t.
In my twenty-eight years, I’d attempted every sexual position under the sun minus bending my cock backward to fuck my own ass. I’d even attempted to suck my dick when I was a bit more bendy, managing to lick at my slit but not much else, unfortunately.
But Professor D’Angelo?
I wanted him in all the ways—even ones beyond my imagination. Surely there were some means of getting dicked down I’d yet to hear about or see in porn.
My dick thickened, and I groaned over the ache once more rising in my balls. I’d been dealing with the fuckers all goddamned day.
Time to take care of that shit.
I ripped off my shirt and shoved at my jeans, kicking impatiently until they landed on the floor, satin sheets caressing my bare skin. My dick slit stared straight up at me, weepy around my piercing.
“Yeah, yeah,” I muttered, grabbing hold of my shaft to give it a little loving squeeze. “Cry me a river.”
A firm upward stroke released a stream of pre-cum that had been simmering all day, the slickness coating my palm and fingers to ease my downward glide.
Hissing, I lay back again, closed my eyes, and gave over to the images in my mind while stroking my cock. I was so damn wet for him, and the sounds of a slick hand fucking made my balls tighten up against my groin in a matter of minutes.
I was going to come like a motherfucker. Soak my chest. Probably hit my goddamned chin.
My abs contracted, lifting my upper body from the mattress. Grunts and whimpers flooded my room, the sounds of sex a beautiful symphony in my ears. I was a one-man band, and I got off on the music I created.
“Oh fuck.” I gulped and opened my eyes, head lifting to watch my swollen head fuck through my fist with hot-as-fuck schlicking noises. The muscles in my forearm corded, and I grabbed my balls, pulling them down.
