Christine Vs. Professor Read online

  Christine Vs. Professor

  Alexis Angel

  Christine Vs. Professor

  By Alexis Angel

  * * *

  Copyright 2018 by Naughty Angel Publishing

  All rights reserved

  This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons is entirely coincidental. This work is intended for adults only.

  * * *

  Join Mona’s Moaners and receive a bonus chapter from this book!

  Contents

  Description

  1. Christine

  2. Anders

  3. Christine

  4. Anders

  5. Christine

  6. Anders

  7. Christine

  8. Anders

  9. Cellular One Wireless

  10. Christine

  11. Christine

  12. Christine

  13. Christine

  14. Christine

  15. Anders

  16. Christine

  17. Anders

  18. Christine

  19. Anders

  20. Christine

  21. Epilogue

  Description

  What’s that couch in Professor Trask’s office for? Two words. Extra credit.

  Professor Anders Trask.

  It’s like someone took from other men and added to him.

  Those deep blue eyes that stare into your soul.

  That rugged face that makes you feel safe.

  That body you could just lick all day.

  That giant…uhm, medulla oblongata? Is that the word for…you know?

  There’s only one problem.

  This whole thing that we have between us?

  Totally forbidden. I’m risking my career every time I’m with him.

  That only leaves one question.

  What do I want from Professor Trask?

  A stellar recommendation and an A?

  Or more of those delicious O’s?

  *** It’s the cute single girl versus the Alpha Male Professor in this fourth installment from Mona Cox. Guaranteed to be sweet, steamy, sassy, and fun. No cheating or cliffhangers. HEA? You know it, babe! ***

  1

  Christine

  Brrrrrrrrrrrr…

  Brrrrrrrrrrrr…

  Brrrrrrrrrrrr…

  I pull one eyelid open, just far enough so I can find my vibrating iPhone on my nightstand and smack it into submission, then I close my eye again with a groan.

  The next time I get the brilliant idea of having a night on the town with Ashley and Alicia – on a school night – I can only hope someone thinks to smack me, too.

  Brrrrrrrrrrrr…

  “For fuck’s sakes,” I mumble, sitting up and grabbing my phone at the same time. Someone better be dead. Or close to dead.

  Christine, check your Facebook now!

  It’s a message from Ashley.

  Okay, so I adore Ashley, I really do, but she tends to overreact to everything. Recently, she hooked up with some sex god and her stories about their sexual exploits just cannot be true. No one actually fucks in the back of a stretch limo. That’s something you read in a Hustler magazine, True Confessions of a Sex Addicted Housewife or whatever.

  Whatever she’s freaking out about can wait. It’s probably a cute puppy video that she’s tagged me in. She and Sex God have been talking about adopting a Corgi puppy and so it’s pretty much all she’ll talk about right now.

  I push myself out of bed. It may be stupidly early in the morning, but my alarm is gonna go off in five minutes; might as well get up now. Political Economy G53 class waits for no one.

  Well, okay, maybe my teacher would start without me, but damn, I wouldn’t want to miss a minute of his class anyway. Forget Ashley’s Sex God Come to Earth, my poli-sci grad teacher is fucking hot. I think the person who invented the term “Sex on a Stick” was thinking about Anders Trask when they did. He is, quite possibly, the sexiest human alive.

  Huh, maybe I should tell Ashley and Natalie to write a piece about him for Blush with the headline, “Hottest NYU Professor Ever.” But seriously, with Professor Burgemeister with his hairy mole on his nose as his competition, that’s not saying much…

  I hurry through my morning routine, making sure to put on my sexiest red thong and push-up bra in my arsenal. I know, I know, you aren’t supposed to fuck your professor, but have you seen Professor Trask? Seriously, you’d be wearing your red push-up bra too, just sayin’.

  Oh, and if I get to class early, I can snag one of the front row seats and then maybe sniff my way through class. I don’t know what that man bathes in every morning, but I wouldn’t be surprised if it was called Sexy Hunka-Hunka Love No. 5.

  Or, you know, something close to that.

  As I wind my way through my morning commute, I start getting texts from Alicia and Natalie. Christine, you have to go on Facebook!

  Huh. Maybe Ashley posted a really, really cute video of corgi puppies. They are adorable, but seriously, this level of gushing is over the top.

  I ignore them and instead flip over to my text messages. I haven’t heard from George yet. Usually he texts me first thing in the morning and we compare notes for the day, deciding if there’s a way to meet up somewhere during the day.

  I fire off a quick text. He’ll probably text me back during my first class and tell me he overslept. Again. Good ol’ George. He’s not much to look at but he’s stable and he has his whole career mapped out, something we have in common. Other than his inability to get his ass out of bed every morning on time, he’s as dependable as the day is long, one of the things I like best about him.

  He’s…comfortable. We don’t light up each other’s lives, but who needs that? I don’t. I have my education and my friends and my one-bedroom apartment on the Upper East Side. I’m content.

  I hurry up the steps of the 4th Street Political Science building, checking my iPhone again. Still nothing from George, but a new message about Facebook again, this time from an old high school friend I haven’t seen since we graduated together eight years ago. Now that’s weird. It’s not like we’re besties, and she’d just feel driven to have me watch the Cutest Corgi Video Ever. What the hell is going on?

  Fine.

  I flip over to the Facebook app on my phone. I’ll take a peek real quick before class starts. I don’t dare look during class ‘cause Professor Trask has this super strict policy about no smartphones out while he’s teaching, and as much as I’d love to have him take me over his knee and spank me, I’d just die of humiliation if he actually called me out for breaking his rule during class.

  Except, my Facebook app just spins and spins. Oh right, no signal. I forgot. This building has shitty signal because it was built in the 1800s when three-foot marble slab walls seemed like a good idea.

  I glance up and spot the door to Professor Trask’s office is just a little ajar. Apparently, he didn’t pull it closed behind when he left.

  I do a quick glance up and down the hallway. No one coming. No one would ever know…

  I slip inside, leaving the lights off; I don’t want anyone to see me in here. I make my way over to his computer, the blue welcome screen dimly lighting the office. I’d never make it over to the campus library and back before class started, but I can log into the computer, pull up Facebook, ohh and ahh over the corgi puppy video, and still make it to class on time.

  Right? Right. Plan Execution Time.

  I slid into the rich leather office chair, the Sexy Hunka-Hunka Love No. 5 scent drifting up to my nose as I log in. I feel my thong getting wet just from the scent and take a second to sniff extra d
eep. Oh yeeeaaaahhhhhh…

  I need to schedule some extra time with my vibe tonight. I could not be hornier than I am right now. I might even be willing to do that threesome that George keeps hinting about. I just need to get some!

  Logged in, I pull up Facebook. I check the time again – 15 minutes until class starts. I better read fast.

  And then I see it – the post I’m tagged in. By George. Instead of texting me this morning, he’d been tagging me in a post on Facebook.

  Well, at least I know he wasn't sleeping in, ’cause at this very moment, he’s doing a Facebook live video of him…

  And a stripper.

  Like, an honest-to-god stripper, the kind I’ve never even seen in real life.

  And he’s…oh my god, he’s putting dollar bills down her G-string as she shakes her ass in front of his face. He’s whooping and hollering as the music is pumping in the background.

  Numbly, I realize that someone else has to be holding George’s phone in order to get this shot. Is it Adam? Adam is George’s best friend and try as I might, I never could like him.

  I realize that I must be in shock. Why does it matter who is holding the camera? My boyfriend of six months has just smacked the ass of another stripper, this one with only pasties on, her tits bouncing everywhere as she does a lap dance for George. He turns and grins at the camera.

  “Take this as me breaking up with you, Christine!” he shouts over the music and laughter around him. “I want a real woman who knows how to fu—”

  Which is when everything goes black.

  2

  Anders

  I check my iWatch as I push the office door open. Five minutes until class starts, and I forgot the damn file on…

  What the fuck?

  There, in the glow of the computer monitor, is one of my grad students…Christine? I think? I mean I have so many of them this semester and I haven’t been good about getting to know them yet – with the whole UN Consultancy Program…actually, sorry.

  Priorities.

  Christine.

  Anyway, she’s fucking passed out in my office chair!

  And why the fuck is there a grad student in my office?

  And then the sound hits me and my eyes jerk to the screen. There, on Facebook Live, is some ugly ass dude who is slurring drunkenly, “If only you put out more, Christine, I wouldn’t have to do this. I don’t even wanna, ya know, I just—”

  I hit the power button on my speakers and the computer goes blessedly silent, even if the scene continues to unfold. I jerk my eyes away as another stripper begins shaking her moneymaker in the ugly guy’s face. She must be getting paid a lot of dollar bills to pay that dude some attention.

  I turn my attention back to Christine-the-grad-student-who-has-an-asshole-for-a-boyfriend and contemplate what the hell to do with her. I reach out to stroke her shoulder-length brown hair away from her face, trying to see if I can gently wake her up, when I notice the dark red blood trickling down her temple. My eyes flip over to the filing cabinet drawer, pulled out and about head height to someone sitting in my office chair.

  Goddammit, I’d been in a hurry earlier and hadn’t shut the drawer all the way, and she must’ve smacked her head on the drawer when she passed out. I shove the drawer back in and then scoop my arms underneath her slight form and stand up, heading for the door.

  I pause at the doorway. Hospital or the nurse’s station? I impulsively choose the nurse’s station. It’s a hell of a lot closer and they ought to be able to at least decide whether she needs further medical attention, right?

  God, she could have a concussion.

  I hurriedly backtrack to my classroom and bark at a student who’s about to enter, “Tell everyone that class is canceled today,” and then pivot and head towards the elevator. The nurses’ station is on the second floor, but after a quick glance down the hallway towards the elevator, I see people waiting and decide to go for the stairs instead. She hasn’t stirred yet, and god, what if she really hurt herself on that filing cabinet?

  I take the stairs two a time, her body so light, I feel like I’m carrying nothing more than a backpack full of books. I look down at her gorgeous body, her silky button-up shirt gaping open in the front, showing me her lacy red bra.

  I gulp and stare ahead again, taking the stairs three at a time now. I cannot leer at her while she’s passed out, or that makes me no better than the asshole in the video.

  But Jesus Christ.

  Did you see that bra?

  No. Stop it. My cock is not twitching.

  Is she wiggling around? Because I swear, her top parts a bit farther.

  It’s like somehow the universe is tempting me to stare at one of my female student’s red lace bra covered tits as she lays unconscious in my arms.

  Yeah, perfect scenario to be caught up in, right?

  Would not be good for the family name. Although thankfully I’m not like the rest of the family – all caught up in preserving that whole New England façade.

  Oh right, forgot to introduce myself – have to do it now.

  My name is Anders Trask.

  Yes, that’s me sighing. Anders Trask of the Boston Trask family.

  The ones who fought in the Revolution and all that, yeah. Made their money before the War of Independence and then again during the Civil War, and then again during Prohibition and then once more after World War II.

  Son of the Senator. Nephew of the Governor. The Trask Library – yeah, that’s after my Dad’s gift.

  Can we talk about his later though? Right now, I need to make sure Christine is okay.

  I push through the door and out into the hallway of the second floor, heading right, searching for the door to the nurses’ station as I go. She starts to move just a little, almost…snuggling against the front of me as I carry her. I cradle her closer, feeling protective as I do. Yeah, she shouldn’t have snuck into my office to check Facebook and we’re going to have to have a chat about that, but damn, what she saw wasn’t what she deserved. What any woman deserves.

  I backed my way into the nurses station, Christine cradled in my arms. She’s nuzzling my chest now, her eyes still not open, and I have to wonder what she’s dreaming about to have that kind of reaction to it.

  I bark at the student nurse who comes out of the examination room, “Look at her, now! I think she has a concussion!”

  With a gulp and a nod, the student opens the door wide and I carry Christine into the room. Hopefully, now, we can get her some help.

  3

  Christine

  All right, fine. I’ve been awake for ten minutes now. I’ll admit it.

  Well, only to you. I’m not about to admit it to Sex-on-a-Stick Professor here.

  I mean, what would you do if you awoke to the man of your dreams carrying you in his arms? Snuggle in further and start sniffing his cologne while imagining yourself licking your way up his body?

  That’s what I thought.

  And what if you saw Professor Sex eyeing your chest?

  I mean how can I not as a red-blooded American woman not give him a better view?

  Being carried in his arms, his eyes on me, makes me want to let my arm fall so I can accidentally squeeze his cock.

  Maybe he then let me give him an accidental blowjob. And we can have some accidental sex.

  Right. I’m supposed to be completely shocked about George, right?

  I should be. But I’m sorta just relieved.

  In fact the biggest thing I wish I could do right now is go on Facebook and change my relationship settings. Only, I’m supposed to be comatose.

  Except, I’ll admit, my acting skills are, like, nonexistent. He’s busy telling the student nurse that he thinks I have a concussion and yeah, my head hurts a little – I must’ve hit it on something when I blacked out – but I’m pretty sure it’s just a scratch. Certainly not concussion worthy.

  I just want to go back to the point where he was carrying me around in his arms. His arms that are so damn mus
cular and sexy, I’m sure there are girls who spontaneously started ovulating just by glancing at them. I know I felt…well, fuck, amazeballs to have them wrapped around me.

  Except now he’s laid me down on some hard table and he’s stepped away. I can still smell him so I know he’s still in the room, but his warmth isn’t wrapped around me anymore. Dammit. I shiver, the cold of the table seeping through my bones.

  The junior nurse, lackey, whatever his title is, suddenly starts prying my eyelid open and shooting a bright light into it.

  “Oww!” I holler, swatting the offending light away and then freeze. Goddammit.

  Did I mention that I suck ass at acting? Apparently, that includes playing dead when someone shines a flashlight in my eye. They should warn people about that sort of thing beforehand.

  I slowly open up my eyes, blinking slowly against the bright fluorescent lights.

  “She’s perfectly fine, Professor Trask,” the student nurse says with a chuckle. “Let’s sit up now, Ms…” he consults his scribbled notes, “Christine.”

  With a groan that isn’t entirely faked, I swing my legs over the side of the table and sit up. I don’t want to look at Professor Trask, I really, really don’t, he’s going to be rolling his eyes in disgust with me faking it, except I can’t help it, I have to look, I have to know…

  I risk a quick sidelong glance and am surprised to see him smiling at me – a look of genuine worry and concern on his face. He isn’t pissed.