MY HOT TEACHER: (Volume 5 of the "My Hot..." series; a stand-alone, New Adult novel) Read Free

hurrah.  The haircut was bold, but a failure, yet it announces that there is a new me on campus, one who is intent on having something monumental happen before graduation.
    Why not hook up with this professor?
    It’s fairly common this deep in the collegiate hills of New Hampshire where there is not much else to do aside from ski.  Every year there’s usually a scandal or two: student heartbroken the professor isn’t leaving his wife as promised, a professor stalking the student who rejected him.  But I haven’t traveled in those circles.  I’ve always been such a good girl.  I don’t seem to dress sexy, avoid makeup, need a serious lesson in flirting, have trouble starting up superficial conversations. 
    No one has even noticed my haircut! 
    “As Woolf had to do: ignore rejection, plow on, seize the moment,” says Professor Beard as my eyes seize his broad shoulders while he walks back to the front. 
    I imagine slipping my fingers under his shirt from behind and running my hands over the hard curves of his chest while I rest my head on his strong back.  I can’t help crossing my legs once more, squeezing tightly, enjoying the delicious surge of moist pleasure between my thighs.
    When he turns around and faces us again, flashes that sexy smile, it takes all of my willpower not to leap out of the chair, corner him by the blackboard, and whisper that if he’s interested in fucking I’m available.
    I spend the remainder of his lecture focused on what I’m going to do after class: gather all of my courage, go up to talk to him, ask a few bogus questions about Woolf, maybe tell him how much I enjoyed his lecture, maybe hang around long enough so we walk out together. 
    I have another class, but wherever he’s going, I’m headed.
    It starts out perfectly.  Class ends, the students immediately depart.  All except Sharon, THE GRADE MONGER from Thailand, an Asian beauty, English major as well who overlaps in many of my classes. 
    She has the longest, silkiest, thickest straight black hair.  Her ass is perfectly pert and tight in every pair of jeans she wears, arced so nicely you could rest a teacup on it.  She seems especially proud of her breasts which are displayed through her numerous low cut tops no matter how cold the winters get, nipples perpetually erect.  Her lips are exquisite, her face completely symmetrical, and her perfectly applied makeup highlights almond shaped eyes that dazzle girls as well as boys.
    While high-heeled leather boots set her hips into full sway she makes her way toward Professor Beard, her palms soon resting on his desk, which causes her top to blouse a bit, revealing more cleavage, and her ass to arch up even higher.  They chat so easily, so casually.  She smiles.  He laughs. 
    I slink out of the room.
    Who am I kidding?
     
    In the middle of my next session of Modern British Fiction, while at least trying to enjoy some professor eye candy, the soft vibration of the phone resting on my backpack suddenly shifts my attention.  No way am I going to answer it in class, except it’s from my best friend on the whole planet, Katia. 
    Since middle school we’ve been nerd BFFs, always having each other’s back, giving the pep talks, painting a rosier picture during our frequent social hard times.  She’s in school in Philadelphia, knows my class schedule, so if she’s texting me now it must be an emergency, or close to it.  I discreetly lean down toward the floor and snatch up the phone.
    call me!!
    in class I text back.
    got dumped!!
    OMG!
    I look up, see Professor Beard writing on the blackboard. 
    give me 30 min
    I put the phone away.
    At the end of class, as Sharon makes her surge forward, I hurry toward the exit.
    “Celine,” calls Professor Beard.
    I stop suddenly, startled that he’s speaking to me, surprised he even knows my name.  I face him.
    “Come here,” he says, calmly.
    Sharon seems surprised, but recovers nicely, tossing me a friendly smile as she