Free Forbidden (short steamy romance) by V T Turner Page A

him to stare, as much as she adored the idea of him looking at her, admiring her, she knew he was giving the same fleeting glances to each of his pupils.
     
    After the class she stayed behind, taking her time to pack away her things whilst the others filed out quickly. Another girl, a petit little thing with glorious blonde hair that shimmered in the overhead lights and glittering lipstick that dazzled under the same glow, also stayed behind. Elly watched her, kept an interested and cautious eye on her as she studied Professor Kitson. She watched as the blonde stood and slowly walked down the stairs. She had a body to die for, she was short but she was athletic with pert and bulbous breasts that threatened to pop the buttons on her white blouse. She wore tight shorts that clung to tanned thighs, thighs that even Elly couldn’t help but admire as they descended the stairs and walked up to the professor.
     
    She watched the blonde play with her hair, watched the professor’s dazzling blue eyes twinkling as he conversed with her. Then she turned and left, one last giggle, one last flick of her hair. Elly waited for the professor to watch her leave, to run his appraising eyes over her behind, but he didn’t, instead he turned to Elly, saw that she was still sitting in the class and smiled to her.
     
    “Everything okay Elly?”
     
    She rejoiced inside. He remembered her name, chose to look at her, to talk to her, when he could have been admiring the gorgeous blonde who clearly wanted him.
     
    “Everything’s perfect,” she told him happily.
     
     
    ***
     
    “Kitson!”
     
    He turned, looked at the woman shouting his name and hid a sneer behind his charming smile. It was Mrs Coleman, the history teacher. Clarissa, Claire or Cassy, he wasn’t sure which, nor did he care. She was forty-something, had been married and unhappy for years and had been trying to get into his pants from day one. She wasn’t his type, too old, too worn down by life.
     
    “Good to see you again!” she declared happily. She gave him a kiss on both cheeks, a warm hug, through which he could practically taste her desperation. She wanted him, would probably let him take her right now, fuck her on the floor of the staffroom, watched by half a dozen teachers and professors as he gave her what she had wanted for five years.
     
    “You too,” he told her. He had been saying the same thing every term, every time they returned to the university. It wasn’t true, none of it was. He wasn’t glad to see her, wasn’t entirely glad to see any of the teachers, but he was happy to be back, happy to see some of the students again.
     
    There was Susan Morris, the red head he had screwed in the backseat of his car during her second year. She was still hanging around, still giving him hopeful and pleading glances, but she had no chance. Then there was Emily Banks, he had seen her that morning, she was shy, nervous, she didn’t know how to look at him, not after she had sucked him dry in the art department. She was in her mid-twenties now, finishing her time at the university. He wouldn’t like to see her go, he quite liked the memories that flooded back when he saw her, liked to know that behind those shy eyes lay a girl who could fuck like a succubus, something he had found out after taking her out for a curry and then home for something far hotter and spicier.
     
    The university was his playground, home to ripe young girls who were fully aware of heir sexuality and had grown tired of reckless boys and wanted to move on to distinguished, charming men. It didn’t matter that he charm was all an act, didn't matter that he wasn’t as intelligent or as distinguished as they thought. He lived alone, avoiding a bitch of an ex wife and struggling to cover his rent and his drink and drug problem, but they wouldn’t realize that until a decade from now, when they looked back on their youth and realized that he was just the sort of man they should have