Chapter 1

One

Emberly

" H ello, earth to Emberly. Did you hear what I said?" My best friend snaps her fingers in front of me and the naughty, filthy sinfully decadent fantasy playing out in my mind fades to reveal the beautiful raven-haired woman across from me.Her bright green eyes drink in my expression with her all-too-knowing look.

She purses her lips into a pucker and slouches back in the booth. From this angle, not many can see us as we watch the restless crowd of college students gearing up for a well-deserved spring break that kicks off tomorrow.

I blush deeply and try to hide the scarlet on my cheeks behind my glass of iced tea, but my friend knows me better. I offer a small grin as an apology I don't really feel. What can I say? There is no cure for what I have. Well that's not entirely true. There is one, but I can't have the one thing that would resolve my issue.

Them.

So here I sit, every Thursday like clockwork because they are here.

Same day.

Same hour.

Every week.

And like every week nothing more than a few stolen glances ever happens.

If I were to examine that too closely, the peek behind the curtain would reveal more than I care to understand about myself.

I scoop a healthy amount of salsa onto my chip and force myself to focus on the burst of tang against my tongue instead of the muscles I'd rather have it running over.

It's cheesy to think all that tanned muscles would taste more delicious than chip dip, but that's where my mind is right now. The extremely good-looking, extremely single and utterly sinful Professor Elliot James and his long-time best friend and fellow professor Samuel Riley make the strip of my panty's wet morning, noon and night. And twice as slicked up on Thursday.

Professor Elliot has nothing about him that screams academic with his bulging muscles like he's some MMA fighter. No way that man doesn't have a problem finding enough cloth to stretch across his broad back and expansive chest given how tight his dress shirt clings to every contour. I know without seeing behind all those white buttons he has a washboard stomach and a treasure trail I want to lick.

Professor Samuel isn't any better at being the professorly type with his sleeve of tattoos and preference of jeans and rolled up sleeves. I'm sure the female student body and fellow faculty members are not scurrying to tell them to change any time soon.

I dip my gaze back to my table when one of them flashes a dark look my way.

Oh, and did I mention forbidden? Of course, I couldn't pick a couple of fuck-happy jocks for my duo fantasy. That would be far too easy for me, I guess. No, my horny muse goes after not one but two of my professors the very week I start school at Blackthorne University.

That was three years and six months ago.

Two insanely attractive older, dominant, lust-worthy perfect men have my eye and I can't have them.

Both have broad shoulders, chiseled jaws made for licking and kissing and thick dark hair that has me wanting to drive my fingers through it rather than study the contents of the books they've loaded me down with. If I didn't know better I'd say they were brothers, but a little snooping on the internet put that theory to rest. They are just good friends.

Tonight they sit at their usual table pushed back from the crowd of rowdy college kids as they pore over papers and shoot the breeze after a hellish first quarter of the year.

My gaze slides back to the far corner of the bar where the shadows are dense and I gasp quietly when a hungry fierce, steely gaze connects with mine over the distance as if Professor Samuel senses my gaze on him. My pulse hikes and my breath catches as a shiver runs the course of my entire body only to strike my core with an electric shock. But then, just like every week, I blink and it's gone. But the raw need that lingers and rides me hard never fades as quickly.

If I were alone and if there were a fewer people, maybe I'd slide my fingers over my throbbing clit and alleviate some of the ache they stir within me.

"You know what. This is ridiculous. You, Emberly Kennedy, the most outgoing, fun-loving chick I know can't get up enough courage to ask her hunky professors for a one-night stand? I can't believe it. Come on, for Christ's sake. I see the way they look at you. Don't tell me you don't see that fierce, hungry look in Professor Elliot's eyes right now." Rosalee turns a hot grin on me and raises a brow in challenge. "You know I'm right."

I wag a finger in defiance at her. "I know nothing of the sort, Rosalee Johnson. You're a bad influence for your encouragement."

Rosalee shrugs with the wickedest grin on her face this side of Hell. Hand to heart, I swear, she's the devil on my shoulder when a bad idea strikes. "Hey, you know me. I live by one rule."

I knew the answer. I just liked hearing it so I ask, "What's that?"

"Fuck 'em. Rules that is, buuuuuuut," she dragged out with dramatic exasperation, "in this case, it can't be more literal." Rosalee waggles her perfectly trimmed brows at me and her pink lips peel back in a saucy smile.

I lean forward and lower my voice. "And I love you for that, but it's just not me. This scholarship came at a high price. I can't go back to living the way I did. My mother..." I shudder and it's not the sexy kind from a minute ago. This one dredges up negative memories that make me see red.

No. It's the utter disgust of the thought that comes to mind if I have to return to my mother's way of life while I try to get my life together. She's the only family I have left, which I don't know if it's a good thing or bad, honestly.

"BU is run by some of the sourest board members this town has. They catch me going down on my professors I'm out and if that were not enough, where would that leave the Professors? Without a job? Ruined reputations. What kind of person would that make me if I let that happen?"

"You're assuming you get caught. Plus, who said you had to do anything on school property? What you do off campus grounds is your business alone."

"I wish it worked that way, Rosa. I really do."

I swirl my drink with the tip of my finger. "I'll stick to my fantasies. I can't do that to them and I definitely can't lose this scholarship." But how I wish things were different. I raise my finger and slip it between my lips, pulling it out slowly as I look up to see dark eyes caressing my heart-shaped face and following the smooth line of my jaw to my mouth.

We've done this before. Our little game of cat and mouse. They look, I fantasize. But that is as far as anything ever goes.

I bite my lip and let my gaze linger. No harm in that, right?

"I dare you."

What? I tear my gaze away from the other side of the bar and nail my friend with a pointed look. My mouth hinges open. "I'm sorry, are we in high school again? That's not working on me."

Not many people could say they managed to keep a friend from grade school through high school and into college, but we were one of the few friends that really clicked over cookies and milk back in third grade. We've created havoc up and down the East Coast during spring breaks, Christmas breaks and every holiday in between ever since. Rosalee is the one constant in my life and there is nothing in this world I would not do for her.

Except this.

Cool air from the front door drifts over my bare shoulders and my skin tingles. I can't help but wonder as I watch a group of jocks walk in why I had to go the hard route. My mother always said I was too much like my father. Stubborn, hard-headed, with a wild streak. The worst of combinations in her eyes.

I wouldn't know. He died when I was five and ever since my mother's rotating bedsheets kept her too busy to fill me in on the missing gaps of my dad and the man that he was.

I can say this, my stubbornness and determination landed me the best damn chance I have at making something of myself. In some slim way, that idea comforts me and makes me feel connected to a man that is more fantasy than real in my memories.

One thing I did know was his adoration for my mother. My mother apparently did not share the same feelings. Two months after putting my father in the ground strange men starting sharing her bed in our plush Manhattan apartment. To a five- year-old's eyes the world shifted in a way that took me years to understand.

And accept.

My mother only cares about the size of her bank account and it didn't take me long to learn she would do whatever it took to make sure it stayed plump after my dad's checks from his law firm stopped rolling in.

It takes a special kind of someone to be that cold, and I refuse to adopt her way of life. But a part of me, the little girl that always wanted to play dress up, wishes for a connection with my mother. But that little girl grew up and saw the real world for what it truly is. A colorless shell with nothing to offer unless you're willing to fight for it.

Maybe I need to fight for that connection but it's kind of hard when the other half is busy chasing the money.

Maybe now that she has finally remarried, that has changed. All I know is that when I marry it will be for love. Call it clichéd or old-fashioned but using people just isn't my style. Plus, I remember one thing about my father and that is it takes hard work to cut a place out in this world.

Throwing away what I've worked so hard for doesn't sound ludicrous—it is ludicrous.

The music track blaring across the pub from the jukebox dwindles into a mellow tune and we sit there for a few seconds before the next song in silence as my heart sinks to the floor.

"Rose, dare or not, I'm not going to confess my undying love to my professor and his best friend. Not happening. And my mother and her new husband are coming to town to visit. Plus, you know how they are about the rules between any relationships with teachers and students. No, I'll graduate, get a job teaching history somewhere, maybe Alaska, but in the end, it is best I move on and?—"

"And in the meantime, I get to hear you masturbate while you listen to class notes in your room and if that isn't enough, you cry out their names when you're having sticky, sweaty wet dreams. I know because I see you dash to the bathroom when you wake up and take a cold shower."

Clearly it's a mistake that we share an apartment off campus. A small two bedroom with a barely-there kitchen and one bathroom. It is small but well-furnished and cozy, but I would have more privacy walking down Main Street of our little college town than with a roommate who notes my every move.

Eyes wide, I can only stare across the table at my friend for a long, drawn-out moment. "Okay," I choke out and try to shove my utter embarrassment into a mental box, but the scarlet heat traveling up my neck to settle in my cheeks isn't going away anytime soon. "I, uh, didn't realize I was that loud but the fact still remains, both men are strictly off limits. And what can I say? I love a deep, sexy voice." I wiggle in my seat and try for humor but Rosalee doesn't buy it.

"Mm-hmm. Sure. Their voices. Like that's all you like about them." She gives me a long side eye. "Nothing to do with the bulge I see you staring at during Professor James' classes? Too bad we don't share Professor Riley's class too. I bet you repeat your behavior there too."

I pinch my lips closed.

"You know I'm right. What's the worst that can happen? They tell you no? And sweetheart, let's face it, your mom isn't coming. We both know that. It's the same every year. If you ask me, you're lucky you could enroll at seventeen and get out of that house." Rosalee's mouth scrunches up into a pucker that said she was full of regret for saying something she knew hurt me.

I am fortunate. Good genetics and hard work landed me on Blackthorne's doorstep a full year early. I reach out and take her hand. "But I can hope. We haven't had a great relationship and I'm hoping we can kind of get a do-over. Maybe this new marriage of hers will settle her down a little. Robert seems nice enough."

I glance at the clock and push my drink to the side. I'd been averaging four to five hours of sleep a night for the past several weeks. I had an early class before work and then more classes in the afternoon and that wasn't including the hours of study time I needed. Spring break is just one long study period for me broken up by longer hours waitressing.

"I'm going to say it again. I dare you. Because I love you, girl. You are all about making everyone happy, not stirring any waters, following the rules. Fuck. The. Rules. You'll die with a dildo between your legs as an old lady if you keep living this way."

I snorted at the visual, but I couldn't deny how my body burns with a hunger I cannot control and I constantly feel like I'm on edge. For the short time that we've been talking I can feel eyes track my every movement. It's not an odd feeling, but I can sense the attention on every curve and dip on my body, and it causes a warm feeling to climb from my toes up my body and settle in my core.

My skin flushes and the intimate feeling the quiet attention fills me with makes me wonder if this game of looking and not touching will ever end.

The idea of taking my friend up on her dare sounds enticing.

Reality is a fickle bitch though, and I clear my throat before answering my friend. "You paint such a pretty picture, Rosalee."

My friend dips a chip and crunches into the tasty treat. "I wish I had a mirror."

I pull my gaze away from my entwined fingers on the tabletop and snort softly.

"I'm serious. You're so damn hung up you're going to die horny and alone. Because Lord knows I've tried to hook you up with plenty of men to no avail."

I shudder at the memories and let my gaze slip back to the corner, and it takes all my willpower not to groan and do exactly what Rosa is pushing me to do.

"Take a risk, Em. For once do something for you. Slide into that red thong I saw you buy last month and I bet that's already stuffed in the back of your underwear drawer forgotten. I'll lend you a pair of my fuck-me heels that match and then the rest of that naughty one-nighter is all up to you."

My skin prickles with an electrical heat her words cause and my nipples strain against the silk of my bra. I fold my arms over my breasts and I briefly regret wearing the thin, off-the-shoulder dress this early in the spring.

"And then what? Walk up his driveway, ring the bell and beg my much older history professor to use his teeth to pull off my thong, bend me over his couch and fuck me. And, oh, can his friend come to play too?" My own words make the silk between my thighs cling to my instantly drenched folds at doing exactly that.

I ignore the feel of my hot liquid wetting my inner thighs and throw a smirk at my friend like I'm not melting where I sit.

I have to admit, I want to hear where she imagines this going because I just might do it.

I press my thighs together at the thought of my professors' huge, thick cocks prying my soft entrance open with their swollen cock heads and driving into my dick virgin pussy.

Man, if Rosalee could hear my thoughts. I laugh to myself.

The amount of willpower it takes to hold back a moan is worthy of a medal.

I bite my lip and shake my head at my own silliness, because really? What would two much older, much more experienced men like them want with an innocent girl like me?