We have a special holiday treat for your reading pleasure! First, we're so excited to have GemmaLisax as our guest naughty girl today. She's the brilliant author of such delicious fics including,A Different Direction and Spontaneous Combustion. These stories are hawt, I kidd you not!
Gemma has given us something different this Monday. A holiday oneshot that I know she worked really hard on and we're so honored that she'd want to share it here. Oh, and it features Professor Whitlock *thud*!
Christmas in University is much more tasteful than that of High School, where the corridors were full of gaudy decorations; brightly coloured foil hanging in cheap excuses for garlands. In the ancient hallways of Oxford University, carols wound softly through the air from the Chapel and beautiful, natural decorations adorned the vaulted ceilings and walls; beautiful Christmas trees, bedecked artistically and wrapped in pretty white lights. Still, the only Christmas spirit I was feeling at the moment was that of the Jack Daniels that I had been enjoying with friends before the message had arrived for me to visit with Professor Whitlock.
Today had been the last day of term, classes were done for the next three weeks or so and tomorrow I would be journeying back to my parents for the holidays. But tonight was supposed to be a relaxing celebration; a kick off to the festive season. And, quite frankly, I was supposed to be on my way to being rat arsed and putting the world to rights. But no, Professor Whitlock had deemed my presence necessary at seven in the evening.
I drank the last of my drink as I walked, no sense in wasting good alcohol, my step was quick and maybe a little more confident than usual. Nothing like a good tipple to get rid of any nervousness of an impromptu call to a Professor that is renowned for being a hard arsed bastard. A gorgeous, Texan, hard arsed bastard, I might add. Should that matter? Not usually, but in this case when gorgeous actually means knicker-evaporating-heart-hammering-panting-specimen-of-manly-perfection, then yeah it matters. It matters because how on earth is one supposed to concentrate on one’s studies when faced with such an overwhelming distraction?
He had caused quite the stir when he had started teaching here, both in the students and Professors alike. To me, he looked too young to be a professor of his reputation, only a couple of years older than me, if that. I would like to say that it was his eyes that had first caught my attention, but that would be an outright lie. He had been bent over in the boot of his car when I had first seen him. And let me tell you that I had never seen a more perfect arse in my whole life. I literally had to hold onto the bench I was standing beside to stop be from running over there and grabbing it.
Then he had stood up, rather quickly I might add, and spun around to look directly at me. As if that wasn’t unnerving enough, I swear to this day that he sniffed the air. Whether he did or not is something of a moot point, and one that I didn’t give much thought to at the time. Though I was sure his eyes were black, it later turned out that they were actually a strange golden hue that I had never seen before. His hair was blonde and slightly curly, falling just long enough to go behind his ears. His jaw was chiselled; hell his whole face could’ve been chiselled from marble. Pale skin, hard lines, wide eyes and pouty lips. From what I could see he looked muscular, but tightly coiled strength opposed to huge muscles. He was the essence of masculinity.
I wanted to lick him.
His Jeans and the leather motorcycle jacket he was holding made him look like the least likely candidate for the new professor and I found myself hoping that he was a student. However, that was not to be and neither were my fantasies. He also turned out to be, as I have said before, a hard arsed bastard. Not that it stopped me wanting him; I was just subtle about it. I didn’t dress sexier, like my friend Jessica. She took to wearing progressively shorter skirts until one very cold day when Professor Whitlock pointed out that if she were to continue that, she would develop frostbite in places that he was sure she would prefer to keep intact. She had steadfastly kept to jeans from then on. I didn’t flaunt my attraction to him by referring to him with varying degrees of ridiculous names, like Professor Sexy Pants or Professor Spread-my-legs-please. Well, at least not out loud anyway. No, in my head he was Professor Hard Arse, not very original but it in my mind it was apt.
I downed the last of my drink, my irritation levels rising to dangerous levels, and more or less stomped the rest of the way to Professor Whitlock’s office. The reason why he wanted to see me was a mystery; I had no essays pending, and I had not missed any lectures or tutorials. My only ongoing project was my essay on myths and legends; having recently hit a gold mine of information on vampires. A guy in a small town in America had been filling me in on the legends of his tribe. He was more than willing to swap information in between bouts of careful flirtation. Still, I was well within my deadlines and apart from my fantasy that Professor Hard Arse’s unusual attributes were because he was actually a vampire, it was coming along very well. Knowing Professor Whitlock, this would be just for his own enjoyment, a way of keeping us unruly students in line or simply for shits and giggles. I rolled my eyes at the thought.
His door was at the end of the quiet and empty hall that I was now walking down, unsurprisingly as most of the staff were out enjoying their own party or spending time with family. The heels of my boots beat a tattoo against the stone floors, echoing and increasing the loneliness. It would be easy to let my mind wander too far off course, letting my imagination get the better of me under these conditions. Quiet corridors and ancient buildings, ghosts of Christmas past and all that. I shook my head of silly thoughts and, placing my empty glass on the floor by the door, I knocked and waited to be admitted.
“Come in, Isabella.” Professor Whitlock’s deep voice sounded from inside, not a shout, but the perfect volume for me to hear. Professor Whitlock never raised his voice. And he never listened to me when I requested he call me Bella.
I opened the door; its answering creak sounding loud in the ambient quiet. Upon entering, I saw orange flames flickering in the fireplace, the crackle and spit of the logs made me think of what Christmas day will be like back home and a sense of melancholy filled me. Closing the door behind me, I turned to see Professor Whitlock sitting behind his desk still dressed in his black robe and watching me intently. His face was partially in shadow, the only light in the room aside from the fire was a tall lamp in the corner of the room.
I swallowed, suddenly nervous, “You asked to see me, Sir?”
Professor Whitlock waited a couple of seconds before speaking, “That I did, Isabella.” I stayed where I was, waiting for the invitation to sit. When I had not moved, Professor Whitlock raised his eyebrow and huffed, waving his hand at the chair in front of his desk, “Sit, Isabella, it won’t do you any good to stand there all night now, will it?”
All night?
I glared at him, trying not to be petulant. I was twenty years old for God’s sake, not some school girl for him to bully. My gait was stiff as I took the seat, refusing to break my eyes away from his. Brown against, tawny gold. Who the hell has gold eyes anyway? Alright, so I wasn’t doing to good at the staying on the mature path.
“You’ve been drinking.” He said. Just said it, not a question, a statement.
I raised my eyebrow, “I was at a party before I received your message. It is seven thirty on a Friday night, not to mention the last day of term. I am not due to drive anywhere or need to be up early in the morning. I am also the legal drinking age. Is there a problem that I am not aware of?” I cocked my head to the side, my legs now crossed over one another and my hands clasped in my lap. I was trying for coy and confident, but I was pissed off and really wasn’t in the mood to have the piss taken out of me.
He sighed, shaking his head and sat back in his chair, taking off his robe as he spoke, “I meant no offence, Isabella, it was simply an observation. I can...see that you have all your faculties about you. I believe that you are ready for us to have this conversation.”
I was starting to feel warm, and slightly flushed. Being in this small enclosed space with him was starting to get to me. I had never been on my own with him before; on my own with no chance of witnesses no less. But when he didn’t elaborate, my curiosity overrode my growing attraction and got the better of me, “And what conversation is that? I was under the impression that you were happy with my work.”
He smirked, an expression that I had never before seen on him, “Oh, Isabella, I am more than happy with you and your work. It is, however, the subject of your research that we will be discussing this evening.”
“My research? I don’t understand, I thought that we were to present our work in progress to you during the first tutorial back after the Christmas holidays? I do not mean to be rude, but if that is all that you wished to talk to me about, then I wish to return to my friends and the party.” I should have stood up. Should have added strength to my statement and moved to leave. But I didn’t. I stayed glued to the chair and staring into his eyes.
He stood up, walking over to the mantle above the fire, resting his arm as he stared into the flames. I took the time to look over him; it wasn’t often that I had seen him without his professor’s robes on. He was in jeans again, and a tight black long sleeved T-shirt. His arse looked even more delicious that I remembered.
I wanted to bite him.
His laugh made me look up at him and I was aghast to find that he was staring at me, and from the look on his face it seems like he had caught me ogling his bum. I tried to ignore my burning cheeks and meet his stare as if I had not done anything wrong.
“Tell me, Isabella.” He asked as he turned to face me fully, “Have you been naughty or nice?”
I choked on thin air, “W-Wh-What?!”
He took a step towards me and I shot out of my chair, taking the ‘horror movie bimbo’ route and heading towards the desk instead of the door. My arse hit it with a thump, something fell to the floor with a thud behind me, but I gave it no mind; Professor Whitlock was advancing towards me and I was fighting a moral vs. sex battle in my head. My womanly parts were winning the battle.
“I asked a simple question, Isabella, and I thought it fitting considering the season. So I ask you again, have you been naughty or nice?”
I ducked out of his way as he reached me, but he cut me off before I got to the door. I backed away again, trying to keep him talking, “What, pray tell, does me being naughty or nice have anything to do with my research?”
He laughed; it was warm and rich and did interesting things to my most intimate areas. I wanted him to laugh again. A lot.
“Your research, your theories...vampires. Have you been wonderin about me, Isabella? Wonderin about the colour of my skin and my eyes? Little Jake must have given you some incredible insights into the phenomenon.”
I was speechless, well, that’s not quite true, “No...bloody...way.” I just wasn’t very eloquent.
He ignored my less than intelligent statement and very tenderly cupped my face with his hand. I gasped, his skin was so cold, but it was the spark; a warmth that emanated from the touch that had me breathing hard. He stepped so close to me that I had to strain my neck to look up at him.
“In my opinion, I think that you have been naughty. So very, very naughty, Isabella. You were never meant to find out this way, but that puppy gave away all our secrets and it was realised that you would soon come to the correct conclusions on your own. It is my plan to pre-empt that.”
“It is?” I breathed, fighting to stay focused on what he was saying. His proximity brought his scent to my nose; I sucked it in greedily, my head almost spinning.
“Oh yes,” he leant down, his nose brushing my ear, his breath a cool caress as he spoke, “I am a believer in striking while the iron is hot.”
Well, I'm definitely hot. Wait a second...
“Oh god, are you going to eat me?!” I squeaked as he kissed down my throat.
He chuckled; I felt it more than I heard it, vibrating through his chest into mine, my nipples straining to break free of the confines of my clothing, “No, Isabella, at least not in the way that you’re worryin about.”
Relieved, I quietly said, “Oh, ok.” And then what he said finally hit me and a little louder I exclaimed, “Oh!”
The room spun, a clatter sounded out and I was lying down on his now empty desk with his lips on mine. I threw myself into the kiss, unable to even think of doing anything else. It was electricity, lightning, joyous. His mouth was cold and sweet, and claimed mine as if I belonged to him, and in that moment I did. I wondered if I always had.
My hands were in his hair, gripping and pulling, then running up and down his arms, his shoulders and the top of his back. My legs were spread, Jasper nestled between them, and I wrapped them around him. I needed him closer.
“This is fast,” Professor Whitlock said, breaking the kiss, “I know that, but” he kissed me again, hard this time, “Please don’t ask me to stop.”
Was he crazy!?
“Never...God, I could never ask you to stop. Just...just tell me...” he brushed his thumb over my erect nipple, then pinched it between his thumb and finger, “...oh god...tell me your first name.”
“Jasper,” he panted, “Jasper Whitlock, at your service ma’am.”
Oh, holy fuck, at my service indeed.
He lifted me up enough to get my top off, my bra swiftly followed and then he moved down to remove my jeans and boots. As far as I could tell, we weren’t going to be taking this slow, my shredded knickers sailing through the air was another good indication of that. He stood before me, lifting his own top off and then his jeans. I got to sit there and watch him strip; I was really starting to get into the Christmas spirit. He was also bare beneath the denim, no annoying boxers in the way. And can I just say that this man was sporting a cock that had me clenching at just the sight of it. Not too big, definitely not too small and the girth looked like something I was going to enjoy riding. Then I noticed his eyes, they were black.
“Your eyes...I knew they were black the first time I saw you.” I blurted out.
He sank to his knees, pushing my back flat against the desk and ran the tip of his nose around my belly button. “That first day was the first time you saw me, not the first time I saw you. Your reaction to me was intense, I could feel your need and desire, smell your arousal.” He took in a deep breath, trailing his nose down my abdomen to the apex of my thighs, “It’s like a drug to me, it took everything in me not to tear across to you and take you right then and there.”
I really would not have minded.
“Ok, well...I-” I was cut off by another kiss, his movement so quick that I had not even registered that he had moved. Not that I was complaining.
“Save the questions for later, Isabella.” He growled. Fucking growled. The sound was dominating, possessive, sex rolling out of his chest.
I did as he asked and our movements became frantic. I relished in the feel of his hands all over me, fingers lacing on my body; his tongue laving paths across my skin, suckling at my nipples and his fingers lacing across my skin. His body was so hard, and I giggled when I grabbed at his arse and realised just how true my nickname for him actually was. He was smooth, cold but not uncomfortable; in fact his temperature elicited a heat in me that I had never felt before. And when he reached between us and slid his fingers inside me I groaned out his name, arching on the desk and spreading my legs out as wide as I could manage. My hands were in his hair as he travelled down my body, he seemed intent on tasting every inch of my skin and then his tongue was flicking at my clit, running lazy circles around it and lapping at my essence. His growls were almost purrs and the vibrations were driving me wild, I had never heard such noises and I loved each and every one of them.
My heels were teetering on the edge of the desk, my head now hanging off the other side and I was rolling my hips into his face, his fingers and the wonders that he was doing with his tongue. I was so close to release, buzzing and vibrating and throbbing, that glorious feeling intensifying with every second of his ministrations. And then he twisted his fingers, curling them up and around and hitting something inside me that sent me through the roof. I screamed almost, clutching at his fingers, quivering, clenching, gushing.
I flopped on the desk, my arms limp by my sides, whimpering as he drew his fingers out and moaning as he kissed his way back to my mouth. He held me to him, exploring my mouth, letting me taste myself. It wasn’t enough, even after all of that, it wasn’t enough.
“I need you.” I moaned into his mouth.
He entered me as I finished my request, thick and hard and strong. Long strokes of his cock inside me, letting me feel every inch, every ridge. I was so sensitive after my orgasm that every little movement drew a pleasured sound from me. Opening my eyes, I found him staring at me, our foreheads touching, mouths open and panting, sharing breaths and lips almost touching. There were no words, no exclamations of passion or requests, there was just us.
Then he thrust harder, just once, as if giving me a taste of what could be if I allowed it. I groaned my assent, raising my hips to meet him, moving myself as hard as I could. I would likely be bruised in the morning, but I didn’t care. It was more than worth it.
He moved his hand underneath my back, arching me as he stood back a little, a different angle, a deeper thrust and I could feel him hitting my cervix with each movement. He was still lent forward just enough that he rubbed against my clit, his strokes becoming faster, a hand at my breast, at my hardened nipple. Rubbing, pinching, twirling it between his fingers. I ran my own hands over his chest, raking my nails over him, grasping at him.
Not once did he lose eye contact with me.
His breathing was nothing more than a pant and a growl, a low bass that emanated from his chest, his mouth almost in a snarl, his eyes full of wonder and hooded with lust. He used the hand on the base of my back to arch me even more, my breasts bouncing with the renewed vigour of his movements. I cried out; loving the new angle, loving the feel of him. He grew harder, steel inside my silk, and I knew he was close. My own climax was threatening to over take me, but I desperately wanted to see him lose himself, I wanted to watch him in ecstasy. My eyes fought to close as my pleasure mounted, my head fought to fall back, my body desperate for me to give in and let myself fly. But I could see it in his eyes, he was so close and I wanted him to come with me as I fell.
A whispered plea to God, a flicker in his eyes, a stutter in the tempo of his strokes and he was gone. He roared, his face almost pained as he came, dragging me with him. He kissed me, crushing my body to his, as we rode it out. Feelings crashed into me, intense and somehow alien in their nature, beyond anything that I had ever imagined.
I was lost, I was his, I was found.
o0o
I sat on his naked lap in the large armchair by the fire, wrapped in his robe and his arms and more content that I had ever been. I felt so relaxed, truly spent and so bloody happy that I thought Father Christmas might actually appear this year.
Still, there were things that needed to be talked about.
“What does this mean, Jasper?” I asked him, speaking quietly in an attempt not to spoil the atmosphere.
“It means that you are where you were always meant to be...with me.” he paused for a moment; I rose and fell with his chest as he took a deep breath, “It means that you are at the start of a whole new life.”
It hit me then, the knowledge that our two worlds would not mix, “I can’t go back, can I?”
“I'm sorry, Darlin’. Tomorrow you go back to your family, you go back and you say your goodbyes. The new year will bring you back to me and we will start our forever together.”
I nodded against his chest, curling into him a little more, “Does it have to be goodbye forever?”
He sighed, holding me closer and kissing the top of my head, “In a way, yes. Once you change, those that knew the human you will easily discern the difference, and will soon notice that you don’t age. Part of me wishes that it could be otherwise, but the rulesdifference, and will soon notice that you don’t age. Part of me wishes that it could be otherwise, but the rules of my world dictate that humans can’t know about us. My only way of protecting you fully is to change you; to make you like me.”
I looked up, smiling and tracing his lips with my fingers, “I'm yours.”
o0o
The walk back to my room was much different to the one away from it. I was smiling, jovial and sitting on cloud sodding nine, doing a dance and drinking champagne. I walked in to find my friends still there, in varying degrees of inebriation. They all looked up as I walked in; I tried to school my face into one that didn’t look like I had just had rampant sex with a Professor that turned out to be a vampire, a vampire who will be changing me in the new year. Yeah, that wasn’t easy.
“Bella! Where the hell have you been? We were about to mount a rescue mission. How did it go? Did he ride you hard?” Jessica fired questions at me as she stood, stumbling a little.
I tried not to choke at her last question.
“Actually,” I said, taking a seat and grabbing my Jack Daniels, “It was...surprising. He certainly did ride me hard, very hard in fact, but it all turned out great in the end. Bloody fantastic, in fact.”
Thanks so much Gemma and I hope Santa brings you your very own Professor Whitlock!
Christmas in University is much more tasteful than that of High School, where the corridors were full of gaudy decorations; brightly coloured foil hanging in cheap excuses for garlands. In the ancient hallways of Oxford University, carols wound softly through the air from the Chapel and beautiful, natural decorations adorned the vaulted ceilings and walls; beautiful Christmas trees, bedecked artistically and wrapped in pretty white lights. Still, the only Christmas spirit I was feeling at the moment was that of the Jack Daniels that I had been enjoying with friends before the message had arrived for me to visit with Professor Whitlock.
Today had been the last day of term, classes were done for the next three weeks or so and tomorrow I would be journeying back to my parents for the holidays. But tonight was supposed to be a relaxing celebration; a kick off to the festive season. And, quite frankly, I was supposed to be on my way to being rat arsed and putting the world to rights. But no, Professor Whitlock had deemed my presence necessary at seven in the evening.
I drank the last of my drink as I walked, no sense in wasting good alcohol, my step was quick and maybe a little more confident than usual. Nothing like a good tipple to get rid of any nervousness of an impromptu call to a Professor that is renowned for being a hard arsed bastard. A gorgeous, Texan, hard arsed bastard, I might add. Should that matter? Not usually, but in this case when gorgeous actually means knicker-evaporating-heart-hammering-panting-specimen-of-manly-perfection, then yeah it matters. It matters because how on earth is one supposed to concentrate on one’s studies when faced with such an overwhelming distraction?
He had caused quite the stir when he had started teaching here, both in the students and Professors alike. To me, he looked too young to be a professor of his reputation, only a couple of years older than me, if that. I would like to say that it was his eyes that had first caught my attention, but that would be an outright lie. He had been bent over in the boot of his car when I had first seen him. And let me tell you that I had never seen a more perfect arse in my whole life. I literally had to hold onto the bench I was standing beside to stop be from running over there and grabbing it.
Then he had stood up, rather quickly I might add, and spun around to look directly at me. As if that wasn’t unnerving enough, I swear to this day that he sniffed the air. Whether he did or not is something of a moot point, and one that I didn’t give much thought to at the time. Though I was sure his eyes were black, it later turned out that they were actually a strange golden hue that I had never seen before. His hair was blonde and slightly curly, falling just long enough to go behind his ears. His jaw was chiselled; hell his whole face could’ve been chiselled from marble. Pale skin, hard lines, wide eyes and pouty lips. From what I could see he looked muscular, but tightly coiled strength opposed to huge muscles. He was the essence of masculinity.
I wanted to lick him.
His Jeans and the leather motorcycle jacket he was holding made him look like the least likely candidate for the new professor and I found myself hoping that he was a student. However, that was not to be and neither were my fantasies. He also turned out to be, as I have said before, a hard arsed bastard. Not that it stopped me wanting him; I was just subtle about it. I didn’t dress sexier, like my friend Jessica. She took to wearing progressively shorter skirts until one very cold day when Professor Whitlock pointed out that if she were to continue that, she would develop frostbite in places that he was sure she would prefer to keep intact. She had steadfastly kept to jeans from then on. I didn’t flaunt my attraction to him by referring to him with varying degrees of ridiculous names, like Professor Sexy Pants or Professor Spread-my-legs-please. Well, at least not out loud anyway. No, in my head he was Professor Hard Arse, not very original but it in my mind it was apt.
I downed the last of my drink, my irritation levels rising to dangerous levels, and more or less stomped the rest of the way to Professor Whitlock’s office. The reason why he wanted to see me was a mystery; I had no essays pending, and I had not missed any lectures or tutorials. My only ongoing project was my essay on myths and legends; having recently hit a gold mine of information on vampires. A guy in a small town in America had been filling me in on the legends of his tribe. He was more than willing to swap information in between bouts of careful flirtation. Still, I was well within my deadlines and apart from my fantasy that Professor Hard Arse’s unusual attributes were because he was actually a vampire, it was coming along very well. Knowing Professor Whitlock, this would be just for his own enjoyment, a way of keeping us unruly students in line or simply for shits and giggles. I rolled my eyes at the thought.
His door was at the end of the quiet and empty hall that I was now walking down, unsurprisingly as most of the staff were out enjoying their own party or spending time with family. The heels of my boots beat a tattoo against the stone floors, echoing and increasing the loneliness. It would be easy to let my mind wander too far off course, letting my imagination get the better of me under these conditions. Quiet corridors and ancient buildings, ghosts of Christmas past and all that. I shook my head of silly thoughts and, placing my empty glass on the floor by the door, I knocked and waited to be admitted.
“Come in, Isabella.” Professor Whitlock’s deep voice sounded from inside, not a shout, but the perfect volume for me to hear. Professor Whitlock never raised his voice. And he never listened to me when I requested he call me Bella.
I opened the door; its answering creak sounding loud in the ambient quiet. Upon entering, I saw orange flames flickering in the fireplace, the crackle and spit of the logs made me think of what Christmas day will be like back home and a sense of melancholy filled me. Closing the door behind me, I turned to see Professor Whitlock sitting behind his desk still dressed in his black robe and watching me intently. His face was partially in shadow, the only light in the room aside from the fire was a tall lamp in the corner of the room.
I swallowed, suddenly nervous, “You asked to see me, Sir?”
Professor Whitlock waited a couple of seconds before speaking, “That I did, Isabella.” I stayed where I was, waiting for the invitation to sit. When I had not moved, Professor Whitlock raised his eyebrow and huffed, waving his hand at the chair in front of his desk, “Sit, Isabella, it won’t do you any good to stand there all night now, will it?”
All night?
I glared at him, trying not to be petulant. I was twenty years old for God’s sake, not some school girl for him to bully. My gait was stiff as I took the seat, refusing to break my eyes away from his. Brown against, tawny gold. Who the hell has gold eyes anyway? Alright, so I wasn’t doing to good at the staying on the mature path.
“You’ve been drinking.” He said. Just said it, not a question, a statement.
I raised my eyebrow, “I was at a party before I received your message. It is seven thirty on a Friday night, not to mention the last day of term. I am not due to drive anywhere or need to be up early in the morning. I am also the legal drinking age. Is there a problem that I am not aware of?” I cocked my head to the side, my legs now crossed over one another and my hands clasped in my lap. I was trying for coy and confident, but I was pissed off and really wasn’t in the mood to have the piss taken out of me.
He sighed, shaking his head and sat back in his chair, taking off his robe as he spoke, “I meant no offence, Isabella, it was simply an observation. I can...see that you have all your faculties about you. I believe that you are ready for us to have this conversation.”
I was starting to feel warm, and slightly flushed. Being in this small enclosed space with him was starting to get to me. I had never been on my own with him before; on my own with no chance of witnesses no less. But when he didn’t elaborate, my curiosity overrode my growing attraction and got the better of me, “And what conversation is that? I was under the impression that you were happy with my work.”
He smirked, an expression that I had never before seen on him, “Oh, Isabella, I am more than happy with you and your work. It is, however, the subject of your research that we will be discussing this evening.”
“My research? I don’t understand, I thought that we were to present our work in progress to you during the first tutorial back after the Christmas holidays? I do not mean to be rude, but if that is all that you wished to talk to me about, then I wish to return to my friends and the party.” I should have stood up. Should have added strength to my statement and moved to leave. But I didn’t. I stayed glued to the chair and staring into his eyes.
He stood up, walking over to the mantle above the fire, resting his arm as he stared into the flames. I took the time to look over him; it wasn’t often that I had seen him without his professor’s robes on. He was in jeans again, and a tight black long sleeved T-shirt. His arse looked even more delicious that I remembered.
I wanted to bite him.
His laugh made me look up at him and I was aghast to find that he was staring at me, and from the look on his face it seems like he had caught me ogling his bum. I tried to ignore my burning cheeks and meet his stare as if I had not done anything wrong.
“Tell me, Isabella.” He asked as he turned to face me fully, “Have you been naughty or nice?”
I choked on thin air, “W-Wh-What?!”
He took a step towards me and I shot out of my chair, taking the ‘horror movie bimbo’ route and heading towards the desk instead of the door. My arse hit it with a thump, something fell to the floor with a thud behind me, but I gave it no mind; Professor Whitlock was advancing towards me and I was fighting a moral vs. sex battle in my head. My womanly parts were winning the battle.
“I asked a simple question, Isabella, and I thought it fitting considering the season. So I ask you again, have you been naughty or nice?”
I ducked out of his way as he reached me, but he cut me off before I got to the door. I backed away again, trying to keep him talking, “What, pray tell, does me being naughty or nice have anything to do with my research?”
He laughed; it was warm and rich and did interesting things to my most intimate areas. I wanted him to laugh again. A lot.
“Your research, your theories...vampires. Have you been wonderin about me, Isabella? Wonderin about the colour of my skin and my eyes? Little Jake must have given you some incredible insights into the phenomenon.”
I was speechless, well, that’s not quite true, “No...bloody...way.” I just wasn’t very eloquent.
He ignored my less than intelligent statement and very tenderly cupped my face with his hand. I gasped, his skin was so cold, but it was the spark; a warmth that emanated from the touch that had me breathing hard. He stepped so close to me that I had to strain my neck to look up at him.
“In my opinion, I think that you have been naughty. So very, very naughty, Isabella. You were never meant to find out this way, but that puppy gave away all our secrets and it was realised that you would soon come to the correct conclusions on your own. It is my plan to pre-empt that.”
“It is?” I breathed, fighting to stay focused on what he was saying. His proximity brought his scent to my nose; I sucked it in greedily, my head almost spinning.
“Oh yes,” he leant down, his nose brushing my ear, his breath a cool caress as he spoke, “I am a believer in striking while the iron is hot.”
Well, I'm definitely hot. Wait a second...
“Oh god, are you going to eat me?!” I squeaked as he kissed down my throat.
He chuckled; I felt it more than I heard it, vibrating through his chest into mine, my nipples straining to break free of the confines of my clothing, “No, Isabella, at least not in the way that you’re worryin about.”
Relieved, I quietly said, “Oh, ok.” And then what he said finally hit me and a little louder I exclaimed, “Oh!”
The room spun, a clatter sounded out and I was lying down on his now empty desk with his lips on mine. I threw myself into the kiss, unable to even think of doing anything else. It was electricity, lightning, joyous. His mouth was cold and sweet, and claimed mine as if I belonged to him, and in that moment I did. I wondered if I always had.
My hands were in his hair, gripping and pulling, then running up and down his arms, his shoulders and the top of his back. My legs were spread, Jasper nestled between them, and I wrapped them around him. I needed him closer.
“This is fast,” Professor Whitlock said, breaking the kiss, “I know that, but” he kissed me again, hard this time, “Please don’t ask me to stop.”
Was he crazy!?
“Never...God, I could never ask you to stop. Just...just tell me...” he brushed his thumb over my erect nipple, then pinched it between his thumb and finger, “...oh god...tell me your first name.”
“Jasper,” he panted, “Jasper Whitlock, at your service ma’am.”
Oh, holy fuck, at my service indeed.
He lifted me up enough to get my top off, my bra swiftly followed and then he moved down to remove my jeans and boots. As far as I could tell, we weren’t going to be taking this slow, my shredded knickers sailing through the air was another good indication of that. He stood before me, lifting his own top off and then his jeans. I got to sit there and watch him strip; I was really starting to get into the Christmas spirit. He was also bare beneath the denim, no annoying boxers in the way. And can I just say that this man was sporting a cock that had me clenching at just the sight of it. Not too big, definitely not too small and the girth looked like something I was going to enjoy riding. Then I noticed his eyes, they were black.
“Your eyes...I knew they were black the first time I saw you.” I blurted out.
He sank to his knees, pushing my back flat against the desk and ran the tip of his nose around my belly button. “That first day was the first time you saw me, not the first time I saw you. Your reaction to me was intense, I could feel your need and desire, smell your arousal.” He took in a deep breath, trailing his nose down my abdomen to the apex of my thighs, “It’s like a drug to me, it took everything in me not to tear across to you and take you right then and there.”
I really would not have minded.
“Ok, well...I-” I was cut off by another kiss, his movement so quick that I had not even registered that he had moved. Not that I was complaining.
“Save the questions for later, Isabella.” He growled. Fucking growled. The sound was dominating, possessive, sex rolling out of his chest.
I did as he asked and our movements became frantic. I relished in the feel of his hands all over me, fingers lacing on my body; his tongue laving paths across my skin, suckling at my nipples and his fingers lacing across my skin. His body was so hard, and I giggled when I grabbed at his arse and realised just how true my nickname for him actually was. He was smooth, cold but not uncomfortable; in fact his temperature elicited a heat in me that I had never felt before. And when he reached between us and slid his fingers inside me I groaned out his name, arching on the desk and spreading my legs out as wide as I could manage. My hands were in his hair as he travelled down my body, he seemed intent on tasting every inch of my skin and then his tongue was flicking at my clit, running lazy circles around it and lapping at my essence. His growls were almost purrs and the vibrations were driving me wild, I had never heard such noises and I loved each and every one of them.
My heels were teetering on the edge of the desk, my head now hanging off the other side and I was rolling my hips into his face, his fingers and the wonders that he was doing with his tongue. I was so close to release, buzzing and vibrating and throbbing, that glorious feeling intensifying with every second of his ministrations. And then he twisted his fingers, curling them up and around and hitting something inside me that sent me through the roof. I screamed almost, clutching at his fingers, quivering, clenching, gushing.
I flopped on the desk, my arms limp by my sides, whimpering as he drew his fingers out and moaning as he kissed his way back to my mouth. He held me to him, exploring my mouth, letting me taste myself. It wasn’t enough, even after all of that, it wasn’t enough.
“I need you.” I moaned into his mouth.
He entered me as I finished my request, thick and hard and strong. Long strokes of his cock inside me, letting me feel every inch, every ridge. I was so sensitive after my orgasm that every little movement drew a pleasured sound from me. Opening my eyes, I found him staring at me, our foreheads touching, mouths open and panting, sharing breaths and lips almost touching. There were no words, no exclamations of passion or requests, there was just us.
Then he thrust harder, just once, as if giving me a taste of what could be if I allowed it. I groaned my assent, raising my hips to meet him, moving myself as hard as I could. I would likely be bruised in the morning, but I didn’t care. It was more than worth it.
He moved his hand underneath my back, arching me as he stood back a little, a different angle, a deeper thrust and I could feel him hitting my cervix with each movement. He was still lent forward just enough that he rubbed against my clit, his strokes becoming faster, a hand at my breast, at my hardened nipple. Rubbing, pinching, twirling it between his fingers. I ran my own hands over his chest, raking my nails over him, grasping at him.
Not once did he lose eye contact with me.
His breathing was nothing more than a pant and a growl, a low bass that emanated from his chest, his mouth almost in a snarl, his eyes full of wonder and hooded with lust. He used the hand on the base of my back to arch me even more, my breasts bouncing with the renewed vigour of his movements. I cried out; loving the new angle, loving the feel of him. He grew harder, steel inside my silk, and I knew he was close. My own climax was threatening to over take me, but I desperately wanted to see him lose himself, I wanted to watch him in ecstasy. My eyes fought to close as my pleasure mounted, my head fought to fall back, my body desperate for me to give in and let myself fly. But I could see it in his eyes, he was so close and I wanted him to come with me as I fell.
A whispered plea to God, a flicker in his eyes, a stutter in the tempo of his strokes and he was gone. He roared, his face almost pained as he came, dragging me with him. He kissed me, crushing my body to his, as we rode it out. Feelings crashed into me, intense and somehow alien in their nature, beyond anything that I had ever imagined.
I was lost, I was his, I was found.
o0o
I sat on his naked lap in the large armchair by the fire, wrapped in his robe and his arms and more content that I had ever been. I felt so relaxed, truly spent and so bloody happy that I thought Father Christmas might actually appear this year.
Still, there were things that needed to be talked about.
“What does this mean, Jasper?” I asked him, speaking quietly in an attempt not to spoil the atmosphere.
“It means that you are where you were always meant to be...with me.” he paused for a moment; I rose and fell with his chest as he took a deep breath, “It means that you are at the start of a whole new life.”
It hit me then, the knowledge that our two worlds would not mix, “I can’t go back, can I?”
“I'm sorry, Darlin’. Tomorrow you go back to your family, you go back and you say your goodbyes. The new year will bring you back to me and we will start our forever together.”
I nodded against his chest, curling into him a little more, “Does it have to be goodbye forever?”
He sighed, holding me closer and kissing the top of my head, “In a way, yes. Once you change, those that knew the human you will easily discern the difference, and will soon notice that you don’t age. Part of me wishes that it could be otherwise, but the rulesdifference, and will soon notice that you don’t age. Part of me wishes that it could be otherwise, but the rules of my world dictate that humans can’t know about us. My only way of protecting you fully is to change you; to make you like me.”
I looked up, smiling and tracing his lips with my fingers, “I'm yours.”
o0o
The walk back to my room was much different to the one away from it. I was smiling, jovial and sitting on cloud sodding nine, doing a dance and drinking champagne. I walked in to find my friends still there, in varying degrees of inebriation. They all looked up as I walked in; I tried to school my face into one that didn’t look like I had just had rampant sex with a Professor that turned out to be a vampire, a vampire who will be changing me in the new year. Yeah, that wasn’t easy.
“Bella! Where the hell have you been? We were about to mount a rescue mission. How did it go? Did he ride you hard?” Jessica fired questions at me as she stood, stumbling a little.
I tried not to choke at her last question.
“Actually,” I said, taking a seat and grabbing my Jack Daniels, “It was...surprising. He certainly did ride me hard, very hard in fact, but it all turned out great in the end. Bloody fantastic, in fact.”
Thanks so much Gemma and I hope Santa brings you your very own Professor Whitlock!
Oh Wifey....you are the Lemon Queen. What a great thing to wake up to on the first day of Winter Break! As always you rocked my socks off. Good job Sugar. It really deserves The Chick Norris Stamp of Approval.
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