Saving Grace: A bad-boy virgin romance Read online

  Table of Contents

  Saving Grace

  Jack

  Grace

  The Switch

  Kaitlin

  Trygg

  Saving Grace

  Savannah Skye

  Contents

  Saving Grace

  1. Jack

  2. Grace

  3. Jack

  4. Grace

  5. Jack

  6. Grace

  7. Grace

  8. Jack

  9. Grace

  10. Jack

  11. Grace

  12. Jack

  13. Jack

  14. Grace

  15. Jack

  16. Jack

  17. Grace

  18. Jack

  19. Jack

  20. Grace

  21. Jack

  22. Grace

  23. Jack

  24. Grace

  25. Jack

  The Switch

  The Switch

  26. Kaitlin

  27. Trygg

  28. Kaitlin

  29. Trygg

  30. Kaitlin

  31. Trygg

  32. Trygg

  33. Kaitlin

  34. Trygg

  35. Kaitlin

  Saving Grace

  Grace

  Professor Ridley has a secret… And I’m going to find out what it is.

  When I signed up for his Criminal Justice course, it was nothing to me. The last three credits I needed to graduate. Now, it’s everything. He’s all I can think about. I don’t know if it’s my imagination, but the way he moves? He doesn’t just walk…he prowls. And I’m pretty sure those glasses are fake because those piercing green eyes see everything. Even the things I don’t want him to see. If I’m going to get over this obsession, I’ve got to get to the bottom of things and figure out exactly who Jack Ridley is. Even if it kills me.

  Jack

  Hot as f*%k student Grace Farrow won’t stop trailing me with those dark, innocent eyes and, if it doesn’t stop soon, she’s going to find herself bent over the nearest desk losing her virgin status as she screams my name. Terrible outcome when blowing my cover would open me up to a world of hurt, so I have to resist. But when she takes her kitten-like curiosity too far, she puts herself in the line of fire. Now I’ve got to figure out how to save her without ruining her at the same time.

  1

  Jack

  She’s going to be the end of me.

  I don’t know how I know it, but I do. Those pert little tits pressing against the demure, cowl-necked sweater. Does she even know that her nipples are perpetually hard in the chilly classroom? Or how much I want to reach over her desk and pinch them while I grind my cock against her?

  I doubt it. I’m her professor, after all. And, currently, I’m droning on and on about the number of executions in the United States over the decades. In fact, I’m not even looking at her.

  At least, not in the traditional sense.

  See, my real job requires me to notice everything. So while my gaze is trained on some stoned slacker shoveling Cheetos into his mouth in the back row, from the corner of my eye, I see Grace, leaning her chin on one hand, staring at me like it’s a hot summer day and I’m the last ice cream bar on the truck.

  Never mind that she’s twenty-one, tops, and probably wouldn’t know what to do with me once she got her mouth around me. I still haven’t been able to stop thinking about it since she slid that fine ass into the front row seat three weeks before.

  As if she’s reading my mind, her hand shoots up and I spare her a quick glance. “Yes?”

  Her full lips part, baring a perfect set of pearly teeth that I instantly imagine closing over the head of my dick in the lightest of nips.

  Fuck.

  The iron control I’ve spent more than a decade mastering slips and a surge of blood pulses south, swelling my cock to the point that it strains against my zipper. Luckily, I have on a sports jacket that will hide the evidence.

  “Yes, Professor, what was the first state to abolish capital punishment?” she murmurs, those wide, dark, innocent eyes gazing up at me like I have the answer to both that question and all the other questions in the universe.

  Spoiler alert: I don’t have the answer to either.

  “Good one, Ms. Farrow. In fact, let’s make that one of the questions for tonight’s homework, why don’t we?” I turn to the class with a strained smile. “Let’s do a little research at home, shall we? List the first five states to abolish the death penalty.”

  There are a couple of groans, but most of the kids take it in stride because I typically go light on the homework. Little do they know, it’s not for their benefit. I just don’t have time to correct their work, what with the night job.

  I turn to the blackboard and write out the assignment with a flourish. “Bonus points for including the year. And don’t forget to study for Friday’s test,” I remind them, swiping the chalk dust onto my jeans as I turn back to face them again. “We’ve got one more class for review, but waiting until the last minute is a terrible strategy. This is an easy A unless you make it hard.”

  My gaze is instantly drawn to Grace again and I swear, she flushes a little. My traitorous cock twitches and I change my afternoon plans. Heading straight out of the building to do some early recon for tonight’s job is now postponed by fifteen minutes as I mentally pencil in a quick jerk off session in my office.

  “Class dismissed.”

  The students file out and I pack up my shit and grab my briefcase. I can see Grace is lingering behind, but fuck that. I make a beeline for the door, cock aching for some relief. It was only two nights ago that I awoke with a start, abs slick with my own come after a dream that started exactly like this.

  Her and I in the classroom alone as she stayed behind for extra help. Only she didn’t want tips on Criminal Justice. She wanted me to take her virginity. And, fuck, did I take it.

  I bite back a groan as I push my way through the crowded hallways, a man on a mission. Two minutes later, I slip into my office and close the door behind me, taking a second to engage the lock.

  A harsh laugh breaks from my lips as I shake my head.

  Christ. A thirty-year-old man in a room of boys, and I’m the one who can’t sit through a school day without jerking off.

  But there is no shame in my game as I unbuckle my belt, caressing the leather for just an instant. Closing my eyes, I imagine wrapping it around my fist and then bringing it down hard on Grace’s round little ass.

  Daddy likes it rough.

  Fucking Christ. I was warned about this exact shit in post-grad in a mind-numbingly boring Ethics class. The professor was quite frank, said something about everyone having urges, but to never cross that line.

  I’m flirting with danger as I slide my hand, calloused and rough from my nightshift responsibilities, into my jeans and under tight boxer briefs. My cock pulses to the same beat as my racing heart.

  I followed the lead of my former Ethics professor, got the hell out of Dodge before my cockbrain could drag me into the dark abyss of student-teacher misconduct.

  Cock hard and primed, I push my jeans and underwear down my thighs and begin to stroke myself with my head thrown back over the top of the chair. I force my eyes shut and fantasize about Grace undressing before me.

  I’m watching her with bated breath from the student section as she brushes one finger against her plump bottom lip. Cherry red and glossy. She reaches behind her back and unhooks her bra, covers her breasts with one arm as she tosses the black bra into her audience of one.

  I’m trying to be as silent as I can as to not arouse any suspicion from my peers. Groans, moans,
and grunts are the last thing I need to be questioned about from the nosey Eugene Clarison, professor of Psychopathy 101 whose office shares a wall with mine.

  She hooks her finger, gesturing for me to come annihilate her pussy. I imagine she would never speak such things, but in my fantasy, the implication is there. I rise to my feet and stalk towards her until I have her pinned against the edge of the desk. My pants fall to my ankles as I shift my body against hers, the warmth of her breath lighting the skin of my neck on fire.

  My teeth sink hard against my bottom lip as my pace quickens, beating my glistening cock with one hand. I wish I had the luxury of time, because I’d like nothing more than to let this fantasy play out in real time. But that’s not the way of the Universe, so in my perverse imagination, I’m skipping all the foreplay and going straight for the penetration.

  Her mouth hangs open, her pert breasts heaving as she surrenders herself to my width.

  Tight. Hot. Wet fucking virgin pussy. With one hand, I hold her by the small of her back as I sink inside her to the hilt. When I’m balls deep, I pass her a quick glance to see hunger in her eyes. She rocks gently, hooks her heels behind my back and prepares herself for the ride.

  “Fuck me, Professor,” she moans through pouted lips.

  I’m just giving the lady what she wants as I begin to fuck her with a reckless rhythm. Burying myself balls deep inside her wanton cunt with every thrust. Her nails dig into my back, she howls into my ear gleeful screams of ecstasy.

  “Professor Ridley…”

  The low, husky voice is the one from my fantasy, and sends a shudder through me.

  My balls pull up tight as I increase the pressure.

  So fucking close.

  My heart is pumping almost as fast as my hand now, and I can feel the hot liquid snaking up my shaft.

  “Professor? Are you okay in there? I heard a weird noise.”

  I freeze, doubled over in shock as my cock pulses and leaps in protest.

  Not a voice from my fantasy. A voice through my fucking door, followed by a brisk knock.

  “Professor, I’m getting worried.”

  Grace.

  The door handle jiggles as I wrestle my dick back into my jeans. “Should I call the custodian or get help or something?”

  The adrenaline and hot lust pouring through me part like the Red Sea, leaving behind the absurd desire to laugh.

  Unless the custodian plans on coming in and jerking me off in order to save me the world’s worst case of blue balls, there isn’t much the poor guy can do for me.

  “Sorry, Grace, one second. I just was working out a terrible muscle cramp in my leg,” I call as I pull up my zipper with a wince.

  I take a quick second to let my pulse slow to something close to normal.

  Then, I unlock the door to let in my fantasy… and my worst nightmare.

  Grace

  I shouldn’t be here.

  I should already be on my way to my Jane Austen seminar, but something won’t let me walk away. Could be the text message on my phone from Willow that is burning a hole in my pocket.

  Stop being a wuss and make a move.

  Some friend. I went to her and confessed my obsession with Professor Ridley so she could help me work through it, not so she could encourage me to do wrong.

  I should know better, though. Heck, maybe I do. Maybe I only called her in to run this play so she could give me that last boost of courage I needed.

  My thoughts are cut short as Professor Ridley swings open the door with a pinched grin on his face.

  He’s slightly out of breath too, and his eyes are drowning in, for lack of a better word, neediness. Dark hazel eyes that seem to steal all my attention until I’m left standing before him like a mindless drone.

  “Grace?” he questions with a raspy voice. “What are you doing here?”

  “I wanted to talk to you about something,” I reply, snapping out of whatever daydream I’d found myself in.

  He extends his arm outwards, gestures for me to come join him before closing the door behind me. He paces back to his desk and sits on the edge of the black furniture. Drops a hand over his crotch and furrows one brow. “So what’s up?”

  I narrow my eyes on him. Watch him carefully. He’s hiding something. Momma always said that all men are up to no good when nobody’s watching them. I fantasize about who he is after the lights of his office go dark, when he’s away from this place.

  I’ve been watching him for quite some time. I’ve seen the cool, calm, and casual way he interacts with all of his students, but I just can’t shake the feeling that it’s all an act.

  He’s suave in the way he talks. In the way he moves too, dancing circles around my imagination like a modern day James Dean, if James Dean was proficient in the art of wielding guns and espionage.

  In my wildest fantasies, I’m his Marilyn Monroe.

  Willow pointed out that Marilyn was a hoe, but then added that everyone should experience being a hoe at some point in their lives. Today’s my day, apparently.

  I’m way out of my league.

  “I’m having difficulties with the coursework.” I drop my head low, feigning shame. “I’m not proud of it.”

  “Your grades don’t seem to reflect a student who’s having difficulty with the material.”

  “Yeah.” I clear my throat and force a nervous smile. “It’s the recent material.”

  “Right.” He nods, purses his lips too as he scratches nervously against his neck before dropping his hand back down to his crotch.

  “I was wondering if maybe you could spare some office hours for a little bit of one-on-one tutoring?” I drop my behind down onto the edge of the desk beside him, taking a hard-right swerve into seductress mode. Immediately uncomfortable at the position I’ve forced myself in, I climb back to my feet and brush my sweaty palms down the length of my sweater. “I…” I stutter as I take notice of him fidgeting before me. He’s usually so confident, so sure of himself but something is off.

  That’s right.

  He had mentioned he had a cramp. The poor man is probably struggling through pain while I’m standing before him using my upper arms to press my boobs together to make them look like a C-cup, the entire time trying to pretend I’m some dumb college girl who doesn’t know the difference between Tokyo and Hong Kong.

  I’m not proud of myself, ashamed even.

  “Which leg is it?” I question, trying to right my wrongs.

  “Huh?”

  “Which leg?” I drop to my knees and cock my head up to him to assure him that I know what I’m doing. “Up until last year, I was a Physical Therapy major, so I can definitely help you with your Charlie Horse.”

  “That’s not… That’s not necessary,” he grounds out.

  “Come on.” A chuckle slips from my throat. “You scratch my back and I scratch yours.” I wince, force my eyes closed.

  I can’t believe I just said that.

  “I’m actually good.” He smiles flatly. “Promise.”

  “Okay.” I wipe my palms on my knees and look back up to him, just in time to notice one of his legs twitch. “You’re obviously not okay, so just let me help you.” I reach forth and caress the leg that twitched.

  His eyes go wide. He freezes. But I’m too insistent upon scratching his back to bring myself to stop. Must be higher, I think to myself as I shift my hand to the bottom of his thigh.

  “Grace,” he grunts.

  “I can’t seem to find a kink.” I scoot across the floor to get better access as my hand trails to the inside of his thigh. There doesn’t seem to be any knots or any indication of a cramped muscle. But holy hell, these legs are forged of steel. “Maybe if you pull your pants down—”

  “Grace, stop,” he grinds out between gritted teeth as he climbs to his feet.

  My turn to freeze in place as my eyes go wide and wild. I look up to him to see someone else standing in front of me. Of course, it’s technically still the same man I just about sexually as
saulted. But there’s a darkness hanging over him. Gone is the calm and collected man I’ve seen in the classroom sometimes. He’s been replaced by exactly the kind of man I figured was hiding behind those potent, hungry eyes.

  But still, my hand seems to have a case of Idle Hands as it continues to crawl along the inside of his thigh.

  He grabs me by the wrist with an impossibly tight grip. Holds it still. Bites out, “Grace, you need to stop. Immediately.”

  I swallow a nervous lump in my throat, the sound of my gulp as loud as a gunshot in the quiet office. My heart races and the butterflies fluttering in my stomach the first time I ever laid eyes on him have been replaced with a suspicious tingling elsewhere.

  I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t turned on right now.

  I’m also mortified.

  “I…” I choke on my own words. “I have to pee.”

  And just like that, I’m twisting on my feet, and fleeing with the grace of a drunk co-ed as I rip the office door open, and pull it closed behind me. I bury my face in my hands, flushed red with embarrassment as I race down the hallway.

  Great. Now I have to spend the rest of the semester in class with a guy who either thinks I’m a psychopath or a molester and there isn’t a damn thing I can do about it.

  Kill me now.

  2

  Grace

  I’m still reeling and considering dropping Criminal Law 101 as I reach the end of one hall and corner into another. I freeze in place and stare down the length of the corridor as Professor Ridley slips into the stairwell.

  Despite my claims that I couldn’t quite get a handle on the coursework, I’m currently acing the course, which is one of the last I need to finally graduate. It’s a no brainer. Although, it might not hurt to take off the rest of the week. It won’t exactly kill my future to skip, especially because if I step foot into that classroom anytime soon, I might end up dead from humiliation. By my estimation, a future where I lose two percent of my overall grade due to bad attendance is a better future than one where I end up dead. And who knows? Maybe when I show up back in class next week, he’ll have forgotten all about it.