Call Me Read Online Free Page B

it went unnoticed.
    Silly brain, don’t you know? Hot man trumps the English language, so moans and groans always win.
    Next thing I know, he’s not only crouching, he’s down low and leaning into my space to better see Courtney and I. He smells frickin’ incredible, too, of sandalwood laced with a subtle hint of earthy vetiver. The combination reaches my nose and I have to resist the impulse to snuffle the air around me like a dog in heat surely would.
    A hoarse clearing of his throat brings me back to my impending doom.
    A deep baritone voice plays out of his mouth. A mouth as sexy as the escaping sounds, ones that drip out of a beautifully elongated throat that I’m currently cataloging as a throat I think I’d like to maybe run my tongue along as if it were a plane on a runway. Definitely maybe.
    “As much as I’ve enjoyed listening to—as well as being a part of—your conversation this morning, I do need to get things started before a riot ensues. But I do wish to hear the last part. I am literally chomping at the proverbial bit. I can’t imagine two smart young women like yourselves having anything other than nice things to say about anyone, anyway. Maybe later though? I do, however, hope you’ll focus on the lecture once it starts. I’m sure the rest of your conversations will be extremely exhilarating, but might I ask that you allow me to engage you for the next hour or so?” He winks, and I swear to eat all the rice in Japan that my clit was waving a “hell, yes” sign at the words, engage , you and hour .
    Looking from me to Court, he offers a nod. “I do hope you feel better, and let me assure you both that this class will be well worth it. I promise,” he adds, his mouth pulling to one side, offering a hint of a satisfied grin before he rights himself back to an upright position. He pauses in the aisle, his eyes resting on mine, and something passes between us, but I ignore it, worrying instead about being in trouble on the first day of class. This is my grad school prof, after all. I’m going to need him to take me seriously.
    “I promise we won’t need you to pull a Mr. Vernon and keep us a bunch of Saturdays,” I finally pipe up, wondering if he’ll get my Breakfast Club reference.
    “Ah.” He waits a second. “Nice reference. I take it you’re a John Hughes fan?”
    “Very much,” I say, again not sure where my cheekiness is coming from.
    “Me too. The man was a mastermind on the subject of teen angst. Oh, and may I clarify that the ‘A’ is most definitely not for ‘Asshole’,” he whispers to me before turning his back to us.
    “Wow,” Courtney whispers beside me.
    “Er,” is all I can muster back, as my eyes are trained on his deep blue stovepipe jeans. His ass is all kinds of tight, I note, as he starts to make his way down the stairs on a pair of legs that I want to bounce me up and down while he’s deep inside of me.
    About half way down the steps he stops, standing silently as if he’s heard my thought, or is doing his own brand of contemplating. After a beat, he calls out over his shoulder: “And welcome to my class, ladies.” I swear I see his shoulders moving with laughter as he resumes his way to the front.
    Oh my shit. I’m in huge trouble here.
    “Holy morsel of mouth-watering man,” is all I hear being whispered, and I soon realize it came from me. It seems my brain has looped the saying as I sit repeating it to myself over and over under my breath as we watch Mr. A-is-Not-For-Asshole move to his podium at the head of the class.
    “Welcome to FSD470B4: Sexual Aesthetics & Representations in Film. I’m Professor—or Doctor—Ryan, first initial ‘A’—as in ‘Ace’, and not a word that rhymes with masshole.” His emerald eyes find mine, and I slip further into my seat. “So, welcome.” He raises his hands to the room, “I’m excited to see such a great turnout. I’ve enjoyed teaching this class at other universities, and seeing as it’s