The Virgin Diaries: The Complete Series Page 6

  Her encouragement drives me, and I start fucking her deeply. Hard strokes are ended each time with my hips grinding against hers, her clit rubbing against my body and making her groan. She starts calling out my name again and again with each thrust, and I have to pull out before I can’t take it anymore.

  “Please . . . fuck, Connor, fuck me,” Daisy begs, her eyes huge and soulful. “I need you . . . so close.”

  I dip in again, pressing her hips to the satin to pound her almost savagely, our bodies shaking my entire bed as she clenches me. Her pussy is so tight and warm that I have to freeze again and again, torturing the both of us, but I can’t help myself. If I keep going, I’m going to explode inside her . . . and I don’t want this to ever end.

  Daisy gasps as I freeze again, her eyes staring into my very fucking soul. Somehow, this little virgin has flipped our positions. I’m in charge . . . but she has all the power, bewitching me with her magical body and perfect, tight pussy. “Just a little more. I want to come so badly.”

  “That’s it, little angel,” I encourage, pulling back for a final sprint. “Come all over my cock! Milk my cream out of me.”

  With long, almost blurringly fast thrusts, Daisy and I catapult ourselves toward the onrushing precipice. My cock swells, and she cries out, my name sweet in my ears as her fingernails dig into my shoulders and she comes, squeezing me so tightly that I can’t hold back any longer. Growling her name, I explode, my cream filling her. I groan, my back arching as she clings to me, wrapping her legs around me.

  I collapse onto her, wrung out and weak from everything I gave her. I bury my face into her neck, laying an open-mouthed kiss there before moving up. “Now . . . now, you’re mine,” I promise her, tugging on her ear with my teeth.

  Daisy

  Diary Entry, March 15th

  Dear Diary,

  I can’t believe it! I finally did it! And it was beautiful and special and powerful. All the things I thought it would be.

  I won’t say who it was, even in these private pages, because it could definitely get me, and him, into trouble if anyone found out. We definitely shouldn’t, but I can’t help myself with him. And apparently, the feeling is mutual.

  It happened so fast too. Well, not the actual event. That took all night. But before that. One minute, I thought he hated me, or at the least was annoyed by me. And then, whip-fast, I find out that maybe hate and love are closer cousins than I imagined. A few days ago, I wrote how mortified I was that I was overheard online, but now I’m thinking that was the awkward start to something really amazing.

  He says I’m his. Actually, he growled ‘mine’ while he bit my ear, and it was unbelievably hot. And he says this is ‘more’, not casual. It’s hard to trust that, but fuck, do I want to. I want to believe every filthy word and promise from his mouth.

  Because I do want more. And I want to be his.

  By Friday’s class, I’m worked up beyond belief. Connor and I had phone sex last night, another first for me. He’d guided me through touching myself the way he wanted me to, his deep voice rumbling in my headphones as he watched me come for him. Though I didn’t tell him what to do, I watched his movements, memorizing how he likes to be touched, ever his student and always wanting to learn.

  But now, only hours later, I’m needy again. But there’s no time, considering class starts in minutes. I consider stopping by his office, but that’s a dangerous taunt of fate, so I force myself to sit in my chair and wait patiently.

  “Hey, Daisy, how’re you doing?” Sabrina says from beside me. Her usually bubbly voice is flat and I look over to her.

  “I’m fine, but girl . . . are you okay? No offense, but you look a bit . . . under the weather?” I’m trying to be polite, but she looks like shit. Definitely stressed, and not her usual perky self.

  She pats her hair in a vain attempt to tame the flyaways of blonde that have escaped her messy bun. The mere fact that she’s got a tangle of hair on top of her head is a giveaway that something’s wrong. While Sabrina isn’t usually one of the overtly sexy dressers in Professor Daniels’s class, she’s usually pretty put-together, definitely not one of the sweats and Uggs girls. But today . . . I look down, and yep, she’s wearing leggings. Although, paired with a slim-fit crop top and cardigan, she looks more casually sexy than ‘just rolled out of bed’.

  “I’m just having a hard time with this class and I need this grade or my scholarship is in jeopardy.” As she says it, I can almost see the tears glistening in her eyes. “Are you doing better?”

  I nod, cautiously telling her, “Yeah, unit four was the one that really bombed me out. Five was better. That was the B I got. But my quiz and homework for unit six have all been As, so I think it’ll balance out in the long run over the semester.”

  “Damn, I wish I could say the same. I’m still barely passing with a C-minus. I swear, I spend more time on this one class than I do all my other ones combined. Between lecture, the online class forum, and study group, you’d think it’d be smooth sailing. But I just can’t get it,” she says fatalistically.

  “Maybe you should check with Professor Daniels about getting some help?” The words leave my mouth before I think them through. Fuck. I don’t want Sabrina sitting alone in Connor’s office with him. A flash of jealousy, sour and hot, shoots through me. “Or maybe there’s another study group you could try?”

  “Maybe. It’s just so frustrating. I’ve always been decent at math—not great, but passable. You were right, though. Daniels is such a hardass about grading.” She huffs a sigh, the annoyance loud and clear.

  I cringe. I did call him that . . . and worse. But things have changed now. I understand why he’s so persnickety about grading, and while it doesn’t make it easier, it at least makes me less prickly about it. Trying to explain that without telling too much seems dangerous though. “He is hard, but I think he’s doing it with our best interests in mind. I’ll say that after bitching about losing points on the quiz over two versus three decimal points, I’ve been much more careful about details. And my grades have reflected that.”

  “You’re defending him now?” Sabrina asks incredulously. “You’ve been one of the folks bitching with me about him all semester. Traitor.”

  She says it jokingly, a small smile on her lips, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. She’s too far gone in her pity party to really laugh at anything. But the word rings in my head like a gong. She’s right. I have been mouthy about Professor Daniels’s class, but after some tutoring of a different sort, I do feel more forgiving for his harsh teaching style. Hell, I like it a lot in other areas.

  I wonder for a moment if I’m being too easily swayed, but when I really think about the conversations we’ve had and how his intent is to draw the best out of me because he sees my potential, I know that he’s not in the wrong. My earlier, whiny self was mid-pity party too, and I wasn’t taking personal responsibility for my own lack of care with the work. It wasn’t him. It was me, and he was calling me out appropriately.

  I smile gently as I try to placate Sabrina. “No, I’m not a traitor. His grading is tough, no doubt. I’m just saying that as much as I complained about it, he was right. And while it was a painful moment to see those low grades, especially the C, it did teach me exactly what it was supposed to.” She rolls her eyes, not wanting to hear it. “What is he counting off for on your work? Are you getting the wrong answer or is it a point here and there for mistakes in your work?”

  She pulls out her latest homework, with a glaring red D on the top, and hands it over. That is definitely one D I never want from Professor Daniels. I scan the page, looking for where she’s losing points. “Oh, okay . . . well, this one is easy. See right here? You’ve got the formula wrong in your initial setup, and it seems like that was a mistake you made across the board, so it affected all your problems. Your process is sound. It was your setup. Relearn that correctly, and this unit will be a breeze for you.” I emphasize the statement with a snap of my fingers and Sabrina smiles a bit wider now.

  “Really? If I do that, I still have time to get a good grade on the test and that could save me. Thanks, Daisy.” She seems a bit more settled now, definitely lighter, and I think I actually helped her.

  Thank goodness, because here comes Professor Daniels. He walks into class looking good enough to eat, I think with a smirk. He’s wearing a Comicon shirt, and my earlier consideration of him as a fanboy has significantly more merit now that I’ve seen the rows of comic books on his shelves at home. His jeans are light-wash, barely blue, and they look soft, making me want to caress his thighs to test my theory.

  He doesn’t look at me, not at all. His eyes scan the room instead. “Good morning. We’ve got a lot to cover and not much time, so let’s get to work.” He takes one last sip of his coffee before setting it on the desk, and then he turns to the board.

  The next hour is a whirlwind. I don’t have time to notice that he never looks at me, doesn’t call on me once, and basically ignores my very existence. Okay, so maybe I do notice. But as I focus on the work he’s demonstrating, I try to let the worry about that go. It’s not like he can give me sex eyes in the middle of class. That’d be too obvious and get both of us into trouble. And the new formula he’s showing us takes all my attention anyway.

  By the end of class, my head is spinning but my brain is buzzing with the excitement of learning something totally new. Plus, the fact that Connor is intelligent enough to not just understand something so complex, but can break it down and actually teach it well, is sexy as fuck. I’m not one of those women who doesn’t care if a guy can carry on a conversation as long as he’s good-looking. No, I need the brains because they’re the sexiest part of a man. Luckily for me, Connor has both brains and beauty. The full fucking package. Oh, and his package . . . definitely a plus.

  When he dismisses us, I pack up my things slowly, intending to be the last person in class, hoping I can tempt him into doing something about the fire he’s built in my brain and body. But I watch with bated breath as I see Sabrina approach him. I shamelessly eavesdrop while I pretend to check over my notes.

  “Professor?” Sabrina asks him. She looks confused again, so maybe today’s lesson wasn’t as exciting for her as it was for me.

  “Yes, Miss Bowen?” Professor says.

  She stammers a bit, twirling a loose curl around her finger and looking up at him through her lashes. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear she was flirting. The thought makes my stomach tighten. “I’m having some problems with some of the work and I wondered if you might have any suggestions for me.”

  She bites her lip, legitimately looking like the epitome of sexy innocent as she flirts with my man right in front of me. I growl inside, even though she doesn’t know he’s my man. He is our professor. Doesn’t she have morals? You don’t flirt for grades. That’s like Feminism 101. Okay, so I’m fucking him, but it’s not for grades.

  It’s because I . . . he . . . we . . . ugh, not going there. I can’t win that argument and it’s way too soon to consider this anything more than fucking, even if he did call me his in that growly rumble that turns me on.

  Connor’s eyes flick to me, and I realize that maybe my jealous growl wasn’t inside as much as out loud. Shit.

  “Miss Bowen, perhaps we should continue this discussion about your grades and work in private. Do you have a moment to come to my office?” His voice is neutral, bored almost, and though I’m glad he doesn’t seem to be feeling Sabrina, he doesn’t seem particularly impressed with me right now either.

  “Of course, sir. Thanks for taking the time to help me.” Her voice is breathy, almost like she just got done running or fucking. She turns to grab her bag from the seat beside me and gives me a look of sheer delight, even flashing a discreet thumbs-up.

  Connor holds the door for Sabrina and then turns back to me. “Miss Phillips, did you need something?” I shake my head, not able to say what I need with Sabrina listening, but my eyes bore into his, willing him to understand. “Have a good weekend then. See you Monday.”

  As they walk out, I can hear Sabrina chattering. Though not her exact words, she might as well be effusing about his ‘big brain’ and how ‘hard she’s willing to work’ for him. She’s so obviously flirting with him, testing angles to see which elicit a response from him. Little does she know, the main response she’s about to get is from me, the jealous girlfriend.

  Is that what I am, though?

  Realizing that what I’m about to do is the height of immaturity, bordering on a stage-five clinger action, I follow them down the hallway. His door is closed, so I sit in one of the chairs around the corner. I can’t hear through the walls and door, but I strain to listen anyway.

  It’s damn-near thirty minutes later when the door creaks open. I bury my face in my laptop, clicking away as though thoroughly invested in whatever I’m working on. Truth is, it’s a paper for a class that’s already finished, so I won’t save whatever changes I’m making right now, but it makes a decent cover story.

  From above, I hear a voice say my name. “Daisy?”

  I look up to see Sabrina, smiling and bubbly once again. “Hey, Sabrina. Feeling better about class now?” The words come out with a hint of snark to them, but she doesn’t seem to notice.

  “Oh, yeah. Professor Daniels was great at going over everything with me. I might be all good now.” She bends down, stuffing her cardigan into her bag, and when she stands, I realize exactly how tight her leggings are and how short her crop top is. While not inappropriate per se, it leaves nothing to the imagination, and the slip of midriff that shows every time she moves draws the eye like a beacon. She was in Connor’s office dressed like that, flirting with him. I know it deep in my gut, and suddenly, her innocent words seem more like veiled innuendo. After all, I’ve been there, done that.

  “Good, I’m glad,” I say crisply.

  She eyes me curiously. “What are you working on?”

  I flash the screen at her, glad to have a ready excuse. “A paper. It’s due this afternoon so I wanted to go over it one last time.”

  “Oh, okay. Well, I’ll let you get back to it then. Thanks again for the help before class. I think I’m going to be okay.” She waves two sets of matching crossed fingers. “Wish me luck! See ya Monday.”

  I wait for her to exit the door at the end of the hallway, counting my breaths until I can safely go into Connor’s office without witnesses—thirty-one, thirty-two, thirty-three—and I get up, shoving my laptop into my bag and tossing it over my shoulder.

  I stand in his open doorway, silently demanding his attention. A heartbeat later, he looks up, cocky smirk on his face as he sits back in his chair and crosses his arms over his chest. “Miss Phillips, come in. Something I can help you with?”

  I enter and force myself to close the door gently, even though I want to slam the shit out of it. I drop my bag to the floor, hands on his desk in an attempt to loom over him. “What the fuck was that?” My voice is high, fury in every syllable.

  Connor narrows his eyes, tiny crinkles popping at the corners as he glares at me. “That? That was me helping a student with her work. Is that a problem?”

  “Ugh.” I try to put every bit of the exasperation I feel into the sound. “Yes, it’s a problem. Sabrina was practically throwing herself at you. What am I supposed to do with that?” I demand.

  A sly grin breaks across his face before he chuckles. “You’re jealous.” It’s not a question so I don’t answer. He leans forward in his chair, putting his hands on his desk. “Sit down, Daisy.”

  I want to stay standing just to be contrary, but at his hard look, I sink to the chair, perching on the edge. It’s a tiny rebellion, but it’s all the fight I have left.

  “I don’t fuck students. Ever. I told you that. And yes, Miss Bowen was definitely flirty, playing up the damsel in distress act, but I don’t give a shit about that. I’m here to help and that’s it.” I open my mouth to say something, hating that I was right, but he talks over me, not giving me a breath to speak. “You have nothing to worry about. I have never touched a student, never fucked a student . . . until you. And I fought that tooth and nail until I couldn’t fight anymore.”

  I settle a bit, the fire in my gut dying to embers at his reassuring words.

  “I told you there were no second chances, that you are mine. The same is true for me, Daisy. I’m yours. And as sexy as your coming in here all full of jealousy over me may be, it’s not safe. You look like an avenging angel, a possessive bitch, and fuck, do I love that. But it’s not smart, not while we’re way past the line of what’s okay. You know we could both get in trouble for this.” His words are hard, but his voice has gone quiet as he reprimands me. The softness is what hits home just how stupidly I was behaving. Anyone could’ve seen my obviously jealous fit, although Sabrina was the most likely person to bust me and she seemed oblivious. Thank God.

  I duck my chin. “I’m sorry, Connor. I saw red when she was talking to you, so clearly flirting. And then she was dressed all sexy when she left your office in a better mood. I couldn’t stand it. You’re mine too.” I let my eyes lift, meeting his with the declaration. I feel like there’s more to say, the words tempting on my tongue, but I hold them tightly.

  “Show me,” he says. It’s becoming a common demand and I love it. I lift an eyebrow questioningly. I’ll show him whatever he wants to see, but I’m not sure what he wants right now.

  “Show me how sorry you are. Show me that you’re mine and I’m yours, Daisy.” It’s a challenge, an order, a sign of just how angry he is at my bratty behavior. This is a punishment and I know it. But it’s one I’ll gladly take.

  I search my head for a moment, finding inspiration. I drop to the floor, crawling the few steps to beside his chair. He turns, watching me curiously as I approach. I kneel at his feet, sitting back on my heels between his spread knees, and reach for his jeans. Making quick work of them, I pull his boxers down, letting his cock spring free.

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