The Billionaire Professor (2015)
He opened the car door for me. No man had ever done that before. Certainly I never knew anyone who owned a metallic red Lamborghini. Doubts abruptly flooded me. Was I doing the right thing?
Of course, I knew it wasn’t doing the right thing. No “good girl” would leave a bar with a strange man. No, good girls went home alone to a cold shower and an even colder bed.
That’s the instant I hesitated for just a moment. What if this man were a serial killer, preying on the weakest women? What If he had marked me because he knew I was lonely enough to say yes? He would prey upon my loneliness and . . .
Stop it Jazmin, I thought. It’s time you’ve lived a little. If you’re going to accept any man’s invitation, it’s just as easy to accept one who appeared to be outrageously rich like this one as it was to accept one from an ego-filled, self-proclaimed drunkard.
I’m already in college and I’m still a virgin. While everyone in high school was running around exploring their sexuality, I was sitting home alone watching television and reading books. It’s now my turn to explore mine. It’s my turn to enjoy myself.
Why should his extravagant lifestyle, and his ruggedly handsome looks make him any more suspect than the egotistical jockey her roommate, Carly, brought home last night?
What made the difference? Or was there a difference?
I led her to the car. If she were surprised to see a metallic red Lamborghini she never showed it. This beauty of a woman did seem to hesitate only a moment when she began to place her leg in the vehicle. It was as if she made one final debate with herself.
I closed the door after she got in and then entered the car myself. As I started the engine I purposely placed a hand gently across her knee, hoping to feel a ripple of response. The only reaction, though, was from me, who felt a sudden surge of electricity run up and down me.
I needed no further sign. The universe had answered any lingering doubts I may have had about her being the perfect companion for the evening. Tonight, in the most unlikely of places, I may have found the answer to my extended prayers. The answer to my broken heart.
After a moment, I felt her hand in response on top of mine, her thumb gently circling the top of it. Again, I suddenly hardened at the gentle, caring touch. She shyly looked up as if asking permission to continue. I held her knee just a bit firmer. Perhaps she did feel what I felt.
We rode in silence for several minutes. I soaked up her sexual energy; I connected with this woman whose beauty had been sleeping deep within her all this time. I felt another surge of blood rush to my loins as I thought this. Finally, she spoke, “So where is this penthouse?” she asked quietly, as if she were afraid that conversation would break the moment.
“Ever hear of the Plaza?” I asked her. She nodded. “That’s where we’re headed.”
She gasped, then actually laughed out loud. “Should I be surprised,” she asked, “that a man who drives a car like this would just happen to have access to a penthouse at the Plaza?”
That small bit of conversation seemed to have assuaged her nerves some. She appeared more relaxed, a little more at ease in my presence. She was the first female I ever encountered who gave me a distrustful look. The first who looked at me as if I were some serial killer.
I stopped for the traffic light. And pulled her close. I kissed her deeply, passionately on the lips. She didn’t pull back. On the contrary, she welcomed the action with every inch of her. I saw her legs tighten out of the corner of my eye. She leaned further my way, stretching her body, displaying those precious curves, and wrapped one hand around my shoulders. She raked her fingers through the hair at the back of my neck. So she wasn’t impervious to my attempts at arousal. Just very good at self control.
He closed the door. I drew a breath before he lightly jogged to the driver’s side and slid in. In that split second, I realized the decision had been made. I had committed myself to going “home” with this man. Oh my God, my brain scolded me for a moment, “You don’t even know this man’s name.”
Shut the hell up, I directed it. There was no turning back. The Adonis had already started the engine. It roared like the perfect road machine it was. I took a deep breath. Then he carefully placed his hand on my knee.
His touch was surprisingly gentle, almost as if he were asking permission. His strong hand sent shivers of uncontrolled electricity down my spine, through my thighs. I was relieved I was sitting. If I had been standing and felt this shot of testosterone, I would have fallen to my knees. Now, I only had to pray I could walk when I exited the car.
Then it happened. At the red light he kissed me. He took his mouth to mine. His tongue explored every crevice and corner of my mouth and my sexual excitement soared to another level entirely. So, this is what I had been missing. Is this what everyone else experienced?
No I quickly decided. This man had a way, a talent, a passion for women. Yes, that was it. He had passion. That was the missing puzzle piece she had been searching for since she first laid eyes on him. Passion.
The men she met in class, the men her roommate brought home, lacked this. They had been simply looking for an easy way to satisfy their base animalistic needs. This man, though, I’m sure is pursuing a passion. He experiences in life are deeper, more meaningful, perhaps even more spiritual than the average person.
I wriggled to get closer to him, I swung one arm around his shoulders, felt the natural muscle under the designer suit. Began massaging his shoulders then took my forefinger and thumb and massaged the base of his neck. I then raked my fingers through the hair on the back of his head as he continued to fervently kiss me.
The light changed, I reluctantly pulled my arm off of him and he even more reluctantly removed his tongue from my mouth. But he instantly grabbed my hand, wrapping his sturdy fingers around my entire palm. We rode like that to the hotel, my pulse felt like it was quickening with each revolution of the tires.
My mind finally quit challenging my body. It accepted what I had done and I swear was enjoying the experience as much as every other part of my body. I hadn’t been paying attention to the route we took. If this exquisite specimen of a man wanted to kidnap me and take me to a secluded, wooded area and kill me, he had distracted me enough that I wasn’t putting up a fight.
But he didn’t. True to his word, he pulled the Lamborghini up to the Plaza. I had heard of this hotel. Well, who hadn’t it? Passed it many a time. But never had the nerve or the need to enter it.
He parked it at the door and immediately a valet appeared and opened my door. “Good evening, madam,” he said as he tipped his hat. “Good evening,” I answered back and gave him what I hoped was a confident and polite smile.
My moment of truth was about to begin.