Forbidden Professor – Southern Heat Read Online Natasha L. Black

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Erotic, Forbidden Tags Authors:
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Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 59489 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 297(@200wpm)___ 238(@250wpm)___ 198(@300wpm)
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It would have been incredibly sexy if it weren’t for the fact that her mouth was wide open and the snoring sound that came out of her was like a chainsaw starting up. I chuckled to myself as she slept and then shifted a bit, which cut off the sound for a while, and patted her ass gently as I passed her. She made a happy noise at my touch but didn’t wake again, and I slid into the bathroom to get ready.

When I was dressed and ready, I went back into the bedroom and saw her still asleep, the sheet now pulled up tightly over her shoulder and her face relaxed. I pulled the blanket up too, making sure she was comfortable, and kissed her head again. She had class to teach that morning too, but it was all virtual for Van Hope. All she had to do was stumble out of bed, get ready, and then make it to the barn in time to log in.

That had been the whole point of building it out: to make it easier for her. Now she was going to get to use it without the worry of any more construction, since we had finally finished the façade. It was her own little world, and she seemed to love it. Plus, it meant that when I was home from classes, I could visit her anytime I wanted and didn’t have to wait for her to get back from Slater to do so.

Outside, the ranch was already well into its day. One day, I would be back on a ranch schedule, waking up before dawn and going to bed in the late evening again. It felt more natural that way. But until school was done, I was waking and sleeping more like the other guys, which meant the group chat was always hopping at night now. Often it kept me up far later than I wanted, and I only avoided last night when Kristen came into my office in nothing but the sexy purple negligee and beckoned me to bed.

I was powerless to resist her when she did that. I always would be. I was completely enamored with her and would be for the rest of my life. And I was happy about it.

“Morning,” I said as I passed one of the young men who had just joined us from a stay overseas. He was wounded, missing several of his fingers on one hand and toes on that side’s foot as well. He had come to us a few weeks back, fresh from the rehab center and angry and frustrated.

Today he had a bright smile, and as he passed me, he tipped his hat, and I could see the sparkle in his eyes. I wondered how desperately his friends and family back home were waiting to see that sparkle. It was the look of a man who had regained a sense of self, a belief that in fact they were capable. In control of their own destiny again.

“Morning, boss,” he said, a deep Midwestern lilt to his voice that made it sound sing-songy and put me in mind of Packer’s games and fondue.

“How are we today, Jesse?” I asked.

“Better every day, sir,” he said. “I just wanted to thank you again. Being here has been a godsend.”

“You’re welcome, Jesse,” I said. “Finding yourself liking the new assignments?”

“The chickens? I love it,” he said, his megawatt smile growing wider. “I never in my life dealt with live chickens, but they are so much fun. I talked to my parents up in Michigan, and they are going to keep an eye out for land out there I could raise my own.”

“Good to hear,” I said. “Let me know when you find a plot. I’ll give you a hen from our coop to get you started. Your pick.”

“Really?” he asked. “I would love that!”

“Consider it done then,” I said. “Anyway, I’ve got to get out of here. If you see my sister, tell her I’ll be back at three.”

“Yes sir,” he said, bounding off in the direction of the chicken coop.

I grinned and turned back toward the truck. As I opened the door and prepared to enter, I surveyed the scene near the house. A handful of people milled around doing various chores, some of them there for the therapy and others there because they simply liked it. Working with horses, working with your hands, even if it wasn’t strictly therapy, was the best kind of release a lot of people could get. The satisfaction of a horse that now obeyed your commands, of crops that rose from seeds, that was a satisfaction money couldn’t buy.

Revving the engine of the truck, I rolled out backward and then headed down the long driveway to the highway that ran straight through town, eventually ending up in Slater before heading all the way down to Mexico.



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