What Did The Math Book Say To The History Book

Professor... Harder! Oww! I’m going to cum,” I cry out, throwing my head back as I moan loudly. “You keep moaning my name with that cherry lips of yours and I will slid my dick in it,” he says hushing me down. I should lower my voice; we could risk students finding my professor fucking me in the school’s girls bathroom or I can get freaky and cum. Increasing his pace, I part my lips on a sweet moan as Matteo slips two of his fingers into my mouth, making me suck his fingers to shuffle down my voice. Pressing his body to mine so that I breathe in his fresh cologne, he whispers in my ears, “Cum for me, Red.” With quivering legs, I gush out warm liquids from my pussy as I pant, sucking gently on his fingers. **** Want to know what’s better than running away from an abusive father who is trying to kill you? It’s running into the arms of a man who would kill to keep you safe. I only had two wishes in life, face the big city and find a man to pop my damn cherry. The only problem is, I am surviving in this city, but the man happens to be my History Professor with a freaky mafia background. I don’t want to be a sex toy to a man who has a future ruling an empire where I am not involved, or am I more than just a Red fling to him? Dive in to read Arlette and Matteo’s twisted forbidden romance.

A month before the SATs, I, Jenny Reid, could see my score. Literally. It was just floating right above my head. But there was a catch. Every time I cracked open a prep book, my score would drop by ten points. But if I skipped a day of school? It jumped right back up by ten. So, I played the system. For a whole month, I barely lifted a finger. And on the day of the test, the number glowing over my head was a solid 1560. When the scores finally dropped online… I'd scored a 500. And the 1560? That was my little sister Patricia's score. My parents lost it. As punishment, they got me a grueling night-shift job at a local electronics factory. That first night, a bunch of guys I'd never seen before cornered me in the parking lot and beat me half to death. Fading in and out of consciousness, I heard my sister's voice right by my ear. "You just had to one-up me, didn't you? Thought you were so smart… but you never figured out I was the one controlling that number over your head." The truth hit me like a physical blow. The score had been her trick all along. I opened my eyes—and I was back. One month before the SATs. The number above my head read exactly 1300. "Hey," my sister said, all fake sweetness. "Want to study together tonight? We can go over the practice tests." I looked at the stack of papers in my own hands. Without a word, I pulled out my lighter and set them on fire right there in the driveway. "Exams are coming," I said, watching the flames. "I'm not studying." My score ticked up to 1310. My sister's face was this perfect mask of disappointment, but the second I turned away, I caught the sly smile she couldn't quite hide. She had no idea… the real performance, the one I'd been rehearsing just for her, was finally about to begin.

The innocence and tenderness that Marylise transmitted through her beautiful blue orbs and her delicate body was too tempting and stormy for Styles' corrupted and tormented mind. There was something in that girl that made him go crazy. Although he knew perfectly well that it was not something right, his mind evoked the memory of him at every moment, turning with the passing of the days into a kind of dangerous and disturbing addiction. The age difference between the two of them was too much, but his desire and desire to have her was much greater. Her desire to make her hims was so intense that the mere fact that he couldn't do it was overwhelming. Until he came up with a magnificent idea. She needed money. He needed someone to teach him math. She was too skilled at solving operations. He was too good at other kinds of things. She will teach him mathematical formulas and universal calculus, while he will teach her how to be a woman. "You just have to accept" "Right, but what will I get in return?" "You teach me math, and I teach you other funnier things, little girl"

After I secured early admission to one of the country's most prestigious universities, my old high school invited me back to sit for the State Scholars Exam and compete for the top statewide score. But just ten minutes into the math paper, the proctor out of nowhere accused me of cheating. "Everyone else starts with the multiple-choice section. You went straight for the proofs. Were you planning to copy someone else's answers later?" Before I could explain a single word, he dragged me into the boys' restroom. Not only was I humiliated and forced to strip, I also had to let him inspect me over and over again to confirm that I had no cheating devices on my body. After I returned to the exam room, I decided it was better not to cause more trouble, so I started from the multiple-choice section like everyone else. But less than five minutes after I sat down, he yanked me up again. "This is even more fake. You didn't even take time to read or think through the questions before writing down the options. If that isn't cheating, what is?" "I suspect you knew the answers in advance. I'm reporting this to the exam board right now and having your exam qualification revoked!"

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The 100th time Dexter Carrington ditches me to help my best friend with her lab work, I write the final line in my diary and break up with him. Dexter is exasperated, to say the least. "I genuinely don't know how your amygdala is wired. Your emotions have completely bulldozed your rational thinking." My best friend, Brianna Holt, laughs. "That's cruel. You're insulting her intelligence in words she can't even understand." She's right. I don't understand. The two of them dominate the biology department rankings every year, taking first and second place, and are the kind of prodigies even their professors defer to. I'm just an ordinary student at the music school next door. When they talk about how cells have their own rhythms, the only thing I can think to ask is what time signature those rhythms are in. Dexter always hates that. "If you don't understand, don't chime in." So now I listen. I don't chime in anymore. Because the first page of this diary reads, "Today is my birthday, but Dexter chose to go over data with Brianna. "By the time this diary is full, I'm leaving him for good."