Study Hard: A 3-Ebook Romance Bundle

3-EBook Why Choose Bundle:

A Naughty Lesson
A sexy English professor. A virgin coed. An essay about a personal subject.
A very personal subject.
It started with a simple assignment: What would you like to change about yourself?
So I write about my V-card. The one I can’t seem to get rid of.
That’s right. I pen an essay about being a virgin.
Seemed like a great idea at the time. A walk in the park.
Now, not so much.
Because the park I’m walking in is full of hungry bears. And I’m wearing a delicious honey suit.
My professor, who used to look at me like any other student, now does with newly minted interest.
He’s determined to teach me a… lesson.
A naughty one.
And he’s not flying solo on this steamy mission.
His hot professor buddies join in too, dedicated to ensuring I get the education I need.
As well as…
Filling…my needs.
Satisfying my thirst for…knowledge.
Making sure I become an expert in deep…thinking.
Seems I’m always learning things the hard…way.
This time is no different.
Except I’m earning an A+ in what’s become my very favorite subject.

A Sinful Classroom
One broke college girl. Three hot professors. An offer she can’t refuse.
I’ve got more brains than bucks.
And am moments from saying goodbye to college.
Can three sexy professors help turn my situation around?
I’m out of money.
Tuition bills are looming.
Working as a hotel maid is all fine and good.
But I’m still broke as f*ck and Dad’s going to prison for embezzlement is not helping.
Enter, a kindly professor, who also happens to be walking sex on a stick.
He offers me a job. Even his buddies are eager to help a nice girl like me.
I can’t turn him—or his sexy friends—down.
They want to teach me…naughty things.
Expose me to…everything they have to offer.
Make sure I learn the hard…way.
I’ll do anything to stay in college.
Even if it means doing my professors.

A Wicked Education
Alluring athletes. Intellectual bookworms. Unconventional free spirits.
The dating options are nearly endless.
And yet, none of these “boys” hold my interest for longer than it takes to suck down a cold beer at a hot summer frat party.
Fortunately, among these campus men, a few figures stand apart.
My professors.
Their smart- sexy maturity makes the college boys around me pale in comparison.
And I quickly learn the intentions of these men are not limited to growing my intellectual knowledge.
No, they propose an alternative type of education, one that dives into a realm of desire and sensuality. And hot study sessions.
The kind that is not available in any textbook or lecture.
They give me a wicked education…in lust.
They teach me…a thing or two in the sack.
They ensure I’m at the head…of my class.
But the most important thing is to remain a straight A student.
Even though they're sure to grade me very...hard.

☑️ A Naughty Lesson
☑️ A Sinful Classroom
☑️ A Wicked Education

It was true.

People really did have sex in libraries. 

Couldn’t they just wait to get back to their dorm rooms?
What if they got something on the books? Or the tables? Or the chairs?
Or the walls?
I slowed my cart—not slow enough to appear as if I cared, but slow enough to get an earful— and pretended to reshelve the books piled on it.
And an earful, I got. Holy shit.
But I figured, if you’re going to have sex in a campus library, the reference floor—where I was working that day—was probably as good a place as any, if not better. With every college student’s ability to do so much research online these days, the reference floor was becoming a sad relic of the past, smelling of dusty old books no longer lovingly paged through in the quest for scholarly advancement. I seldom visited it, there were so few books that needed reshelving there, but when I did, it was like entering a morgue. Cold, airless, dark, and dead silent.
That was, unless someone had taken the opportunity to seize on the privacy of the place and play hide the sausage. Or whatever they were doing.
Somebody—or somebodies—were getting it on out of sight, down at the end of a towering row of bookshelves, one you probably wouldn’t wander down unless you were looking for something highly specialized, or had a thing for the creepy, poorly-lit stacks of the campus library.
Or were looking for a spot to get laid.
The funny thing was, that while the imposing and mostly-deserted room was creepily quiet aside from the occasional laptop keyboard click, slow turn of a page, or a dust-induced cough, the not-so-discreet coeds having the time of their lives were completely unconcerned that their joyful exuberance and screams of passion slammed off the walls, only partly absorbed by the tons of paper surrounding them.
When they paused for breath, someone on the other side of the room giggled.
Instead of being concerned about the racket they were creating, they seemed more focused on how quickly they could get off. Guess I couldn’t blame them. They needed to finish their dirty deed and get the hell out before they were caught by someone who gave a damn about what went on in the reference stacks.
I glanced down the nearest aisle then in front of and behind me, to make sure I wasn’t being watched by the few now-amused folks trying to study, and inched a little closer to the amorous couple, the fingers of my right hand twisting and tugging on my hair like I always did when I was nervous. 
“Oh! Oh! Oh fuck! Harder, harder, yes!” a female voice panted.
A small wave of guilt washed over me, as if I were some perverted voyeur. But on the other hand, it wasn’t as if the lovebirds were concerned about privacy. It was as if they wanted to be caught. 
Maybe that was the point. 
I’d heard having sex in public places was a thing. That some people were really into it, getting a huge rush out of the risk of being caught. I guess those were the people who had sex in airplanes, public restrooms, and elevators.
Which was so not my thing. Not that I had a thing, per se. 
Personally, I didn’t have sex in public places. Nor did I have sex in non-public places.
I actually didn’t have sex anywhere.
Because I’d never had sex. 
True story.
But I wasn’t above listening to people who were.
My ears pricked at the sound of the guy grunting, almost growling, really. That, coupled with the female’s moans and whimpers, went straight to my—well, let’s just say I’d have something to think about later that night when I was in bed, ready to fall asleep, pleasuring myself like I did most every night.
I might have been a virgin, but I wasn’t an idiot. I knew how shit worked. Well, at least how my shit worked.
Their enthusiasm reached a crescendo that I thought might bring campus security running. I didn’t want to be there when that happened. So, I scurried away deeper into an opposite row of bookshelves to put away the last of the volumes on my cart. I needed to get the hell out of there before someone of authority happened by and wondered why I, as a part-time employee of the campus library, didn’t alert the powers that be that inappropriate behavior was taking place in the reference room.
The poor, neglected, reference room. Like a once-beautiful ship past its prime, it was rusty and leaking and unwanted.
But I wasn’t ready to bolt just yet. I positioned myself, half-hidden, where I’d have a view of the lovers when they finally exited the stacks. I wanted to see who they were. Yeah, I was a nosy bitch.
And just as I dragged out the shelving of my last book—a dreadful compendium of local nineteenth century tax records and census information—I heard soft tittering. 
Yes!
They were leaving. Perfect timing. 
A moment later, the girl came out first, one I vaguely recognized—a tall, skinny blonde with a pink streak in her hair, in a Wellshire University hoodie and yoga pants. No surprise there—she looked like every other pretty girl on campus. No, what got me was when I realized she was followed by not one guy… but two. A burly dude with shaggy brown hair wearing jeans and a tight blue t-shirt, and a lean, athletic guy wearing basketball shorts and a New York Knicks shirt. Did I know him? Maybe from freshman English? James was possibly his name?
’Course, he had no idea of mine.
It didn’t matter though, because I’d just heard a real ménage a trois. 
I knew of such encounters. But they were kind of like advanced-level sex. Top shelf stuff. And while I wouldn’t have minded a threesome of my own, I had to first work my way off the bottom-most shelf, where I was stuffed in the back, out of sight and forgotten. There were mountains to climb before I could hope for anything so fancy. 
But a girl could dream.
The trois were chatting and laughing on their way out, and the ‘maybe’ James noticed me staring. He smiled and winked, putting a finger to his perfect, still-moist lips.
I quickly looked away, heat washing over my embarrassed face. I had so many questions.
Sex with two guys? How does that even work? And beyond that, how was such a thing even arranged? Was one of them her boyfriend and the other his friend?
Or were the guys together and they invited the girl for a walk on the wild side?
Lucky bitch. I didn’t know what sex with one guy was like, much less two.
Not for lack of trying, or interest, at least on my part. It just hadn’t happened yet. 
And I wasn’t sure how to make it happen. I mean, was it the kind of thing where someone just walked up to you on the way to class one day, all casual, saying, “Hi, I’m Matt. We’re in chemistry together. Wanna have sex?” 
I’d been in line at the dining hall a few days earlier and overheard a guy on his cell. “Bro, you have to come up and visit some weekend. Seriously, you just fall into pussy here. It’s almost like you can’t avoid it.”
What?
Really?
How was this part of college life passing me by?
I took a despondent, deep breath, inhaling more of the reference room dustiness than I should have, and waited until I was sure the girl and two guys were gone. I approached the end of the stack where they’d been carrying on, slowly, unsure of what I might find there. One of the duties of all library employees, no matter where you were in the hierarchy, was to make sure the place remained spotless. No coffee cups or stray books were to be left behind. 
No condoms or bodily fluids, either, I imagined. Although they’d never been specifically mentioned.
But I was pleased to see the happy little group had left no trace of their deed. There was not only no sign that they’d messed around, I couldn’t even tell anyone had been in the vicinity. 
These guys were pros.
Satisfied, I headed for the elevator to get back to the main library floor, painfully sensitized to the couples and groups around me, with their little touches indicating familiarity and affection—hugs, kisses, hellos, goodbyes, footsies under the tables, the occasional lob of a balled-up piece of paper—all indications of connections being made that might lead to sex.
Every Wellshire student seemed to have found his or her match—or matches. 
Everyone except me.
When I’d dumped the cart and returned to the check-out desk, my co-worker Angelo grabbed me by the arm so hard it hurt. “Birdie, you won’t believe the shit I just saw,” he hissed. 
Ha. For once, I had a story of my own. Angelo was going to be proud. And I was willing to bet it topped anything he had seen. But to be nice, I raised my eyebrows and invited him to continue.
“Right when I got here, when I’d just clocked in,” he said breathlessly, “I found two guys on the first floor making out. Like, hot and heavy, you know? Right in the poetry aisle. The boss saw them, too.” 
Oops.
Our boss, who’d been at the school since before most of us current students were even born, was easily shocked, and I could only imagine what such a sighting might do to her. On the other hand, it was funny to think that someone could spend so much time around horny college undergrads and still be a prude. 
“Oh my god,” I said. “And in the poetry section!”
“Exactly.” Angelo laughed. “So. Hot. I wanted to join them so bad. They were super-cute.”
The boss considered poetry sacred. She would not have thought it hot.
“Anyway, thanks again for covering for me earlier,” he added.
“Sure. Anytime. Hope you got your paper done.” 
It wasn’t like my calendar was bursting with stuff to do anyway, aside from exam dates and crap like that. 
But Angelo—like everyone else around me—was having lots of sex, which only solidified what had become my opinion about the social scene at Wellshire U.
If you were a guy? 
Sex.
If you were a girl in a sorority? 
Sex.
If you were a girl with big boobs? 
Sex.
If you were a girl with blonde hair? 
Sex.
If you were a nerdy girl with curly brown hair? 
No sex for you!
College had been great for me on an academic level. I’d hit the dean’s list three semesters running. I enjoyed working at the library, and I adored my roommate Jessa and her BFF Roxy. But there was something missing from my life, even beyond wanting a hand to hold or mouth to kiss or a guy to Netflix and chill with. 
I still had an ache deep inside that desperately needed to be scratched. 
Preferably by a hard dick. 
* * *
I had a paper due at the end of the week, so once I clocked out of work, I went and found a secluded corner of the library where I couldn’t see anyone doing the mating dance. I fired up my laptop, and got to work. I was cranking, getting my shit done. Despite the lack of romance in my life, I was feeling pretty good.
Only problem was that I’d been so immersed in my writing I’d lost complete track of time. Despite hustling across campus, the dining hall doors were locked when I arrived. 
Dinner was over.
Shit.
I trudged back to the dorm and hit the vending machine in the lobby for a Coke, bag of chips, and a Butterfinger. Disgusting, yes, but it would get me through until morning, when I planned to be first in line for dining hall eggs and bacon.
Passing the common area, I noticed one of the girls who lived down the hall from me and a football player dry humping on the ratty couch by the ping pong table. 
Which just proved my point. Why go all the way to the library when you can just have sex in the dorm rec room?
I dragged myself up the stairs to the third floor, where I shared a room with Jessa. But before I reached my door, the one next to us was bursting with the sounds we had all learned to expect from the woman who lived there. She had a single, meaning no roommate. That meant more privacy, and that meant more fun.
Her noisiness had started out as annoying, but the entire floor had come to see it as comical. My neighbor had frequent, and obnoxiously performative sex. To the uninitiated, her screams and shrieks might sound as if she were being murdered, but as it turned out she had just watched way too much porn, and her way of showing her date—and everybody else in the dorm—that she was enjoying herself was to mimic a baboon warning his troops of danger. 
I chuckled as I passed, and just before slipping my key in my lock, the girl from across the hall arrived with a guy in tow. She smiled and gave me a little wave. He nodded. “Sup?” he asked without making eye contact—a sure sign they were not available for small talk.
No, they had business to attend to.
I mumbled a hello and leaned into my door. How the fuck many Wellshire students were hooking up today? All of them, save one?
Apparently.
Safely ensconced in my room, I burrowed into my junk food, happy that out of the view of prying eyes, I wasn’t reminding anyone I was the only person on the Wellshire campus not getting any nooky. 
I ate slowly, a bite of my Butterfinger away from finishing, when there was a key in my door. Jessa came bouncing into the room with Roxy, a regular visitor, in tow.
The smell hit me before I even saw anything, and my heart leapt for joy.
“We thought you might be hungry, so we smuggled you out a slice.” Roxy produced a paper plate from under her jacket-draped arm—a large, floppy slice of dining hall pizza under a grease-spotted napkin.
While our dining hall pizza could be described as ‘tomato sauce spread over cardboard and doused with enough grease to change the oil in a car,’ at the moment it smelled and looked delicious, and I didn’t care how it might taste. I hungrily accepted.
“Sounds like somebody is having fun next door,” Roxy giggled, gesturing over her shoulder with a thumb.
“She’s been going for a good twenty minutes with no break,” I said.
“Either her guy fucks like a stallion or she’s trying to win an Oscar,” Jessa said. 
Maybe both.
“Have you seen him?” I asked. “He’s no stallion.” 
Unless scrawny and a sour expression were your thing. 
When I finished my slice, we chatted about school, and I told them how proud I was of myself that I’d nearly finished my paper. But then it occurred to me why I had surpassed my goals so easily.
“Oh no,” I whined, and slapped my bed with both hands, startling everyone. “I got so wrapped up in that assignment I completely forgot the creative writing one I have due tomorrow. Fuck!”
“What’s it about?” Roxy asked.
I scrolled through the calendar on my phone. “The whole thing just slipped my mind. Ugh, the last thing I want to do tonight is more writing. Okay, here it is.” 
I found it in the class notes I’d emailed myself. “Tell us about something that comes easily for others but not for you. That’s the premise. Just a thousand words. But still.”
“Have the sex queen do it,” Jessa suggested, cringing as our neighbor’s passion shook our shared wall.
Between her nights of theatrical fucking, she was actually a pretty good writer who did papers for money—any topic, any length. Regardless of being highly against every rule of Wellshire University, word had it she made enough to pay her tuition and then some.
And a thousand words would be easy for her, practically guaranteeing an A. 
The problem was I was close to broke, and she didn’t work for free.
Not that I’d let anyone do my work for me, anyway. I was perfectly capable of earning my own A, something Jessa and Roxy like to remind me of.
“Nah. I’d never do that. Nor could I afford it, anyway,” I said.
My last paycheck from the library had been spent on books. There was nothing left. Not a single cent.
“I don’t know what you’d write about, anyway” Roxy said. “You’re smart, you get good grades, you’re super cute, your parents are not only together, but they help pay for some of your school—unlike mine. So, what’s a challenge for Birdie Johnson?”
I opened my mouth to answer, but Jessa cut me off. 
“She can’t make it to the dining hall in time because she’s in the library studying so long. Poor Birdie!”
We laughed. 
“I know, right, Jessa? What a burden, getting all those A’s,” Roxy teased. “But seriously. Is there anybody at Wellshire having an easier time than you, Birdie? After I scrape together my tuition every semester, my next worry is ‘Can I bump a C to barely-a-B if I put in a bunch of extra time studying?’ Yours is ‘How much extra studying will it take to turn my default A into an A+?’.”
I shrugged. She wasn’t wrong. Not that the academic side of college was exactly easy, but I watched some of my friends and classmates scratch and claw and work themselves into stress-related anxiety attacks to get a two-point zero GPA, and I had a tough time relating. Maybe I just knew how to study better or had learned a more efficient path from lecture and textbook to brain? Who knew? What I did know was that there was indeed one aspect of college life that had proven to be an insurmountable challenge for me. 
“I’m the only virgin on campus, so there’s that,” I blurted out, and it suddenly felt like all the air was sucked out of the room.
“For real?” Roxy whispered when she recovered. 
Jessa knew my secret and patted me on the back. As if that would make me feel better. 
“Yep,” I added. “The whole school is having sex, some constantly.” I motioned in the direction of my neighbor’s room. “But not moi,” I said, pointing at myself with my thumb.
“Maybe sex queen is trying to build up a rep as a porn star for when she finally gets caught and expelled for writing people’s term papers. Besides, Birdie, there are plenty of people on campus who aren’t having sex,” Jessa said.
“There were three people fucking in the stacks of the reference room today. A ménage a trois. It’s all around us, Jessa, I’m telling you,” I said flatly. “It’s everybody, everywhere.”
Their eyes grew wide, and I shared the reference room story after making them beg for a minute or two. 
“Well then,” Roxy said hopefully, “you ought to just write about that.” 
Jessa shrugged. “Why not? It’ll be well-written, and that’s what matters way more than the content. Only the professor is going to see it anyway, so who cares?”
It was a thought. But not one I was wild about. Professor Blake was smart and funny and so handsome in that twinkle-eyed, square-jawed George Clooney sort of way that I practically melted every time he walked into the classroom. But so did all the other females in class, as well as a few males. Seriously. You’d never seen a class of college students hang on a teacher’s every word quite the way they did Professor Blake’s. 
And he probably thought they were enthralled with his brilliant teaching.
Not to take anything away from him. But no one was that good.
Earlier in the day, I’d spotted him in the library. But did I hold my head up, push my shoulders back, and approach him for a friendly little chat?
Hell no.
I couldn’t handle that man in a one-on-one away from the classroom. Or even in the classroom. No, I had no desire for a conversation with him at any time, about anything.
All I needed was to turn into a useless puddle of mush at my library job, and my boss would be all over my ass.
So, best to avoid him altogether.
“I saw a Reddit post where these dudes claim that if they don’t masturbate, they get superpowers,” Jessa said, interrupting my reverie. “Or maybe it was if they didn’t have orgasms. I can’t remember. Like it would make them smarter and stronger. I always thought, ‘No, dumbass, it’s because instead of whacking off all the time, you’re going to the gym or hitting the books or doing something else productive, so at the end of the day you’ve accomplished something.’”
Roxy laughed, and I gave a half-hearted chuckle. 
“Maybe so,” I said quietly, my shoulders slumping.
“Oh, B, it was just a joke,” Jessa said. “My point is that getting laid is not the answer to everything. Maybe that’s why you do so well in school. You’re not wasting your chi.”
“Perhaps. But the whole thing has been bugging me lately for some reason,” I said.
“Then you should definitely write about it,” Roxy insisted. “To help you process it, you know? And we can even proofread it for you or help you edit it. Okay?”
“Sure. Why not,” I said, pulling out my laptop. 
I didn’t exactly want Professor Hottie knowing my deep, dark secrets, but on the other hand, who cared? The semester would eventually end and I’d never see him again, anyway. I had only a few hours to pull this assignment together, and now was not the time to fret about my pride.
I’d have plenty of time for that later.
* * *