Forbidden Student/Professor Romance eBook Bundle

CRAVE (BOOK 1)

Turns out the beautiful man from the club is my new professor... But he wasn’t when he kissed me.

Ex-ballet dancer Olivia would never set foot in a club like Velvet, not to mention seize the stage. But when she learns her ‘perfect’ boyfriend has been cheating, she indulges in a wild fantasy for the first time.

From the moment Sawyer rescues her in the parking lot at the club, Olivia realizes he’s what she’s been missing. The way he touches her sets her on fire.

But one mistake becomes two when she learns Sawyer isn’t only the passionate, mysterious man she stayed up all night with...

He’s her new professor.

CRAVE is an illicit, forbidden full-length novel and book 1 in the OFF-LIMITS trilogy. An addictive, enthralling romance from WSJ and USA Today bestselling author Piper Lawson.

***

COLLIDE (BOOK 2)

My hot professor’s past tore us apart. But he won’t give up on our future.

I thought I knew who Sawyer Redmond was. I was wrong.

But he’s fiercely determined to keep me, and I can’t avoid him. He’s everywhere—in class, at events, in my head.

He forces me to discover a side of myself I never knew. One that terrifies me almost as much as it excites me.

He says our secrets can bring us closer. But there’s no way I can love the man I’ve discovered…

Is there?

COLLIDE is an illicit, addictive forbidden age gap romance from USA Today bestselling author Piper Lawson. It is book 2 in the OFF-LIMITS series and should be read following CRAVE.

***

CLAIM (BOOK 3)

He showed me a side of myself I never dreamed existed.

Olivia’s professor promised her lessons she couldn’t learn in class.

What he didn’t expect was to find peace from his tormented past in her arms.

Now, that past has caught up to both of them, ripping them apart even when he vowed she was the person who mattered most.

He has one chance to fight for what’s right, even if it costs him his career, his reputation, his happiness.

She has one chance to claim the future she’s worked for and grasp her dreams.

But in a world hellbent on judgment, freedom has a price.

What if the price is love?

CLAIM is an illicit, forbidden full-length novel and the explosive book 3 in the OFF-LIMITS trilogy. Sawyer and Olivia’s story begins in CRAVE and continues in COLLIDE.

***

TEMPT (BOOK 4)

He’s a single dad and my new boss.

The man is scorching hot. His gorgeous smile and dark eyes turn me on like crazy.

Too bad he’s ten years older, with trust issues and more layers than my psych degree could ever unwrap.

I need this job, and the roof over my head. Falling into bed with him is a bad idea. Letting my heart get involved would be even worse.

But he makes me feel things I never expected to feel.

She’s my son’s nanny, and a student at the university where I’m a professor.

Watching her play with my son, hearing her laugh across the hall, seeing her walk by with those legs that would look amazing over my shoulders is delicious torment.

I should know better than to pursue this attraction, no matter how intense.

I haven’t wanted a woman since my wife died. But there's no future for me and the college senior who sleeps in the next bedroom.

I need to stay professional…but she’s too tempting.

TEMPT is a sexy, swoony, single dad nanny age gap romance from USA Today bestselling author Piper Lawson. It can be read as a standalone.

Gravel scrapes the soles of my Louboutins as I trip across the parking lot in the dark.
“The shoes are fucking hot,” Kat says.
“They’re not rated for off-roading.” I send up a silent prayer for forgiveness as I dodge the empty beer cans and my roommate laughs.
The sign on the single-floor building in the middle of nowhere says “Velvet” in pink neon. The glow lingers in the corner of my vision when my friends line up at the bouncer, whose eyes have been on us since I was halfway across the lot.
He glances at Kat’s ID, then Jules’, but frowns at mine. “I don’t think so, sweetheart. You’re drunk.”
“I’m the designated driver. I haven’t had anything harder than soda tonight. You try walking across gravel in these.”
“Yeah, I don’t think so.”
“I’m better behaved than anyone in there,” I insist. “Not my fault these shoes were designed with smooth surfaces in mind.”
He stares at me like I’m nuts. We’re running low on options.
I look around, assuring myself there’s no one else watching. “Fine. Would a drunk person be able to do this?”
I reach for my shoe and bend my knee, pulling my foot up to the apex of my thighs. Then I take a breath and lift it higher, straightening my leg so it’s extended alongside my upper body.
His eyes round. He might’ve snuck a peek or two at the strippers who work the stage, but I’ve got moves he’s never seen.
Releasing my leg, I grab my ID out of his hands and follow my friends inside.
“That was badass. Where have you been hiding that?” Kat shouts over the music as we head inside.
“Don’t worry about it,” I toss back. “Tonight’s about celebrating your birthday and living life like a normal”—a glance back at the bouncer, grateful he didn’t notice or care that our licenses were fake—“twenty-one-year-old.”
I reach into my bag to pull out the Queen B tiara, and my roommate’s eyes light up.
Kat’s been bugging us for the past year to visit a part of town that’s the opposite of the one starring in the glossy university recruitment brochures.
My corporate father and socialite mother would lose their shit if they saw me in a place like this. But we’re here for Kat, and as much as this isn’t a place I’d choose to spend my night, it’s not about me. It’s about friendship.
Kat sets the crown in her dark hair and tugs us toward the bar. There’s no point trying to score a booth around the perimeter since Velvet is full. We wedge in, Jules calling for vodka sodas for her and Kat, and a Diet Coke for me.
On stage is a woman who looks too beautiful for this place. She winds around the pole, shifting toward the edge of the stage to drop her hips into a seductive slide.
A piece of hair escapes my tidy top knot to tickle my neck, but as I reach up to tuck it back in, I realize there’s no runaway hair. Only a bead of sweat.
When the dancer finishes, a woman dressed in a black T-shirt with the Velvet logo claims the mic.
“Shh, this is it,” Kat breathes, and I arch a brow.
“This is what?”
“Amateur night!”
“You’re not going up,” I say, horrified.
Kat grins. “The prize is five hundred bucks. That’s a hell of a birthday present.”
She brushes off her hands and joins the throng of girls by the register, returning a few minutes later with a white “Hello my name is” sticker that says “Cherry” stuck to her low-cut black tank.
“Subtle,” Jules deadpans.
I turn back toward the stage but end up doing a double take on the way.
Down at the other end of the bar is a man who’s so beautiful I nearly swallow my straw. His navy dress shirt is rolled to the elbows and tugs over broad shoulders as he reaches for his drink. Dark hair extends past his jaw. Add that to the straight nose, firm mouth, eyes that scan the room…
Those eyes stop when they meet mine.
It’s electric, the connection. I swear he looks into me, through me. Fire grabs my core, making my breasts tighten.
“Liv. You okay?” Jules asks.
I blink, ripping my gaze from his. “Yeah.”
I shake off the unsettling attraction.
He’s the opposite of my boyfriend, Adam, who’s blond and athletic with an easy smile. He’s from the right family, has the right hair, and is point guard on the basketball team.
“No fucking way.”
Kat’s pointing at a booth in the back, where a couple of guys from the basketball team sit, plus one I don’t want to recognize.
Adam is sprawled across the bench with a half-naked woman bent over him, her boobs swinging dangerously close to his face.
My throat tightens as I wait for him to push her away.
Instead, he shifts back, grinning, and invites her closer.
“Unbelievable,” Kat bites out. “I’m going to fuck him up.”
Jules squeezes my shoulder, and I shake her off.
“Don’t, Kat. It’s probably some basketball team thing.”
I turn toward the front, ignoring the back of the room and the burning behind my eyes.
What I didn’t tell Kat or Jules to avoid spoiling the birthday vibes is that when I showed up at his house yesterday morning, a girl was slipping out of his room.
Something in my chest popped like the cork on bad champagne.
I told myself if I dated Adam, at least one part of my life would go as planned. After twelve years of wasted ballet, I couldn’t be a dancer like my mother, but I had him.
We’ve invested three years. We’ll figure this out. Maybe he screwed up, but he loves me.
I wonder if love feels the same for him as it does for me. If it’s that dull reassurance I dig my fingers into when I’m feeling lost or if it’s something else entirely.
The MC calls the contestants to the stage to explain the rules. “Each contestant has two minutes to dance, then the crowd will vote. First up is Brandy.”
The first girl stands up as they play “Pour Some Sugar on Me.”
She gyrates her hips, swinging around the pole, clearly drunk.
The next is a little better but not much.
At one point, a woman in the crowd yells, “Camera!” and security descends on a guy filming from inside his jacket with a phone to drag him out of the club.
It’s comforting to know they enforce the “no videotaping” rule. The idea of dancing here on a dare and a few shots of vodka coming back to haunt you in perpetuity thanks to the internet is horrifying.
“Cherry!” the MC calls after a few minutes.
“That’s you, Kat,” Jules says, jarring me out of my numbness.
She gets up from the bar but trips. “Whoa. I can’t, guys.”
“You didn’t pre-game that hard,” Jules points out.
But Kat holds up a flask inside her bag I haven’t seen before.
Shit.
Jules motions to the bartender for a water, but movement catches my eye. In the back, the woman dancing on Adam takes his hand, and he follows her with a shit-eating grin toward a doorway with a beaded curtain.
Bile rises up my throat.
I slept with Adam three months into my senior year of high school, after his parents’ party for winter break.
He said he liked that I made him wait.
Apparently, he likes that this woman won’t.
I pull out my phone and type out a text.
Liv: I can’t do this anymore, Adam. I want to break up.
After I hit send, he glances at his phone, shakes his head as if he’s the one who can’t believe me, and follows the woman through the curtain.
My chest squeezes. I told myself I’d let him off the hook if he convinced me what happened with the blonde was a one-time thing.
But it’s not.
That callous dismissal of my text burns more than the jealousy. I’ve always tried to be the daughter my parents want, the girlfriend Adam needs, and none of it matters.
“‘I Love Rock and Roll,’” starts up, its catchy hook emanating from the speakers.
The MC shouts for Cherry one more time.
“Liv?” Kat’s peeling off the sticker and holding it out, her eyes imploring. “Do it for me?”
I’m not the girl who takes her clothes off when she’s angry.
I’m the one who makes the other person feel comfortable, especially if they’re the person who screwed up.
But the crowd’s sneering faces blur together, and that cork in my chest is back in place, the contents of the bottle under more pressure than before.
I take the sticker and press it to my sleeveless white D&G tank top tucked into denim shorts.
When I start through the crowd, there’s a wave of cheers. Each step is more confident than the last.
On stage, the bright lights are familiar, even if the audience of drunk and leering townies isn’t.
The last time I danced for a crowd was years ago. Before…everything.
I catch the eye of the beautiful guy at the bar. He’s not leering. He’s watching as if I’m the only person in this bar worth looking at.
The awareness is back, a tingling that cuts through my numbness. I’m borrowing from the conviction in his eyes.
I stop in front of the pole, then reach back to wrap my hand around it. My back arches, and cheers go up.
I have what Kat calls “a great rack.”
I call it “destroyer of dreams.” When I turned sixteen, my boobs came in, and my ballet instructors crossed my name off their lists.
Tonight, no judgmental ballerinas are watching, and no beer bottles trip me up.
I lift my leg behind me in an arabesque. My fingers grab my stiletto, and I tug it toward the back of my head.
The more the crowd cheers, the deeper I go into the music. Into my own head.
The rhythm is low in my gut, and my feet move without instructions.
The tension feels raw and real and true.
I catch his eye again. His nostrils are flared, his jaw tight. For an instant he sees me, unlike everyone else in my life.
I pop my feet wide and sink into the splits.
It’s not until I start to roll out of the pose that the sticky floor registers.
I’m barely up to standing when the woman in the uniform is over to me, grabbing my hand and lifting it high.
“Our winner!” She passes me a check. “We have a tradition. You know what it is.”
I don’t notice the buckets at the side of the stage until two women dump them over me.
The shock of cold drowns me in a wave that steals my breath.
It’s not water. It’s vodka.
I’m soaked from my shoulders to my toes. My nipples are hard points through my shirt. The only thing still dry is the check in my fingers, its amount less than the price of my alcohol-drowned outfit.
The shock eats into my power trip from being on stage as I stumble down the steps.
“That was epic, Liv!” Kat bellows when I reach them.
Jules bites her lip. “Are you okay?”
“Totally.” My arms fold over my chest and the wet fabric sticking to my skin makes me cringe. “I’m going to the car for a sweater. Happy birthday. Cherry.”
I pass the check to Kat with a wink. She tries to give it back, but I refuse, pushing through the crowd to the exit.
My white Audi is conspicuous in this parking lot. Most of the rest of the cars are more like the Dodge pickup between my car and the club, though there’s a beautiful black Mercedes on my opposite side.
I glance back at the club as I fish the keys from my bag.
That’s when a group of guys emerges from the door. Adam’s one of them, and another guy pulls out a vape pen as they laugh.
“How was it?” one of the other guys asks.
Plink.
I sink to my knees to follow the keys I’ve dropped.
It’s dark, and I fumble around under the edge of the car. My eyes burn, a tear escaping down my cheek.
The crunch of gravel behind me makes me freeze. “This the after-party?”
I swipe at my face because crying in front of other people is a sign of weakness. When I turn, my heart stops.
It’s the guy from the bar. The beautiful one who watched me.
Up close, I’d peg him at late twenties, maybe thirty. He’s tall and broad, dark hair grazing his jaw until he shoves it back impatiently.
“I’m not here to perv on you. I’m heading out.” He glances at the pickup truck. “Wanted to make sure you weren’t driving drunk.”
“I’m getting a change of clothes.”
His gaze drops to my chest. My nipples are still sticking through the shirt. “Good call.”
He starts toward the hood, probably to round to the driver’s side of his truck, but I grab his sleeve.
“Don’t leave. That’s my boyfriend. Ex-boyfriend,” I amend, the word I’ve never used before echoing in my ears. “If you move your truck, he’ll see my car.”
The gorgeous man looks between the Dodge and the Audi.
“Just...wait until they finish their vape?” I plead.
He doesn’t respond but doesn’t move either.
I unlock the car and lean into the back seat, rummaging for my sweatshirt. My fingers sink into the soft fabric of the hoodie.
“What are you doing here?” I ask over my shoulder.
“Came to town for some unfinished business.”
He’s facing the other way to either give me privacy or stand watch.
I tug the sticky shirt over my head, wadding it into a ball and dropping it on the back seat.
“I meant at a strip club. You don’t look like the type to ogle tits and drown your sorrows.”
The low rumble of laughter behind me makes my skin tingle. “You don’t look like the type to shake your tits to forget your problems.”
I pull on the sweatshirt and shift back out of the car, the hood still up around my head. “So what’s your excuse?”
I catch sight of my reflection in the passenger mirror—smudged makeup, hair plastered to my head except for a chunk that’s gotten pulled out to hang alongside my face. But the man turns back to me before I can even think of trying to fix it. “I hate doing what people expect.”
“So you didn’t ogle my tits?” It’s not like me to tease a stranger. Blame it on the vodka fumes.
“I’m a man who appreciates beautiful things.”
The heat in his eyes steals my breath. It’s like he’s talking about watching fireworks or a once-in-a-lifetime meteor shower.
He does a double take at the logo on my chest.
“Russell U. You’re an alum, too?”
Before I can respond, riotous laughter goes up from across the lot.
“Fucking A, Adam!”
“Ignore him,” he murmurs. I blink up at the man in front of me, who tugs the hood off my head. “Why’d you want me to watch you dance?”
“What makes you think I did?”
“You wanted everyone to, or you wouldn’t have been up there. A woman like you is desired. I think you’re tired of the reason people desire you.”
There’s no reason I should be smiling tonight, but the way this man looks at me, like my life isn’t over, has me gulping night air.
“I’m Sawyer.” He bends to pick up something from the ground. The sticker from my shirt. “Nice to meet you, Cherry.”
“Come on, let’s get out of here.” A voice carries on the breeze.
Adam and the other guys cut across the lot, and my heart rises up my throat as I scan the lot and notice the RU Basketball bumper sticker on the Jeep in the next row.
If they don’t notice my car, they’ll still notice me when they head this way.
I duck behind Sawyer. “Quick. Act like you’re my boyfriend.”
A brow lifts. “You want me to pick a fight with you?”
Despite everything, I laugh. “That’s what you think of? No, just—” I grab his jacket collar and drag him down to the ground with me.
I land hard enough the gravel scrapes my knee.
We’re crouched between the cars. He’s inches away, and my heart skips because of how he’s looking at me. Not me on stage. Me in my hoodie, makeup smudged.
“You didn’t want me to argue with you,” he murmurs, a mocking lilt to his voice. “You wanted me to kiss you.”
I’m not sure I was thinking at all when I said it. But heat strokes down my spine at the thought of his mouth on mine.
“You make it sound so sexy,” I whisper.
“It is sexy.” His throat flexes, and the way he says that word is the hottest thing I’ve ever heard. “A kiss is a promise. A declaration of intent.”
“Most guys think anything less than a blowjob doesn’t deserve their attention.”
Sawyer shifts closer, his gaze knowing. His lips are an inch from mine. I’ve never felt this kind of chemistry with anyone, and he’s practically a stranger.
His fingers find my hair, and I think he’s going to tuck it behind my ear but he doesn’t—just strokes the back of his hand down my cheek.
“Do me a favor, Cherry. Don’t judge me by that tool.”
Before I can respond, he leans in and brushes his mouth over mine.
He’s warm and firm, confidence without arrogance, and every slide of his lips is pure fucking finesse.
His fingers find my chin, holding me in place. When he changes the angle, taking me deeper, I can’t help but open under him.
The gravel is rough on my bare knees, but his kiss is exquisite. He’s exquisite. A soft sound escapes me, but it’s lost in his mouth.
When he pulls back, it’s all I can do not to say wow.
His breathing is rough, too, those gorgeous eyes dilated in the dark.
“You taste like trouble.” A thrill races through me. “I’m going to give you my number.”
“You’re asking me out?”
The surprise on his face is chased by a grin. “Tonight, you’re going to let me know you got home safely.”
And what about tomorrow?
But as he takes my phone and types in his contact, I’m relieved. Adam cheated on me, and I’ll break up with him in person tomorrow...but this is moving fast.
I survey the parking lot. They’re gone.
I tuck my phone back into my purse and straighten to test whether my knees still work.
He’s up the next second too, tall enough his jaw is eye level on me. He checks his watch. “You have to work early too?”
I can’t tell him I’m a college junior, and tomorrow is the first day of classes in my third year.
“Let me guess. You’d rather take a bullet,” he murmurs.
“You could say that.”
“I know the feeling.”
What could he dread? He’s gorgeous, confident, charismatic in a doesn’t-have-to-try way. If adulting is an art, this man is Rembrandt.
“I hope tomorrow’s better than you expect. Don’t let anyone drag you down, Cherry.” His gaze fixes on my legs, and he bends to brush my knee, loosening the bits of gravel stuck to it.
With a look that’s pure heat with a side of regret, he rounds my car, heading for the Mercedes on the far side.
I want to beg him to stay when I realize…
The truck isn’t his.
Sawyer could have left anytime without my ex spotting me.
He didn’t.
When he peels out of the lot, disappearing in a glimmer of red taillights and New York plates, the next breath I take is cold night air and engine fumes.
Nothing ever tasted so good.