Filthy Professor

By: Amy Brent

A Bad Boy Professor Romance

Personal Note


I am Amy Brent. I love reading and writing steamy romances that are full of heat, heart and humour!

I have included a few bonus stories right after the main book - because I know you will want to read more steamy stuff like this as you enjoy a superbly ecstatic, mind blowing, toe-curling experience in FILTHY PROFESSOR.

If you are a fan of taboo romance, you will definitely enjoy the OLDER MAN YOUNGER WOMAN ROMANCES.

NEW EXCLUSIVE: I am super excited to give you an exclusive copy of my new book titled - CALL ME DADDY. This one is a daddy and virgin romance and you won’t want to miss the steamy action in there. It is a standalone with HEA.

BTW, My editor loved CALL ME DADDY so much that he wants me to write a complete Daddy and Virgin Romance Series. As always, I welcome your opinion.

Also included is an EXCLUSIVE SNEAK PEEK from my best selling book - FILTHY BOSS! (Warning - this one is really Filthy).

I hope you have as much fun reading this book as I had writing it!

So go on, Spoil Yourself Crazy!

xoxo, Amy


Sign up for Amy Brent’s VIP Email list to get notified of new releases, excerpts, sales and giveaways!

Also get the three part series - The Billionaire’s Property for FREE!

Click here to join Amy’s Naughty Readers Club!

Filthy Professor

That’s it, I can’t stand it anymore! I’ve spent months trying to get Professor Logan Clark to notice me. I dress sexy, I gaze into his eyes, I lick my lips when he looks at me. I want to get him out of his classroom and out of his clothes for a little private, one-on-one tutoring…

COURTNEY SHAW: I’m a smoking hot red head with a sex drive that would make a porn star blush and a major daddy complex. Older men are my thing, and lots of them have sampled the sweet treats I have in my panties. So why isn’t Logan Clark jumping at the chance to be with me? Even after our little oral exam in the restroom he keeps pushing me away. Is this his idea of torture? Well, two can play at that game…

LOGAN CLARK: Damn this girl, doesn’t she understand that there are rules against professors having sex with students, no matter how smoking hot and sexy they are? She doesn’t seem to care that screwing her could get me fired. I’m not going to risk my job just to have sex with her. No way. Not even after she drops a wet thong on my desk and shows up naked at my door. I’ve worked too hard to get where I am at this school. I’m not going blow it all for her. At least that’s what I keep telling myself…

Courtney Shaw

I bit my lower lip as I watched him pace across the front of the classroom with his head down, deep in thought, talking with his hands, trying to explain an advanced accounting theory to the moron who always sat on the front row and always asked questions everyone else already knew the answers to.

Professor Logan Clark was tall, like six-foot-something, with sandy blond hair that curled over his collar and hung over his forehead like a teenager’s. He jerked his head to the side sometimes to get it out of his eyes.

Speaking of eyes, his were like two piercing blue orbs that lasered into my soul when he glanced my way. Sometimes I would ask a question just to get him to look at me. Sadly, he would just answer the question and move on, seemingly without noticing that I had been licking my lips and soaking the crotch of my panties the entire time he was looking at me.

I studied his face, though I had already committed every inch of it to memory. He had a deep tan, as did most everyone here in southern California in the late summertime. I’d never seen him without the stubble of a five o’clock shadow on his cheeks and chin. I thought it was so fucking sexy, the way he scratched his chin when he was trying to make a point.

He always wore baggy jeans that hung low on his narrow hips and tan work boots that looked like they’d been taken off of a migrant worker back in the seventies (I’m only 22, so that seems like a thousand years ago).

I could tell that he was muscular beneath the wrinkled white shirt and crooked knit tie he always wore. He wore the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, exposing the sinewy muscles in his forearms and hands. And he always wore the shirt untucked, which frustrated me to no end because it kept me from checking out his package. Rumor was that he was hung like a horse. Well, you certainly couldn’t tell it by looking at him in the classroom.