Page 12 of His to Teach

"Yes," she agrees breathlessly. "Only for you. Only ever you."

My control slips, pace increasing as familiar heat builds at the base of my spine. "Going to keep you filled with my cum," I growl against her ear. "Keep you pregnant so no one else ever dares approach what's mine."

Her eyes fly open at that, pupils blown wide with arousal. "Promise?" she whispers, and it nearly undoes me—this beautiful, innocent girl begging me to breed her, to ruin her life with my selfish needs.

"I promise, princess." I reach between us to circle her clit with my thumb. "Now come for me. Let me feel that sweet little cunt squeeze my cock."

She shatters beautifully, back arching off the rug, inner walls pulsing around me as she cries out my name. I follow her over the edge, burying myself deep and flooding her with my release, marking her as mine for what feels like the hundredth time but will never be enough.

After, I hold her close, her head tucked under my chin, my hand stroking her hair. This tenderness is new, dangerous in a different way than the fucking. This feels like more than possession. More than obsession.

“You scared Morris away, didn't I?" she asks quietly against my chest.

I tense slightly. "You noticed."

"He practically ran when he saw me coming back from the bathroom." She props herself up on one elbow to look at me. "What did you say to him?"

"That you were off-limits."

"And if I wanted his help?"

I cup her face, thumb stroking her cheek. "Did you?"

She shakes her head. "No. But that's not the point."

"The point is I'm a jealous, controlling bastard who can't bear the thought of another man touching you.” I say it plainly, giving her the truth she deserves. "I'll ruin anyone who tries to take you from me, princess. That's who I am."

Instead of pulling away in disgust, she leans down and kisses me softly. "Good," she whispers against my lips. "Because I'm yours. Only yours."

And God help me, but those words are sweeter than any academic achievement, any professional recognition I've ever received. I've spent my life in pursuit of intellectual perfection, rigid control. Now I'm throwing it all away for a girl with innocent eyes and a filthy mouth who calls me "Daddy" when she comes.

And I've never been happier.

six

. . .

Flower

I stand outside Gordon's apartment door, heart hammering in my chest. This is different than meeting in his office or an empty classroom. This is his home. His private space. The texts he sent were casual enoughL

Come by tonight to review your thesis draft. I have notes.

But we both know that's not why I'm here. Still, I clutch my folder of research papers like a shield as I knock, three soft taps that sound too loud in the quiet hallway.

The door opens, and there he is. Professor Gordon Davis. Not in his usual button-down and slacks but in dark jeans and a charcoal henley that clings to his broad shoulders. His hair is slightly damp, as if he's just showered. He looks younger. More approachable. But no less intimidating.

"You found it alright?" he asks, stepping aside to let me in.

"Yes. The directions were clear." My voice sounds small, nervous.

I step into his apartment, taking it all in. It's exactly what I expected yet nothing like I imagined. Clean lines. Minimalist furniture. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves filled with perfectly organized volumes. A leather sofa faces large windows overlooking the city. Everything in its place. Just like him.

"Can I get you something to drink? Water? Wine?" He takes my coat, hanging it carefully in the closet.

"Water, please." I'm too nervous for alcohol.

He moves to the kitchen, and I follow, still clutching my folder. "It's a nice place," I say, just to fill the silence.