Total pages in book: 25
Estimated words: 23771 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 119(@200wpm)___ 95(@250wpm)___ 79(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 23771 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 119(@200wpm)___ 95(@250wpm)___ 79(@300wpm)
Tears spring to my eyes and I pull his face down for a kiss, the desk creaking beneath us as he fills me roughly, again and again, his gratified grunts echoing off the office walls. Do I want everything with this man? Of course I do. I can’t imagine a second of my life without him. The way he shelters me, sees me, encourages me and loves me. “Yes, Gavin. Give me everything.”
Fierce possession etches itself on his features as our kiss deepens. “You’ve already given me everything and more.” His drives speed up and all I can do is hold on to Gavin’s shoulders, sobbing as the climax swoops in and owns me. “Now tell Daddy you love him one more time.”
“I love you, Daddy,” I gasp, pleasure washing over me in waves. “I love you.”
“I love you, too, little girl.” He stills, muscles tightening, his liquid heat pouring into me, his weight pinning me down as he bucks, bucks, holds. “My Alana. My life.”
Epilogue
Five Years Later
Alana
I’m laying down in our bed without a stitch of clothing to cover me, stretching in the afternoon sunlight. My obsessive professor hates it when I cover myself in our bedroom. He particularly feels that way when I’m pregnant, which I am, for the second time.
I slide my hands over my five-month mound, humming softly to myself, thinking of the way Gavin looks at me. Hungrily. Protectively. He’s going to be home any minute now from school and I hope our son is still napping so we can have some time alone. Since I wasn’t working at the studio today, I gave the nanny a day off so I could do some nesting to prepare for our second arrival. Normally, we would have her stay an extra hour so Gavin and I could have our own unique brand of playtime before officially entering parent mode.
Rolling onto my side, a picture comes into view on my nightstand. Gavin standing beside me at graduation, looking down at the crown of my head with enormous pride, our first born perched on his opposite hip. We’re so happy in the photograph and nothing has changed.
I am so happy I’m delirious.
Five years ago, when Gavin and I went public with our relationship, several of his colleagues were scandalized, but as no official rule existed barring professors from dating their students, we ignored the criticism and eventually it went away. I suspect Gavin handled a lot of the haters in private, not wanting to upset me. Landen made the mistake of speaking to me once after class, asking me if I call everyone Daddy or just our professor. He was within hearing distance of Gavin at the time and was promptly and ominously called into my husband’s office. A week later, he’d transferred to the University of Alaska.
I let Gavin handle the negativity because it fulfills him to take care of me. To guard and cherish me. And it fulfills me right back. What we have is real and rare. He’s my guardian and I’m his ward and we need those roles to be whole.
And just because my husband needs me to be his little girl doesn’t mean I don’t have adult responsibilities. After graduating at the top of my class—Gavin insisted on paying my tuition—I published my first book of photos to critical acclaim. It was called Photogaffes and it sold enough copies to open my own studio. When Gavin isn’t teaching or ruling the board of directors (who begged him to reconsider a board seat, despite him marrying a student) with an iron fist, our little family travels the globe and I take pictures, employing the skills my husband helped me sharpen over the years. Now my photos join Gavin’s on the walls of our home, drenched in sunlight, a lot like I am currently.
Downstairs, I hear the front door open and close, quietly, so as not to wake our son from nap time. I’m already growing damp between my thighs when Gavin’s footsteps begin creaking their way up the stairs to me. I swear I can sense his anticipation and my nipples pull into tight little pouts, desperate for attention from my husband’s mouth.
He’s already loosening his tie when he walks into the bedroom, a punctuated sound of hunger making the sunshine-filled room seem a lot darker. Deep, abiding obsession ripples in his eyes as he looks me over, his sex tenting the front of his dress pants. There are silver flecks in the hair at his temples now and it has made the dynamic between us even more intense lately, those early signs of him getting older, even while he remains virile and stronger than any man I’ve ever met.
“I need your mouth today, little girl. I’ve spent the day aching.”
Anticipation tingles in every inch of my flesh. We discovered pretty early on that I love taking Gavin in my mouth. Sucking him until he spends down my chin. Listening to his chants of my name turning more and more rough, desperate.