Total pages in book: 27
Estimated words: 25686 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 128(@200wpm)___ 103(@250wpm)___ 86(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 25686 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 128(@200wpm)___ 103(@250wpm)___ 86(@300wpm)
Damn. I want to hide, but his perceptive eyes miss nothing.
“You… have a private room,” I whisper. “Have you had women in here before?”
“I have.” I can feel him tense beneath me. “But that’s in the past, and I’ve put that behind me.”
I nod.
“And I’m going to ask you to do me a favor, Giada.” Though his tone is gentle, it’s stern, and he gets my immediate attention.
“Yes?” I ask. I prop myself up on his chest and look into his eyes.
“Forget about the past. I have.” But there’s hurt in those beautiful eyes of his. I no longer worry about what might have happened before. All that matters is us. Now. Together. And instead of niggling doubt, I’m filled with the strong desire to heal whatever part of him was broken. To be the woman who brings him joy and comfort. I rest my hand on his stubbled cheek.
“Of course, daddy,” I whisper.
I watch his eyes grown molten a split second before he takes my mouth with his in a kiss that deepens within seconds. He holds me to him while he brushes his lips against mine. My body rises to meet him, primed by the spanking he gave me. By the intimacy of the moment. He could have had me out there in the dungeon. Hell, public intimacy is sort of the norm here. But he wants me alone. All his. And I want to explore it all with him.
Deep in my bones I know he’s a man to be trusted, the one who could bring me the pleasure I’ve been dreaming about.
When his tongue meets mine, a pulse of electric arousal races through me. My pussy throbs, and I’m soaked. I need him to touch me. God, I need his fingers on me.
I part my legs for him, silently begging him to touch me, to fulfill the promise he made earlier in his classroom. With a groan, he explores my inner thighs and upward, finding me panty-less and slick with arousal.
“Jesus, baby,” he groans.
Baby. I like that.
He strokes me, my back arching, fingering me until I’m near frenzied with the need to come.
“Please,” I beg.
“Please what?” He corrects me by freezing his movements, his hand just above my swollen clit, not touching me.
“Daddy,” I moan, so ready to fly.
“Come, Giada,” I let myself go. Ecstasy rips through me. I can’t breathe or think, my body writhing beneath him in the most exquisite orgasm I’ve ever had, my first orgasm building onto a second even more intense than the first. He draws the pleasure out of me and leaves me panting against his chest, completely spent. I groan, spent from pleasure.
“Good girl,” he whispers. The days in class have led up to this, to me earning this ‘good girl’ and pleasure from his hands. “Such a very good girl.”
I sigh against him. “That was amazing,” I whisper.
“You’re amazing,” he whispers back. I turn away, flushed with the praise.
I am special to him.
But what happens when class is over? And what happens if anyone ever sees us together? He could lose his job and I’d be the laughing stock of the school. Would I even be able to take the classes I need? I shove the doubts away and make myself focus on the here and now.
We talk for hours. I tell him about my father, and how he died too young from a heart attack. “He worked too hard,” I tell him. “Always needing more.”
He listens, and finally talks to me about his past. The last woman he met here was a little girl to him, but she left to take care of her mother. For some reason, after what we’ve shared, this doesn’t hurt the way I imagined it would. Hell, I’m no virgin. Instead, I see the hurt in him and find myself longing to heal that. After a little while, he catches me staring at the chair beside the spanking bench.
“What are you looking at, little girl?”
“I was… well. I was wondering what you do with that chair?” I ask him.
With a mischievous grin that makes his eyes crinkle, he shrugs a shoulder. “It’s standard furniture in here, but I’ve never used it. Would you like to?”
I swallow hard, imagining me on my knees for him, or over his lap. The chair is covered in leather and studded with gold accents. Regal, and sturdy.
“I would,” I whisper. “Please?”
Taking me by the hand, he leads me to the chair and sits, then pats his knee. “Let’s try this out,” he says, lifting me so I sit on his lap like a little girl.
“This is nice,” I say. “For Christmas, I’d like a pony, Santa.”
Chuckling, he spreads his legs and turns me over his lap belly-down.
“Done,” he says. “A pony if you’re good and a spanking if you’re naughty.”