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  I wrinkle my nose. “How do I make it hard?”

  “Ah, princess. Everything you do makes it hard. Putting it inside you is the only cure.” Gavin levers himself directly above me, caging my body in with his flexing arms. He positions his knees inside my thighs, widening them in one precise move. With my legs jerked open, the petals of my flesh unfold, moisture escaping to travel wetly down the crack of my bottom. I’m exposed and gasping and I can do nothing about it, because the man looming over me is calling the shots—and I want him to.

  I need him to.

  “Daddy.” Shyness packed into my movements, I shift on the bed and try to close my thighs, knowing I won’t be able to. “I-I’m not wearing any panties.”

  “Oh, I’m well aware. That’s one of the things that makes my dick hard.” Slowly, he lowers his lap to the cradle of my hips, the steel ridge of his shaft pressing tight to my bare, drenched sex, nothing but the layer of his briefs between us. “Knowing how close we are.”

  I resist the urge to yank his hips closer, my body demanding friction. More contact. Anything. “How close we are to what?”

  “Daddy fucking his princess,” he grinds out, beginning to hump me in earnest, the cords of his neck straining. “You’re going to be so sweet for me, aren’t you? You’re going to let me do what I’ve been dreaming about for so long.”

  “You dream about me?”

  “Christ, yes, Alana,” he growls, nipping at my neck. “Very naughty dreams.”

  My expression is dubious. “I thought it was bad to be naughty.”

  “It’s okay as long as you’re with me.” His mouth captures mine, ensnaring me in a wet, passionate kiss. “It’s only good to be naughty with me. Very good.”

  With an excited gasp, I wrap my legs around his hips. “Do I get a reward?”

  Sweat is forming on Gavin’s brows, his eyes nearly black with arousal. “Yes. I’ll buy you whatever you want if we can play as often as I need. But someday, my come is going to be your favorite reward. You’ll seek me out for it, princess, and I’ll always have it waiting.” He trails the fingers of his left hand down the center of my body, breaching the lips of my sex with his middle finger. “My fucking God, you’re a beautiful, perfect mess.”

  The reverence in his voice, the lust and awe, has me dropping my knees open, working my hips beneath his own. His erection pushes down heavily right on top of my bundle of nerves, rocking gently, as if we both know it’s bad, but nothing can stop us now.

  “Daddy,” I sob, arching my back, tempting him. “Let me cure you.”

  By the time I finish making my request, Gavin is a man on the verge of madness. There’s a continuous rumble of need coming from his chest as he shoves down his briefs, fisting his shaft between us. My mouth falls open at the sight of it, slightly purple, engorged and dripping a milky substance onto my belly. “Fuck it.” He drags the tip of his rigid arousal up and back, over my entrance. “I’m riding it bare. I can’t stop.”

  “Don’t stop,” I urge breathlessly, sliding my palms up his pecs and resting them on his shoulders, clinging. “I need you.”

  “I haven’t even fingered you,” he says raggedly, nudging the damp opening of my sex, attempting to work his hard flesh inside. “Haven’t even licked your pussy.”

  “I don’t care,” I whimper, sliding my hands down his back and clawing at his hips. I’m consumed by need for something I don’t understand. Something I have no experience with. But this man and I are connected by something intangible, as well as earth-shattering physical chemistry, and I can’t survive any more delays before feeling him. All of him. “Daddy. I want my reward now!”

  With a strangled roar, Gavin thrusts inside of me. Partially, at least. It takes several demanding tweaks of his hips to seat him fully—and all I can do is gasp for air with every new, thick inch as pain invades my limbs, my tummy. Oh, oh, I don’t know what’s happening. Am I in misery or is this ecstasy? It hurts and it teases pleasure at the same time. My thighs tremble and more wetness rushes to where our bodies join. Even though there’s a pinching pressure, I can’t help but sink my fingers into his lower back and pull him tighter.

  Gavin hisses a breath through his teeth. “Jesus fucking Christ, it’s so wet and tight. Don’t fucking move or I’m going to spill.”

  “I can’t stop,” I respond choppily, my knees pulling up on autopilot, toward my shoulders, sinking his hugeness impossibly deeper. “I can’t stay still. I c-can’t. The pressure. Please.”

  “I felt your cherry pop, Alana,” Gavin says hoarsely, his weight slowly pushing me down, his panting lips ghosting over mine. “You need time.”

  Even as he says it, his hips are beginning to pump.

  “Goddammit,” he shouts into my neck. “Tell me to slow down.”

  “No,” I gasp.

  There’s no help for the sexual gravity between us.

  It’s like we’re being compelled.

  “I need you, Daddy,” I whisper, teasing his sides with my inner thighs. “Take me.”

  Something comes over him. A momentary stillness. One of his hands lifts and wraps around my throat. “My little girl,” he rasps, squeezing. “Mine.”

  My expression is a mixture of innocence, understanding and budding desire. For this man. This forbidden man he’s representing. “Yes.”

  Eyes locked on each other, Gavin starts fucking me. It begins with testing drives, the pendulum of his balls lightly rebounding off my backside. But within seconds, he’s bucking against me, his body straining, the bed springs squeaking beneath us. The frenzy that takes him over is what Estelle tried to warn me about, I think. He loses his humanity, his face contorting in mask of pain, gentleness deserting him.

  With his full weight on top of me, Gavin jerks up my knees and drapes them over his shoulders, his hips lifting and slapping back down, his sex stiffening and elongating even more inside of me, reaching places that roll my eyes back in my head, create a coiling burden deep in my womb. “This is only for your Daddy,” he chants. “This is only for your Daddy.”

  “Yes.” Oh God, what is that spot he’s touching? It’s like a magical pressure point sending signals to that nub hidden in my folds and—my hips buck. “Oh!” He’s let go of my throat and now he’s touching it. He’s touching that pearl of confusing sensations that I could never seem to figure out. His thumb is stroking it roughly and now is when I usually stop because the onslaught of bliss becomes too much. But Gavin only bears down harder, his thumb giving firm, unrelenting friction. “I-i-it’s too much. It’s too much! What’s going to happen?”

  Gavin’s lust-sharpened eyes dawn with understanding that this has never happened to me before. That I’ve never gotten this far. His shock is replaced by determination and something sweet, at the same time. Affection softens his mouth as he plants them on top of mine, kissing me slowly, coaxingly. “I’m here now, princess. You can let go. Milk my big cock with your first orgasm.” He quickens the strum of his thumb on my clit, his full-to-bursting manhood stroking into me deeply, so deeply, I can’t think, only feel. “You can do it, little girl. You can do this for Daddy and make me so proud.”

  The scream that builds inside of me isn’t just audible, it’s a clenching of muscles and tissue. It’s the incredible, final tightening inside of me that suddenly lets loose, bringing a barrage of pleasure so wild I have to fight it. I struggle beneath Gavin, but he captures my wrists and holds me down, groaning brokenly into my hair as I thrash, the orgasm that has eluded me for so long ripping me apart. My inner walls constrict around Gavin’s thick flesh and it starts to spasm, Gavin bellowing a curse into my neck, his hips smacking into mine with violent thrusts, an abundance of liquid heat firing from his body into mine, leaking out and coursing down my thighs and buttocks, but still he pumps, smashing the headboard against the wall, again and again, his groans turning hoarse until finally he collapses on top of me.

  I’m not sure how long we lay there, my thighs slung over his shoulders, our labored bre
aths filling the room. Maybe two minutes has passed when Gavin eases my legs back down, letting them fall to the bed on either side of his hips. He lifts his eyes to mine and they’re full of disbelief, full of something deeper than affection.

  Something closer to obsession, though I’ve never seen it up close.

  My fingertips tremble in the presence of it. My heart misses a beat.

  My little girl. Mine.

  “I going to need a lot longer than a fucking hour with you, Alana,” he says, his voice rife with intensity. “A lot longer. Do you understand me?” He leans down and traces my nipple with the tip of his tongue and it buds, as if on command. “We’re going to have a discussion, you and me. If I can manage to keep my cock out of you for five minutes.”

  Hypnotized in the face of such possession, all I can do is nod. “Okay.”

  Gavin sits up, his reluctance obvious. He stands and pulls his pants up. Pants that never made it down past his knees, situating his still semi-hard erection back into his briefs. “I’m going to pay for another few hours. Do not move from this bed.”

  I sit up, still disoriented from my climax. “Why don’t we just go somewhere else to talk?”

  Gavin raises an eyebrow. “Where? A coffee shop?” His gaze falls to my leaking sex. “So help me God, Alana, I’ll end up fucking you over the display case.”

  Gulp. “Oh.”

  His amusement makes my own lips jump, but the twinkle in his eyes quickly turns to concern. He comes toward the bed, reaching out to cup my cheek. “Are you okay?” His thumb brushes the bow of my lips. “I’ll never forgive myself if I’ve hurt you.”

  Something tightens in my chest. “It was perfect,” I whisper.

  A line moves in his cheek. “Utterly.” His hand drops and he backs away. “Don’t. Move.”

  When she door closes behind him a moment later, I throw myself back into the pillow and gape at the ceiling. Oh my God. What just happened? I think…I think I might have serious feelings for this man I’ve only known for an hour. This man who took my virginity.

  At the reminder, I toss back the covers to find a bright spot of red blood on the white sheet, the size of a rose petal. My hands fly up to cover my smiling mouth. What does Gavin want to talk to me about? Does he want to be my boyfriend? I don’t even know his last name.

  No, all I know about him is his secret.

  A trickle of desire warms me and I get up to clean myself off. As soon as my feet touch the ground, there’s a knock on the door. Assuming it’s Gavin and he accidentally locked the door, I go to open it a crack, finding Ripley instead.

  Her face is streaked with black mascara tears and she’s clutching the blue robe around her trembling body. “I have to go,” she whispers brokenly. “I have to get out of here. Now.”

  Concern obliterates any of my lingering desire. “Oh my God, Rip. What happened?”

  “I’ll tell you later, just…please drive me home.” She casts a nervous glance down the hallway. “Now?”

  Best friend code dictates I don’t hesitate. Ripley is not the pleading type, so I know this is serious. “Of course.” I jump into action, gathering my robe off the floor and belting it around my waist. When I exit into the hallway, I expect us to detour to the changing room so we can grab our clothes, but Ripley is already heading toward the emergency exit. “Wait,” I call in a stage whisper. “I need my car keys.”

  She dangles them over her shoulder without slowing down.

  For a brief few seconds, I hesitate on the threshold of the emergency exit door leading to the parking lot. I look back at the dim brothel and beg Gavin to appear, so I can explain. So I can give him my phone number. But he doesn’t—and I run out of time, concern for my best friend pulling me into the crisp, fall air.

  You’ll find a way to get his information.

  And I try. I really do. Unfortunately, Estelle won’t cough up any of his details due to client confidentiality, and my searches online have little to go on. A week later, when the payment has been transferred into my bank account and I leave for art school, I’ve lost all hope of ever seeing Gavin again, though memories of his touch continue to wake me up in the middle of the night, sweat coating my body, his name on my lips.

  If it wasn’t for the money, I would think it was all a dream.

  Little do I know that on the first day of classes, that theory will be thoroughly shattered.

  4

  Gavin

  It’s the first day of the new semester and my mind should be on the lecture ahead. I’ll be meeting a fresh crop of students today. Normally I would be at least mildly optimistic that perhaps there might be a brilliant photographic eye among them. But as I collect my new class roster from the main office, slide it into my leather briefcase and trudge toward the photography wing, I can’t even muster the smallest bit of interest.

  Every day of the last week has been a fucking struggle.

  Ever since the second I walked back into the room in the brothel and Alana was nowhere to be found, a vise has been cranking tighter and tighter around my skull. No amount of money or bargaining could get her information out of Estelle. Part of me knows the madam made the right decision denying me any info, too, because I blew into her office like a goddamn hurricane, threatening to rip the place down with my bare hands if Alana wasn’t presented to me immediately. It was little wonder she didn’t want to offer up a young girl to a violent, visibly obsessed man. For all Estelle knew, Alana had run away from me for a good reason.

  Had she?

  I’ve replayed the night over and over in my head. Every time, my actions seem a little more salacious. A little more depraved. Especially when I remember the spot of blood in the center of the comforter, how her innocence felt giving way for my cock.

  I fucked a virgin. Hard. I made the whole affair dirty and forbidden, when it should have been perfect for her. She probably did run, you monster.

  Of course she pretended to love what you did to her. She was being paid.

  I stop outside my classroom and lean up against the wall, massaging the bridge of my nose, not wanting to enter until I’m the cool, collected professor I’ve always been. Somehow I’ve got to get through this day, and the next, and the next, not knowing where Alana has gone. If she’s traumatized. Or equally bad—in trouble. I never stopped to ask her why she needed the money, did I? For all I know, she was running away from an abusive home or…

  God, I can’t stomach the possibilities.

  My heart is pounding out of my chest now and I breathe to slow it down.

  Today is the interview in front of the board of directors. They’ll vote on whether or not to induct me and they’ll definitely decline my membership if I’m a headcase. After receiving my tenure last year, this was the next step in my plan. It’s what I’ve been working toward since I accepted this position at the university. A board member is respected among their peers. They have greater influence on how each department is funded. Once I’m voted in, I plan on turning the photography program into one of the most respected in the country.

  Every goal I’ve ever set in my life has been professional.

  Raised by a university president and a philosophy professor, I was taught to expect greatness from myself in the form of academic achievements.

  I have to overcome the fact that none of it seems important now. Without her.

  That makes me crazy, right? I’ve been working toward my professional goals my whole life. I knew Alana for one hour. And yet, I can barely gather enough enthusiasm to push open the door of the lecture hall and walk inside.

  Conversation goes silent among the stadium-style seating, letting me know my reputation as a no-nonsense bastard has preceded me. Good. I’m not in the mood for any bullshit today. The sharp ache in the center of my chest hints that I never will be again.

  Most of my lessons will be done in the field or in the darkroom, but I’ll spend a week lecturing on the basics of photography, citing work from some of the giants in my field. So I drop
my leather briefcase down on the desk, front and center of the lecture hall, snapping it open to remove my notes and the slides I’ll project overhead.

  It’s the sharpest intake of breath that causes me to glance up. I know that sound. As slight as it is in the giant room, it sinks claws into my gut and twists.

  It’s the sound Alana made when I popped her cherry.

  My cock is already stiffening at the memory, at the potential of her being near, when I look up and find her staring back at me.

  My little girl is sitting in the front row. Of my fucking lecture hall.

  Her mouth has fallen open, her cheeks are bright pink. She’s staring back at me in shock…but there’s relief there, too, in her different colored eyes.

  If there weren’t a hundred other eyes glued to my every movement, I might have slumped over the desk with my own relief. She’s there. She’s fucking there—alive, healthy, the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen in my life. In a loose floral skirt and white halter top, I could eat her alive. Her lithe legs are crossed, allowing the skirt to fall away and reveal the smooth length of her outer thigh. Her tits are round and high in the neckline of her top, hair in a loose ponytail. Effortlessly stunning and young. My God, she’s so fucking young. It was obvious in the brothel, but seeing her among my students really brings it home.

  My instincts are roaring for me to go scoop her up, carry her down the hall to my office and fuck her blind. To demand to know if I hurt her. To demand to know where the hell she has been. Mine. Mine. I need her now.

  With my two worlds colliding, however, it all comes rushing back to me. What we did on that bed, the things I said to her, the taboo game we played. How my hunger was supposed to remain a secret. Far away from my professional life. Never to touch it, never to even breathe on it. Now the person I paid to call me Daddy while I railed her is sitting in the front row of my classroom. Alana is my student.