I never fraternize with my students.
Never touch them.
But when Giada Romano walks into my classroom, my perfect resolve crumbles.
She’s gorgeous.
And bratty as hell.
She’s brilliant.
And woefully disobedient.
I’ll bend her over my desk and teach her the manners her daddy should have taught her.
This girl needs way more than a lesson in grammar.
Please note: Schooled is a newly expanded re-release, previously entitled Professor Daddy
“Such a good girl,” he says. “That’s such a good baby girl.”
“Mmm,” I murmur. “Thank you, daddy.” I trail a finger along his collar bone. Still fully dressed, I want to see more. But my concerns must show, because he takes my fingers in his large, warm hand, and kisses them, then asks in a serious voice, “What’s on your mind, little girl? You look troubled. A few minutes ago you were giving yourself over to this, but now you’re pulling back.”
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.”
I squeal when his palm smacks my ass. I like how it feels like this, bent over his lap. It’s somehow soothing.
“Yes, daddy,” I say. “You know,” I tell him. “I can’t get the thought of me over your knee out of my head.”
“Ahh,” he says, his voice getting husky. “Babygirls like their lap time. Over the knee. Cuddled up on the lap. None of those hardcore whipping posts for my baby.”
The mention of it makes my heart race, though. “Would you whip me?” I ask him.
The sound of his groan makes me close my eyes, overcome with arousal for him all over again. “I can’t tell you how badly I want to stripe you,” he says. “There are many, many things I’d like to do to you.”
“Oh?” I ask, with a little thrill. I love that. “And there are a few things I want to do to you,” I say.
I feel his cock twitch beneath my belly.
“Like what, baby?” he asks, fisting my hair.
I swallow, my mouth suddenly dry. “I want to suck your cock, daddy. I want to swallow every drop.”
USA Today Bestselling author Jane has been writing since her early teens, dabbling in short stories and poetry. When she married and began having children, her pen was laid to rest for several years, until the National Novel Writing Challenge (NaNoWriMo) in 2010 awakened in her the desire to write again. That year, she wrote her first novel, and has been writing ever since. With a houseful of children, she finds time to write in the early hours of the morning, squirreled away with a laptop, blanket, and cup of hot coffee. Years ago, she heard the wise advice, “Write the book you want to read,” and has taken it to heart. She sincerely hopes you also enjoy the books she likes to read.
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