by Kane, Jessa
“Alana,” he interrupts, unzipping his jeans with shaking hands. “I’ll walk the campus holding your hand proudly. If anyone has a fucking word to say about it, they can take it up with me.” He brings out his shaft in a tight fist, nudging the smooth tip against the entrance of my sex, then driving home with a guttural sound. He swallows my decadent scream with his mouth, pelting my lips with hot breaths. “And they’ll all shut their mouths when I make you my wife. When I get that belly good and round.”
I don’t have a chance to respond before Gavin reaches behind me and sweeps every single item off the desk, sending stacks of paperwork and books crashing to the ground. I’m pushed onto my back and mounted by Gavin atop the desk, his hips already pumping feverishly between my open thighs. “W-w-wife?” I whimper, the promise of an orgasm already looming, urged on by his declarations. The proof of his devotion. “A baby?”
“You could already be pregnant, Alana. Part of me knew exactly what I was doing in that brothel. Claiming your pussy and your womb that first night. They were already mine. You were already mine.” My inner walls contract and he clenches his teeth. “Say yes, princess,” he grits, thrusting deep. “Say yes and the next time you sit in the front row on my lecture hall, there will be a ring on your finger.”
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.
Back when I was fresh from losing my virginity, I had no idea that Gavin was abnormally large until I overheard some fellow students talking about the average penis size of the American male, inspiring me to Google the statistics and find out that Gavin’s nine-inch shaft was even more impressive than I already knew.
When he got home that night, I went exploring and…
Let’s just say I designed my own custom kneepads so I could perform my favorite pastime comfortably—and Gavin isn’t complaining.
Now, I come to my knees and walk to the edge of the bed, shyly tucking my hair behind my ear, slipping into the role that makes my sex soft and slick. “Are you sure I’m supposed to be kissing you there, Daddy?”
“Yes, princess.” He takes my wrist and tugs me closer, love and lust written on his face. “We talked about this, didn’t we? Your mouth gives special kisses. They’re the only thing that make me feel better after a hard day.” He flicks open the button of his pants and lowers his zipper. “Remember how you feel when I tickle your special place?”
Heat licks my inner thighs, my toes curling behind me. “Yes,” I whisper, ducking my head. “I remember.”
“You want me to feel like that, don’t you?”
“Yes.” I cross my arms over my breasts, eyeing his erection dubiously, deciding to make our game even more interesting. “But it’s too messy. I don’t want to be messy.”
Gavin’s jaw flexes with irritation, but there’s appreciation in his eyes for the curveball. “Then maybe it’s time we try something else, princess.”
“Like what?”
He settles a knee on the bed, pulling me up against his chest and stroking my hair. “I’m going to turn you around now. If you don’t want a messy mouth and chin, then I’ll have to put the mess deep inside you where it won’t come out.”
“Where?”
Gavin turns me and he’s starting to breath heavily, his hand pressing down on the center of my back. I make sounds of confused protest as he pulls my thighs open and settles his lap against my backside. His fist drags his hard sex through my soft one, and I whimper, trying to shift away, but he plows deep, grunting into my hair. I claw the
comforter and try to pull away, but he jerks me back, careful to avoid my pregnant stomach with his forearm. “Next time you won’t complain about giving me a special kiss, will you?”
“No, Daddy,” I whimper as he starts to pump, deep grinding thrusts that make my breasts shake. “I won’t. I won’t.”
“Try to enjoy it,” he rasps, his thickness parting me, filling me incessantly, his mouth open and panting against my spine, wrongness blending with rightness in our very own recipe.
And oh God, I do enjoy it, I revel in what we’re doing, what we do together every time we have a spare moment. To us, it’s magic. It’s us. “I’m fucking obsessed with you, wife,” he heaves against my ear, his climax turning his body stiff, his shaft jerking inside of me. “I love you.”
“I love you, too,” I gasp, carried away on a current of pleasure.
THE END
DON’T MISS RIPLEY AND MASE’S BOOK
HIS LITTE SECRET
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Ripley has been in love with her step-uncle, Mase, since he got out of prison. Though they’ve stalked each other with their eyes for a long time, they haven’t acted on their blistering attraction and the clock is starting to tick. Ripley is leaving for college next week and doesn’t want to go without quenching the hunger he’s stirred with his scarred biker hands and big, tattooed body. When she finds a mysterious number in his phone and calls it, she formulates a plan and sets it into motion. She’ll seduce Mase without revealing her true identity. Once they’ve given into the lust, he’ll stop warning Ripley that she’s forbidden and they’ll finally be together. Right?
Mase ought to be ashamed of himself, hungering after his brother’s much younger stepdaughter. But hell if he can help it. No, he can’t resist being drawn closer and closer to her beautiful flame, dying to get burned…and he finally does, duped into one night that did nothing to get the sweet redhead out of his system. Ripley is now pregnant with his child. But his momentary anger over being tricked has driven her away. Now he’ll move heaven and earth to win back the girl he loves. To make her his forever.
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