Daddy's Demands: Twenty-Five Steamy Daddy Dom Romance Novellas

by Madison Faye

  “Ms. Romano?” I blink. Shit, I didn’t hear a word he said. I was too busy staring at him.

  “Yes?”

  He frowns at me, waving a stack of papers in his hand. “I asked you to please pass out the course syllabus sheets to your classmates.”

  That frown sends a pulse right between my legs.

  “Yes, of course,” I mumble, getting to my feet. I never stumble in heels and prefer them because they instantly make any outfit look feminine and chic, but as I get up from my desk, one heel wobbles, I lose my balance and lurch forward. My arms flail in front of me, grasping for purchase, but I can’t catch onto anything. I’m going to fall on my ass in front of this god of a man and humiliate myself in front of my entire class.

  Then strong, powerful arms grab me about the waist, bracing me before I fall. I’m flush up against him, dazzled by his scent and warmth and strength, so much shorter than he is that my head hits mid-shoulder. I blink up at him. A current passes through my body, a zing of arousal that shocks the hell out of me. I’ve made out with men who didn’t affect me as much as the chaste, powerful touch of this man. I blink.

  “Thank you,” I mutter. I need to push away from him but he’s holding me, his eyes slightly widened in surprise. Why surprise?

  “You’re okay?” he asks. I nod dumbly. He lets me go as if I’m hot to the touch, and I nearly stumble again but grasp the table. Cheeks flaming, I take the stack of paper he hands me, then in a daze pass them out to the other ten or so students in the class. I wouldn’t know how many there are. I can hardly bring myself to look at them.

  The rest of the class goes by in a blur, and I do my best to focus, but I’m way off my game. My mind is teeming, my body strangely energized, and I make a vow right then and there that I need to stop reading so many damn romance novels. I read one or two a day, fully immersed in the escapism it brings me, and I think they’re getting to my fucking head. I’ve always been a hopeless romantic, but it wasn’t until I hit my senior year in high school I discovered romance. I’ve been a complete addict ever since. But this obsession has not served me well, especially since my particular tastes these days are always the kinky variety involving handcuffs and safewords and dominants.

  Everything about this man fits the bill. I could see him with a length of rope or crop in his hand as easily as I could imagine him with a cup of coffee.

  I blame the writer in me. My imagination is on overdrive, wondering what this man would do with my body. My ass. My mouth.

  Jesus, I need to get laid.

  I take notes dutifully but have no idea what I wrote, when I realize that everyone is getting up and shuffling out the door. My head whips up to the clock on the wall, and I realize class is over. Fumbling, I grab my notebook and pen, and shove them into my bag, when his stern voice arrests me.

  “Ms. Romano.”

  I look up at him. He’s over at his desk, straightening things out, but he definitely called my name.

  “Yes?” My voice is husky and a little squeaky.

  Get your shit together, girl.

  “Please remain after class.”

  The blood pounds in my ears as the nameless, faceless people I’ve just sat next to for an hour filter out of the class, leaving me alone with Professor Slade. The door shuts with a click behind the last person to leave, and I turn to face my professor. Now that we’re alone, he seems even larger than before, as if his entire presence fills every inch of this classroom. I feel small and helpless, and more than a little curious. I click-clack-click my retractable pen nervously when his voice cuts through the quiet like a whip.

  “Stop that.”

  The pen clatters to the desk. I look up at him, stunned. I swallow, my mouth dry, and take in a deep breath.

  He pushes off the desk and stalks over to me, looming over my desk, then he leans against the edge of the desk beside mine. He’s so big, the space between the desks so small, he’s almost brushing up against my desk. Why the hell has he asked me to stay after class?

  “You look a little bewildered, Ms. Romano.”

  “Giada,” I say without thinking. I have no control over my mind or body, it seems.

  A corner of his lips quirks up and he tilts his head to the side. “Giada,” he repeats.

  “Yep. That’s right. Giada. It’s the Italian form of the word jade,” I blather on like an idiot. “My mother spent several years in China and had a penchant for the gem, so she decided to name me after it.”

  His stern eyes twinkle a bit, but he only nods.

  “It’s a hard gem known for its healing properties,” I continue like a wind-up toy on speed, “and it’s a… really pretty green.”

  Like your eyes.

  I slam my mouth shut and wish for the floor to swallow me up.

  He nods sagely, grasping his chin and stroking his beard. “I see. Well, now I know.”

  Oh, God, I’m an idiot. I sit and wait for him to continue.

  He eyes me quietly for a moment and says nothing. I feel heat creeping up my neck and cheeks, I’m so embarrassed by this crazy conversation, so nervous being alone with him like this.

  “You seemed distracted in class,” he says, leaning forward and placing one hand on the desk in front of me. “Did you hurt yourself when you stumbled?”

  “No, sir,” I mumble. The heat on my cheeks ignites to flaming. I just called him sir. Like in the books. Like he was my dom or something. The rational part of my brain that tells me it’s totally normal to call a professor sir doesn’t even register. I feel like I have a ‘Dom me now, sir’ sign plastered on my forehead.

  His green eyes focus on mine. “I’d like you to tell me what tonight’s assignment is.”

  Oh, shit.

  “I…” I’m speechless. I don’t have a damn clue what tonight’s assignment is.

  His voice drops to chiding as he lifts a stern brow. “Do you mean to tell me you weren’t paying attention, Giada?”

  “Of course I was,” I snap. It isn’t my fault he’s got me all flustered. It’s his.

  His eyes narrow in warning. “Watch your tone.”

  I reach for my bag, not meeting his eyes, not acknowledging the fact that hearing him call me by name and the stern way he speaks is doing all sorts of crazy things to my body. I want to leave this room. I’m bewitched in here and need to clear my head. I’m Giada Romano, daughter of Leonardo Romano, who left behind him a legacy of the most profitable car sales in the entire country. I’m not here to kowtow to some muscled professor in a little community college.

  I snatch my notebook, flip it open, and look at the words I wrote on the page. I don’t remember a word of this, as if I was possessed during class.

  “Write a one-page, personal entry on the influence of literature on your imagination,” I parrot, then look up at him. He’s watching me like a predator ready to pounce on its prey, and I’m suddenly aware of how vulnerable I am. We’re alone, in a vacant classroom, and who knows if anyone’s nearby? He outweighs me by at least a hundred pounds and could easily overpower me. Is he safe?

  No. No, he isn’t safe. If there’s anything I’ve learned in my twenty-one years on this earth, it’s that men who look at me the way he is are anything but safe.

  “Good girl,” he says. Oh, my God. Like the doms I read. Good girl.

  Say it again, I mentally beg, but I keep my shit together for once.

  “Do you have any questions about your assignment?” he asks.

  “No, sir,” I say, this time intentionally. This man has an agenda. I get to my feet slowly, unfolding my body from the chair like a dancer, silently begging for him to look me over once more, but he doesn’t fall for the bait, his eyes drilling into mine.

  I know exactly what I’m going to write. He might be the stronger one physically, but I won’t go down without a fight.

  “And when is that due, Giada?”

  I blink, stare down at my paper, and realize I don’t have a clue. I look back up at him.

  He shakes hi
s head. “Not paying attention to details?” he asks, tsking under his breath. “You really are looking for me to punish you, aren’t you?”

  And just like that, my panties dampen. He knows exactly what the fuck he’s doing.

  “You send it to my email listed on the syllabus by this evening,” he says. “It’s a precursor to the work we’ll begin tomorrow.” He drums his fingers on my desk. “Any questions, young lady?” His voice is as seductive as if he just asked me to strip for him. He’s testing me out, seeing how far he can push me.

  Two can play at this game.

  I take a step toward him and lower my voice to demure. “No, sir. I understand. Is there anything else you need from me?”

  “No,” he clips, sharp and acerbic. I bite back a smile. He’s no fool.

  He pushes away from the desk and marches back to the front of the room. “You are free to leave,” he says. “But remember what I said, Giada.” He lifts a stack of papers in his hand and straightens them, eyes coming straight back to me. “Be here on time tomorrow, or you’ll answer to me.”

  My body clenches of its own accord, and I know right then what I need to do.

  Chapter Two

  Geoffrey

  I watch her leave the room and mentally berate myself.

  Don’t watch her ass. Don’t look at those legs. And for God’s sake, no more gaping at her breasts.

  She’s a fucking goddess and she knows it. I want to grab her arm as she sashays out of my classroom, pull her back to me, then bend her over my knee for being so damn beautiful and sassy. She ought to be punished. I could tell by the gleam in her eyes she’s already planning on pushing me to my limits.

  Students shouldn’t look like that, and she’s toying with me.

  Part of me hopes she comes late to class tomorrow so she gives me a reason to punish her. Damn modern laws prohibiting me from bending her over my desk and paddling her ass. But I don’t need to spank her to correct her. Wield my power over her. Teach her a lesson.

  I’ll find a way.

  I gather my things together and head to the gym. I need to burn off some of this energy, ground myself in sweat and pain. I lift until my muscles ache, bench pressing a record high, and when my body is covered in sweat and my mind able to focus on things other than the curves of the barely legal student in my classroom, I head home. I take a quick shower, down a protein shake, then pull out a frozen dinner and toss it in the microwave while I check my email.

  There are exactly nine students in my class, and exactly eight paragraphs in my inbox. Nothing from Giada.

  I read each one dutifully, as if trying to make up for the fantasies I’m playing out in my head about fucking my student up against the blackboard in our room. I’m a fucking pervert for even fantasizing about it and need to be the good professor now. I read about one student’s fascination with Shakespearean plays, and how Shakespearean tragedies influence his writing, another student’s love of the Byronic hero drawing her to explore the Brontes. I sigh in boredom scanning a paragraph about one student’s visit to Walden Pond after a thorough exploration of Thoreau.

  Did none of them actually listen to the assignment? I’m not looking for them to brag about esoteric literary pursuits. This is a creative writing class, for Christ’s sake. I asked them how literature influenced their imagination.

  Rolling my eyes after reading another paragraph as dry as sawdust detailing one student’s obsession with Hemingway, I shut off my laptop, frowning at the clock on my wall that tick-tocks in mockery at my frustration, and make up my mind.

  I haven’t been to Club Verge since my sub broke up with me in April. Her mom, still living in a tiny village outside of Greece, was ill. Philippa quit her job and decided to move back home to take care of her siblings. We still stay in touch but agreed a long-term dom/sub relationship wasn’t for either one of us. She found another dom in her hometown last month, and even though I still get a little pang thinking about her, I’ve moved on.

  I need to go back to Verge. Maybe part of my frustration tonight’s because I haven’t gotten laid in weeks, and haven’t topped anyone equally in longer. I need to tie someone up, cause a little pain, see someone squirm under my authority and control. Then maybe I can banish the thought of the girl with a too-short dress, spankable ass, and legs that go on forever out of my damn mind.

  I take one final glance at my email before I close my laptop, and remember she was supposed to have the assignment in my inbox by tonight. Let’s see if she does what she’s told.

  I get ready to go, hail a cab, and head to Verge.

  When I get there, the night’s darkened to ebony, the streetlights reflecting on the shiny black entrance. The last time I came to Verge I wasn’t alone. I haven’t been here in over a year. But my friends are here, and it will be good to see them again. I have no idea who’ll be here, but suspect at least the club owner Tobias will make an appearance.

  I open the door and nod to Braxton, who’s working as bouncer tonight.

  “Geoff,” he says, fist-bumping me in greeting. “Man, haven’t seen you in forever. Where the hell’ve you been?”

  I shrug. “Eh, haven’t been into coming for a while. Just needed a little space.”

  He looks at me with sympathy and nods. “I get it. Still, dude, good to see you back.”

  I give him a chin lift. “Thanks, man. What have you been up to?”

  “Attempting to keep his submissive in check, which, I might add, is what I’d call an exercise in futility,” comes a warm female voice from the community room.

  Brax has a sub? Looks like I’ve missed some action.

  I look over and see a pretty, curvy woman with short black hair approaching us. She’s looking at Braxton like he hung the moon. Brax loops an arm around her shoulders and gestures to me.

  “Zoe, meet my friend Geoff. Hasn’t been around in a while. Geoff, meet my girl Zoe.”

  Brax was one of the floaters, never settled down with anyone and mocked those of us who did. And now he’s got a girl? The pang in my chest returns as I force a smile and shake Zoe’s hand.

  “Pleased to meet you,” I say. “Keeping that guy in check?”

  “Nope,” she says with a grin. “Runs wild most of the time until I feed him.”

  He gives her a playful ass smack. She laughs, then turns to him, and on her tiptoes kisses his cheek. I look away. I didn’t realize how much I miss Philippa. I hope the dom she’s with now treats her right, knows how to take care of her and nurture her. She needs a daddy.

  Then I shake my head. That’s in the past, and I don’t need to focus on that now. Her needs are no longer my concern.

  “Later,” I say, curter than I mean to, as I turn and enter Verge. The main lobby area is right across from club owner Tobias’s office, where members agree to terms before entering. Only club members are allowed beyond these doors unless they’re with a guest. I steel myself. Beyond those doors are my friends. People who understand me. And women who want to be dominated.

  I need that.

  I push past the entrance and enter the club area. To the left lies the bar and to the right, an area that almost looks like a normal club: pool tables, circular tables, comfortable chairs. It would look like a normal club, if the life-stylers here were dressed in civilian clothing. Some are, but the abundance of leathers and studs makes for a unique setting.

  “Hey, Geoff.” Travis, the bartender, jerks up his chin in greeting while pulling a round of beers. “Haven’t seen you in a while. Get you the regular?” He’s the youngest dom here, in his early twenties, his signature southern drawl setting him apart from the rest of the New Yorkers. He’s a Texas native and moved here for college. Now that he’s graduated, he’s here more often, and the reminder of how young he is reignites the guilt I have for getting hard over my student.

  “Travis.” I nod, taking the cold, frothy beer from his outstretched hand. It’s hard to be back here, but the recognition from my friends and familiarity are setting me at ea
se. “Good to be back, man. All good?”

  “Hell, yeah,” he says. “All good. Broke up with my girlfriend but she was moving west for grad school anyway.” He shrugs. “I definitely like to do more than pull drinks here.” He gives me a wink. So his last girl wasn’t into the club scene.

  We shoot the breeze for a while, and I take a cursory look around the place. I don’t like to linger too long. There are many here just for a hook-up, many looking to play, but I’m not sure what I want tonight. Now that I’m here, just sitting with a beer and talking to my friends seems to fill a need I didn’t even know I had.

  My phone buzzes, an email notification lighting up my screen. I frown. I forgot I even had the damn thing set up to show me email. I only did that temporarily over the summer when I was waiting for my course selections. I’ve been an associate professor for three years and was hoping to land the creative writing class for a while. Now that I’ve got it, I need to shut off this feature on my phone.

  Out of curiosity, I pull down the screen notification. My pulse spikes when I see the name.

  Giada Romano

  My skin’s all prickly like a fucking teenager’s. Christ, I need to get this under control.

  She’s a student, douchebag, I chide myself. I swallow hard, pretending to be all cool and chill, and tap the notification that opens up her email.

  As requested:

  Assignment: Write a one-page, personal entry on the influence of literature on your imagination.

  Literature has fueled my imagination from a very young age. My earliest memory is of sitting on my daddy’s knee when I was a little girl, while he read me a bedtime story. He passed on his love of great literature, and I have fond memories of the imaginative worlds we shared: from Narnia and Middle Earth to the prairie of early America and later, battles that forged our nation. He never shielded me from the heartache in the pages of those books but used them as a tool to teach me about life, history, hopes, and dreams.