by Jane Henry
"I don't think so," I say, standing my ground, knowing I won the battle of wills last night, and I can win again. “I think you’re going to give me an A+ for this class, professor, and if you don’t, your life’s going to get very difficult.”
He gives me a hard look, then that smile breaks through, the one that makes me feel warm all the way to my insides. “You are your father's daughter, Mia,” he says, with an easy familiarity I don’t like. I don’t know this man, not really. But he seems to know me. Really know me, right to the core where all the dirtiest, most secret parts are locked away.
“Yes," I say coolly. “I am. So. About that A.”
He shakes his head at me. “You really want that thrashing, don't you?” His eyes darken with undeniable lust, and despite my anger, a little twinge of excitement makes my heart race. “I bet you’re pretty when you cry, Mia.”
Fuck. And just like that, I'm afraid again.
He reaches out across the desk and cups my chin. I can’t believe he’s touching me. Contact with him is like heaven, rough and hot and hard. But it’s his words that really get a reaction. He murmurs them softly, but they're so gently brutal my heart skips a beat when I hear them.
“Those big baby blues are going to water for me, sweetheart.”
Splash!
I throw my water in his face. Thank fuck for wide-mouth designer Yeti, because with one flick of the wrist I’ve doused him with the whole fucking bottle.
“Yours first," I smirk as he stares at me, his professional facade falling to reveal the monster that lurks inside my so-called professor. His face is dripping, and I’ve soaked his shirt too. But that's not what gets my attention. It's the look in his eyes, the sudden punitive fire which animates his way too handsome face.
“That was a mistake, Mia,” he growls.
“Oh my god, I’m so sorry, I must have tripped!” I squeal the words loudly, putting my hands to my face in a mockery of apology. “Oh my, professor, I'm so sorry! Let me get you some tissues from the women's bathroom!”
With that, I rush out the door, leaving him standing there, completely soaked. I have no intention of bringing him tissues, obviously. He’s going to have to clean himself up.
I go and catch up with my new friends, and we head off to our next classes. They help me forget things for a little while, and I need to fucking forget. What will he do in retaliation? Will he report me to my father? Will I be sent home? I want to groan and bang my head against a wall. Just when I finally got some freedom to be who I really am...
When classes are finished, we head out for a bite to eat, which translates into going to a bar, of course. I need a drink or four after the last twenty-four hours of absolute bullshit. Starting college is one thing. Starting college with a fucking mobster for a professor? That's something else completely.
The loud music and the press of people at the bar grows over the course of the night. I drink more. They should be carding, but the only card I need to get what I want is a black card.
“Well hey, stranger.”
A languid drawl floats through the crowd. I turn around and I see Davo.
“Oh. Hey. Davo, I’m so sorry about that guy. Are you okay?”
“No worries,” he grins. He has a massive black eye where his head must have hit the wall, but his spirits are otherwise unbroken. I’m guessing having free access to whatever drugs he wants helps with that.
“I feel so bad, he’s such an asshole," I say. “I’m going to pay you for everything he took and then some.”
“Well hey, thanks,” Davo says. "If you want any more, you know where to find me.”
"You'd still sell to me? Even after…”
“Shit happens to me all the time,” Davo laughs. “He didn’t pull the gun on me, so I’m good."
"He had a gun?” I don't know why I’m surprised. Of course he had a gun. He’s a fucking mobster. A criminal brute like all the others. It doesn't matter how good he looks dressed up like a professor, everybody can tell there’s more to him.
“Yeah. I felt it when he grabbed me. Either that, or he was real pleased to see me.”
I laugh. Davo’s funny.
Right now, my plan is to stay out super late and only go back to my apartment when I’m pretty damn sure he’s going to be asleep rather than lurking around my apartment. He’s a lot older than I am, and old people need their sleep.
It is well past one in the morning when I get back to my place. The bars are still open, but I'm tired. Tomorrow, I’m going to transfer out of Professor Caprio’s class. I can't stand being in his presence like six hours a week.
I’m careful as I come home. I make sure nobody is lurking around, waiting to catch me out this late. I let myself into my apartment with a sigh of relief. Thank god, I didn’t run into…
“Hello, Mia.”
“Oh for fuck’s sake.” I sling my bag into a corner of the room and I swing around to give him the dirtiest look I can muster.
"What the fuck do you wa…”
I don’t get to finish the question before he has hold of me, big arms wrapping around me to sweep me up off the floor. This man handles other people like they're mannequins. Like he’s the only real person in any given room.
He sits down on the couch. He pulls me over his thighs. I scream at the top of my lungs, both to attract the attention of anybody who might hear me, and to dissuade him from doing what I think he's going to do.
“Oh my God, stop! Oh my God, what the fuck! You’re touching me!!”
A massive hand slaps around my face, closing my mouth. “Stop screaming," Professor Caprio growls in my ear, his big body bent over mine, controlling me as I lie hopelessly prone on his lap. “Or I’ll gag you.”
He pulls his hand away.
“Get the fuck off me—….”
He slaps his hand over my mouth again, growling to himself about spoiled brats. He has something next to the couch. A bag. He was prepared for this. He’s had all day to think about what he's going to do to me. Apparently he didn't waste a minute of it.
I feel something big and rubbery pressing at my lips.
“Open,” he insists, but obviously I'm not going to open my mouth and let him gag me. Who the fuck does he think he is? I’m calling my father as soon as I can get away from him and he's going to fucking die. They're going to cut him up while he's still alive.
“Open,” he repeats, and this time, he slaps my ass. Hard.
The shock of it makes my jaw drop and he slips the gag into my mouth, fastening it behind my head with the touch of a man who seems to have done this before. The gag is one humiliating intrusion, but it’s the slap on my ass that really has my attention. That fucking hurt. My skirt has ridden up, but I've still got my underwear on. It did literally nothing to save me.
The shock of being spanked, just that one time, has brought tears to my eyes. I’m not crying. I swear I’m not crying, but my eyes are watering and I can't help sniffing them away. I’m surprised when he doesn’t keep spanking, but instead nudges me off his lap, keeping one hand in my hair so I can't stand, but I end up fucking kneeling on the ground between his long legs, looking up at him with a tearful gaze. What the fuck is happening to me?
Professor Caprio looks down at me with a composed expression, and damn, he’s sexy when he’s angry, his eyes all glittering dark, his jaw tight beneath stubble. I can see the weight of an almost endless tragedy focused on me, and more besides.
He's completely in control now, and he knows it. His hand is still locked in my hair, making it impossible to move, and the gag means I can’t speak either. I suddenly feel very, very small, and quite scared. There’s so much intensity in his mature gaze. He was angry when I doused him with water. Now he's triumphant, but that doesn't seem to make him happy.
He uses the thumb of his free hand to brush the tears away.
“I told you that you were going to cry for me, princess,” he drawls dangerously. "You're a spoiled little brat. You don’t know what discipline
is. That's the first lesson you’re going to learn tonight.”
Oh fuck. I don't know who this guy is, but he doesn’t treat me with the deference most of my father’s men treat me with. I grew up doing what I wanted to the made men surrounding my father. They never did a thing to me, no matter what I said to them, or how I acted. Professor Caprio has already broken every unspoken rule I thought there was. There’s no way my father would ever tolerate this happening to me.
“Now, are you going to be quiet? Or are you going to have a very sore jaw from keeping that gag in all night?”
I nod quickly, hoping he will take mercy on me. To my surprise, he loosens the gag and lets it fall around my neck. I feel the heavy wet warmth of the ball against my collarbone. Before I can speak, he lets the tip of his tear-wet thumb press over my lips, sinking it into my mouth like a pacifier, and I suckle out of instinct, my lips closing around his thumb. I desperately need comfort. I'm confused. My right cheek is still stinging where he spanked me, and I’m pretty sure he's going to do it again.
“See, there is a softer side to you, isn't there, Mia? I’m going to bring the good little girl out of you.”
I don't want him to spank me. I don’t want to feel pain. I don't want to be sore, or sorry. I look up at him with my most earnest, pleading expression. He could do anything to me. I let my tongue graze the underside of his thumb suggestively. Men always want one thing. I don't think this one is any different. Maybe I can distract him from whatever he has planned.
He lets out a grunting sound and pushes his thumb a little deeper into my mouth. “Fuck,” he growls. “You are a hot little thing, aren't you?”
It’s working. I’m seducing him. I’ve never been with a man before, not all the way. He's hot. Everybody knows it. And he looks at me with a smoldering intensity which makes that secret place between my legs get all tight with anticipation.
I want to avoid the spanking. He was right in class. I don't know how to take pain, and I don't like it. He can have my body. He can fuck me if he wants, but I want to come out of this in control.
“Please,” I whisper. “Do anything to me. Just don't spank me.”
His brow lifts and he looks down at me with a sudden sternness, the raw lust drifting away to be replaced with an energy which makes my stomach go into knots.
“You’d rather give me your virginity than take the spanking you know you deserve?”
“Uhm… yes?”
He tugs my head back, looking down into my eyes with a hooded gaze. “You’d do anything to avoid getting what you deserve, wouldn’t you, Mia. It's in your blood. You’d sell your body to me if it meant you weren't punished. Silly little girl. Don't you know?”
“What…” I whisper.
“Sex can be just as punishing.”
“Oh…” My heart thumps at the insinuation, and hell, I wanna know what punishing sex is like.
“You’re so damn innocent," he says. “So damn young. Eighteen. Just a goddamn baby.”
I kneel in place quietly, seeing the war inside him. If I wasn't my father's daughter, I’m certain he would already have taken what he wants from me. My virginity would already be a distant memory. But I’m not some college bimbo begging a professor for a grade. I’m Russo’s daughter, and that fact stands between us as much as it pulls us together.
“I’m not a baby,” I tell him. “I’m a woman.”
His expression changes in some unfathomable way. “You’re a spoiled little girl living in your father’s world.”
“I’m trying to be free of that,” I say, feeling my pride sting. “But you followed me here. You won’t let me be free.”
"And you’ve acted like a petulant little teenager every step of the way. So you’re going to be spanked like one."
“No!” I gasp the word as he pulls me back up over his lap. “Please, Professor Caprio, please don't spank me. Please.”
I can feel his thighs beneath me, the strength of his body all around me. This is no longer my choice but his. I know I've pushed him. Taunted him. Fucked with him. But I’m already crying, real tears coursing down my face. I’m scared of pain. I'm scared of him. I did what I did because I never actually thought anything would happen to me.
“I don't wanna spanking,” I beg, sounding every inch the spoiled little girl he said I was. “Please…”
Chapter 6
Enzo
I came tonight ready to punish. Angry, thirsty for vengeance, having feasted on the vision of her kicking and helpless over my knee since early this morning. She had a taste of discipline once at my hands, but it wasn’t enough.
I kept my cool after she doused me with her damn water. Let her walk out with that goddamn smirk on her face, sashaying out of my classroom, swaying her hips as if taunting me to come and get her. I took off my shirt, wiped my face down, stood in the classroom in a t-shirt and called Emilio. Half an hour later I was dressed in dry clothes, welcoming my next class in and plotting my revenge.
All day long, I pictured this. Mia, at my mercy, pleading for forgiveness. It’s a song I’ve heard before, but this time, the cadence is different. This isn’t a criminal who deserves to die begging for his life, but a girl on the cusp of womanhood begging for what she doesn’t even know she needs.
Discipline. Guidance. Structure.
A woman like her needs a firm hand, and hell if she isn’t gonna feel that hand tonight.
Her pleas fall on deaf ears, not because I’m a heartless bastard—hell, I can be that man, too. But tonight, I tune her pleas out because I know what I’m about to do for her is exactly what this girl needs. And yeah, Piero Russo would have me castrated and left to bleed out on the cobblestoned streets of Calabria if he knew what I was about to do, but he gave me a job. Protect her. Take care of her.
My methods are just a bit unconventional.
Over my knees, her hair wound around my fingers, she’s so close to me her warm breath hits my legs, and my cock lengthens. My mind goes where it shouldn’t. That gorgeous, luscious mouth of hers, filled with my cock while those brilliant eyes hold my gaze, as she sucks until I come, and she swallows every damn—
No. God, no, I can’t let myself go there.
I swallow hard and blink to clear my mind when she pleads again.
“Please, I—”
“Please what, cara?” The sweet term rolls off my tongue before I can stop it and brings a sudden halt to her pleading. She looks over her shoulder at me, her beautiful eyes wide, brimming with tears.
I feel my body and my grip on her chin tighten.
“Are you high, Mia?”
She blinks but doesn’t answer.
Fuck. Of course she is. I may have intercepted her douchebag junkie friend once, but that doesn’t mean she didn’t have a stash.
I’m failing at my job. I’m not watching her closely enough.
This ends now.
With grim conviction, I arrange her over my lap with ease. I tip her just enough to set her off balance. Her hair cascades to the floor, and her hands fly out and brace herself. I take one goddamn stolen moment to admire her, helpless and vulnerable, so beautiful it makes me ache.
Without another thought, I break every fucking rule in the book and lift the hem of her dress. I’ll leave her panties on. Compromise. They’re no more than a strip of dental floss, but whatever. I can justify spanking her ass, but removing her panties is another story.
“Please,” she whispers one last time.
“Please what? Let you act the spoiled brat and attack the one guy who’s here to watch you? No.”
I slam my palm against her upturned ass. I relish the sting and burn on my palm, the way she bucks and squirms, the warmth of her beautiful curves pressed up to me so intimately.
“Let you risk your safety, your wellbeing, and your very life by letting you put that shit in your body? Also, no.”
Crack.
She whimpers.
“Let you keep the company of idiots who’d just as soon use you as
look at you? Nah.”
Whack.
“Fail at my job, let you hurt yourself, and fail to give you the discipline you need so desperately? Not today.”
She cries out loud when I deliver another hard spank.
“Watch you offer to use your body to avoid your punishment? Not a chance.”
I let loose three hard, punishing smacks that take her breath away.
Goddamn, I’m enjoying myself, watching her beautiful, unblemished skin blossom pink, then red, as I punish her.
“Professor!”
I spank her again.
“No. In the classroom, you call me professor. When you’re a naughty little girl in need of a spanking, you’ll call me sir.”
Smack.
I slam my palm a second time, then a third, while she cries and begs for mercy.
“Say it.”
“Let me go. This isn’t fair. When my father finds out about this—”
Oh, she isn’t going anywhere anytime soon. I adjust her over my lap and get comfortable. She lifts one perfectly manicured little hand off the floor and it flies back in a fruitless effort to protect her vulnerable ass. I grab her wrist and pin it to her lower back with ease, then continue the chastisement she’s had coming her whole damn life.
“Finds out about what?” I ask between punishing smacks of my palm. “The drugs? Your begging me to take your virginity? Or your best friend, the junkie?”
She sniffs, and doesn’t respond, and I continue spanking her. This can go one of two ways. Either I’ll anger her, and earn myself a swift slap to the face when I let her off my lap, or I’ll break through, tear those walls down, and reveal who she really is.
Her protests are the pleas of a woman who knows what she needs but can’t bring herself to admit it. And still, she tries. She begs and pleads and rails against me, bucking under the torrent of merciless smacks.
It’s time to change my approach up a little.
I slow the spanking, pausing to lecture her.
