The Hockey player's submissive professor

JUNO HAYESI didn’t cry.Not when I got home. Not when I locked the door. Not even when I looked in the mirror and saw the bruise blooming on my cheek like a secret I couldn’t hide.I just… sat on the floor.Cassie was out with friends. The house was quiet. Too quiet.And my mind wouldn't stop replaying that moment—Rhett’s voice, his eyes, the way my body reacted.Because the voice I heard in that lecture hall…It wasn’t familiar.It was too familiar.But no. That was ridiculous.Rhett Voss was my client. My student, technically. Younger. Brash. Not at all the man who—I shook my head hard.It had been months. I ended that part of my life. Closed the door. Locked it. I wasn’t going to let one deep voice undo everything I rebuilt.Buzz.My phone lit up beside me.Unknown Number:Room 806. Midnight. Kneel.My stomach twisted.My heart pounded.I stared at the message, thumb frozen.He hadn’t texted in months. After I cut contact, I figured it was over. Maybe it was. Maybe this wasn’t ev

JUNO HAYES10:00 a.m. – Hudson University“Good morning, Professor Hayes,” one of my students called as they passed.I nodded with a smile, clutching my tablet as I left the lecture hall. Class was over, but my day wasn’t.I was due at the Hudson Peak Wellness Center. Rhett Voss’s first official rehab session was at eleven.Technically, he was just a client.But after yesterday? It didn’t feel that simple anymore.My steps slowed as the memory crept back in—his voice, his eyes, the way his hand brushed my cheek like he already knew me.No. That was yesterday. Today, he was just another injured athlete with a bruised ego and a bad shoulder.I reached my office door, thirty minutes early. Just enough time to calm down—or pretend to.Before I could unlock it, the office next door opened.“Juno, back from class already?” came Daniel’s voice.I sighed without turning. “Yes, Daniel.”“That offer still stands, you know. Smoothies, coffee, back rub—purely professional,” he added with a grin I

RHETT VOSSHer hands fumbled at my belt, trembling. I smirked. She was nervous today—that much was obvious. We hadn’t seen each other in weeks, and the tension had built between us like fire beneath ice.Finally, she freed my cock, and as it sprang out, it slapped against her cheek. She bit down on those succulent lips—the same lips I needed wrapped around my length. Her hand slid around my shaft, fingers trembling, eyes wide with need.She leaned in, taking the fat, swollen head between her lips, and a deep groan rumbled from my throat. I’d been on edge for weeks—my injury, the pressure, the ache for her mouth. Her submission. It had all piled up inside me like a bomb waiting to go off.She lowered herself further, licking up the underside of my cock, base to tip, no hands—just that wicked tongue. Then she wrapped her fingers around the base, lifting it upright, her strokes slow and deliberate.Her mouth was hot, wet, eager. She circled her tongue around the head, teasing me, holding

JUNO HAYESMy eyes fluttered open and bam, the bright light of the room hit me like a punch. I winced, immediately squeezing them shut again. A few seconds later, I tried opening them in cautious little slits.Blink. Blink.Where… am I?The ceiling above me looked oddly familiar. I turned my head to the side, squinting at the curtains. They were identical to the ones in my room.Wait. No. That’s impossible.I pushed myself upright, leaning against the headboard, scanning every detail. The blanket. The dresser. The tiny plant on the nightstand that I kept forgetting to water.This wasn’t just like my bedroom. This was my bedroom.“…Wait. My bedroom?”“H…how—” My voice came out rough, like I’d swallowed a handful of gravel, and my mouth tasted worse than the morning after eating questionable street tacos.But the weird taste wasn’t my main problem. The main problem was how the hell I got here.The last thing I remembered was heading to that bar I usually went to with Nina. After that… b

JUNO HAYESI needed my heart to stop beating so fast. I took a deep breath, trying to calm the rapid thud in my chest like some schoolgirl who’d just seen her crush.Professional. Be professional, hun, I told myself before pushing open the door Rhett had directed me to. My eyes went wide.When he’d said he had all the equipment for his treatment, he hadn’t been bluffing.The space looked more like a private training studio than anything you’d find in a normal apartment—sleek weight racks lined the far wall, a set of resistance machines sat in perfect alignment, and in the center was a professional-grade treatment table that looked like it had just been unwrapped from the box.I walked in slowly, my fingers brushing over a row of neatly organized kettlebells. Everything gleamed. Everything had its place. This wasn’t the messy, half-lived-in space I’d expected from a 23-year-old hockey player.“Guess the golden boy likes to keep up appearances,” I muttered, setting my bag beside the tre