Chp2

Monday morning I walked into Lecture Hall B wearing the shortest skirt I owned and no panties. Just a thin white button-down that gaped a little when I breathed and a black leather bag that smelled like the new notebooks I’d bought just to look prepared. Front row, center. Exactly where he’d told me to sit.He was already there, sleeves rolled, glasses on, writing something on the board in that sharp, aggressive handwriting of his. When the door shut behind the last student he turned, scanned the room, and landed on me like he’d been waiting for it. His eyes dropped once—quick, deliberate—to the stretch of bare thigh where the skirt had ridden up. Then he looked away and started class like nothing had happened.He was worse in public. Cold. Precise. Every sentence a blade. He called on me three times in the first twenty minutes, each question sharper than the last, voice never rising above that low, controlled register that made my cunt clench.“Miss Kane. Define the unreliable narrat

Chp3

Mom left for a three-day conference in Chicago on Wednesday morning. Kissed Alex on the cheek, told me to “be good for him,” and drove off like she hadn’t just handed me the keys to hell.The house felt different the second the door shut. Bigger. Quieter. Dangerous.I spent the afternoon pretending to work on the rewrite he’d ordered. Mostly I just sat at the kitchen island in one of his old dress shirts—stolen from the laundry, still smelling like him—and shorts so short the pockets hung lower than the hem. He came home at six, loosened his tie, and found me like that. Didn’t say a word at first. Just looked. Long and slow. Then he poured two glasses of the good whiskey he usually saved for himself and set one in front of me.“You’re not twenty-one,” he said.“You’re not my real dad.”He almost smiled. Almost. We drank in silence while the sky went dark outside. The air between us felt charged, like the second before a storm hits. Every time I shifted on the stool the shirt rode high

Chp5

Mom came home Friday night smelling like airport and hotel soap. She hugged me, kissed Alex on the mouth right in front of me, and asked if we’d “behaved.” I almost laughed. The bruises on my hips were still purple under my jeans. He answered for both of us—smooth, polite, the perfect husband—while his eyes met mine over her shoulder and said something completely different. We lasted exactly thirty-six hours before he broke his own rule. Monday after class he told me to stay behind again. Same cold voice. Same front-row seat. The second the door shut he locked it, crossed the room, and had me bent over his desk before I could even set my bag down. “Thought you said this wouldn’t happen again,” I whispered, already wet just from the sound of the lock clicking. He shoved my skirt up, yanked my panties to the side, and pushed two fingers into me without warning. “I lied.” No preamble. No soft words. He freed his cock, rolled a condom on with one hand, and sank into me in one hard th

Chp6

The jealousy started with a TA named Jordan. Tall, charming, the kind of guy who leaned too close when he “helped” with peer reviews and smelled like expensive cologne and bad decisions. He’d been circling me for weeks—lingering comments on my drafts, invitations to study groups that never seemed to include anyone else. I mostly ignored it. Alex didn’t. Thursday seminar. Jordan sat on the edge of my desk while we were supposed to be workshopping, voice low, fingers brushing the back of my hand when he pointed at a line. I laughed at something stupid he said. Harmless. Automatic. Alex’s pen snapped in half. The sound cracked across the room. Everyone went quiet. He stared at Jordan like he was already calculating how hard he’d have to hit to make the pretty face unrecognizable. Then he looked at me. The expression on his face wasn’t professor. It wasn’t even angry. It was pure, black possession. “Miss Kane,” he said, voice dangerously soft. “My office. After class.” I went. Of co

Professor Daddy

I shoved the last box into the corner of my new room and wiped sweat off my forehead with the hem of my tank top. The house smelled like fresh paint and his cologne already. Mom’s whirlwind marriage to Professor Alexander Kane had landed me here two weeks before senior year started, and I still didn’t know whether to laugh or throw up. He was downstairs. I could hear the low rumble of his voice while he talked to Mom in the kitchen. Deep. Controlled. The kind of voice that made people sit up straighter. I pulled on a pair of tiny gray shorts that barely covered my ass and headed down. No bra under the tank. Fuck it. It was hot and I was in my own house now, supposedly. He was leaning against the counter in dark jeans and a white button-down with the sleeves rolled up. Broad shoulders. Thick forearms. Dark hair that looked like he’d run his hands through it too many times. When he turned, those sharp gray eyes locked on me and stayed there a second too long. “Mia,” he said. Just my

Professor Daddy 2

I wore the black mini skirt to class the next morning. No panties. Just the skirt and a tight white top that showed the outline of my nipples every time the AC kicked on. I sat in the front row this time. Professor Kane’s eyes found me the second I walked in. He didn’t look away. Not even when he started lecturing. Every time he turned to the board I felt his stare drag down my bare thighs. My cunt was already wet, lips sliding against each other every time I shifted. Halfway through class he called on me again. “Miss Kane. Stand up and read the passage.” I stood. The skirt rode up. I felt cool air hit my bare pussy. He saw it. I know he did because his voice went flat and dangerous when he said, “Louder.” I read. Legs slightly apart. He never looked at the book. Only at the place between my thighs. When class ended he didn’t dismiss me with the others. Just said, “My office. Now.” I followed him down the hall, heart pounding, skirt sticking to the insides of my thighs. He unloc