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I breathe a sigh of relief. “What can I help you with?”
She digs into her backpack and pulls out the reading for this week—an excerpt from The Scarlet Letter. But before she asks about the reading, she pauses and smirks at me.
“Who was that?” she asks. “She was hot.”
I clench my molars together as I glare at Sadie. “That is a colleague and a professor. If she’s hot, I didn’t notice, and it’s honestly inappropriate to even make mention of it.”
She scoffs and rolls her eyes. “Oh, come on, you’re lying if you’re telling me you didn’t notice how hot that woman is.”
Shaking my head, I turn away from her. It’s clear she’s not going to talk about the assignment. Of course, I noticed how hot Dr. Hanson is. I’m not blind. But that’s where the attraction ends. Beautiful is just that—nothing exciting or worth pursuing. There’s no real chemistry between us.
“Is she single? You should ask her out,” Sadie presses, resting her forearms on my desk. Having her this close, I admire the freckles across her cheeks, which are more exposed when she doesn’t wear so much makeup as she does at night.
“Again, inappropriate.” My gaze drifts downward briefly to the cleavage pushing out of the top of her shirt. Quickly, I glance away before she can notice.
“I’ll behave,” she lies. She never behaves.
Regardless, I will be punishing Sadie tonight. The spankings have become an almost nightly ritual.
She mouths off to some degree, and I either put her over my knee or over the couch or table. And then I spank her until we’re both satisfied. And that’s it. It’s an addiction, and I know it’s not just me.
I love spanking Sadie far more than I would have ever expected to. And I may never understand why.
Sometimes, I do it fast and hard, and sometimes, I do it slowly. Each time is different, but they are all exhilarating.
It never goes beyond that. I mean, sure, I get hard every single time. And I imagine all the filthy things I could do to her if she let me. But it ends with the spankings, and we both walk away.
I don’t know what Sadie does behind closed doors. But for me, I enjoy the resistance. I don’t touch myself. I don’t jack off thinking about her. I just let the erection fade away and count the minutes until the next time my hand meets her ass. At some point, something’s got to give. I know that. But for now, I’m enjoying it for what it is, and I think she is too.
“What’s wrong, Dr. Goode. You seem tense. Sounds to me like you need to get laid,” Sadie says, and I immediately tense.
Letting out a discontented sigh, I glare at her. “I sure hope nobody from the administration can hear you on the other side of that door.” She leans back, crossing her arms with petulance, and my palm begins to itch.
“And deny you the opportunity to punish me?” she says cheekily.
“Enough,” I mutter.
As she snickers to herself, I force myself to look away.
“Besides,” I say lowly. “I get laid plenty, thank you very much.” I keep my voice quiet, although I’m quite certain there’s no one on the other side of the door who could hear us.
Sadie scoffs. “You do not. I’ve been in that house for over a month now, and I haven’t seen any sign of a woman.”
It’s true; I have been under a little bit of a dry spell lately, but I choose not to share that with her.
“That’s out of respect for you,” I say, which is a lie. I don’t know why I haven’t called anyone over in a while.
Even if what Sadie and I have isn’t romantic, it would feel like a betrayal of sorts.
She puts her hands up. “Oh please, don’t deny yourself on my account.” Her tone is laced with sarcasm as if she knows that none of this is based on truth.
Sadie and I have never spoken about sex before, regardless of our new, strange arrangement. Never mind the fact that I have heard her moans and whimpers, and she’s felt the rigid length of my arousal against her side as she lies across my lap nearly every night. Still, our relationship is not sexual, and it has to stay that way.
“No shame, Dr. Goode. It’s been forever for me, too,” she says, and suddenly my interest is piqued. Why does that make me feel a sense of relief?
She arches her back, stretching on the chair. The hem of her T-shirt lifts, exposing her soft, white belly. My eyes trail downward, focusing on her belly button peeking between the fabric.
And even though she’s now approaching thirteen weeks along, I don’t see much difference in her figure. I can’t help but wonder what she’s going to look like as her belly begins to round.
