Page 14 of His to Teach

"Close your eyes," he instructs, pouring warm water over my hair. His fingers massage shampoo into my scalp, strong and gentle at once. I moan softly at the sensation.

"That's it, little girl," he praises. "Let Daddy take care of you."

The word still sends a thrill through me every time he says it. I should hate it. Should be offended by the infantilization, the power imbalance it implies. But I don't. I love it. Love the way it makes me feel small and protected. Safe to be vulnerable.

He rinses my hair carefully, one hand shielding my eyes from the soap. Every touch deliberate, every movement controlled. This is the same man who terrifies students in lecture halls, who destroyed a senior's argument on Fitzgerald so thoroughly the boy dropped the class. But with me, he's gentle. Tender.

When he's finished with my hair, he returns to washing my body, cloth moving lower now, across my thighs, between my legs.

"Open for me," he murmurs, and I do, letting my knees fall apart as the cloth passes over my most sensitive areas. I gasp at the contact.

"Still tender?" he asks, voice soft with concern.

I nod. Our coupling in his office yesterday had been rougher than usual. But I liked it. Liked the reminder with every step today that I was his.

"Let's get you rinsed off." He helps me stand, turning on the shower. Warm water cascades over us both as he guides me under the spray, rinsing away the soap.

I expect him to help me out then, to move us to his bedroom. Instead, he backs me against the cool tile wall, lifting my face to his.

"You're so beautiful," he says, water streaming over his powerful shoulders. "So goddamn perfect."

Then he's kissing me, hard and desperate, all pretense of control abandoned. I kiss back just as fiercely, arms wrapping around his neck. His hands grip my waist, lifting me effortlessly. Instinctively, I wrap my legs around him, letting the wall and his strength support me.

"Tell me you want this," he growls against my lips. "Tell me you want me."

"I want you," I gasp. "Only you. Always you."

He shifts, positioning himself at my entrance, then pushes inside in one slow, deliberate thrust that makes me cry out. The angle is perfect, hitting spots that make my vision blur.

"So tight," he groans. "So perfect for Daddy."

His pace is measured at first—long, deep strokes that have me gasping with each thrust. The shower continues to rain down on us, hot water turning our skin pink, adding another layer of sensation.

"You're so filthy and sweet," he murmurs against my ear. "Made just for me. Say it."

"Made for you," I repeat breathlessly. "Only for you."

His rhythm speeds up, each thrust driving me harder against the wall. "Does it feel wrong, princess? Taking your professor's cock in his shower?"

"Yes," I gasp. "So wrong."

"And does it feel right?" His hand slides between us, thumb finding my clit.

"God, yes," I moan. "So right."

"That's my good girl." His voice drops lower, rougher. "You love being Daddy's dirty little secret, don't you?"

I nod frantically, too lost in pleasure to form words. His thumb circles my clit with merciless precision, pushing me closer to the edge.

"You're going to come on my cock," he commands. "And when you do, I'm going to fill you up. Breed this perfect pussy until you're dripping with me."

The words push me over the edge. I convulse around him, crying out his name as pleasure tears through me in waves. He follows immediately, driving deep and holding there, his release hot and pulsing inside me.

For long moments, we stay like that—my legs wrapped around his waist, his forehead pressed to mine, both of us breathing hard as the water continues to cascade over us. Slowly, carefully, he lowers me to my feet, making sure I'm steady before releasing me.

"Are you okay?" he asks, voice gentle again. "Did I hurt you?"

I shake my head, oddly emotional. "No. It was perfect."