Page 23 of The Professor's Holiday Surprise

Is this what people mean about craving submission? Because holy fuck, having Paisley melt because of my touch is an incredible high.

“I’ll teach you anything and everything you want to know, little one.”

“I can call you Professor?”

“You can call me anything you want.”

She giggles under her breath. “Plant Daddy?”

“Fuck, yeah. I’ll be your Daddy, little girl.” It comes out of nowhere, but she moans in my arms, andthatfeels right. “But we need to wait. Just until the term is finished. By Christmas, I’ll be yours.”

“I understand.” The sad note in her voice guts me all the same.

“You're always on my mind. Always.” I take a deep breath. “Do you know what I’m imagining?”

“What?”

“The last day of school. You’ve finished your final exam. You walk out of the building and you do another happy dance, just like the day you arrived.”

She glances at the window. “And you’ll be watching?”

“Abso-fucking-lutely.”

She twists a little so we’re looking at each other, and she presses her forehead against mine. “One more kiss?”

As if I could say no to her. “One more.”

“If we don’t, it’s all just one kiss.” Her breath, sweet and warm, teases my lips.

“Clever girl.”

She clutches at the front of my shirt. “Don’t ever stop kissing me.”

“I won’t. One more kiss that goes on and on and on. I’m not going to be able to get my fill of you, but I’m going to try.”

“Noah…”

My name on her lips, pleading, is all it takes for me to lose hold on the final thread of my control. I take her mouth roughly, swallowing her lusty response. She licks back against my tongue.

Now that she’s told me, I can taste her inexperience, but I love it. Her kisses are more instinct than art. Raw and honest.

And as we kiss, she starts to grind against me. Subtle at first, then more deliberate.

My girl needs to come, and while I’ve watched enough porn to know peoplecancome just from indirect contact, I think a virgin might need a bit more help.

Without breaking our kisses, I nudge her off my lap and turn her to sit on the edge of my desk.

She clings to my shirt, whimpering as I work my hands under her soft hoodie, to her quivering belly beneath it.

“Let me make you feel good,” I whisper against her lips.

“What…?”

She squeaks as I trail my kisses down her neck. I press my hand to her mouth, and she kisses my fingers.

I undo her top button and work the fly down.

“What are you doing?” she whispers.

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