Page 39 of The Professor
“Nearly lost her there, Prof.”
“Fuck off,” I snapped at Mitch as I strode past the kitchen table the guys were seated at.
“You need some help with her?” Cillian asked. “I can see you’ve got your hands full.” He chuckled and nodded at my hand set squarely on her rump.
“No, I do not. You concentrate on getting the money.” I stormed toward the meeting room, burning to teach her a lesson. And boy I would. There’d be a spank for every time she’d given me a boner in a lecture, every time she’d given me a ‘come on then, I dare you’ smile that I’d had to resist despite it causing me real physical pain.
I stepped into the room and slammed the door so hard dust floated down from the center ceiling light.
“Put me down, you bastard.” She kicked again, her knees jabbing at me.
I dumped her on her feet and reached for my knife.
Her eyes widened. “What the…?”
“Stand still, really fucking still if you don’t want to get cut.” I yanked her top from her chest, put the sharp end of the blade against it, and dragged it down the material.
The sound of slicing clothing was satisfying, as was the sight of her pert round breasts and petal-pink nipples.
“Stop!” she gasped.
“I figure if you’re naked, you’re less likely to run away.” The t-shirt fell to the floor, and I started on her skirt, pulling out the waistband and hacking at the elastic before shimmying my knife down the pale-yellow cotton.
“That’s fucking Jaeger, you know.”
“No, I don’t know, and I don’t care.” The skirt pooled at her feet, over her white shoes, and there before me was her sweet bush of strawberry-blonde pubic hair.
My cock surged. My belly tightened. Lust rushed into my veins. I re-sheathed my knife and put it back onto my belt.
She went to cover herself with her hands, but I didn’t give her time and tipped her over the table, ass up and with my left hand on her shoulder blades, keeping her where I wanted her.
“What? Get the hell off me…I…will…”
“You will take this, you little brat.” I swatted her right ass cheek. Hard. I put muscle behind it and then waited for the bloom of my handprint.
She cried out and bucked but she could go nowhere. “How dare you.”
“You’ve wanted me to notice you for years, wanted me to want you, wanted me to touch you…well, here I am, touching you.” I smacked her again, four times, twice on each buttock.
She writhed and cursed and went onto her tiptoes, her back arching.
Her peachy round ass was already glowing, blood rushing to the surface. God, it was a beautiful sight.
“Stop. You can’t do this.” She turned to glare at me. She was breathing hard, and a glow of perspiration sat on her brow.
“I can and I am.” I swatted her again, six times, getting into a rhythm now. “You need to know while you’re here I am incharge, and if you’re a naughty girl you’ll get spanked.” I closed my eyes and bit on my bottom lip. Her pussy was right there. No doubt wet. It would only take the undoing of my pants and I could forge into her the way I’d wanted to for so long.
“I hate you. I don’t know why I ever thought you were a nice person.” She banged her fists on the table. “You’re an asshole, and a criminal one at that.”
For that outburst she didn’t deserve my cock. I widened my stance, set my gaze on my target, and spanked her hard, the sound of flesh on flesh snapping around the room.
She fought me, but I held her safe. She cried out, cursed, and went to cover her ass with her hands, I slapped them away.
Her bottom was burning hot and scarlet, but still I rained down my years of frustration and my current vexation with wanting her. Taking it out on her round ass was the only thing I could do right now.
Her cries turned to whimpers, and I stopped, breathless, and studied my handiwork. Oh yes, she’d had a good spanking, one she wouldn’t forget in a hurry.
I smoothed over her right buttock, then the left, feeling the heat in her skin. “Who is in charge, Chelsea?”
