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“I hope you still curl,” he says cheerfully. “Our local team is always looking for new blood, and as I recall, you were damn good on the ice.”
I chuckle into my beer. “I haven’t for a long time. I’m enjoying revisiting all the hiking trails though, and can’t wait to get back on the mountain this winter.”
“Rumor is, this place is for sale again.” He drags the last of his French fries through a pile of ketchup. “Hopefully whoever buys it will open up the trails this winter. It would be nice to have a place close by.”
“How many owners has this place had?” I ask, looking around the well-kept but outdated interior.
Our easy conversation and continued common interests—especially the type of women we’re looking for—recements our friendship. We make plans to visit House Esclavage to check out the playroom the following weekend.
As we’re finishing, Marcus gets an emergency call from the department and departs quickly. I remain to keep an eye on Professor Davis and the other littles, promising to intervene if they seem to have overindulged.
Heading back to the bar from the restroom, I round the corner and am nearly plowed into by my little professor—who’s not looking where she’s going but rather at her phone. That’s a spanking offense.
“Watch where you’re going, little girl,” I place my hands on her shoulders, stopping her.
She looks up, startled. “I-I’m sorry.”
I feel her anxiety coming off her in waves.
After establishing that she hasn’t given me her phone number yet, I quickly realize the text messages Professor Davis is receiving are from someone who not only knows she’s a little, but they’re keeping an eye on her and not the way any decent Daddy would. They’re filling her with genuine fear. The daddy in me is drawn to—needs to—help this little girl.
When her phone buzzes in my hand with a new text message, I glance down, not expecting to see the message that flashes.
Unknown Number: Don’t forget you’re mine.
My head snaps up, and I search for a potential suspect. The text causes me no small amount of anxiety. Professor Davis’s stalker could be close by.
“What does it say?”
I turn the phone around so she can read the message.
“I was here having dinner with Detective Berger,” I tell her. “I think I should call him and ask what you should do.”
She wraps the soft wool shawl tightly around herself, rubbing the fabric on her cheek. It’s as if she’s cuddling her favorite blanket. The unknown caller has scared her.
“I don’t want to bother him,” she says, reaching to take the phone back. “It’s probably some asshole student I failed.”
“Language,” I correct before continuing softly. “Daddies make sure little girls are safe, even if they aren’t their daddy yet.”
“What?” Professor Davis’s eyes widen with shock as she lightly places her hand on my arm. “You’re a—”
Chapter 3
Violet
“Come in,” I call after hearing the forceful knock on my office door. The door opens, and I feel someone approach my desk. I continue rereading the confusing paragraph in front of me, telling the newcomer, “One second.”
“Hello, little professor.”
Professor Etienne Martin’s low rumble has my head jerking up from staring at the ungraded quizzes into his ruggedly handsome face. With his crooked nose, closely trimmed bearded cheeks, sun-kissed skin, light brown wavy hair, dark blue eyes, and cherry red lips, he’s a dream come true.
Today, he’s wearing a cozy-looking burgundy knitted sweater over a denim collared dress shirt paired with dark chinos. He has a worn leather crossbody bag slung across his back. He’s the epitome of a sexy professor Daddy.
Since learning the truth, I can’t believe I never realized Professor Martin is a Daddy. After literally running into him last night, it became clear—and not just because he told me. Everything he’s done proves that Professor Martin is a gentle and protective Daddy.
While I used the bathroom, he called his friend Detective Marcus Berger. He told him about the suspicious text messages I’ve been getting. Fawn nearly fainted when she discovered the detective is a Daddy, but that’s another story. Samantha dug a legal pad out of her briefcase and documented everything for future reference, muttering about how I should’ve told her since she has connections with the police as well. Detective Berger promised me he would start by tracing the phone number in the hopes we could easily find their identity.
After ensuring the police were looking into the suspicious messages, Professor Martin and I exchanged phone numbers. I giggled as he made me pinkie swear to call if I got any more messages or needed anything. The warmth of his hand as we linked pinkies felt like a stark contrast to the seriousness of his face.
