Page 21 of His to Teach

"Such a good girl," I praise, helping her up. "Taking your punishment so well."

I guide her onto the couch, laying her down gently before covering her body with mine. This isn't like our usual encounters—frantic and rough. Today I want to worship her, to show her with my body what I struggle to say with words.

I undress her slowly, kissing each inch of skin as it's revealed. Her sighs turn to moans as I lavish attention on her breasts, her stomach, the inside of her thighs. When I finally settle between her legs, tasting her with long, deliberate strokes of my tongue, she buries her hands in my hair, holding me to her.

"Please," she begs as I bring her to the edge with my mouth, then pull back. "Please, I need you inside me."

I strip quickly, efficiently, then position myself at her entrance. Push in slowly, watching her face as she takes me inch by inch. The tight heat of her body still amazes me—how perfectly she fits me, how completely she surrenders.

"So perfect," I murmur, beginning to move in long, deep strokes. "Made just for me."

"Yes," she agrees breathlessly. "Only for you. Only ever for you."

My hands roam her body as we move together, one coming to rest on her flat stomach. I can picture it swelling with my child, round and full—undeniable proof that she belongs to me. The image sends fire through my veins.

"Gonna keep you like this," I growl, pace increasing as the familiar heat builds. "Gonna fill you up until you're round with my baby. Would you like that, princess? To carry Daddy's child?"

Her eyes fly open, pupils blown wide with arousal. "Yes," she whispers, and it sounds like a vow. "I want that. Want to be yours completely."

The sincerity in her voice nearly undoes me. This isn't just dirty talk anymore—not for either of us. It's a future we're both imagining, impossible as it should be.

I slide my hand between us, finding her clit with practiced ease. "Come for me," I command softly. "Let me feel you."

She shatters beautifully, inner walls pulsing around me as she cries out my name. I follow her over the edge, burying myself deep as I flood her with my release.

After, we lie tangled together on the narrow couch, her head on my chest, my fingers stroking her hair. It's a vulnerable position—anyone with a key could walk in and find us like this. But I can't bring myself to move, to disrupt this perfect moment of connection.

"I love you," she whispers against my skin, so quietly I almost miss it.

The words hit me like a physical blow—unexpected and overwhelming. I've known, of course. It's been evident in her eyes, her touch, her complete surrender to me. But hearing it spoken aloud makes it real in a way it wasn't before.

"I love you too," I respond, surprised by how easily the words come. How true they feel.

Eventually, reality intrudes. We dress slowly, stealing kisses between buttons and zippers. When she's fully clothed again, I pull her to me for one last embrace before we return to our roles of professor and student.

"Tonight?" she asks, pressing the key I gave her to her palm like a talisman.

"Tonight," I confirm. "Come straight from your last class."

She nods, reaching up for a final kiss. I mean it to be brief—just a quick goodbye. But the moment our lips meet, I'm lost again, pulling her closer, deepening the kiss until we're both breathless.

A small sound from the doorway breaks us apart.

I look up to see Dr. Eleanor Wright—Department Chair, twenty-year veteran of academic politics, and notorious stickler for propriety—standing frozen in the now-open doorway, key in hand. Her eyes move from me to Flower, taking in our flushed faces, our proximity, the unmistakable intimacy of the moment she's interrupted.

"Dr. Davis," she says, voice carefully neutral. "I came to discuss the curriculum committee meeting, but I see you're…occupied."

Flower steps away from me, face pale with shock. "I was just leaving, Professor Wright."

Eleanor's expression gives nothing away as she steps aside to let Flower pass. "Miss Darling."

When Flower is gone, Eleanor closes the door behind her, fixing me with a look that's equal parts disappointment and fury.

"My office. Tomorrow morning. Eight sharp." Her voice is cold, professional. "This discussion requires privacy."

She leaves without waiting for my response, the door clicking shut with finality.

I sink into my chair, the euphoria of moments ago evaporating like morning dew. It's happening. The thing I've feared since the first time I touched Flower. I could lose everything—my job, my reputation, my career.