Chapter 11
eleven
. . .
Gordon
I've been suspended. Thirty-seven years old with tenure and a wall of academic accolades, and I've been suspended like some unruly undergraduate caught plagiarizing.
The dean's words echo in my head as I unlock my apartment door.
"Gross violation of university policy." As if what Flower and I have could be reduced to policy violations and HR paperwork.
I should be panicking about my career, making calls to the faculty union rep or a lawyer.
Instead, all I can think about is getting to Flower, explaining what happened, assuring her that we'll weather this storm together.
"Flower?" I call out, dropping my briefcase by the door.
The apartment feels wrong somehow—too quiet, too still. Something's missing. Someone's missing.
I move through the rooms, calling her name with increasing urgency. The bathroom door stands open, no steam from a recent shower. The kitchen is untouched since morning. Her textbooks, usually scattered across the dining table, are gone.
In the bedroom, the wrongness crystallizes into dread. The closet door is ajar, and the section where her clothes have gradually accumulated over the past months looks sparse. The duffel bag I keep on the top shelf is missing.
My eyes find the note immediately—white paper stark against dark blue pillowcases. Beside it, the key I gave her, the one she was supposed to use to move in permanently after finals.
I snatch up the note, reading it once, twice, three times. The words blur through a haze of disbelief, then rage.
Red explodes behind my eyes. She heard. She was there, outside my office, listening as the dean dismantled my career. And now she's gone—fled like a thief in the night, taking with her the one thing that matters more than any fucking job.
I crumple the note in my fist, a roar of frustration tearing from my throat. The sound is primal, animalistic. I don't recognize myself in it.
She thinks she's saving me? By leaving? As if I give a damn about tenure or academic reputation or anything else compared to her?
I grab my keys and storm out, slamming the door hard enough to rattle the frame. My mind races as I take the stairs two at a time, too impatient for the elevator. Where would she go? Her dorm? She hasn't properly lived there in weeks. The library? Too public for someone hiding. A friend's place?
I start with her dorm, pounding on the door until her startled roommate answers.
"Professor Davis?" She blinks at me in confusion. "Flower's not here. Hasn't been for like, a month."
"Where is she?" I demand, not bothering with niceties. "It's important."
The girl shrinks back from my intensity. "I don't know. She texted asking if she could stay here tonight, but I was in the middle of an exam. Maybe try Liz's room? Down in Marshall Hall?"
I'm already moving before she finishes speaking, ignoring her call of "Is everything okay?"
No. Nothing is okay. Nothing will be okay until I find her.
The campus is dark now, night having fallen while I searched. Students hurry between buildings, hunched against the December chill, too preoccupied with finals to notice the professor stalking across the quad with murder in his eyes.
Marshall Hall. Third floor, if I remember correctly from her early-semester paperwork. I scan the directory in the lobby, finding Elizabeth Chen listed in room 312.
The elevator is too slow, so I take the stairs again, ignoring the burn in my thighs. When I reach room 312, I don't knock politely. I pound on the door, wood reverberating under my fist.
"Coming, Jesus!" a voice calls from inside. The door swings open to reveal a small Asian girl with purple-streaked hair, expression shifting from annoyed to shocked. "Professor Davis?"
I look past her, scanning the room until I find what I'm looking for. Flower sits frozen on the twin bed, eyes wide with disbelief, tear tracks staining her cheeks.
"Out," I tell the roommate, voice brooking no argument. "Now."
To her credit, the girl looks to Flower first. "Flower? You okay with this?"
Flower nods mutely, face pale. The roommate grabs her phone and keys. "I'll be in the lounge if you need me," she says pointedly to Flower before slipping past me into the hallway.
The moment we're alone, Flower stands, arms wrapped protectively around herself. "How did you find me?"
"You really think I wouldn't tear this campus apart looking for you?" My voice comes out rougher than intended. I close the distance between us in two strides, gripping her upper arms. "What the fuck were you thinking?"
"I was thinking about you." Her chin lifts defiantly despite the tears gathering in her eyes. "About your career. Your life. Everything you've worked for."
"And you thought leaving would fix that?" I give her a gentle shake. "You thought I'd just go back to my life, pretend none of this happened? Pretend I never had you?"
"You could try." Her voice breaks on the words. "The dean might believe nothing happened if I'm not around. If I transfer schools—"
"No job is worth losing you, princess." The words tear from my chest, raw and honest. "You're my everything."
She stares up at me, those impossible green eyes swimming with tears. "But your career—"
"Fuck my career." I cup her face in my hands, forcing her to look at me. "Listen to me, Flower. I had a life before you. A good one, by most measures. Respected. Accomplished. And completely fucking empty. I won't go back to that. Not for tenure. Not for anything."
A sob escapes her, shoulders shaking. "I just wanted to protect you."
"That's not your job." I brush away her tears with my thumbs. "I protect you. Not the other way around."
"I love you so much," she whispers. "I thought I was doing the right thing."
"The right thing is staying with me. Always." I kiss her then, pouring every ounce of fear and rage and desperate need into it. She responds instantly, arms wrapping around my neck, body molding to mine like she's coming home.
When we break apart, I don't give her time to think. I scoop her up in my arms, one arm under her knees, the other supporting her back. She weighs nothing—a slip of a girl who somehow holds my entire world in her small hands.
"What are you doing?" she gasps, arms tightening around my neck.
"Taking you home where you belong." I kick the door open, carrying her into the hallway. "Where's your bag?"
"Under the bed, but—"
"Get it tomorrow." I'm already moving toward the stairs, not caring who sees us. Let the whole fucking university witness. I'm done hiding.
Students stare as I carry her across campus, her face buried in my neck. Some recognize me, whispering behind their hands. I ignore them all, focused entirely on the precious weight in my arms, the soft breath against my skin, the miracle of having found her.
By the time we reach my apartment—our apartment—she's relaxed against me, the fight drained from her body. I manage to unlock the door without putting her down, kicking it shut behind us.
I don't set her down until we reach the bedroom. When I do, it's to place her gently on the mattress, my body immediately covering hers. My mouth finds hers again, kiss deeper and more demanding than before.
"Don't ever leave me again," I growl against her lips. "Ever."
"I won't," she promises breathlessly. "I'm sorry. I thought—"
"Don't think." I nip at her lower lip, hard enough to sting. "Just feel."
I strip her quickly, efficiently—clothes flying to the floor until she's naked beneath me. Her skin is pale in the dim light filtering through the blinds, marked here and there with fading bruises from our previous encounters. My marks. My claim.
From the bedside drawer, I withdraw the silk ties we've played with before. Her eyes widen as I take her wrists, binding them to the headboard with swift, practiced movements.
"Gordon..."
"You tried to run from me." I strip off my own clothes, never taking my eyes from her bound form. "Tried to make decisions for both of us. That's not how this works, princess."
She swallows hard, pupils dilating with a mixture of apprehension and arousal. "I was wrong. I know that now."
"Yes, you were." I kneel between her spread thighs, hands stroking up her legs, over her hips, across her stomach. "And now I'm going to make sure you never forget it."
I take my time, touching every inch of her body except where she needs it most. By the time my fingers finally slip between her thighs, she's writhing against her bonds, desperate for release.
"Please," she begs, hips rising to meet my touch. "Please, I need you."
"What do you need?" I circle her entrance with two fingers, gathering her wetness but not penetrating. "Tell me exactly."
"You," she gasps. "Inside me. Please, Gordon."
"That's not what you call me when you're begging." I push one finger inside her, then another, curling them to hit the spot that makes her keen. "Try again."
Her face flushes with beautiful shame, eyes closing briefly before meeting mine again. "Please, Daddy. I need you inside me."
The word ignites something primal in my chest. I withdraw my fingers, position myself at her entrance, and thrust home in one powerful stroke that makes her cry out. The angle is perfect, her legs wrapped around my waist, her body completely at my mercy.
"You're my good little girl," I growl, establishing a rhythm that has the headboard knocking against the wall. "Staying forever. Never leaving again. Say it."
"Never leaving," she gasps, pulling against the ties as pleasure overtakes her. "Yours forever, Daddy."
I reach between us, thumb finding her clit as my pace increases. "Gonna breed you so you never doubt again," I promise, the words pouring out unfiltered. "Fill you with my child so everyone knows who you belong to."
Her eyes fly open at that, pupils blown wide with desire. "Yes," she moans. "Yes, please. Make me yours completely."
I lean down, mouth at her ear. "I'm going to come inside you," I murmur, voice rough with emotion and lust. "Going to fill you up until my seed takes root. And then I'm going to marry you, princess. Make you mine in every way possible."
She convulses around me at the words, inner walls clamping down as she comes with a broken cry of my name. I follow immediately, burying myself as deep as possible and flooding her with my release, marking her as mine in the most primal way possible.
Afterward, I untie her wrists, massaging the reddened skin gently before gathering her against my chest. She curls into me like she's made to fit there, small and perfect in my arms.
"Did you mean it?" she asks softly after our breathing has returned to normal. "About marrying me?"
"Every word." I tilt her chin up to look at me. "I don't care what it costs me—my job, my reputation, anything. You're what matters. The only thing that matters."
She traces my jawline with gentle fingers. "What will happen now? With the university?"
"I don't know," I admit. "Best case, I get a formal reprimand and we wait until you're no longer my student. Worst case, I lose my position." I shrug. "There are other universities. Other departments. I'm good at what I do."
"I could transfer," she offers. "Go somewhere else next semester."
"No." The word comes out sharper than intended. I soften my tone. "No more sacrifices. No more running. We face this together."
She nods, settling back against my chest.
I stroke her hair, marveling at how close I came to losing her. How empty my life would be without her in it. The academic world has been my entire identity for so long. I've defined myself by publications and tenure and scholarly recognition.
Now, holding this impossible girl in my arms, I realize how hollow that identity was. How incomplete.
I'd burn it all down for her without a second thought.
Because I can’t live without my little girl.