Chapter 12
twelve
. . .
Flower
Morning light filters through the blinds, painting stripes across Gordon's sleeping face.
I've been awake for nearly an hour, just watching him—the steady rise and fall of his chest, the slight furrow between his brows that never fully smooths even in sleep, the shadow of stubble darkening his jaw.
Three months ago, he terrified me. Professor Davis, the department's brilliant tyrant, notorious for reducing seniors to tears with a well-placed criticism.
Now he's just Gordon. My Gordon. The man who carried me across campus last night, not caring who saw or what they thought.
The man who tied me to his bed and reclaimed me with desperate need, then held me like I might disappear if he loosened his grip.
The man who would sacrifice his career, his reputation, everything he's built, rather than let me go.
What began as something forbidden—something that made me wet with shame when he called me "little girl" in his office—has transformed into something I can't imagine living without. The rules we've broken, the lines we've crossed…they should weigh on me. Should make me feel guilty, tainted.
Instead, I feel powerful. Chosen. Loved beyond reason.
My small-town upbringing trained me to be the good girl.
Quiet. Dutiful. Never making waves. I came to college determined to shine academically but still following all the rules.
Then Gordon Davis looked at me with those dark, penetrating eyes, and something inside me woke up.
Something hungry and defiant and unashamed of wanting.
The first time he bent me over his desk, I thought the shame would consume me. When "Daddy" slipped from my lips during orgasm, I wanted to disappear. Now I say it deliberately, watching his eyes darken with possession, feeling the word's power.
He's made me brave. Made me own my desires. Made me understand that passion isn't something to hide or deny—it's something to claim, boldly and without apology.
His eyes flutter open, finding mine immediately. For a moment, he looks surprised, as if he can't quite believe I'm still here. Then his face softens into a smile that transforms him from intimidating professor to simply a man in love.
"You're still here," he murmurs, voice rough with sleep.
"Where else would I be?" I smooth back a strand of hair that's fallen across his forehead.
His arm tightens around my waist, pulling me closer. "After last night, I half expected to wake up and find you gone again. Another note on my pillow."
"Never." I press a kiss to his chest, right over his heart. "I'm not running anymore."
"Good." His hand strokes lazily down my spine, tracing each vertebra. "Because I'd just have to track you down again. And next time, I might not be so gentle about bringing you home."
The memory of him carrying me across campus, students staring and whispering, makes heat rise in my cheeks. "I think the entire university knows about us now."
"Let them know." He tilts my face up for a kiss, morning breath be damned. "I'm done hiding how I feel about you."
The kiss deepens, his tongue slipping between my lips to tangle with mine. His hand, still stroking my back, drifts lower to cup my ass, pulling me against the hard length of his morning erection. I moan into his mouth, already wet for him.
"Need you," he murmurs against my lips. "Always need you."
"I'm yours," I whisper back. "Always yours."
He rolls us so I'm beneath him, his larger body covering mine completely. Unlike our frantic coupling last night, this is slow, deliberate—a reaffirmation rather than a reclamation. His hands trace my body with reverence, thumbs brushing over my nipples until they peak.
"So beautiful," he murmurs, lowering his head to take one sensitive bud into his mouth. "My perfect little girl."
The endearment still sends shivers down my spine, still makes heat pool between my legs. I arch into his touch, hands tangling in his hair to hold him to me. He takes his time, lavishing attention on each breast before kissing his way lower, across my stomach, to the apex of my thighs.
"Gordon..." I gasp as his breath ghosts over my center.
"Patience, princess." He settles between my legs, large hands spreading my thighs wider. "Let me taste what's mine."
The first sweep of his tongue has me arching off the bed. He knows exactly how to touch me now—where to lick, where to suck, how much pressure to apply. When he slides two fingers inside me while sucking gently on my clit, I nearly come undone.
"Not yet," he commands, feeling my body tensing. "Not until I'm inside you."
He moves back up my body, positioning himself at my entrance. Pushes inside with one long, slow thrust that has both of us groaning. When he's fully seated, he stills, forehead pressed to mine.
"Look at me," he demands softly. "I want to see your eyes while I fuck you."
I obey, locking my gaze with his as he begins to move in long, deep strokes that hit perfectly inside me. His eyes are intense, focused entirely on me—seeing me, all of me, in a way no one else ever has.
"You're so brave," he murmurs, punctuating the words with a particularly deep thrust. "My brave, filthy girl. Do you know how proud I am of you? How amazed I am by you?"
The praise washes over me, as intoxicating as his touch. "Tell me," I beg. "Please."
"You're everything," he growls, pace increasing slightly. "So fucking smart. So beautifully dirty. The way you challenge me in class, then call me Daddy when I'm inside you." He nips at my lower lip. "The way you let me tie you up, spank you, claim you."
I moan, hips rising to meet his thrusts. His words are as arousing as his body, pushing me closer to the edge.
"You know what I love most?" he continues, voice dropping lower, rougher. "How unashamed you are now. How completely you've embraced what we are together."
"Yes," I gasp, nails digging into his shoulders. "I'm not ashamed anymore. Not of any of it."
His rhythm falters slightly at my words, something vulnerable flashing in his eyes. "I'm going to give you everything," he promises. "The life you deserve. The family you want. Everything."
The breeding talk has evolved from filthy fantasy to solemn vow. I know he means it—that he sees a future with me, children with me, a life built together despite how we started.
"I want that," I admit, voice breaking with emotion. "I want all of it. With you."
His hand slides between us, finding my clit with practiced ease. "Come for me," he commands softly. "Let me feel you, princess."
It doesn't take much—a few skilled circles of his thumb and I'm shattering, pleasure radiating outward from my core, washing over me in waves. I cry out his name, inner walls clenching around him as I come.
"That's it," he praises, his own rhythm growing erratic. "So perfect. My good girl. My everything."
He follows me over the edge, burying himself deep as he pulses inside me, his release hot and claiming. We stay joined like that for long moments, breathing hard, his weight a comforting pressure on top of me.
When he finally moves, it's to gather me against his chest, tucking my head under his chin. His heartbeat is strong and steady beneath my ear, gradually slowing to its normal rhythm.
"I love you," he murmurs into my hair. "More than I've ever loved anything."
"I love you too," I reply, meaning it with every fiber of my being. "More than I knew was possible."
We doze like that, wrapped in each other, until hunger eventually drives us to the kitchen. As I watch him make coffee, wearing just his boxer briefs, his back muscles shifting with each movement, I'm struck by how far we've come. From professor and student to lovers to partners planning a future.
The university will investigate. There will be consequences—for him, for me, for our careers. People will whisper, judge, condemn. The road ahead won't be easy.
But watching him turn to hand me a mug, his face softening into that private smile that's just for me, I know with absolute certainty that it's worth it. Whatever comes next, we'll face it together.
The forbidden has become my everything. And I wouldn't change a single moment that led us here.