YES! DADDIES: AN EROTIC COMPILATION OF SHORT STORIES

A STUDENT OR STRIPPER? (2)

TRINITY.

I stare at the money. That's more than I'd make all night.

"Why?" I ask quietly. "Why do you really want this?"

He looks at me for a long moment. "Because I can't stop thinking about you. Haven't been able to since the semester started. And seeing you out there..." He runs a hand through his dark hair. "I need to see more. Need to understand this part of you."

My pulse is racing. This is so far beyond inappropriate I can't even see the line anymore.

"Okay," I whisper.

His eyes darken. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. But there are rules. No touching unless I say so. Understood?"

"Understood."

I walk to the sound system and queue up a song. Something slow and dirty. When I turn back, he's settled into the chair, legs spread, watching me with that same intensity from before.

I start to move, letting my body roll to the beat, hands sliding over my curves. His eyes track every movement, and I can see his jaw clench when I turn and give him my back, slowly rolling my hips.

"You do this every night?" His voice is rough.

"Most nights." I glance over my shoulder at him. "Why? Picturing me here when you're giving lectures on Wuthering Heights?"

"Now I will be."

I slide my hands down my sides, hooking my thumbs in my bottoms and lowering them just slightly. "Good. Fair's fair—I think about you plenty during those lectures."

"Do you?" He leans forward slightly. "What do you think about?"

"How wrong it is to want your professor." I turn to face him, covering my breasts with my hands. "How inappropriate it would be to stay after class and ask for... private tutoring."

"f**k," he breathes.

I slowly move my hands away, exposing myself, and his knuckles go white gripping the chair arms.

"You're killing me, Trinity."

"Daisy," I correct, walking toward him. "In here, I'm Daisy."

I straddle his lap, careful not to actually touch him yet, just hovering. I can see how hard he is through his expensive pants, and knowing I did that to him sends power rushing through me.

"The rules—" he starts.

"Say you can't touch me unless I give permission." I lean in close, lips near his ear. "I haven't said you can't want to."

"I definitely want to."

"Tell me." I roll my hips, still not quite touching. "Tell me what you want."

"I want to put my hands on you. Want to feel if your skin is as soft as it looks." His voice is strained. "Want to taste you. Want to know if you taste as sweet as I've imagined."

"You've imagined it?"

"Every f*****g day since you walked into my class wearing that dress. The blue one."

I remember that dress. Remember catching him looking.

"What else?" I ask, finally lowering myself onto his lap.

The contact makes us both groan. He's hard and thick beneath me, pressing against my barely-covered p***y, and I'm already getting wet.

"I want to bend you over my desk after class," he says, hands hovering near my hips, not quite touching. "Want to see if you're as responsive as I think you are. Want to make you come so hard you forget how to form coherent sentences about Tennyson."

I'm grinding against him now, shameless, and his breathing is getting ragged.

"Can I touch you?" he asks, voice desperate. "Please, Daisy. Let me touch you."

I should say no. Should maintain that boundary.

Instead I whisper, "Yes."

His hands are on me immediately, gripping my hips, guiding my movements. The feel of his hands on my bare skin makes me gasp.

"God, you feel good," he groans. "Can feel how wet you are already. Can feel it through my pants."

"Your fault," I breathe, rolling my hips faster. "Your fault for looking at me like that. For being in my head all semester."

"You've been in mine too. Driving me crazy." His hands slide up to cup my breasts, thumbs teasing my n*****s. "Sitting in the front row, biting your lip when you're thinking. Do you know how distracting that is?"

I lean back, giving him better access, and he takes full advantage, rolling my n*****s between his fingers.

"f**k—Damien—"

"Like hearing you say my name." One hand slides down between us, fingers tracing where I'm soaked through my panties. "Jesus Christ, you're drenched."

"Told you. Your fault."

"Gonna take responsibility for it then." He pushes my panties aside and slides two fingers inside me.

I cry out, hips jerking, and he groans.

"So tight. So f*****g wet and ready." He curls his fingers, hitting that spot, and I'm seeing stars. "That's it. Ride my fingers. Show me how badly you need this."

I'm grinding down on his hand, shameless and desperate, and his other hand is still working my n*****s, and I'm so close—

"Come for me," he demands. "Come on my fingers so I can feel how tight this p***y gets when you fall apart."

I shatter, crying out his name, and he works me through it until I'm trembling and oversensitive.

"Beautiful," he breathes. "Absolutely f*****g beautiful."

The song ends and reality crashes back in.

I climb off his lap on shaky legs. His fingers are glistening with my wetness, and I watch as he brings them to his mouth and sucks them clean.

"Taste even better than I imagined," he says.

I can't form words.

He stands, adjusting himself—his c**k is straining against his pants, thick and obvious, and I want it so badly I can barely think.

"I should go," he says, but doesn't move.

"Yeah. You should."

"Will you be here next week?"

"I work every Thursday."

"Then I'll see you next Thursday." He picks up his jacket. "And Trinity?"

"Yeah?"

"This isn't over. Not even close."

He leaves and I stand there, still half-naked, trembling, trying to process what just happened.

My phone buzzes. Unknown number.

Your real number is in the university directory. Hope you don't mind that I looked. - DV

I should mind. Should be horrified.

Instead I save his number and text back: I don't mind.

Good. Because you'll be hearing from me. Soon.

I lean against the wall, heart pounding, and wonder what the hell I've just started.