Her Dirty Professor Series (21+)

Book Introduction: Step- Santa

Blurb: When an off-limits temptation in a pink tutu shows up at my snowy compound calling me Papa looking for protection, she has no idea what kind of gift I’ve been saving just for her.

Running my billion-dollar underworld business in secret from the icy north has kept me safe and should have done the same for my family.

But, when tragedy destroys my step-granddaughter Carina’s world, I become her steward. The one she trusts above all.

With her living under my roof, keeping my obsessive desires hidden behind the doors of my workshop becomes impossible.

My resolve is breaking. She’s over eighteen but as temping as sugar plums and as innocent as turtle doves. When I don my Santa suit for our annual holiday party, she whispers secret wishes in my ear and what I give her has her bouncing on my lap begging for more.

Only, there’s danger lurking behind the twinkling lights and I’ll risk everything to make her mine.

And mine she will be. Forever.

Chapter 1

Gennero

Of all my secrets and sins, there is only one that keeps me up at night.

And it’s dancing in pink leotards under the stage lights while I fist my pulsing erection in the back of the auditorium.

Carina Sophia Margarita Sabaro.

She’s a miracle. And my granddaughter. Step-granddaughter. And she’s eighteen, as though that makes me any less of a sinner.

I make the sign of the cross over my chest with my left hand, because my right one has a chokehold on my dick right now.

There’s no part of my dirty soul does not know these feelings are wrong. She’s been mine to raise for the last three years. She is my charge. I am her steward.

I should not do the things I do. Think the things I think.

Worrying about being on the right side of anything never bothered me before her. My entire life was built on wrong; and in my heart, nothing has ever felt more right than when I watch her dance. Or laugh. Or sew. Or read her smutty books. Or curse like a black-hearted soldier in my underworld army.

With her every fucking breath, my life changes.

High notes of Tchaikovsky spin in the log rafters with the morning sun coming in streaks through the skylights. The music twists around the wrought-iron chandeliers decorated with evergreen and red bows and cascades in luminous echoes throughout the hundred-seat auditorium I built just to watch her dance on stage.

For me.

The music toils along with my conscience as she spins on pointe, dipping her hands to the floor and then sweeping them upward, raising her chest like a thread of silk caught in a summer breeze. When her toe moves up to the sky, my cock does the same. She is an angel incarnate, sent to make me pay for my years of sin and depravity. The one thing in my life I desire more than anything else is untouchable.

Off limits.

The scent of evergreen and cinnamon from the fourteen decorated trees that line the back of the stage does nothing to cover the memory of the vanilla and sugar custom French shampoo I order especially for her that she used this morning in the shower.

I know because I watched her. I smelled her.

On the eve of her eighteenth birthday under the guise of updating her en-suite bathroom as a birthday gift, I had a crew gut the space, re-building it into a shrine of marble and glass along with installing a two-way mirror and a small vent with a fan that feeds me her scent as I watch her in depraved silence behind the glass.

God help me, I cannot stop.

It was a year ago when my desire dug its claws into me and refused to yield any longer. I succumbed at last to the weakness born inside of me by her now womanly curves and budding breasts. The fire-colored highlights in her auburn hair. The way her honey-brown eyes turned sensual and that V between her legs beckoned for my touch.

God, forgive me for the things I’ve done and the things I’ve yet to do.

She’s known me as nothing but Papa since she was six years old and her mother married my son. As in most marriages in my family, it was a business partnership devoid of love.

That emotion does not belong in my world. Nor in the world in which I live.

All those years ago, she stunned me into silence the first time we met with her sniffly nose and defiant golden eyes. She stirred my soul, but not in the way she does now. As a child, my feelings for her were not those of a lusty old man. Children do not interest me in that way. I’ve had the privilege of dismembering and de-balling a few lechers that preyed on the innocent over the years.

I break many laws, but some are sacrosanct.

I knew I would protect my granddaughter and guard her with my life. I would turn the seas red with the blood of anyone who brought a tear to her eye. Nothing had come close to what she spun inside me, not even when my own son was born.

I had ice in my veins.

As it happened, I knew her only for a few short years before I spent a decade behind bars. From there, I made a deal with those who wished me and mine dead. I would retreat to the north, abdicate my throne to my son and disappear into the frozen ether.

And for this, my family would be spared any wrath from rival families that should be directed toward me.

But, truces are fragile and promises are mere words washed away by lust and greed and blood.

Carina spins, her head whipping around as she goes faster, then raises a leg, her knee to her chin ending on a soft plie and my erection stiffens as I work it in the darkness, encircling the greedy length with rough fingers and a depraved mind.

Spin for me, honeysuckle. Spin and bend, hands on the floor, ass high. Tell Papa you love him while he strips you of your virtue and seals your fate with the splash of my seed against your womb.

Call me Papa when I’m between your legs. Always remember you are my most precious secret, even when I’m fucking you like a dirty little toy.

I fist my girth as it pulses in my hand, giving in yet again as I’ve done more times than I care to remember.This is property © NôvelDrama.Org.

The music lifts to the ceiling. The tips of her toes hold the tentative burden of her slight frame as I spit onto the swollen head of my cock, pre-cum not enough for me to imagine her warm wetness surrounding me.

I know, baby, don’t cry. It’s a lot, I’ll feed it to that unbreeched hole you’ve been saving for me an inch at a time. I want to savor the moment I ripped your purity from your body, your blood splashed on my balls, swirling around my dick like stripes on a candy cane.

I bite back my groan as the pace of my hand blurs. I yank and squeeze, torturing myself for what I feel, but helpless to stop, willing her to give me pleasure even in secret. My balls crawl and ache as my jaw locks.

Her cheeks rise with deep pink as she twirls and twists, the force of her effort showing in the strain on her forehead, in the tendons of her neck, the same way she will strain under me the first time her lithe body takes the brunt force of my obsession with her.

I’ll fuck my granddaughter, by God. I’ll breed her with the impossible weight of the seed in my balls, over and over until she can never get away.

She’s breaking me one arch of her back at a time. She will hate me in the end, I’m sure of it, but that no longer is enough to persuade the demons inside me to do what is right.

Nothing in my life has moved me like she has. Not the birth of my son, nor my own contractual marriage to a heathen of a woman that doubled my fortune but reminded me that I am not a man made for happily ever afters.

Not that I expected one. No, we went into our union knowing the hatred we carried for one another would never diminish. It grew exponentially, but creating an heir to our black kingdom was the only purpose of our marriage.

But, I could never bring myself to fuck my wife. Body and mind refused the consummation, but there was business to be done and we found a way. Night after night, I worked my cock with my hand, spilling my seed into a cup as she stood on the other side of the door, waiting.

From there, she did what she did. It took two months. My fucking dick nearly fell off it was so raw, but she bore a son and our business flourished.

I give myself a few soothing strokes as the music tempo slows, my fingers dancing along my shaft in time with my granddaughter’s graceful movements.

Up and down. Side to side. Faster. Slower.

With every nuance of the dance, the beast inside me grows. The pain in my balls turns my vision sparking white when the final crescendo weaves into the space between us.

Her eyes drift to the empty seats. She knows I’m here, watching, ever present. As she spins, her body turning to a blur, my fist beats up and down, my flesh making a wettic-tic-ticsound with the fury of my dark pleasure.

I palm the swollen knob, then back down the shaft, clenching harder, strangling the shame from me as I beat off to the vision of her riding me, eyes rolled back, calling me…

Papa.

My chin drops to my chest, my vision blurring before the muscles in my thighs twitch, my grip crushing, my strokes manic.

Come for me, angel. Baptize me with you as I burrow into your untouched body and create a life from my obsession.

A life made from both of us. A life that will bind you here with me forever.

As the final note of the composition plays through the sound system, the floor vibrates and I choke back my depraved bellow. Grabbing the armrest with my other hand, I hold on for my life. Hot spend spurts from the swollen tip of my erection as she takes her final plie, then a bow, head to her knees, arms outstretched as the wicked pleasure turns my blood to flame.

I clench my ass, raising my hips from the cushioned seat, my core lanced with pain and pleasure as the force of my climax speeds my heart and the muscles of my core flex into spasm.

When she falls to the wooden floor of the stage panting, I grit my teeth, my balls heave the last spurts of my releasee. Her legs and arms spread wide with her eyes toward the ceiling. Heated cum drips onto my knuckles and into the seams where my fingers hold a vice grip on the solid steel of my girth.

Never have I been so hard. Not even in my youth. There is no blue pill on this planet that could give me wood like she does.

“Papa?” she calls to the darkness, her head turning on the floor of the stage. “You are out there, right? I see your outline. How did I do? Good enough for the party?”

“Perfect,” I grunt, my throat raw, mouth dry as I rip my handkerchief from my back pocket for a hasty cleanup, then battle my still-stiff boner into my pants.

“You always say that,” she chirps back, pushing up to sit cross-legged, holding her hand flat over her eyebrows like a salute, squinting. “Come out where I can see you. You’re like some creeper in the back of a porn theater.”