Her Dirty Professor Series (21+)

Good Little Girl (A taboo Romance)

Blurb:

Spoiled little rich girl, Aimee, has it all. Showered in gifts by a jet setter mother who’s never home, her pretty little ass has received far too much kissing, and far too little spanking.

But that’s all about to change…

Her new stepdaddy, Kyle, isn’t going to stand any disrespect from her.

He’ll teach her to be a very, very good little girl.

“Bite me, Daddy.” Aimee’s eyes shone bright with defiance, her mouth curling into a grin of pure fucking disrespect. She leant against the doorframe, freeing up my view of the half-naked prick beyond as he struggled to get his clothes together.

I took a step forward, close enough for her to catch the gravelly menace in my voice. “If he’s not out of this house within thirty fucking seconds, I’ll do more than bite, sweetheart.”

I saw her breath hitch, the beautiful flash of surprise as it swept across her face. “You wanna play big, tough stepdad now Mother’s not around, hey? Is that it?”

My eyes narrowed, slicing into hers with the full force of my irritation. “I’m not playing.”

“Screw you,” she hissed. “Mikey was leaving anyway.”

“He’d better get a move on, since he’s got twenty seconds left to get the hell out of here.”

“Fine, jerk.”

She slammed the door but I let it slide, loosening my tie as I headed back downstairs. I’d been flying high with that Friday feeling, knocking off work early to the call of a cold beer straight from the fridge, but my high had dissipated into nothing. I grabbed the beer anyway.

Day one of twenty without Louise and we were already at war. Bloody brilliant.

If I’d have met Aimee Jane Rowley before I married her mother, she’d have been a proper fucking deal-breaker. Petulant, spoiled to shit, un-fucking-disciplined. An only child to a single mother who’d had plenty of money but not enough time, and a legend in her own tiny mind. But that wasn’t the deal-breaker. Not even close.NôvelDrama.Org: owner of this content.

Aimee Jane Rowley was an accident waiting to happen; the ultimate honeytrap for a dirty sonofabitch like me. You’d think she was an angel, with her bouncy blonde curls and baby blue eyes, the light dusting of freckles high across her cheekbones, but she was anything but angelic. The glint in her eyes said dirty girl, and I’ve always been a sucker for a forbidden fruit. It doesn’t get much more forbidden than hot, tight stepdaughter pussy.

A racket of footsteps sounded loud on the stairs, followed by the slam of the front door. Good fucking riddance to the boy trying to get into her panties. I was enjoying my beer when Aimee stuck her pouty face around the doorframe.

“I’m going too.”

“The guy’s a loser,” I announced. “A stupid kid. He wouldn’t even know what he was doing. I promise you that. Get yourself a vibrator and stop relying on dickheads.”

“I’ve already got one, thank you.”

She presented herself in full view, hands on hips, trademark spiky demeanour aggravating the shit out of me. I struggled to ignore the smooth curve of her waist. The tight, young promise of her thighs as they tensed under her skirt. I swear the girl has the perkiest little rack I’ve ever seen on God’s green earth. Her mother was a looker, but whatever genes had spliced in with Aimee Rowley’s DNA had served her well. Daddy must have been one hell of a pretty boy.

“He’s hardly boyfriend material, I don’t even know him,” she snapped. “I’m not my mother. I don’t get involved and end up marrying an asshole on a whim.”

“I don’t know what you inherited less of her work ethic or her common sense,” I retorted.

“I don’t want her common sense. Not if a guy like you is the result of her superior decision-making skills.”

I looked at the girl in front of me. There was rage in her eyes, for sure, but there was something more than that.

“Why do you fight me all the time, Aimee?” My tone was flat and calm, genuinely curious. “Haven’t I tried to be nice to you?”

“Urgh,” she said. “That’s enough family bonding for one day. Don’t wait up, Kyle.”

“I hope Mikey lives up to your expectations.”

She gave me the finger on her way out.

I slumped back on the sofa and flicked through the TV, pondering again just how the fuck I’d ended up in this situation. I’d met Louise Rowley at a conference out in Kefalonia six months earlier. Some team building shit the assholes in senior management claimed would lead to ‘improved corporate communication’. For me it led to a damn sight more. A beach wedding and a brand new family of three in the heart of London suburbia. Peachy, or so it seemed.

Louise appeared to be just the woman I wanted, career-focused, sharp, confident… non-hysterical. She’d seemed to be a lot of things, and at thirty-nine and two years her junior I’d happily signed up for the experience. Why the hell not? I had no ties, no better options… why not give family life a shot?

I didn’t count on Louise having a daughter like Aimee. A daughter I craved to discipline, educate, and shape to my filthy twisted will. I didn’t count on my new bride having a daughter who was a slutty little mantrap, the kind of girl who lived for cock but didn’t yet know it, who danced around idiot young men because she didn’t know any better, didn’t know what a real man could do for her.

The wedding spell had broken quickly once Louise and I were back in England, and I suspected by now that we’d both long since recognised the error of our ways. Louise’s agenda had been clear once we got home, and after doing the rounds of trophy husband I’d soon been discarded. Show over, she was off again, with another big corporate event to co-ordinate. More places to go, more people to see. She’d barely even waved goodbye to either Aimee or I, and I’d wondered whether, deep down, she’d ever really given a shit about anyone but herself.

She’d admitted when we met, after sinking too many sangrias, that she’d never set out to be a mother at all. An accident, by all accounts, just like our impulse marriage was turning out to be. Now her two accidents were holed up under the same roof, locking horns at every opportunity.

I should have walked out of that shit, packed a bag and returned to my old apartment. The place was still technically on the market, since buyer negotiations were still going through. I should have been out of there, stopping at the nearest divorce lawyer enroute, but something held me tight.

I suspected, despite my constant irritation, that that something was Aimee.

……

It was gone 1 a. m. when her key sounded in the lock. I’d already decimated the beers in the fridge and switched over to Channel XXX, stroking my cock to a horny little threesome with three young blondes. I stuffed my dick out of sight before Aimee saw me, flicking through the channels to something innocuous. The girl was trashed. She smacked her shoulder on the doorway as the teetered her way in, pirouetting gracelessly on the rebound and landing in a heap at my side on the sofa. I caught a glimpse of white lace panties under her skirt, and if she’d been sober she’d have seen how my hungry eyes lingered, my palm brushing the hard-on under my suit trousers.

It was only when she pushed the curls back from her face that I saw what a train wreck her makeup was. An unmistakable trail of ruined mascara smeared from her eyes, and her cheeks were blotched pink. Her lip quivered, despite her efforts to keep her composure.

“What’s up, pussycat? Mikey not the big, hot stud you thought he was?” I tried to be cocky in my questioning, but it trailed off into nothing. Her dishevelled condition knocked me hard, right in the pit of my drunken stomach. I wasn’t sure whether I wanted to fuck her, hold her, or go after that Mikey sonofabitch and find out what the fuck he’d done to her.

“Like you care,” she snapped.

“Did he hurt you?”

She rolled her eyes, swatting away a tear in the process. “No, Mikey didn’t hurt me. I hardly even saw him all night. Turns out Mikey has a girlfriend, the perfect Imogen Delaney no less. He works for her dad, and apparently that’s the only reason he’s with her that’s what he said. Like I give a fuck about him anyway.”

“So why the tears?”

Her lip trembled again. “Do you actually give a shit? Do you?”

I turned in her direction, pulling up a knee to hide the remnants of my hard-on. “Yes. I give a shit. Tell me what the fuck’s going on.”

She edged closer, her knee coming to rest dangerously close to mine. “I thought they were my friends, but they hate me. Why do they hate me?”

“What happened?”

“The usual. They called me a slut, said I’m a piece of trashy shit, that guys only want me coz I’m an easy lay. Beth went all psycho on me, said I was eyeing up her boyfriend, but I wasn’t. He’s a loser and she already told me he can’t keep it up. Why would I want to get on a useless sack of shit like that?”

“You’re drunk, they were drunk. It’ll blow over in the morning and you’ll be laughing it off over messenger by lunch.”

“You don’t get it, do you?” she said. I pondered her question, and found that no, I didn’t get it at all. “Everyone hates me!”

“That’s bullshit. Of course your friends don’t hate you.”

“They do!” she cried. “This always happens to me. Even my own mother hates me. And you, you hate me too, don’t pretend you don’t.”

I turned off the TV, and her ragged breath sounded so much louder, so much closer. I’d never seen her like this. Drunk, sure, drunk and cocky, sure; but never like this, not once in the six months I’d known her.

“Your mother doesn’t hate you, she loves you.”

She laughed a bitter laugh. “You’re so full of shit, you know that? You know it as much as I do.”

“Your mother is busy with work, and she gets preoccupied, that’s all.”

“And you?” she asked. “You hate me, don’t you? Admit it. You can’t stand me. I know you can’t. Sometimes I don’t even blame you, since I hate myself.”