Dangerous Daddy Box Set

by Blake, Zoe

  And locked it.

  * * *

  He could smell her perfume.

  It was a sweet floral scent he’d noticed the first day she walked into his office. It suited her. There was no denying he wanted to learn what it smelled like on her soft, warm skin. Then he saw the shoulder bag she seemed never to be without.

  She was here…and the little minx was up to something.

  Writing a note sending Mrs. Ludtz on some long errand, he closed and locked the doors.

  Turning back, he unbuttoned his dress blue coat. He didn’t want to be in uniform for what he was about to do. Shrugging out of the coat, he was left in his blue slacks and a silver, Under Armour t-shirt. Thinking he had let her stew long enough, Michael stepped to his office door. Laying a flat palm on its polished surface, he slowly pushed it open. His office looked quiet and undisturbed.

  He was not fooled.

  He had entered enough enemy encampments to know when a room was occupied.

  She was here.

  He scanned the room.

  Nothing looked disturbed.

  He took two steps onto the center of the plush carpet.

  There was a slight rush of air as the minx scurried out from her hiding place behind the door and tried to bolt across the threshold to freedom.

  She wasn’t so lucky.

  “Not so fast,” he called as his hand lashed out, snatching her back by her slim upper arm.

  He pivoted, slamming her back against the bookshelves. Blocking her escape with his own body.

  She was breathing heavily but did not say a word. Just stared at him with wild, wide eyes, like a rabbit caught in a predator’s snare.

  He took his time lowering his gaze over her body, from her red lips to the outline of her breasts in the tight-fitting black sweater to the shape of her hips and legs in her black slacks and leather boots. She was even dressed to be up to no good, he thought with a smile.

  Placing a booted foot against her left foot, he kicked it out, spreading her legs open. He stepped forward, fitting his hips against her stomach. Her tiny frame was dwarfed by his powerful one. Sliding his hands down her slender arms, he secured her wrists and wrenched them over her head. He could smell her perfume. The old leather from the books. The faint hint of peppermint on her breath.

  “Mind telling me what you are doing breaking into my office, princess?”

  Her expressive green eyes flashed at the endearment.

  “Don’t call me princess,” she fired back defiantly.

  “Why not? The name fits. A beautiful female who stubbornly runs headlong into danger. That is how fairy tales go, isn’t it?” he responded, a wry twist to his lips.

  He didn’t miss how her eyes focused on his mouth as he talked.

  Still, she tried to fight him. “And what? You’re my knight in shining armor come to rescue me? To let me go?” she added hopefully.

  Securing her wrists in his left hand, he ran the knuckles of his right over her cheek. “Oh, princess. This isn’t that type of fairy tale. I’m not that kind of knight. And letting you go is the very last thing on my mind.”

  His mouth crashed down on hers, finally tasting those cherry red lips. His tongue swept in, teasing her own. He could feel her hips twist as she tried pulling down on her arms. Her tiny sharp teeth sunk into his lower lip. He wrenched his head back. His tongue swept out to taste the small drop of blood. The light of battle shone in her eyes and spurred him on. He could tell she was loving this test of wills as much as he.

  Grabbing her jaw with his free hand, he warned her, “Bite me again and I will tear off your clothes here and now and fuck you senseless against the wall.”

  Testing his resolve, she spat out, “I fucking dare you to try!”

  His mouth silenced any further protest. Releasing her arms, his large hands slid over her thighs, pulling them up to straddle his hips. Rubbing his thick shaft between her legs, he tasted her moan. His left hand reached under her turtleneck to seek her warm flesh. He could feel the soft scrape of her lace bra against the center of his palm as he cupped her breast. Using his thumb and forefinger, he ruthlessly pinched her nipple through the thin lace. Phoebe cried out as her hands wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer.

  “That’s it, baby. Let me hear those cries and moans.”

  Books and long forgotten awards fell from the shelves as he rocked into her. Pulsing his hips against her mons, he desperately wanted to sink his hard cock deep inside her wet heat.

  Knowing it was impossible. It was the middle of the afternoon. In his office. The Commanding Officer of the Academy’s office. There were certain lines even he wouldn’t cross.

  Licking her lower lip, he grabbed the soft fullness of her ass with his right hand and demanded, “Call me daddy.”

  “What?” she asked, breathless and confused.

  Nipping at her lower lip, he demanded, “I want hear these lips call me daddy,” as his hand squeezed her flesh.

  With a challenging flash of her gorgeous eyes, she whispered, “Daddy.”

  The forbidden kink of that simple word and all its wicked meaning sent a bolt straight through his cock. Ruthlessly, he harnessed the emotion for later.

  Tasting the sweet peppermint of her mouth one last time, he shifted to bury his face in the side of her neck, feeling the warmth of her skin, the soft brush of her hair, inhaling the scent of her.

  After several calming breaths, he reached up and unhooked her legs from around his hips, letting her slide back down to the ground, holding her by the hips till she had regained her own breath.

  Her lips were swollen and bruised. The pale skin around them stained pink from her smeared lipstick. Her usually sleek hair was tangled and knotted about her heart-shaped face. She looked beautiful. Stunning.

  He reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded white, handkerchief.

  Keeping his blue gaze locked on her now dark with desire emerald eyes, he lifted her sweater and placed the folded cloth against her flat stomach. Holding her eyes, he slid it past her waistband. Pushing his fingers under the fabric of her panties, he cupped her cunt.

  Phoebe let slip a shocked gasp.

  Running the soft, cambric fabric over those sweet lips he had yet to see, Michael pulled the handkerchief free. Flipping the fold over the wet mark, he inhaled the musky scent of her arousal.

  “A remembrance,” he said before slipping the handkerchief back in his pocket.

  Phoebe slipped under his arm and ran through the door.

  He watched as she snatched up her shoulder bag and reached to unlock the double doors to the outside world.

  “Phoebe,” he called out.

  She didn’t turn but stilled.

  “Later. You will tell me what you were doing sneaking around my office and what you’re really doing at this school,” he ordered. His voice still raw with lust.

  Without saying a word, she unlocked the door and fled.

  Chapter 8

  Phoebe raced to her late afternoon class. All while the class discussed Macbeth and the deceptive motivations of Lady Macbeth and how that impacted his performance on the battlefield, Phoebe’s mind returned to Michael and what had just happened in his office.

  Good god!

  Raw, tear your clothes off passion like that…it just…it just didn’t happen! That was for movies and romance novels. A man doesn’t really just grab a woman and kiss her senseless. Not in real life anyway. Except this man did and Phoebe wasn’t sure she would ever recover. It was almost jarring to have your body taken over like that…used and revered at the same time. And his kiss. It was the most all-consuming, amazing kiss she had ever experienced. It was like swallowing sunshine. All heat and energy.

  And then he asked her to call him daddy. She nearly expired on the spot. It was so fucked up and wrong but she couldn’t deny the naughty thrill which tingled down her spine as he made the demand just as he grabbed her ass. It played perfectly into the reoccurring school girl spanking fantasy she had
about him.

  She was so fucked.

  Her mind was so lost in the memory she didn’t even register the bell ringing. Phoebe gave herself a mental shake. She had to focus. She had a job to do. Waiting until the last person filed out, Phoebe pulled the copied pages from her bag. She wasn’t sure what she was looking for, but she hoped something would click.

  Neither John Drake or Robert Casey had parents in politics, still she jotted down the corporate names on the letters of recommendation and their parents’ professions just so she could double check for any connections, maybe one of these is a big defense contractor with the military. She then looked at the write-ups. Unlike what Amber implied, she didn’t see anything that screamed sociopath in training. Noticing both students’ interest in biology and science classes, she had a pretty good idea what they were actually doing with that dead squirrel. No, neither boy’s file seemed to have any red flags.

  Mrs. Ludtz on the other hand…

  * * *

  It took all her resolve to finish her teaching obligations and not head straight back to her room to start putting together her notes and trying to make sense of her suspicion of Mrs. Ludtz. She needed to organize her notes and talk with Henry. The idea that she might be wrapping up the story and would have to leave immediately gave her a small pang. There would be no more test of wills with Michael. No more passionate encounters. She would go back to her world and he would stay in his. It was for the best. After he learned of her deception, Phoebe doubted he would ever speak to her again anyway.

  She was finishing up her notes when Henry called later that evening.

  “How are you doing out there in the boondocks, Wilson? Learn anything yet?”

  “Plenty. Did you know there is some crazy tradition up here where they burn a monk in effigy every twenty-fifth of October? And that the symbol carved on the women’s chests wasn’t a pentagram. There is a good chance it’s the symbol of a Native American evil spirit called a wendigo, although I have to get to a library to confirm. The internet doesn’t have a reliable source.”

  “No shit? What about the military’s involvement? Find any proof of a cover up?”

  “Well…” Phoebe paused, thinking about the warning in blood on her door. She decided to take precautions. “Hold on a sec, Henry.”

  Minimizing the phone screen, Phoebe brought up her Pandora account as she was turning on the mini Bose stereo she always traveled with. The thumping base of Little Big Town’s Tornado filled the room. She double checked the door was locked before returning to her call.

  “Okay, I’m back.”

  “Did you enter a night club?” joked Henry.

  “Things are getting a little hinky here. I want to make sure I’m not overheard. Oh! And thanks for telling me I resemble both murder victims! That was a fun little fact to discover once I was already trapped here in Buzzards Bay!”

  “I gave you the file,” said Henry unapologetically. “It’s not my fault you didn’t look it over till later.”

  “It’s still creepy as fuck,” harrumphed Phoebe.

  She then related what she had learned from the students’ files as well as her careful prodding of several professors and staff around campus. She had even approached a midshipman or two about it.

  “I think you’re right. There’s a story there. Not a big splashy one, but it can’t hurt your career to please the owner of the paper,” said Henry after hearing all her evidence. “What about the new commander. Do you think he’s in on it?”

  Bonnie Tyler’s I Need a Hero started to blare over her stereo.

  Phoebe’s stomach twisted at the thought. Trying to keep her voice neutral so Henry wouldn’t suspect her true feelings about Michael, she responded, “He seems straight. He came after the murders, so I don’t think he was involved in deliberately keeping the police out of it or any cover up, although like I said, I think a member of his staff may be. I just can’t wrap my head around the idea of straight-laced Mrs. Ludtz carving up a woman and eating her liver!”

  “Jesus Christ, Wilson. I remember when this used to be a gentleman’s game.”

  Phoebe smiled. That was Henry’s standard comment whenever she got too casually gruesome with the details of an investigation.

  “Well, it’s either her or the evil ghost of a mad monk committing murder,” quipped Phoebe.

  “What the fuck is going on in here?”

  Phoebe dropped the phone as she turned to see Michael standing in the middle of her room.

  “Phoebe? Who’s that? What’s going on?”

  Recovering the phone from the bed covers, Phoebe could hear the concern in Henry’s voice. He never called her Phoebe. “I…I…it’s fine. I have to go,” she responded as her startled eyes remained on Michael.

  “Are you sure you’re okay?” asked Henry.

  “Yes, I’m fine.” For the moment, thought Phoebe as she hung up.

  Phoebe wasn’t sure what to focus on first. The sight of Michael standing before her out of uniform in a pair of jeans and a gray hoodie. The fact that he had entered her locked room. That she didn’t know how long he had been standing there or what he had heard. Or maybe just the raw anger that was clearly emanating from his powerful form.

  Pants!

  Focus on putting on pants first, thought Phoebe as she realized with a start she was standing dumbfounded before him in just a t-shirt and panties.

  Grabbing the first thing she could lay her hands on, the pillow from the bed, she held it over her exposed thighs.

  “How the hell did you get in my room? The door was locked!”

  “I’m the commander,” came his clipped, completely inexcusable response.

  “Why are you here?”

  “We have some unfinished business, princess.”

  His blue eyes were iced over. The firm set of his jaw and the way his fists were clenched at his sides told her he was going to be immovable on this front. She would need to have an answer for her strange appearance in his office. Trying to buy herself some time, she accused, “A gentleman would retreat from the room or at least turn around until a lady could cover herself.”

  “I’m no gentleman. I’m a Marine. We only know how to advance.”

  Phoebe gave a cry of alarm as he took two determined steps toward her. Having nowhere else to run, she dropped the pillow and jumped up on the bed. Holding her hands out defensively, she warned, “You come near me and I’ll scream.”

  Michael’s lips split into a wolfish grin. “You are the only one bunked down this corridor. Scream all you want.”

  He reached out and grabbed her ankles. Pulling her legs up and wide, Phoebe fell backwards onto the bed. Standing over her, she watched as he unzipped his hoodie, exposing a desert tanned chest and flat stomach ridged with muscle. As he shrugged out of the garment, his wide shoulders and thick biceps were exposed. She remembered her initial impression of him as a marble statue come to life.

  “Do I need to tie you to the bed or are you going to be good girl and give daddy what he wants?” he asked huskily.

  Daddy.

  Phoebe swallowed. Her stomach clenched as she felt a tingling surge between her legs. Damn the man knew just how to speak to a woman in a way that both infuriated and inflamed her. She didn’t know whether to slap or kiss him. Damn his arrogant ass!

  Part of her wanted to see if he would really be bold enough to tie her to the bed. Just as she was about to turn over and play at still being frightened and fighting him, his hand went to the zipper of his jeans and she was transfixed. She watched as he slowly lowered the zipper, opening the flaps with both hands. Exposing the chiseled cut of his abdomen and lower hips. The faint dark waves of hair just above his cock…and….

  Good god!

  He fisted his shaft and pulled it free from its denim confines. Confined. That was a good term for the beast he had just unleashed from inside his jeans. His cock was thick and long with a large bulbous head. It was as threatening as its master.

  Now Phoebe wasn�
�t playing. She really was frightened. There was no way this was going to work. No way. She was not that girl. The sexually experienced kind who could take a beast of a cock like that in stride.

  Leaving his jeans clinging to his hips, Michael placed one knee on the bed between her open legs. Phoebe immediately started to scurry back against the headboard. Once more raising a defensive hand, she stuttered, “Wait…I…we…no…this…can’t…you!”

  “Don’t worry, princess. You’ll like it when I make it hurt,” he growled as he gripped her thighs and pulled her back onto the bed. Grabbing the hem of her t-shirt, he whipped it over her head before she could make any further protest.

  “Beautiful,” he murmured before taking one pert nipple into his mouth.

  Phoebe groaned and arched her back as he swirled his tongue around the sensitive tip, only lightly scraping with the edge of his teeth. His warm hand caressed her stomach before shifting between her legs to pull on her panties.

  In a panic, Phoebe reached for the thin, pink fabric. Her slightly fearful eyes clashed with his determined ones. After a brief tug of war, he twisted his hand into a fist and tore the silk off her body.

  “No more games, princess. I’ve won the battle and I want my prize.”

  Phoebe could not deny the truth. From the moment she had laid eyes on this man, he had both angered and fascinated her. She was drawn to his raw display of power and strength. As much as her mind rebelled, there was no denying her body loved how he just took what he wanted. It made her feel desired. A desire beyond reason or the polite niceties and dictates of society. The rules be damned. She wanted to feel overpowered. Taken.

  Fucked.

  Raising her arms up to grip the edge of the headboard, she opened her legs wider. A silent assent.

  There was a low, dark rumble in Michael’s chest as he settled his weight on top of her. She could feel the scrape of metal teeth against the sensitive skin of her inner thighs from the zipper on his jeans. He rose up slightly on his knees as he braced one hand by her head, with the other he brushed a fallen curl back from her face. The head of his cock pushed against her entrance.