by J P Sayle
“I’ve been watching your best, and I have to say it leaves a lot to be desired,” The king grumbled.
Christina sniffed, poking her nose in the air.
“You may want to consider behaving yourself and acting appropriately in my chambers. You do not want to anger me further.”
His superior, snotty tone scraped at her raw nerves.
Fuck this!
Her feet were moving before her brain engaged. She marched straight up to the throne. Leaning forward, she stabbed at his massive chest. “What the hell does that mean? All I’ve bloody done is consider my actions. You left me little choice in that …” Her words died when a light flickered to life in his eyes. Seeing that light her thighs quivered, and she dithered a second too long.
Christina squealed in fright as she was hauled onto the king’s lap right before his lips claimed hers in a soul-searing kiss. Fireworks exploded behind her eyelids. Images filled her mind. Pictures she couldn’t make head nor tails of flew at speed like the shutter of a camera. They clicked by too fast for her to grasp their meaning. She bowed her back at the following burning sensations lighting up her skin. The king released her as she screamed in agony before the world went black.
The king stared in utter horror at the frozen agony covering Christina’s face. His hand trembled as he placed it over Christina’s clammy forehead. Closing his eyes, he felt for the block his father had set in place so long ago.
It took only a moment to realise it was gone, broken by a whim. A whim that made his pulse flutter faster than the wings of a hummingbird. Unsure if it was fear or lust, he dropped his hand.
“How in the God’s name do I fix this?” His harsh demand was met with whispered dread.
“You cannot undo what has been done. You broke the veil and you must find what needs to change before it is too late.”
He growled at the cryptic words still floating in his mind. “What on God’s earth does that mean?” His only answer was resounding silence.
Connor handed the last of the packed boxes to Jeff, the driver of the truck company he’d hired to haul all his possessions to the Isle of Man. “I think that’s the last of it. Or should I say, I hope so.” When he eyed the full truck, his anxiety about how all his stuff would fare on the long road trip and subsequent boat journey came back to haunt him.
He sighed when Jeff patted his back.
“Stop stressin’, man, I got it under control. I’ve done this a thousand times, and I’ve never damaged anyone’s prized possession before.”
The jovial humour dancing in Jeff’s ruddy face did nothing to allay his fears. Connor eyed the dirt-streaked T-shirt stretched over his large belly. Jeff turned before he could respond, walking to the driver’s door, Connor shuddered at the arse cleavage his low-slung, filthy jeans revealed. Connor’s nose wrinkled. Anyone that dresses that sloppily surely couldn’t be trusted?
Connor pushed the thought away when the voice of reason said Jeff was dressed like that because it was hard, dirty work moving other people’s stuff.
He shook his head, unable to feel Jeff’s optimism or find it in him to be objective about his things were in safe hands. Connor walked away, mumbling, “Not yet, but there’s always a first time.”
His trainers squeaked on the wooden floors as he trailed through the now empty house, making sure he’d missed nothing. He was told the old Victorian house was built by his late great-grandfather for his wife. Over the years, it was passed down to the next generations, going to the firstborn child on his mother’s side of the family.
As his parents had him late in life and he was an only child, the house came to him after the death of his mother ten years ago. His memories of his father were hazy as he’d died when Connor was only nine.
Connor sighed at the empty rooms, rooms that had been filled with so much love and laughter, even though most of his life there had only been him and his mother. She had made every effort to fill the gap his father’s death had caused in their lives.
He chewed his fingernail; a habit that would have got him a slap if his mother were there. The need to feel her reassuring hug brought a wave of grief. Though not as intense as it had been, it was still there. A taint on his heart he didn’t think he’d ever lose.
He knew no amount of wishing his mother would walk through the door and tell him he was being silly and gave him a reassuring hug would bring her back. Right this minute though, he’d sell his soul to have just that, a second to feel her strong supportive arms wrap around him, to tell him he hadn’t made the biggest mistake of his life selling the family home.
He’d gone over it, humming and hawing over whether he should keep it and rent it out. He was forty-two and had no significant other. And the exes in his past, they had only wanted him for what was in his bank account. So he’d come to accept he was never going to have a child to pass it to, no matter how much he wanted that. So where did that leave him?
Alone in this big house, that’s where, being reminded constantly of what he didn’t have. No, it was time to move on. He just needed to keep that in sight.
He jerked at the loud meow coming from the cat box sitting by the door. “Yes, yes, Morgana, I’m coming.” He walked quickly to the cat box, lifting it until he could see her shining green eyes. “I know. It’s time for new adventures.” As he heard her purred response, his face lit up with a smile.
Connor walked out the door, locked it, and dropped the keys through the letter box at the estate agent’s request. A lightness he hadn’t expected filled his chest as he strolled down the path to his BMW.
“It’s time, Morgana. It’s time for new beginnings.”
The End
Daddy knows best, but can Ellie trust his own judgement about the man who wants to teach him?
Ellie Morris hopes a new job on the Isle of Man will be enough to leave his troubles behind and start afresh. Yet his past continues to haunt him, and he’s fearful.
But fate is a fickle mistress; or Master in this case.
Everybody knows a teacher should never slap his pupil, right? But a good spanking, administered with love? There’s nothing wrong with that.
And Connor, a teacher in every sense of the word, is just the man to show him. Under his tender and experienced tutelage, Ellie finds the freedom to let go and be himself. Oh yes, a firm hand makes all the difference.
The whole world may know that he loves his Daddy.
The Teacher’s Boy has a slow-burn romance with Daddy kink, spanking, an age gap, steamy scenes, and a guaranteed HEA. And let’s not forget a trio of talking, mischievous cats that meddle to their heart’s delight.
This is the seventh book in the series and has a synopsis that allows the reader to be able to understand the backstory of the other characters. Please be aware the synopsis does contain information which gives spoilers to the other books.
An underlying secondary story, left on a cliff hanger, will continue in a spin-off series called Broken Veils.
This book has been a long time in coming, and I want to thank Jody, Keren, Mandy, and Kirsty for making sure I wrote Connor and Ellie’s story.
I want to thank Lucas for the laughter and the comments through this edit. You make me smile so much.
To Tanja for your dedication and support. I’d be lost without you.
To my other Tania, who so aptly named this book. You gave me a special gift and I cannot thank you enough.
To every person who has been there and encouraged me through this series :)
Ellie
Ignoring the strange looks he was receiving from the other passengers at the departure gate, Ellie checked his watch. His flamboyant appearance always caused a bit of a stir. Today was no different. A pink puffer jacket and matching jeans were not typical attire for a cold winter’s day in February. And that was precisely why he’d picked them. People didn’t tend to see the person. They saw the hair and clothes, and this was the best way to stay hidden while remaining in plain sight. The crazier the outf
it, the less visible he became, and that more than worked for him.
There was an empty seat next to the gate, so he made a beeline for it. Sitting down, he didn’t make eye contact with anyone, but he couldn’t fail to miss the man tripping over his own feet while gawking at him. Ellie hid a chuckle behind his hand and rolled his eyes at the more than obvious nudge the guy gave to the woman with him.
The vibration against his wrist pulled his attention to an incoming text message. He glanced down at the name flashing across his watch, which instantly made him fret. He inhaled before touching the watch face to read the text.
Where are you, Ellie?
Tiny trembles rolled up his body at the benign question, though there was nothing harmless about the demand behind the query. His fingers shook as he clasped his hands together. Why, even after a year, hadn’t he blocked and deleted Seb’s number?
Daddy wouldn’t like it.
His lips trembled at the answer.
How many times do I need to reinforce that I’m no longer the child who Seb had found crawling in the back alley outside his restaurant? Until it sank and stayed put. Ellie exhaled at the flood of old memories that took him back to a time he wanted to forget.
Uncertain of the time, Ellie guessed it was late by how deserted the streets were. November had come in with a vengeance. The subzero conditions were not conducive to survival on the streets, as he was finding out. He shoved his grubby, freezing hands into his dirty jeans. His threadbare jacket and ripped trousers were no barrier to the icy wind that seemed to find every hole in his clothes and take great pleasure in stabbing at him.
He shivered so violently his teeth rattled, and his silver eyes wheeled, looking for somewhere he could hide out of the cold. Spying a side street on the opposite side of the road, he ran across the tarmac. His trainers slapped against the ground, the noise oddly reassuring.
He stilled at the entrance of the alleyway, hesitating at the total blackness and the sound of scratching he heard over the whistling wind. His eyes narrowed, squinting to see through the inky black. He chewed on his chapped lower lip when his pulse skipped a beat. His wild imagination conjured all sorts of bad things that could be lurking in the dirt and garbage. Indecision warred with the hunger pangs he was doing his best to pretend weren’t cramping his stomach.
The wind picked up, and the scent of food had him edging slowly into the alley. The shivers racking his body increased with each step that took him off the main street and deeper into the darkness. “Please let there be something to eat, please,” he mumbled while praying nothing would run across his feet or try to scamper up his leg.
He whimpered, wrapping his arms around his waist as his body jerked. The aroma of cooked food was far too tempting to ignore, especially when the mouth-watering scent bolstered the hunger pains. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d eaten more than a few scraps scavenged from bins.
The last few weeks were a blur of cold, hungry, abject misery, alone on streets that were no one’s friend.
His stepfather’s ugly-as-fuck face swam in front of his eyes. The urge to curse out loud had him kick the ground with his scuffed trainer. His arms tightened around his body in the hope of warding off the pain of his mother’s betrayal. Who lets their new husband kick their child out of the house?
A quiet sob left his throat. Mine.
Tears stuck at the back of his throat in a ball of grief, choking him. The desperation increased with each day he spent on the streets and had him teetering on the edge of doing the unthinkable. The rough sleepers all spoke about what they’d done to survive. In the first few days, Ellie had been stupid enough to think someone would come and rescue him from the streets and fix his life. He didn’t even want to think about how quickly that hope had died and how frantic he now was. Desperate enough to consider selling the one thing he had—his body.
Shivering into his thin jacket, he sucked in the screams his raging fear wanted to force from him. He reminded himself he could go to a shelter. No, no I can’t. They’ll send me to one of the group homes.
Again, the street vagrants were more than happy to share all their ghastly stories of what happened in those places. What had they called him?
Fresh meat!
His waif-like appearance, blond hair, and being a short arse made him look younger than his fourteen years. With no birth certificate to prove his age, the busybodies would only report him to social services. And those fuckers would never let go once they got their claws into you. He didn’t want to go into a system where no one gave a fuck, or worse would fuck him. He’d had enough of that to last him a lifetime. He was fed up to the back teeth of being treated like the shit on someone’s shoe and being walked all over.
No, being on my own is better. It has to be!
He hated how teary the voice in his head sounded. Sniffing, he wiped his nose on his sleeve. The buzzing in his ears was ignored when the darkness sucked all the light away, leaving him blind. Hesitantly, he took a few faltering steps, anxious not to fall over something he couldn’t see.
His eyes watered as sudden bright light flooded the alley. Blinking repeatedly, he rubbed at his eyes, too startled to run. He stood rooted to the spot, his pulse running wild.
A tall figure towered over him, the shadows making it impossible to make out their features.
“What are you doing scurrying around out there? You wouldn’t be trying to burgle me, would you?” asked a masculine voice, full of menace.
A ball of fright cut off Ellie’s airway. His fingers went to his throat as he struggled to drag in some air, but it didn’t work. His head got fuzzy, and his eyes blurred. The ground tilted, and then blackness filled his vision.
Ellie snuggled into the softness underneath him, willing the lovely dream he had to continue. He inhaled deeply, rubbing his nose into the pillow. The unfamiliar scent of freshly laundered bedsheets cleared the fog from his mind as his eyelids fluttered open, revealing a strange room. He blinked, then blinked again, the lamp sitting on the bedside cabinet offering a soft glow to the unfamiliar room.
The blood in his veins froze in fright. Where the fuck am I?
He gulped. His eyes wheeled wildly around the bedroom. Leaf-patterned autumnal wallpaper complemented the pale green carpet and matched the bedsheets he was lying on. The luxurious mahogany furniture gave the room a perfect showroom appearance. Nothing was out of place, no dust or mess covered any of the flat surfaces. He wondered for a moment if he’d died and this was heaven.
Memories of the dirty back alley flooded his mind, giving him a rude awakening. He bolted upright.
Shit, I’m in someone’s home.
Had the guy kidnapped him?
Unsure what to do, he nervously glanced at the open door. God knows where that led to. His heart jackhammered against his ribcage. He pushed back the duvet cover with shaking hands, and his eyes widened. Where were his jacket and trainers?
He whimpered, looking about the room—the urge to cry too much when he couldn’t see his stuff. Tears flooded his eyes, flowing down his cheeks. What if the guy was a sex trafficker?
A sob caught in his throat. Stop that. It’s so not helping right now. His mind didn’t listen and decided to replay every horror story he’d seen on the TV about abducted children.
He shuddered, then scrubbed at his cheeks, sniffling. “Come on, think,” he muttered.
“Ah, you’re awake. I thought I was going to have to call the GP to come and check you over. You’ve been out for the count for more than twelve hours.”
His body jerked back, hands gripping the duvet and tugging it back over himself. His tongue glued itself to the roof of his mouth as he clutched at his chest. His gaze moved over the man standing in the doorway as a face worthy of any catwalk model smiled kindly down at him.
Ellie’s pulse beat wildly.
The guy had it all: face, height, and a body to die for. The broad chest was covered with a tight-fitting vest. A vest, Ellie noted, that didn’t conceal the
bulging muscles underneath, and neither did the sweat pants that hung low off slim hips.
The saliva dried up in his mouth. Shifting uncomfortably at how his body was taking notice, he released the duvet and dropped his hand into his lap, trying to conceal his growing problem.
The guy stepped into the room and towards the bed.
“Wh… what…d… do… youwantfromme…” Ellie stuttered, rushing to speak past the lump in his throat.
The guys lifted his large tanned hands in a unthreatening way. “Calm down. I promise you’re safe. I’m not looking to harm you. I just wanted to make sure you were all right. I found you in the alleyway at the back of my restaurant right before you keeled over at my feet. Do you remember? I couldn’t leave you out there, now could I?”
Ellie wasn’t fooled. No.
The guy might be stunning, but that didn’t make him a nice guy, even if he sounded believable.
He nibbled on his lower lip. What should I do?
“Can I have my stuff back so I can get out of your hair?” He didn’t like the way it came out more of a question than a request, slapping his head in frustration when the guy simply raised a brow and shook his head.
“No. It’s obvious you haven’t eaten in some time, and you stink. You need a good feed and a bath. Now, you’re gonna be a good boy and do as you’re told and follow what I say.”
Warmth filled Ellie’s chest at the look of genuine concern on the guy’s face before he walked back to the door, indicating he should follow. He wasn’t sure why he did as he was told so readily, but he got off the bed and walked behind the guy’s retreating back.
“What’s your name? I’m Sebastian, Seb to my friends.”
Ellie faltered, his finger going to his mouth so he could chew on his nail. Should he give his real name in case the guy decided to ring social services?