Own Me, Daddy (Dangerous Daddy Book 2)
Own Me, Daddy: Chapter 3

Lieutenant Colonel Michael Lawson entered his new office. Compared to a tent in Fallujah, it was exceedingly luxurious. A large, polished oak desk dominated the space. The walls were covered in a deep navy blue wallpaper with gold embossed anchors. The bookshelves were filled with old books no one had cracked a spine on in probably over fifty decades. His polished boots sunk into the thick Persian carpet that covered much of the heavily varnished hardwood floor. He hated that. He liked to hear the sound of his own footsteps and those of anyone approaching. He would have talked to his secretary, Mrs. Ludtz, about having it removed if he didn’t fear it would give the poor woman apoplexy. It was readily apparent this academy was her whole world. A world that should not be tampered with in any way, shape or form in her opinion. In short, she was a traditionalist. Despite her polite demeanor, he was fairly certain she hated him on the spot.

For starters, he was a Marine.

Puller Military Academy was a Naval College, and although the Marines pulled from the Reserve Officer’s Training Corp body of midshipmen upon graduation same as the Navy, it was primarily viewed as a naval institution. As such, the superintendent of the school, traditionally, had always been an admiral in the Navy.

In addition to not being an admiral in the Navy, Michael was also one of the youngest Lieutenant Colonels in the Marine Corp at only thirty-six. Instead of a distinguished and more appropriate for the Academy…sixty-five…in Mrs. Ludtz’s oft-shared opinion.

The final nail in his coffin where the secretary was concerned…Michael had been brought in specifically to put the school on lockdown since the murders. The Navy had stonewalled the local cops from investigating too deeply but that didn’t mean they didn’t want answers. If there was a murderer among their ranks, they wanted him found…quickly and quietly…before there were any more deaths. Michael’s previous experiences abroad made him especially suited to the task.

Michael assumed her objections were to even the slightest implication that a distinguished member of the academy would be involved with something as low-brow as murder. His presence underscored that the Navy thought it was a possibility and that probably rankled her.

So in addition to his age, rank, branch of service and stated purpose, already being black marks against him, Michael feared the removal of the rug would probably do the poor woman in.

Captain Mark Dobson rose from his chair in front of the desk the moment he saw Michael. Captain Dobson was his Commandant of Midshipmen. The equivalent of a dean of students at a regular civilian school. A smart, capable man…who also bitterly resented Michael’s new appointment to superintendent almost as much as Mrs. Ludtz, although he went to a great deal more effort to hide it than Mrs. Ludtz.

“Good afternoon, Mark,” greeted Michael as he waved the man back into his chair and took his own seat behind the desk. “I’ve been reviewing your report on the security measures at the school.”

“Yes, Commander. As you can see, I have a very qualified first class midshipman in charge of regular patrols.”

“Yes. Excellent but more needs to be done. I want surprise bunk checks each week. I also want to see the files on any midshipman who may seem…troubled…since arriving at the academy.

Mark fidgeted in his chair. “I’m not sure what you are referring to, sir.”

Michael gave Mark an assessing look. Slowly lowering the report he was reviewing, he turned his intense dark gaze on the man, all hint of the convivial conversation gone. “I want the files of any man you think capable of strangling a woman with his bare hands and then carving up her body, is that more clear for you, Captain?”

The academy had a stringent application process and accepted fewer than three percent of applicants but that didn’t mean a bad apple did not slip through. In fact, in his experience, the type of sociopath capable of this kind of murder was probably highly efficient and intelligent, something that would look good to the academy.

Mark lowered his gaze. “Yes, sir,” he responded quietly. “There was no evidence it was a midshipman…Sir. You won’t make any friends on campus by treating them all as suspects.”

“I’m not here to make friends,” countered Michael with a frown as he tossed the report aside. “And I would thank you not to prevaricate in the future when I ask you a direct question. You are dismissed.”

“Yes, sir. I will get you those files.”

Mark rose and departed, quietly. Damn that fucking rug. You could read a lot about a man’s inner thoughts by the measure and sound of his gait as he walked towards or away from you.

Although Michael didn’t need any additional clues to know what Mark was thinking.

He was appointed superintendent to oversee a complete overhaul of the school’s security and find a killer. It was the opinion of the upper brass and board that regulations had become lax under the previous superintendent. Standards lowered. Even if the murderer wasn’t a staff member or part of the student body, the murders themselves should never have been able to take place unnoticed on military property. It was an embarrassment.

They wanted fresh eyes and a fresh perspective on the place. Someone with authority and the energy to see the job done. After four tours oversees, Michael was more than ready for a domestic challenge. Besides his stated purpose, he liked the idea of helping shape the future of both the Navy and the Marines.

His only worry was what would happen once the task of finding the murderer and getting the school back on track was complete? Could he settle down into the quiet routine of the academy? Would he find it too boring and mundane to keep his interest? It was going to be difficult to compete with the constant excitement of being on tour, thought Michael.

There was something not quite right about this school, something almost dangerous. He would find out what it was and tackle the problem the only way a Marine knew how, head on.

“Commander, the new assistant professor is here to meet you.”

Mrs. Ludtz broke into his thoughts as she entered his office, unannounced and without permission.

There was a disgusted lilt to her voice that should have caught his attention but didn’t.

“Send them in,” he responded without looking up from his keyboard.

The office was silent save for the clicking and clacking of the keys as he rapidly typed his response to several outstanding emails.

Someone cleared their throat.

Michael lifted startled eyes to take in the woman standing before him. He had not heard her approach. Damn that rug. A man needed a warning before a woman like this approached him, if only to watch the sway of her hips as she did.

God damn, she was gorgeous.

Sleek, shiny blonde hair fell in waves past her shoulders. Creamy pale skin set off her full lips covered in a bright, fuck-me, red lipstick. She wore a light purple silk blouse. He could just make out the rippled impression of what was surely a lace bra snugly holding ample breasts. A straight black skirt that ended in some sort of ruffle just above her knees, emphasized the swell of her hips. He couldn’t believe he was thinking this but even her ankles looked sexy as hell as he took in her bright purple platform heels. He was gripped by a sudden need to see her ass. He just knew it would be generously curvy, the type of ass a man liked to take his bare hand to as he forced her to cry for mercy.

“Turn around,” he ordered, his voice husky with desire.

Her beautiful lips opened in surprise.

An image of her on her knees, smearing her perfect red lipstick on the column of his cock as he thrust it down her throat flashed before him.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t quite catch what you said.”

Her voice was smooth and sweet. Dark honey.

“I said, sit down,” he replied, trying to recover from his initial primal response to her presence.

“Oh! Yes, of course!”

She smoothed an arm under her skirt and perched on the edge of the seat. He could hear the faint rustle of her stockings as her legs brushed when she crossed them. The way her skirt tightened over her slim thigh as she sat down, he could see just the barest outline of a garter. She was wearing thigh stockings, easier to access her…he ruthlessly cut off his own train of thought.

Michael crossed his fingers and rested his hands on the desk before him, mainly to prevent him from reaching out to grab her like some caveman. Christ, he had spent too long in the desert. It was like he didn’t know how to behave around a beautiful woman anymore.

There was also something else about her…it was at the back of his mind if he could only focus on the matter at hand and not his cock’s reaction to her presence.

“How can I help you, Mrs.—” He unconsciously held his breath, waiting for her to finish his sentence.

“It’s Miss, actually.”

He watched as she bit into the soft fullness of her bottom lip. Christ, she was killing him! The surge of possessive pleasure which hit his gut the moment she affirmed she was single certainly did not help. All he could think of was smacking that pert ass and making her scream as he demanded she call him daddy. Yeah, sick shit but a woman like this was made for kink.

“I’m not sure if you are the person I’m supposed to see. I was directed to this office, but when I told the lady out there that I was the new assistant professor, she just sort of sneered and a moment later hustled me in here.”

“The new assistant professor of what?”

“Of English Literature.”

Michael rifled through some papers in his inbox. “No. That can’t be correct,” he said as he pulled her application file from the stack. “I’m afraid there has been some mix-up. That position was given to a…Eustace Pringle.”

He watched her grimace slightly before her red lips parted to say. “That would be me.”

Michael’s jaw tweaked to the right as he suppressed a smile. “You?”

“Me.”

“You are Eustace…Pringle?”

“It’s a…family name.” She rushed on to say, “Actually I prefer Phoebe.”

“Phoebe.”

That name suited her far better. It fit the classic beauty. French sounding. Delicate.

He cleared his throat before continuing. “So you are Professor Phoebe Pringle?”

She nodded her head yes without speaking.

“How old are you?”

“I don’t think you’re allowed to ask me that.”

“I’m asking anyway,” he asserted.

Shifting in her seat, pushing her shoulders back as she tilted her chin up, she responded in an unmistakably stubborn tone, “I’m twenty-six.” He loved a stubborn streak in a woman, it made for infinite more occasions for creative punishments.

Still, there was something about her…

Fuck.

Michael looked down at the files on his desk regarding the murders. He just realized what it was that bothered him about her…besides the obvious…she matched the description of the two murder victims. Beautiful, mid-twenties, brunette.

As much as he would enjoy getting to know…Phoebe…she had to go.

“Listen. This is a military academy full of men. I thought I was getting an old battle-ax who could take on a classroom filled with spirited, rowdy men. Not someone who…who…”

“Who what? Please do continue your incredibly sexist speech!”

There was that petulant stubborn streak again. The palm of his hand itched to feel the smooth skin of her ass.

He could see her eyes turn a bright shade of jade with her rising anger. The tiny silver charm on her necklace fluttered against the smooth column of her throat as she seethed. Damn him for an arrogant asshole but he wanted to see if he could push her a little further. He found her temper intoxicating plus it served his purposes. He couldn’t allow her to stay at the school.

But damn her anger did something for him. Perhaps it was the thought of subduing her once she flew into a full passion. Grabbing her wrists, holding her body against his own as she twisted and raged to be set free. He shifted as he felt his cock respond to his wayward, highly unprofessional thoughts. The fabric of his uniform trousers became painful as it pinched and confined his thick shaft.

Michael rose to his full height, uncaring if she saw the evidence of his arousal. Placing two fists on his desk, he leaned in close. Christ. Towering over her, he could just glimpse the soft swell of her breasts through her open neckline, could smell the sweet floral scent of her perfume.

Without another thought, he ground out, “Who looks like she should be bent over a desk instead of behind one.”

The tense atmosphere in the room froze in stunned suspension.

There, that should do it, thought Michael. She would sashay her gorgeous hips out of his office and back to wherever she came from. He felt a pang of remorse but it was for the best. He needed to focus on finding a murderer, not watching over the next possible victim.

There was just something about this particular woman. He felt like a marauding conqueror. The crude antecedents of his chosen profession. The men who went into battle and took what they wanted as spoils of war. Tossing a woman over his shoulder with a shout to his compatriots, ‘this one is mine!’ Michael clenched his jaw to prevent those very words from escaping his lips.

She slowly rose to her feet. Her pert little nose reached just below his jaw. Tilting her head back, she stormed, “How dare you say that to me? I am more than capable of leading a class of rowdy men, as you say, you…you…sexist…soldier!”

He responded out of habit. “Marine.”

“What?” she asked with her hands placed on her hips. Her stance radiated righteous indignation. Her cheekbones tinged with pink as her breath came in quick, angry gasps. Her green eyes were flashing. As he suspected, she was even more beautiful when she was in a rage. So much so Michael was having a hard time regretting the rash words which antagonized her.

Leaning in closer, only the span of the desk protecting her from the full force of his body…the full force of his cock…he breathed almost against her mouth. “I said, I’m a Marine, babygirl, not a soldier.”

He watched her lids lower to gaze on his mouth. Her tiny pink tongue caressed her lower lip, wetting it. Her gaze became liquid and unfocused. It was good to know he wasn’t the only one feeling the pull of desire.

“What…what’s the difference?” she whispered, her sweet, peppermint breath taunting him.

“Come a little closer and I’ll show you.”

Michael watched her sway slightly towards him at his command before giving herself a mental shake. Smoothing her hands down her skirt, he watched as she picked up her purse, holding it before her like a shield, and took a step back.

“Are you refusing me the position? Because I’m sure I can get the members of the Board who hired me to have an opinion on that fact.”

He bit his own tongue before replying that he wouldn’t refuse her any position she liked.

Fuck. He needed as much autonomy here as possible. The last thing he needed was intervention from the Board, many of whom did not know the real reason why he was chosen for the position, even if he was acting in the best interests of the primly sexy Professor Phoebe’s safety.

“No,” he responded through clenched teeth. “I’m not.”

Phoebe nodded her head as she took another step back.

Michael straightened his back. His fists still clenched as he was forced to watch her retreat from him.

“Very well. Then I look forward to proving you wrong. Good day, Mr.-Mr.—”

“It’s Lieutenant Colonel Michael Lawson but you’ll call me Commander,” his voice rang with dark authority for now. Already vowing to hear those lips scream daddy before the week was out. By the spark in her eye, he knew she hadn’t missed the unspoken promise behind his order.

“Good day…” She paused.

He watched her lips open to address him as he bid. To recognize his authority over her, Command her.

“Good day,” she said in a rush before turning and fleeing his office.

He was right. She had an amazing ass…and he was completely fucked.

At the very least, she just banished any concern he may have had for academy life competing with the excitement of battle. Sᴇaʀch Thᴇ FɪndNovᴇl.nᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

Professor Phoebe Pringle may have just won this skirmish, but he was going to win the war…and claim his prize.

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