Chapter 1

I had beena happy client of Club-Rent-A-Daddy for several months. And then I was reassigned. My previous ‘Daddy' had fallen in love—not with a client—and had decided to relinquish his duties. I didn't blame him for letting them go. Not one bit. But I had never been like that.

My previously assigned Daddy, Archer Brennan, was over a decade younger than me. And though he'd once been a student at UPenn, where I'd been an art professor for fifteen years, he'd never been one of my students.

The same could not be said for the young man in front of me. Lennon Ames. I hoped his presence at the cafe downtown where I'd been asked to come for a meeting with my potential new Daddy was nothing more than a coincidence, but he stood when I entered, and I knew that wasn't the case.

This would not work. Even though my Daddy needs were on the sparse side, I had one requirement. It wasn't that they had to be older than me; I was getting up there in years and knew that wasn't always a possibility. I just needed them to be someone I could take seriously. Lennon Ames was not that. He was a talented artist, gifted beyond words, but a party animal. He didn't take anything seriously in life. Not even his extraordinary talent. There was no way I could even pretend to submit to someone who could throw away the kind of gift that Lennon had.

I turned to go, but something stopped me. Not something. My need. Sure, I didn't actually need a Daddy to keep me accountable, but that was how this worked, and I needed the one thing a Daddy could provide: the release of endorphins and adrenaline I got from a spanking. It was the only time all week I felt anything. Without it, I honestly didn't know where I would be, and that was a scary thought. Scary enough to make me draw a fortifying breath, take a step forward, and slide into the booth across from him before the second wave of nerves hit. When they did, I started to stand, but Lennon reached across the table, put his hand on top of mine, and stopped me.

"Lennon," I started, fully intending to make a break for it.

He shook his head. "That won't work, Zoe. That's why I'm not calling you Professor Kramer even though it"s all I've ever known you by. If we want this to work, that past relationship needs to be removed from this one. Eventually you'll call me Daddy, but for now, Sir will work."

He spoke with a confidence the Lennon I'd known a decade ago hadn't possessed, and something about the way he spoke and the words he said compelled me to stay.

But I still wasn't a hundred percent in. That must have shown on my face.

"Zoe." Lennon addressed me again, clearing his throat to get my attention, and for the first time I really looked at the man standing in place of the boy I'd once known.

His jaw was lean and chiseled. His sandy blond hair hung to his shoulders in soft, wavy locks. A smattering of sun freckles dusted the bridge of his nose. When he smiled, dimples dented his cheeks. His clothing was casual: worn jeans with a designer fade and a somewhat loud print button-down shirt. A puka necklace I swore he'd had back in his college days. Not much about his outward appearance had really changed, and yet, somehow it had. The leanness of his face was older, the wrinkles in the corners of his eyes. The smirk on his lips. It all somehow made him look just a bit more distinguished than he seemed.

But that wasn't why I stayed. I stayed because I was desperate.

"This is weird," I finally stated, because what else could I say?

"It is, but I think it could work and be a very positive thing for both of us."

His statement didn't invoke confidence. Instead, it made my stomach twist. His childlike hopefulness was not based in reality, and it reminded me of the kid he'd once been, even at the ripe old age of twenty-one.

I struggled again with the idea of running, but Lennon pulled out a worn leather messenger bag, another thing I was pretty sure was a relic from his college days, and extracted a thick packet, slapping it on the table in front of me. "Tell me why you want a Rent-a-Daddy, Zoe. What is it you need help with?"

"Oh… I… well, I'm just really struggling with time management and organization. Sometimes it feels like there aren't ever enough hours in the day to get things done." Word for word, I gave him the details that were written in the packet. I'd crafted them so carefully, I knew them by heart.

"Bullshit." Lennon smacked his hand across the top of the packet. "Rule number one: Don't lie to Daddy. If I don't have the information I need, I can't help you the way you need."

My cheeks threatened to flush, but I was an expert at containing my emotions. "I beg your pardon?" I said coolly instead.

His sharp, knowing gaze cut me to the quick. "Back in the day I used to party with your student assistant, Tyler March. He always said it was the easiest gig on campus. He laughed as he described how organized you were, and made fun of your control-freak tendencies that never left any work for him. You're probably the most organized professor on that campus, and you don't need any help with time management. I know what's in the packet, Zoe. Now tell me the truth."

My breath caught in my throat. I should have been offended, it should have been another point against him, but he wasn"t wrong. Could I admit the truth? I never had, and I was afraid it made me look stupid and pathetic. But there was something about Lennon's no-nonsense attitude and his hard, yet somehow sympathetic gaze that made me want to reconsider the walls I had up and spill my guts.

I could still run.

"Don't even think about it," he warned, cutting through my reverie to blow my mind, as if he was psychic and knew exactly what I'd been thinking.

"It's stupid," I whispered, glancing around the cafe to see if anyone was listening in.

It was nearly empty in the early morning hours, and the few people that were there were all otherwise engrossed. Work calls, nose buried in a book, typing fervently away on a new model laptop. Nobody was paying me the slightest bit of mind. Except Lennon. His eyes were locked on mine, ready to hang on my every word. That was a scary thought.

He was right; my entire application was bullshit, designed to give me exactly what I needed, nothing more, nothing less. The real reasons… Could I say them out loud? Did I really have a choice?

"It's not stupid," Lennon whispered back. "We all have our things."

Gulping hard, I nodded, licked my lips, and started to spill the tea. "My husband left me. Twenty-five years of marriage, and one day he just up and leaves me for another woman. They must have been seeing each other for a while, but I had no clue that anything was even wrong. It blindsided me, and there was no time to get over it before he was moving his stuff out of the house we'd bought together as newlyweds and into her tiny apartment across town. A few weeks later, the baby bump was noticeable."

"Bastard," Lennon swore under his breath. "Idiot."

His blind loyalty was endearing, if not misplaced. I was sure I'd done something to deserve it, that I was the one in the wrong somehow. If I didn't keep going, I'd never get the story out.

"The divorce was quick. We have no children. I didn't contest anything and the terms were actually quite fair. I knew it was because he just wanted to get this over with so he could go on with his new life."

I huffed out a breath, and Lennon nodded encouragingly. "Keep going, Zoe."

I closed my eyes, ashamed to admit the next part. "I didn't take it well. I couldn't process such a major chunk of my life coming to an end just like that, and I fell into a deep depression. I have no kids, no family nearby, nothing to distract me. Work has always been it for me, but suddenly, it wasn't enough." I sighed, struggling to get the truth out. "I was numb. I went through my day on autopilot, like a robot. At first, I was proud of myself. I thought I was coping. It was months before I realized I was just dead inside. I didn't feel anything. Joy, anger, sadness, none of it."

I had to pause and remind myself that the next part wouldn't sound stupid, at least not to someone who owned a kink club. It might not be the sort of thing I'd share with my colleagues, but Lennon would understand.

"One day… well, I had thoughts that scared me. I thought about ending things. I've never in my life had thoughts like that. Not even in my darkest times. It scared me enough that I was determined to seek help. I'm not sure what I Googled to end up where I did, but I read an academic article about therapeutic spanking, about the release of endorphins and the adrenaline rush and…" I blushed. "It interested me. I had always… had fantasies that I never explored. But still, I pushed it out of my mind, because where does one go about finding that kind of therapy? The article was from a different country."

Lennon, bless his heart, didn't seem shocked by anything I'd said so far . Instead he nodded sagely. "I think I've read that one. Go on."

"I tried not to think about it. I told myself I'd get a therapist, but I didn't. One day… one day a group of female students were giggling and teasing each other, huddled over a piece of paper out in the hallway before class. I had gone to the bathroom during my break and when I got back, one of them shoved the paper in a folder and they came in and took their seats. At the end of class, as they were leaving, I saw the paper flutter to the ground, and I picked it up. It was an advertisement for Rent-A-Daddy." I stopped. There wasn't really anything else to say. Shrugging, I held my hands out at my sides, palms up. "And here I am."

Lennon wasn't judging me. His expression was one of understanding and his eyes were kind, and yet, I still wanted to turn tail and run out of there. That had been hard to admit out loud, especially to a former student.

"And how has Rent-A-Daddy changed your situation?" he asked. "What have the benefits been?"

I flushed, stammering, "Well… I…uh… I mean, I'm more aware of myself, and um… it gives me something to look forward to. It's helping me work through my emotions."

Lennon's fingers stroked his chin thoughtfully. "Bullshit," he finally said, repeating his earlier accusation.

"Excuse me?" Just because he'd been insightful the first time did not mean I didn"t resent being called a liar every time I turned around.

"Bull. Shit." He enunciated the words this time. He shook his head. "You're surviving, not thriving. You are getting a thrill each week, but nothing is really changing. And you're not getting the therapy benefit, either. You couldn't have been, because you weren't giving Archer the information he really needed to help you."

"I… oh." As soon as I opened my mouth I realized he really wasn't wrong, and I had no valid argument.

He narrowed his eyes and shook his head. "Archer may not have realized what was going on, Zoe, but I do. And if we are going to do this, things need to change. We are going to do it my way, and we are going to do it right."

She may have been fifteen or more years my senior, but I had her blushing and stammering like a teenager as I opened my messenger bag again, extracted a folder, and pulled out a blank application, placing it on the table between us.

"Fill this out," I said firmly. "No lying this time. Not on any part of it. Do you understand me?"

She was still thinking about running. I could see it on her face now just as much as I had when she'd walked through the door of the cafe and saw me sitting there, waiting for her.

That was fine. If she wanted to go, she could, but I really hoped she wouldn't. All through my college years Professor Zoe Kramer had been my wet dream, fodder for the spank bank, the unknowing star of all my filthiest fantasies. And before I sounded too much like a kid aching to act out his teenage dreams in my head, I had to be clear—it wasn't just her body that attracted me, even though it was smokin'.

Zoe Kramer was the full package. Beautiful, intelligent, creative, and she always seemed to see me for who I was, even when I felt invisible to everyone else.

Much to my relief, she didn't leave. She looked at me long and hard, heaved a soft sigh, pulled a pen out of her purse and said, "Yes, Sir."

My thoughts wandered as she filled out the form, paying careful attention to each question. There was an air of awkwardness between us; our past professor-student dynamic still had a heavy hold. I needed it to not. Not if I was going to do my job properly. And I wanted to. I wanted to more than anything.

I wanted to take the sad broken woman in front of me and restore her to her former glory. No, scratch that. I wanted to make her better. I hoped she'd let me.

When she turned from the first page to the second, I rapped on the table with my knuckles and captured her attention.

"Lying on the first application was very naughty. You kept us from being able to give you the help you truly needed. If we are going to move forward in a more honest way, you'll have to be punished for it." I kept my tone even, but I was inwardly sweating, praying she wouldn't notice the way my heart was pounding in my chest or how I was trying not to choke on every word I spoke. I couldn't let her know that I was already picturing her ass-up across my lap, with her plump, naked bottom turning pink beneath my hand.

She looked up with a deer-in-the-headlights expression and I knew I'd managed my feat.

Clearing my throat, I met her gaze. "You need to agree to that. You control a lot of what happens in this situation by controlling what you write in there." I nodded toward the packet. "But this one thing is non-negotiable."

I could almost see the war going on in her brain. She was at odds with herself. She was nervous about saying yes; anyone would be, but she also knew she couldn't say no. Not if she was going to heal her heart and make her life better.

Finally, she sighed deeply, nodded her agreement, and turned her attention back to the packet with a flush creeping up her chest and neck and onto her cheeks.

I could be spanking her tonight. Even if it was the only thing I was ever allowed to do, even if every possible option on the application form was a no-go, I would get to do that, and soon.

I hoped it wasn't the only thing I got to do. I could see that she was getting to the section about sexual preferences and limits, and I couldn't watch. I needed to give her privacy to be honest without the pressure of me reading over her proverbial shoulder. "Coffee? Muffin?" I asked her, pulling myself to a standing position, ready to head to the front counter to order.

"Chai latte please, and a blueberry muffin," she answered without looking up. She was fully engrossed in the task at hand, and somehow I could tell from her expression that she was putting real time and thought into her second application. No rote, misleading answers this time around.

I got in the back of the line that led to the register and waited my turn, glad that they were understaffed and the morning was starting to pick up. I needed to be out of her hair for more than a few meager moments. When I came back, breakfast offerings in hand, she was just finishing. Slamming the packet closed, she pushed it across the table, and started to unwrap her muffin. I sipped a strong house coffee but said nothing. I was dying to read her answers, but instead I slipped the stapled-together papers back into my bag.

I could tell my current move shocked her.

Good. I had her right where I wanted.

"Don't you want to look it over?" she finally asked.

Picking up the brightly colored mug, I nonchalantly sipped my espresso. "I"ll look it over after," I said, being deliberately vague.

Zoe's brows crinkled. The corners of her mouth turned into a frown. "After what?"

"I told you you were naughty. What do you think happens to naughty girls?"

She tried to act indignant, but I could almost see the shiver that ran down her spine. "You can't do that!" she gasped. "We don"t have an agreement or anything yet."

She was right, but it didn"t faze me. We were doing things my way this time. "Agree that you were naughty and need a spanking, and then we'll have an agreement."

"It"s not that simple!" Again with the fake outrage.

"It could be," I countered.

"There are procedures and protocols that need to be followed."

I rolled my eyes. "A fat lot of good that did you last time." Feeling a smidge of guilt for dismissing her protests, I opted for reason. "Look, you are technically still under contract. Your contract isn"t with Archer specifically, it"s with the club. And until you cancel it, you and I are good to operate under the same contract. I was the one who wanted to redo everything."

"And now you don"t? Because it"s convenient for you?"

She scowled but she wasn"t upset. She was pushing, testing. Whether she realized it or not, she already knew this arrangement would be different, and she was already responding in kind. She never would have argued with Archer the way she was with me.

"I still want to redo everything,"" I stated simply. "Before we do, I want to make sure that I have made it very clear that this will be different than before. I want you to understand that lying to achieve the end you think you need will not be tolerated. I personally believe this dynamic, even in professional terms, is one that can be life- changing, but only if you let it. If you'd rather make do with the bare minimum, get a fake, emotionless spanking every weekend, then so be it. I can give you some references to people who can provide that for you."

"You can?" She looked for a moment like she was going to ask for them, and I feared I'd blown any chance I had with that little tidbit. But then she seemed to think better of it, sighed, and shook her head. "Life-changing, huh? You really think so?"

"A hundred percent."

"What do I have to do?" She was picking at her muffin and hadn't touched her latte.

I pointed at them. "Finish your breakfast. Think about what I'm requiring and what I'm offering, and when you are ready, if you decide to go forward with it, we will leave here together. We can go to your place or mine. But wherever we go, you will submit to the spanking you deserve, and when it is over, then and only then, will I look at your paperwork and discuss how we are going to move forward."

She nodded slowly, but I wasn't done speaking. "Let me be very clear. Archer may have been in the right place to accept a half-assed arrangement. I am not. If we do this, we do it right."

"You keep saying that, but I don't know what you mean."

She huffed out a breath, looking pensive, but in my mind she was just trying to control the situation. It would have been too easy for her to do that. I couldn't let it happen.

"Eat your muffin," I repeated. "Then if you want to find out what I mean, stand up and take my hand. If you don't, walk out the door."

Waiting for her to finish that latte and muffin was the longest ten minutes of my life. Okay, it was more like twelve minutes and thirty-seven seconds. I counted. I was probably holding my breath when she stood, and even though I'd done my best to come off as confident and assured, I didn't really feel that way. I pretty much expected her to thank me for the latte and the muffin, then leave.

But that's not what happened. Instead, she took a step toward me and slipped her hand in mine.