Daddy’s Naughty Girl 2

The ride back felt like it lasted forever.

Everyone was exhausted from the day, hiking trails, identifying bird calls, sketching ecosystems in notebooks.

The sun was dipping low, casting long shadows through the trees as the van bumped along the gravel road back toward campus. Chatter had died down to sleepy murmurs and the occasional laugh.

I ended up in the same spot as before, the back row, on Professor Harlan’s lap.

No one questioned it this time. Mrs. Lang just nodded like it was the practical solution, and the driver was already pulling out.

I settled onto his thighs carefully, trying to keep some distance, but the van was packed tighter on the return trip, extra gear in the aisles. There was nowhere to go.

His hands rested lightly on my hips at first, steadying me as we hit the first pothole.

The road was rougher going back. Every bump jolted me against him. Each time, his hands tightened, just a fraction to keep me from sliding.