I have Cara Bristol visiting today with her newest release, Educating His Bride! This is a sexy 1950s spanking romance and I'm just going to share one of my favorite scenes with you! First, the blurb:
Blurb:
From college coed to professor’s naughty bride…
It’s the 1950s. Never much interested in her studies, Margaret Atwater attends college hoping to graduate with an Mrs. degree instead of a bachelor’s. When she catches the eye of English Professor Henry Thurston, she’s thrilled to marry him, drop out of school, and begin a new life as a married woman and faculty wife. However, Henry is a kinky man who has much to teach his eager young bride—in, and out, of the bedroom. As Mrs. Henry Thurston, Margaret’s sexual education has just begun.
* * *
In this scene, college student Margaret has received a bad grade on her English paper. But a bad grade isn’t all she’s going to get.
Dejected, she slid into a vacant desk, still warm from another student’s derriere. She thumbed through her essay. Cliché. More analysis needed. What about…. Red-inked comments in a masculine scrawl spilled across every single one of the eight pages she’d typed so beautifully. Didn’t typing count for anything?
Her heart sank to the soles of her rounded-toe baby-doll pumps. She’d waited until the night before the due date to write the paper, but she deserved better than a D! And she intended to tell Professor Thurston so.
After the last student left, he gestured to the door. “Shall we go?”
She preceded him into the hall.
“Do you have a class now?” he asked.
“No. My next period is free.”
“Good. We have time to talk.”
They exited Delmar Hall, named for an alumnus patron, and strolled down the walkway over rolling grassy hills dotted with stately oaks and flowering shrubs. A few stubborn blossoms clung to dogwood trees outside the library. Over a knoll, she spotted the Whitmore Building.
Some students glanced their way, a few who knew the professor greeted him, but mostly people ignored them. Margaret clutched her notebook to her chest. “You grade me harder than you do everyone else.”
“Please hold the discussion until we’re in my office.”
They entered Whitmore and climbed the stairs to the second floor. She waited while he checked with the secretary for messages then they proceeded to his office around the corridor. Two black nameplates lettered in white read, Asst. Professor Thurston and Asst. Professor Abernathy. He unlocked the door and motioned for her to enter.
The small office contained two battered wooden desks, the left one buried under a hazardous mountain of paper and academic debris, the one on the right neat as a pin. A tall shelving unit, shared by both professors, sagged under the weight of well-used literature and reference volumes. A wall clock ticked.
“Have a seat.” The professor shut the door and assumed his place behind the neat desk.
She perched on the edge of a straight-back chair, ankles together, and adjusted her skirt over her knees.
The man she loved steepled his fingers. “Now, tell me why you believe I grade you harder than anybody else.”
She wet her lips. “Because you do.”
“My standards are no more exacting for you than they are for any other student. I expect excellence from each of you.”
“I’m sorry. I’ll try harder.”
He flipped open a record book and ran his finger down a list. “As it stands now, your grade is a shaky C minus. If you don’t do well on the final next week, you run the risk of getting a D in the course.” He snapped the grade book closed. “We had a discussion after your last paper, did we not?”
“Yes.”
“I believe I warned you what the consequences would be if you failed to get at least a B.” He opened his middle desk drawer.
Yes, they’d talked about—but he couldn’t be serious.
He withdrew a thick, heavy eighteen-inch measuring stick. “Lock the office door, please.”
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