Yes, Sir

Yes, Sir PADDLE CREEK COLLEGE BOOK TWO HJ WELCH Yes, Sir Paddle Creek College Book Two Copyright © 2023 by HJ Welch Cover Design by Cate Ashwood This book is a work of fiction. Names, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. Contents Trigger Warning Prologue 1. Jackson 2. Benedict 3. Jackson 4. Benedict 5. Jackson 6. Benedict 7. Jackson 8. Benedict 9. Jackson 10. Benedict 11. Jackson 12. Benedict 13. Jackson 14. Benedict 15. Jackson 16. Benedict 17. Jackson 18. Benedict 19. Jackson 20. Benedict 21. Jackson Epilogue Also Available Also Available Also Available About the Author Trigger Warning In this book, Benedict and Jackson role-play as characters and take part in consensual non-con scenes. They talk a lot about their kink, why they enjoy it, and why with enthusiastic consent, it’s absolutely okay. The tone of these scenes is generally playful and dramatically over the top, but some readers might find the language they use troubling. Prologue FOUR MONTHS AGO – BENEDICT I almost escaped in time. Almost. “Knight!” Bobbi Schultz, the head of the department calls out to me at the end of our first faculty meeting of the school year. I tell myself not to be grumpy as I pause on my way out the door, letting others pass me as I greet Bobbi with a smile. “Got a sec?” she asks as she strides up to me, swinging the strap of her purse over her shoulder. As usual, she’s rocking a bold colored pencil skirt and blazer, three-inch pumps, and an expression that lets you know she hasn’t tolerated nonsense from anyone this side of the millennium. “For you, always,” I say with a slight nod. We both know it wasn’t actually a request, but despite her frosty exterior, I do actually consider Bobbi a friend, so I’m happy to play along. Her lips twitch in amusement before she continues marching out of the room and into the corridor. “Are you excited for a new batch of eager minds to mold?” she asks as she click-clacks down the hall beside me. “Of course,” I say sincerely. This is one of my favorite parts of teaching higher education. I love discovering which bright young things I’ll be guiding through the next few years in their journey back through time. Naturally, things are a little different here in Paddle Creek, Indiana, compared to Oxford, England, where I taught for several years previously. But in some ways, I prefer the less elitist approach to student intake at smaller colleges. I get a pang of sadness, thinking how I won’t get to see these new students graduate. But that’s just the way it has to be. Time stops for no man. “Excellent,” Bobbi says, her gaze fixed ahead as we walk toward the quad. Unfortunately, it appears she has a similar train of thought going on as me. “You know how much we value you here, Knight.” I hum, already aware of where this was going. “I know, Bobbi. But it’s still going to be my last year. I’ve given you plenty of warning. It’s time for me to go home.” She pouts as she holds the door open for us both to step through. “Really? After two years, you still don’t feel at home here?” I give my friend a sideways glance. Bobbi isn’t exactly a hugsy-feelsy sort of person. Don’t get me wrong. She’s brilliant at her job. It’s one of the things that made transferring out here more bearable. But there are times when I feel like I’ve met sharks with more empathy. So I try not to take her bluntness too personally. “This was my mother’s home, not mine,” I say softly. To her credit, she stops walking across the brightly lit courtyard and sighs. “Oh, Ben. I’m sorry. Of course. The faculty and students love you so much, is all I meant. You’ve fit right in since day one. How are things since your mother passed?” It’s my turn to sigh, and I take the opportunity to sit on a nearby bench, looking up at the clouds gently drifting along in the sky. “As good as can be expected, I suppose. Unlike with my dad, we were prepared.” Some people simply get dealt a shitty hand in life. I was a miracle baby that my parents had late in life, so it was just the three of us, but that was all we needed. Until one day fifteen years ago when Dad got knocked off his bicycle and was killed instantly. The loss broke my mother, so she returned to her childhood home here in Indiana. I was already grown and working then, so I chose to stay in England. When her cancer prognosis came through two years ago, I uprooted myself from Oxford to spend what time I could with her. So now it’s just me. And yet people are still surprised when I tell them that the plan was always to go back to the place I made my home in the UK. Why would I stay? Other than for my students. Urgh, there’s that pang again. If I could, I wouldn’t take on a new class this semester. I hate the thought of abandoning them. But I’ll be leaving behind the second and third years as well, so there really isn’t an ideal solution. If I’m honest, Paddle Creek is an utterly charming town, if somewhat dilapidated. All the investors flock to Albertson down the road. The proverbial Goliath to our David. But I’ve basically been able to build my own classics program here at the college from the ground up and handpick wonderful faculty. I know