Part

The party was already too loud by the time I arrived. Music thumped through the floorboards, someone’s cheap beer had been spilled across the kitchen counter, and the air smelled like sweat, perfume, and the sweet-sharp edge of vodka. I found Lila in the living room, laughing too hard at something Ethan had just said.

She was wearing the red top I had helped her pick out two weeks ago. It looked better on her than it ever would have on me. Ethan stood behind her with one arm loosely around her waist, the picture of the perfect boyfriend—tall, dark-haired, easy smile, the kind of guy who made other people look twice without even trying.

I stayed near the wall, nursing the same warm drink for almost an hour. Every time their mouths met in front of everyone, something small and ugly twisted under my ribs. I told myself it was just leftover loneliness, I told myself I was happy for her. I had been telling myself that for months.

By midnight Lila was properly drunk. Her words slurred together and she kept leaning heavily against Ethan’s side. He caught my eye over the top of her head and gave a small, resigned shrug.

“I’ll get her home,” he said. “You coming?”

The three of us left together. Rain had started while we were inside thin at first, then heavier, the kind that turns streets into dark mirrors. Lila fell asleep in the back seat before we even left the neighborhood, head tipped against the window, soft snores barely audible over the wipers.

Ethan drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the gearshift. I watched the rain streak across the glass and tried not to notice how the wet fabric of his shirt clung to his shoulders.

When we reached my street he parked under the nearest streetlight and glanced at the back seat.

“She’s out cold. I’ll walk you up so you don’t slip.”

I should have said no, I should have thanked him from the car and run through the rain alone instead I nodded.

We climbed the short flight of steps to my apartment building in silence. The small concrete overhang barely kept the rain off us. Ethan’s shirt was soaked through, dark and tight across his chest. He reached past me for the key I was fumbling with, muttering something about not wanting me to fall.

His body crowded mine against the wall for a second that lasted too long. I felt the heat of him even through the wet clothes. When I looked up, his face was closer than it had any right to be neither of us moved.

His eyes dropped to my mouth. I felt the brush of his knuckles against my waist as he steadied himself or maybe he didn’t steady himself at all. The air between us turned thick and dangerous. For one impossible moment I was certain he was going to kiss me. My heart was hammering so hard I was sure he could hear it.

Then a car horn blared somewhere down the street. Ethan stepped back like he’d been burned. He muttered something about Lila waiting in the car, shoved my key into my hand, and was already halfway down the steps before I could speak.

I stood alone under the dripping overhang, rain misting against my cheeks, pulse still racing, already knowing that nothing between the three of us would feel the same after tonight. I barely slept.

The next morning Lila’s texts started before I had even made coffee.

“OMG Ethan was such an angel last night. Carried me all the way to the door. You’re the best for helping too. Brunch later?”

I forced out cheerful replies everything was fine. Of course everything was fine.

We met at the usual café at noon. Lila was bright-eyed and oblivious, already ordering for all three of us the way she always did.

Ethan sat across from me. Every time she looked down at her phone or turned to wave at someone, his gaze stayed on mine a beat too long. Under the table his knee bumped against my thigh and stayed there, solid and warm. The contact felt deliberate. I kept my hands wrapped around my cup so no one would see them tremble.

When Lila finally stood to use the bathroom, Ethan leaned forward. His voice was low enough that only I could hear it.

“About last night… we need to talk.”

I opened my mouth, but the bathroom door was already swinging open again.

Lila dropped back into her seat, smiling, completely unaware that the air at the table had turned electric. The rest of the hour felt like slow torture. Every laugh, every casual touch she gave him, scraped against the secret that was already living under my skin.

That evening I was still replaying his words when the knock came at my door.

I opened it without checking and Ethan stood in the hallway holding the denim jacket I had left in his car the night before. Rain had started again; tiny droplets clung to his hair and the shoulders of his coat.

“You forgot this,” he said.

I stepped aside to let him in. The second the door clicked shut behind him, the careful distance we had kept all day collapsed. He moved first.

One moment he was handing me the jacket; the next he had me pinned against the wall the same way he had in the rain, only this time there was no car horn, no sleeping girlfriend in the back seat, nothing to stop us.

His mouth crashed onto mine—rough, hungry, tasting faintly of the coffee we had shared hours earlier. I made a helpless sound against his lips and kissed him back just as hard.

His hands framed my face, then slid down to my waist, gripping hard enough to bruise. I could feel how hard he already was against my hip. We both knew exactly how wrong this was but neither of us stopped.

Chapter 2

The second the door clicked shut, whatever thin restraint had been holding us together snapped.

Ethan shoved me back against the wall hard enough that the breath left my lungs in a rush. His mouth crashed onto mine—open, wet, desperate. There was nothing to be careful about.

His tongue pushed past my lips and I met him with the same hunger, fingers already clawing at the wet fabric of his coat. He shrugged it off without breaking the kiss and it hit the floor with a heavy sound. My hands found the hem of his shirt next, dragging it up so I could get at the hot skin underneath. He was solid, tense, already breathing hard.

“Fuck,” he muttered against my mouth, then kissed me again even rougher.

His hands slid under my shirt, palms dragging up my ribs until he reached my bra. He yanked the cups down instead of bothering with the clasp, thumbs scraping over my nipples until they peaked hard.

The jolt of it went straight between my legs. I made a broken sound and he answered by pinching one, rolling it between his fingers while his other hand shoved my leggings down over my hips.

The cool air of the apartment hit my bare skin for only a second before his hand was there, cupping me roughly through the thin cotton of my underwear.

I was already soaked. He felt it immediately. A low, almost pained noise left his throat as he pushed the fabric aside and slid two thick fingers straight into me.

My head thumped back against the wall. The stretch burned in the best way. He fucked them into me hard and shallow, the heel of his hand grinding against my clit with every thrust. I could hear how wet I was. The sound alone made my face burn with shame and want at the same time. I clung to his shoulders and rolled my hips to meet his hand, chasing more.

“You’ve been thinking about this,” he said against my neck, voice rough. “Don’t lie.”

I didn’t answer cus I didn’t need to. My body was already doing it for me, clenching around his fingers, dripping down onto his wrist. He curled them and found the spot that made my knees buckle.

I would have slid down the wall if he hadn’t pinned me there with his hips.

He pulled his fingers out suddenly. I made a needy, angry sound that turned into a gasp when he spun me around and bent me forward over the narrow entryway table.

My palms slapped against the wood and behind me I heard the metallic scrape of his belt, the rasp of his zipper. Then the blunt, hot head of his cock was pushing between my thighs, sliding through the mess he had made of me.

He didn’t ease in, one hard thrust and he buried himself to the hilt. The force of it shoved me forward; the table legs scraped against the floor. A raw cry tore out of my throat. He was thicker than I had let myself imagine, stretching me open with a burn that melted almost instantly into pure heat.

Ethan groaned like the feeling of me had punched the air out of him. His hands clamped down on my hips hard enough to bruise and he started fucking me in deep, punishing strokes.

Every thrust forced a sound out of me half moan, half sob. The table rattled beneath us. I could see our reflection in the dark window across the room: me bent over, nightgown and leggings tangled around my thighs, him behind me with his shirt still half-on, face tight with concentration and guilt. The image only made me wetter. I pushed back to meet him, greedy for every inch.

“Jesus look at you,” he gritted out. One hand left my hip to fist in my hair, pulling my head back so the arch of my spine deepened. The new angle let him drive even deeper. “Taking it like you’ve been waiting for it.”

I had been God help me, I had been.

He reached around and found my clit again, rubbing tight, ruthless circles while he kept slamming into me. The dual sensation built so fast it almost hurt

. My orgasm ripped through me without warning violently, shaking, my cunt clamping down around him so hard he cursed and had to slow for a second. I came with his name half-formed on my lips and the image of Lila’s smiling face flashing behind my eyes like a brand. Ethan didn’t give me time to recover.

He pulled out, spun me around, and lifted me onto the table in one motion. My legs went around his waist automatically. He shoved back inside me just as hard as before and started fucking me face-to-face, one hand braced beside my hip, the other gripping the back of my neck so I had to look at him. His eyes were dark, almost black, full of the same ugly, electric guilt I felt twisting under my own ribs.

“This is so fucked up,” he panted against my mouth, but he never stopped moving. “You’re her best friend—”

“I know.” My voice cracked. I dug my nails into his shoulders hard enough to leave marks. “Don’t stop.”

He kissed me like he was trying to punish us both for it. The table kept up a steady, obscene rhythm against the wall. Every wet slap of skin on skin sounded too loud in the quiet apartment.

I was already climbing toward a second orgasm, the first one still fluttering through me in aftershocks. Ethan’s thrusts turned shorter, harder, more desperate. I felt him swell even thicker inside me.

“Come again,” he ordered, thumb finding my clit once more. “I want to feel it when I fill you up.”

The words alone almost did it. When he pinched my clit between two fingers and thrust particularly deep, I broke.

My second climax tore through me even harder than the first legs shaking around him, a broken cry trapped against his shoulder. The rhythmic pulsing of my cunt dragged him over with me. Ethan buried himself to the root and came with a low, guttural groan, cock jerking as he spilled hot and deep inside me.

I felt every pulse, every thick spurt, the heat of it spreading.

We stayed locked together for a long time afterward, both of us trembling, breathing like we had run for miles. His forehead rested against mine and I could feel his heart hammering against my chest, matching the frantic rhythm of my own.

Slowly the reality of what we had done settled over us like cold air. Ethan eased out of me. I felt the immediate trickle of his cum sliding down my inner thigh. He looked at it, then at my face, and something complicated and painful moved behind his eyes.

He stepped back just far enough to pull his clothes into place with unsteady hands. I stayed sitting on the table, legs still open, the evidence of us wet and cooling between them neither of us spoke for a full minute. Finally he dragged a hand down his face.

“I should go.” I nodded. My throat was too tight for words.

He paused at the door with his hand on the knob, back still to me. For a second I thought he might turn around, might say something that would make any of this make sense. Instead he opened the door and left. The soft click of the lock sounded final.

I stayed where I was long after he was gone, the taste of him still in my mouth, the ache of him still deep between my legs, already knowing that tomorrow I would have to look my best friend in the eye and pretend I hadn’t just let her boyfriend fuck me raw against my own entryway table.

The rain kept falling outside, nothing would ever be the same. And the worst part is the part that made my stomach twist with fresh guilt was that some dark, honest corner of me already wanted him to come back and do it all over again.

Chapter 1

I should have left hours ago, the lecture hall was empty except for the soft buzz of the overhead lights and the frantic scratch of my pen. Everyone else had gone home or to the library or to whatever normal final-year students did on a Thursday night.

I stayed, hunched over the same paper I had already ruined, trying to make the stolen paragraphs look like they belonged to me. My scholarship depended on this grade, my entire degree also did. One more failing mark and the quiet, careful future I had built would collapse.

I didn’t hear him come in, when I finally looked up, Professor Elias Grant was standing in the doorway, the fluorescent light behind him turning his broad shoulders into a dark silhouette. In one hand he held the paper I had submitted three days earlier—the one with the passages I had lifted almost word for word.

He didn’t speak at first. He simply watched me with those cold, unreadable eyes that had terrified half the department for years. My stomach dropped so hard I felt sick. He stepped inside and let the door swing shut behind him. The sound echoed. “My office,” he said quietly. “Now.”

I followed him down the empty corridor with unsteady legs. His stride was long and controlled; mine felt small and guilty. Inside his office the air was warmer, scented with old books and the faint trace of his cologne something dark and expensive.

He closed the door and the lock clicked with soft finality. He dropped the paper on the desk between us. The red marks he had already made looked like wounds.

“I should report you,” he said, voice low and even. He leaned against the edge of the desk, arms crossed over his chest. The sleeves of his white shirt were rolled to the elbows, exposing forearms corded with lean muscle.

“Academic misconduct and you would lose the scholarship, the degree and everything you’ve worked for.”

My hands were shaking. I pressed them flat against my thighs so he wouldn’t see.

“Please,” I whispered. “I—I know it was stupid and desperate. Please don’t—”

He pushed off the desk and came closer with deliberate steps. When he stopped, only a foot of space remained between us.

I had to tip my head back to meet his eyes up close he was even more imposingly tall, broad, the sharp lines of his face softened by nothing. The scent of his cologne wrapped around me.

“There is another way,” he said.

My pulse hammered in my throat.

“Private lessons, every evening. In this office, and you will do everything I say.” His voice dropped even lower. “No one else will know, your record stays clean. In exchange, you belong to these sessions until I decide you’ve learned your lesson.”

The words hung between us, heavy and dangerous. I understood exactly what he was offering and what he wasn’t saying. My mind screamed that I should refuse, that I should take the failing grade and whatever punishment came with it but my mouth shaped a different answer.

I nodded. Something dark and satisfied flickered in his eyes. He lifted one hand and caught my chin between two fingers, tilting my face up so I couldn’t look away. His thumb brushed the edge of my lower lip for the briefest second. The touch burned.

“Good girl,” he murmured. The praise slid down my spine like warm oil. “Class starts tomorrow night at seven o’clock don’t be late.”

He released me and stepped back, already turning toward the papers on his desk as if the conversation had been nothing more than a routine academic matter. I stood there for another second, legs unsteady, the ghost of his fingers still on my skin.

Then I left. I barely remembered the walk back to my apartment. Every time I closed my eyes I saw the way he had looked at me when I agreed like he had already begun undressing something far more intimate than my clothes. Sleep was impossible. I lay awake replaying the click of the lock, the weight of his stare, the quiet authority in the words good girl.

By the time morning came I was already counting the hours until seven.

I had sold myself for a clean record and a passing grade and the most terrifying part was how eagerly some secret part of me was already waiting for the first lesson to begin.