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.

Part 2

I arrived at 6:55.

The corridor outside his office was silent, the rest of the building already emptied for the evening. My heart was beating so hard I could feel it in my fingertips when I raised my hand to knock. Before my knuckles touched wood, the door opened.

Professor Grant stood there in the same white shirt as the night before, sleeves rolled to the elbows, dark trousers, no tie. His expression was unreadable. He stepped aside without a word and closed the door behind me. The lock clicked.

“Sit.”

I obeyed, taking the chair in front of his desk. He didn’t sit, he walked around behind me, and I felt the heat of his body as he stopped close enough that his thighs nearly brushed the back of the chair. A stack of papers landed on the desk in front of me—my paper, the one I had cheated on, now covered in his sharp red notes.

“Begin,” he said. “Out loud explain every source you stole and why it was wrong.”

My voice shook as I started. He listened in silence for several minutes, then leaned down. His breath touched the shell of my ear.

“Louder, and stop fidgeting.” I tried. Every time I stumbled over a sentence he corrected me in that low, controlled voice, so close I could smell his cologne and the faint scent of his skin. His hand rested on the back of the chair, then on the desk beside mine, then after another mistake settled on my shoulder, heavy, warm and possessive.

Halfway through the page he took the pen from my fingers. His hand lingered, fingers brushing mine deliberately.

“You’re not focusing,” he said.

I turned my head to answer and found him already leaning over me. He gripped the arms of the chair and turned it so I faced him fully. He caged me in with his body, looking down at me with those dark, cold eyes that no longer looked cold at all.

“If you want to keep your secret,” he said quietly, “you will learn to listen better.”

I swallowed. “I’m listening.”

Something in his expression shifted. He reached down, caught my chin the same way he had the night before, and dragged his thumb across my lower lip. This time he didn’t stop at a brush. He pressed until my mouth opened, then slid the thumb inside and tasted salt and skin.

“Suck,” he ordered.

A broken sound left my throat. I closed my lips around his thumb and sucked, cheeks hollowing, tongue stroking the pad. His eyes stayed locked on mine the entire time. When he finally pulled free, a thin string of saliva connected my mouth to his skin for a second before it broke.

“Good girl.”

He straightened, unbuckled his belt with one hand, and freed his cock. It was already hard, thick, heavy, the head flushed dark and already glistening. My mouth watered even as shame flooded my face.

“On your knees.”

I slid off the chair and sank down onto the office carpet. The position put me at eye-level with him. He rested one hand on the top of my head, not forcing, just resting, and waited. I leaned forward and took him into my mouth.

The first slide of his cock across my tongue dragged a moan out of me that I couldn’t stop. He was hot and heavy, stretching my lips. I hollowed my cheeks and took him deeper, tasting the clean, slightly salty precum at the tip. His breath left him in a controlled rush. The hand on my head tightened just enough to guide me.

“That’s it. Deeper.” I tried. My eyes watered as he nudged the back of my throat. I moaned around him anyway, the sound vibrating along his length. He cursed under his breath and began to thrust in shallow, deliberate strokes, fucking my mouth while I sucked and licked and hollowed my cheeks for him.

Spit ran down my chin but I didn’t care. I gripped his thighs and took everything he gave me, moaning every time the head of his cock dragged over my tongue.

After several long minutes he pulled free with a wet sound. A strand of saliva still connected my lips to him. He hauled me up by the arms, spun me around, and bent me over the desk in one motion. Papers scattered. My skirt was shoved up to my waist, underwear dragged down to my knees. The cool air of the office hit my bare pussy for only a second before his hand was there.

Two thick fingers pushed inside me without warning. I cried out, the sound raw and helpless. I was already soaked embarrassingly so and he felt it. He fucked his fingers into me hard and deep, curling them against the front wall until my legs shook. The wet sounds filled the quiet office. I moaned without shame now, pushing back onto his hand, chasing the stretch.

“Already this wet for your professor?” he murmured, voice dark with satisfaction. “Filthy.” He added a third finger. The stretch burned and then melted into pure need. His thumb found my clit and rubbed tight circles while he kept thrusting.

I came suddenly, hard, clamping down around his fingers with a broken moan that echoed off the bookshelves. My knees nearly gave out. He held me up with the hand still inside me until the last tremor passed. Then he pulled his fingers free, lined up his cock, and thrust into me in one deep, relentless stroke.

I screamed half pleasure, half shock at how completely he filled me. He didn’t give me time to adjust. He gripped my hips hard enough to bruise and started fucking me in long, powerful strokes that slapped against my ass and made the desk creak. Every thrust dragged a moan out of me. I was loud, beyond caring who might still be in the building.

“That’s it,” he growled. “Let me hear you.”

He reached around and rubbed my clit again while he fucked me. The dual sensation built so fast I was already trembling toward a second orgasm. When it hit, I sobbed his name Professor, Elias, I didn’t even know clenching around him so tightly he cursed and had to slow for a second.

He pulled out, spun me around, and lifted me onto the desk. My legs spread automatically. He stepped between them and thrust back in even deeper than before. Face to face now, he watched every expression that crossed my features while he fucked me. One of his hands wrapped lightly around my throat not squeezing, just holding while the other kept working my clit.

I came a third time with his cock buried to the hilt and his name broken on my tongue. The rhythmic pulsing of my pussy dragged him over the edge with me. He thrust deep one last time and came with a low, guttural groan, flooding me in thick, hot pulses. I felt every spurt, the heat of it spreading inside me.

For a long moment the only sound in the office was our ragged breathing.

He stayed buried inside me, forehead resting against mine, one hand still lightly at my throat. When he finally pulled out, his cum immediately began to leak down my thighs onto the polished wood of his desk. He looked at the mess we had made, then at my flushed face, and something darkly satisfied settled in his eyes.

“Lesson one is over,” he said, voice rough but once again controlled. He stepped back, tucked himself away, and smoothed his shirt as if he hadn’t just fucked me senseless over his own desk. “Same time tomorrow. Don’t be late.”

I slid off the desk on unsteady legs, pulled my underwear and skirt back into place with shaking hands, and somehow made it to the door. My thighs were sticky. My lips were swollen. Every step sent an aftershock through my well-used body.

At the threshold I looked back once.

Professor Grant was already seated behind his desk, pen in hand, reviewing some other student’s paper as if nothing had happened. Only the faint scent of sex and the dark heat still lingering in his eyes betrayed him.

I left with his cum still dripping out of me, legs trembling, already knowing I would be back tomorrow night and the night after that, and every night he demanded until he decided the lessons were over, or until I no longer cared whether they ever ended at all.