Harlan’s arms were around me big, warm, safe in the worst way—and his shirt was hanging open, my skirt bunched stupidly high around my waist. I could feel him still between my thighs… slick, sticky, leaking out of me every time I shifted even a little. God. Every tiny movement made me clench down hard. Still so sensitive. Still throbbing. Nowhere near done.
I lifted my head off his shoulder just to look at him. His glasses were crooked as hell, hair a disaster, cheeks all red and blotchy. He looked… wrecked. Beautifully wrecked. Not Professor Harlan anymore. Just a man who’d come undone because of me.
“You’re still hard,” I said. My voice sounded like gravel.
He let out this quiet huff, almost a laugh through his nose. “You really think I could go soft after… that?”
My wrists were pink
