A Slút Fóŕ My Próféssór (7)
When I wake, everything feels... off.
The sheets are soft beneath me, and the pillow cradles my head just right, but my body is heavy, like I’ve sunk into some dream and haven’t fully come out of it. The soft click of a keyboard fills the room in steady rhythm, drawing my attention to the man seated at the foot of the bed.
Professor Cassian.
He’s wearing a crisp white shirt, unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves rolled to his elbows. His dark eyes are focused on his laptop like the fate of the world depends on whatever he's typing.
“Good morning, daddy,” I mumble sleepily.
He glances up without surprise, his lips curling into a knowing smirk. “Good afternoon, kitten. It’s almost two o’clock.”
2pm? I slept that long? Damn.
I stretch, or at least try to, but m
