A Slut For My Professor (8)
“The sauce needs a little more time,” he says, leading me to the sofa. He slips off both our aprons and settles down, pulling me onto his lap. I ease onto him, facing him comfortably, feeling the heat of his body beneath me.
“I want to know you, Kristen,” he murmurs, his hands tracing slow, deliberate patterns along my back.
I start to say, “Well, you already know me. My mom was a chef, I study at—”
He shakes his head gently, cutting me off. “Not your mom. Not your school or your courses. I already know all that. I want to know you — your dreams, your fears, what sets your skin on fire, and what steals your sleep at night. Walk me through your mind. Tell me what you like, what you don’t, and what you truly love.”
His intensity catches me off guard, and I pa
