The next morning, Juliette Marlowe was late.
Her thighs were sore.
Her dress clung to skin still stained by storm water and s*x.
Her n*****s brushed the inside of her bra like they still belonged to his mouth.
She tried to hide it.
Pulled her hair up. Smoothed the skirt.
Pretended she hadn’t been on all fours the night before—c*m leaking from her ass as she thanked him with her mouth.
But when she slipped into the studio ten minutes late, breathless and quiet, one of the other girls turned and smirked.
“You look like you got dragged through the forest.”
Juliette froze.
A few students laughed.
She stared down, cheeks flushed red, chest tight
“Miss Marlowe,” Wolfe’s voice cut through the room like glass.
The room went still.
She looked up. Slowly.
“Did you sleep through your a
