The rattling doorknob was a bucket of ice water down Elara’s spine. She froze, her mouth still full of him, her eyes wide and terrified as they fixed on the blurred shapes beyond the frosted glass.
Professor Thorne’s reaction was instantaneous and utterly calm. His hand, still cradling the back of her head, applied firm, unyielding pressure, holding her in place. “Swallow,” he commanded, his voice a low, ragged whisper that brooked no argument.
The command, the imminent threat of discovery, and the potent taste of him coalesced into a single, blinding imperative. Her throat convulsed as she obeyed, taking everything he gave her in a hot, pulsing flood. She swallowed convulsively, the act itself feeling like the ultimate, degrading surrender.
Above her, Thorne let out a soft, controlled
