Saoirse
“It feels… sore inside. What—”
“Get dressed.” His voice is cold now, clipped. Detached. “Next time, don’t piss me off like that again.”
He runs his fingers through his tousled hair, jaw tight, while I fumble with my clothes. My thighs are sticky, still dripping with him—his c*m, leaking down my legs like a filthy secret.
I swallow hard, heart pounding like it’s trying to escape. I glance around the empty hallway, praying no one saw what just happened. What he did to me.
I reach into my tiny bag, hands trembling, pulling out a crumpled tissue and trying to clean myself as discreetly as possible.
I’m terrified I smell like him.
That anyone who gets too close will know.
Then he’s suddenly in front of me—towering, unreadable, eyes stormy with something dangerous. His hand catch
