Dom's POV
I turned from the board, marker still warm in my hand, and the entire lecture hall snapped into razor-sharp focus the second my eyes landed on the third row.
Zara.
Twenty-one years old now, and f**k, she had grown.
The girl I remembered from four years ago — the quiet sixteen-year-old who used to sit across the dinner table watching me with those wide, curious eyes — had become something that hit me like a freight train straight to the c**k. She sat there in a white fitted top that looked painted on, the thin cotton stretched obscenely tight across the full, heavy weight of her breasts. Those t**s were magnificent — round, plush, straining the buttons so hard I could see the delicate lace of her bra underneath and the stiff little peaks of her n*****s already poking against t
