The ruffling of fabric makes me pull away and open my eyes. Harlan is furiously shrugging off his suit jacket, tossing it to the side with the regard one might pay a piece of garbage. His hands dive for my hips, lips searching for mine again.
"Harlan," I whimper, pulling my head away, and moaning when his mouth finds the curve of my neck instead. "Harlan, not here. Please. Someone could walk in."
"Good. Then they'll know exactly who you belong to," he warns darkly, taking my face into his broad hands before kissing me again.
I kiss him back. I try to fight it, but it is a fruitless effort. Still, the tugging at the back of my mind is still there, alive and well. A million scenarios flash through my mind: a janitor sent to clean up after class, a student coming back for a forgotten sweat
