Todos los capítulos de In My Professor's Arms : Capítulo 21 - Capítulo 30

(Lily’s POV) I woke up sprawled across Victor’s bed, my body aching in places I’d never felt before, my pussy still raw and leaking from the way he’d wrecked me last night. The sheets clung to my thighs, damp with sweat and cum, the air thick with the musky scent of sex, of him, of me. My arms were heavy, weak, but the lethargic pulse between my legs shuddered down, a filthy reminder of how he'd stretched me, filled me, ruined me. The room was dark, the morning light filtering through the blinds, but I couldn't think of anything except all that went down last night, the way I lost myself completely, no shame, no control, enjoyable, climax. Victor lay beside me, his warmth, an arm possessively flung around my waist, his fingers curled up as if he still grasped me even in sleep. His chest was etched with the red angry scratches of my nails, a remembrance of what happened that will stay with him for a while and the pleasure we had inflicted on one another, somehow I didn't even know w

(Lily's POV)Her voice slammed me like a semi. It ripped through me, coiling around my ribcage hard. My heart detonated, thudding so hard I knew she could hear it. My skin burned, my breath stuttered—everything inside me screamed play it cool.My head played the words again.But fuck.I still had him on me—the blue silk dress against my skin, thighs wrapped tightly together.Sophie's gaze stabbed into mine, hard, attentive and questioning."Knocked? Last night?" I blurted out again, too fast, too shaky. My book clutched in my hands like a goddamn lifeline.My mind spun—moments of Victor on me, his whole self buried deep inside me, his voice in my ear, low and sinful—"Taking you so fucking deep, sweetheart."Fuck, no. Not now.I attempted to give a quick smile, my lips still swollen from his kisses, desperately trying to think of something—anything—to say.I barely processed the words before I started looking for the best reply to it."Oh, uh—yeah. I was out," I stammered, attempting t

(Emily's POV)The alarm ripped through the silence at 5:45 a.m., cutting through and not minding my peaceful rest. My body jerked awake immediately, my hand thrashing across the nightstand until I struck my phone, my thumb slamming the screen to end the ear-splitting sound.Silence.Too thick. Too empty.The kind of quiet that makes it seem like the wall is so close, tighter into my sides, so that I could feel it with every breath.I lay there peacefully on the bed, unmade, sheets in a heap around my calves, my legs refusing to move.The air reeked of used perfume, faint sweat, the aftertaste of last night’s dinner—greasy noodles eaten straight out of the box, the chopsticks abandoned where they'd dropped on the counter.I opened my eyes to the ceiling, sleep-misty. There was a narrow crack across one corner, the edge serrated like a cracked bone. I followed its trace with my gaze, counting off the infinitesimal fractures, convincing myself I wasn't the same on the inside.My phone ma

Emily's POVI stood up from my bed. The apartment humming with a quiet I couldn't unwind into, the clock ticking after 10:00 p.m. as I stood propped against the kitchen counter, my glass of juice clammy in my hand, the tartness still souring my tongue.Sophia had come out of the room she was and laid on the couch. She sprawled across itas if she'd laid claim to it, her can of soda perched on the coffee table, her dark hair fanned across the cushions. Her boots had been kicked off by the door, her bag unzippered beside them—her first night staying over, and already the room felt smaller, her presence a spark to the sterile borders of this space.The city buzzed quietly outside, a low hum through the windows, and I saw her scrolling her phone, her black top riding up as she reached out, a sliver of skin catching the light from the lamp."You're too wired for someone who's been on her feet all day," I said, putting my glass down, the sound of it loud in the quiet. I walked over to the li

(Emily's POV) The couch creaked under Sophia, her chest rising and falling with deep, even breaths, relaxing as the clock ticked 9:00 a.m. Sunday morning. Light poured through the blinds, reflecting off the ring her soda can left on the coffee table. My glass of juice had stayed cold on the counter, the acidity still burning on my tongue, a reminder of last night's blur of wine and laughter thrumming under my skin. I slumped against the wall, watching her stir. Her dark hair was a tangle of knots over the cushions, her black top rolled up as she rolled onto her back, eyes cracking open slowly, heavy with sleep. "Shit, what's the time?" she slurred, her words thick with sleep. I smiled, advancing, juice in hand. "Late enough—you slept hard," I told her, and she smiled slowly, stretching her face into a smile as she sat up and rubbed her eyes. "Worked for it yesterday—the hospital was hell," she complained, exhaling a deep breath, swinging her legs over the side of the couch. "Then y