Mia.
God, I was wrecked.
Utterly, completely ruined. My thighs still quivered, my pulse thundering in my ears, skin flushed hot and sticky with sweat.
I could barely string two coherent thoughts together—every nerve in my body was singing his name.
Thorne had turned me into this trembling, aching mess, and the worst part? I didn’t care. Morals? Consequences? They felt like distant echoes, drowned out by the slick heat still pulsing between my legs.
This man—this priest who’d somehow become my professor—was dangerous in ways I never saw coming. Sundays at mass had never been the same.
I’d sit in the pews, trying to look pious while he delivered the homily, knowing exactly how those hands felt gripping my hips, how that mouth could unravel me in seconds.
The thought alone sent a
