The lecture hall was a cavern of tiered mahogany desks and the low, rhythmic drone of a professor discussing the intricacies of urban sociology. For Sienna, the academic discourse was nothing more than white noise. She sat in the middle of the third row, her legs crossed tightly, her fingers twisting a loose thread on the hem of her pleated skirt.
The air conditioning in the room was aggressive, blowing a steady, cool stream of air that seemed to find its way beneath the fabric of her skirt. Every time the breeze shifted, she felt the sudden, sharp chill against her bare thighs and the exposed, pulsing heat of her p***y.
She had never felt so vulnerable in her life.
Every movement was a gamble. When she shifted her weight, the fabric of the skirt brushed against her c**t, sending a jol
