Kenzie woke up sore in the best possible way.
Her thighs ached. Her ass still carried faint handprints from where Damien had gripped her like he owned her. Between her legs she felt swollen and sticky, his c*m had dried on her skin after he’d f****d her a second time on the office couch, slower and deeper, whispering filthy praise against her throat until she came so hard she saw stars.
She stood in front of her mirror in nothing but a tiny black thong, turning to admire the marks. A dark hickey just below her collarbone. Fingerprint bruises on her hips. She pressed two fingers against her tender p***y and hissed at the spark of overstimulation… then smiled.
Game on, Professor.
The next morning’s graduate seminar on “Desire and the Gothic” was held in the small, wood-paneled conference
