Dana
I didn’t even look at him as I walked away, my legs still shaking from what we’d just done in that empty classroom.
Two hours later, I was yet to get any work done, the papers for grading untouched. My mind was a mess, replaying the earlier events– his hands running over me, his c**k in me.
The faculty bathroom was thankfully empty. I stepped inside, shut the door, and leaned over the sink, staring at my reflection; my lipstick smudged, hair messy and eyes hungry.
What the hell was wrong with me?
“God, Dana…” I muttered, dragging my fingers through my hair to smooth it back.
Then, the door handle rattled. My head snapped toward it.
“Occupied,” I called out.
There was a pause, then his voice came in. “It’s me.”
Great! If it wasn't the cause of my problems.
I turned back to
