~~Next Morning~
~Elena~
I was in the back row, legs crossed under the tiny flip-up desk, pen tapping against my notebook like it owed me money. Professor Something was droning on about post-colonial whatever—the words blurred into white noise about five minutes in.
I couldn’t focus. Couldn’t even pretend.
My p***y was still sore. Not the crazy pain anymore, but that deep, delicious ache that throbbed every time I shifted in my seat. A reminder.
Lucian had f****d me like he was trying to rewrite my DNA, and my body hadn’t forgotten a single thrust. I could still feel the ghost of his c*m leaking out of me this morning when I showered.
And the whole time I was rinsing his marks off my skin, my brain kept circling back to one sentence.
“Not even my father can take you from me.”
But
