I hadn't even realized I'd fallen asleep in his arms until I woke up to an empty bed and the crushing realization that morning-after awkwardness waits for no one.
A tray of neatly folded clothes sat beside me like some kind of post-sex room service. Towel, shampoo, lotion, even a fucking toothbrush—laid out with the kind of precision that suggested this wasn't his first rodeo.
There was something weirdly tender about the gesture that made my chest do this annoying ache thing. Like he'd actually thought about my comfort instead of just wanting me gone before sunrise.
I ran my fingers over the lace bra from last night, now clean and folded beside black leggings and a T-shirt that definitely wasn't mine. The fabric was soft, expensive. Probably cost more than my grocery budget.
I had just stepped out of his ridiculously fancy shower, the kind with seventeen different settings that rich people apparently need, when there was a knock at the door.
"Get dressed. I’ll take you home." Adrian's voice came through the wood, steady and completely emotionless.
"Just a minute," I called back, hurrying into the clothes he'd provided.
When I opened the door, he was leaning against the opposite wall, fully dressed in a charcoal suit that made him look like he belonged on magazine covers instead of giving literature lectures to hungover college students.
"Sleep well?" he asked, and there was something almost amused in his tone.
"Like the dead," I admitted, heat creeping up my neck. "Thank you. For the clothes, and... everything."
He nodded once, then led me through the house to his car. The silence wasn't uncomfortable exactly, but it was loaded with everything we weren't saying.
The engine purred to life, and we pulled away from his estate in what I assumed would be another masterclass in awkward quiet. But as we reached the main road, Adrian glanced over at me.
"How are you feeling?" he asked, his voice carefully neutral. "After last night."
I considered lying, saying I was fine, that it was just like any other hookup. But something in his tone suggested he'd see right through bullshit.
"Unusual," I said finally. "Different than anything I've experienced before. But not... not bad."
"Good."
That single word carried weight, approval, and something that felt almost like relief. We didn't talk again during the rest of the drive, but the silence felt different now. Less loaded, more... satisfied.
When we reached the coffee shop, he didn't just let me out like I'd expected. Instead, he put the car in park and turned to look at me fully.
"Sophie," he said, and my name sounded different in his mouth than it had the night before. Less desperate, more... possessive. "This isn't a one-time thing. Not for me."
My pulse spiked. "What are you saying?"
"I'm saying I want to see you again. Soon." His eyes searched my face. "If you want that too."
"I do," I said without hesitation, and his smile was sharp enough to cut glass.
"Then we'll be in touch."
I climbed out of the car on unsteady legs, watching him drive away before making my way back to the apartment.
The place was quiet when I got home, which meant I could process everything without Cleo's inevitable interrogation. I dropped my bag and wrapped myself in my softest blanket, curling up on my bed like a human burrito.
My mind kept wandering back to his hands, his voice, the way he'd looked at me like I was something precious and dangerous simultaneously. I could still feel him everywhere, like I was marked without any visible proof.
"Soph? You home?" Cleo's voice shattered my reverie about an hour later.
I scrambled to check my reflection because I probably looked like I'd been thoroughly fucked—which, to be fair, I had been.
I padded out to the hallway just as she opened the door, dropping her bag with theatrical flair.
"Well, well, well," Cleo grinned, studying my face. "Someone had herself a very educational evening."
"Oh my God…" I groaned.
"Don't even try to deny it. You're glowing like you just discovered the meaning of life between someone's sheets." Her eyebrows shot up to her hairline. "Mystery Daddy finally delivered?"
My silence was apparently answer enough.
"Sophie!" Cleo squealed, throwing her arms around me. "Finally! I'm so glad your pussy is getting the attention it deserves!"
I laughed despite myself. "It was... intense."
"That's what I'm talking about!" She pulled back to study my face. "When are you seeing him again?"
"I don't know. Soon, I think."
"Good. You deserve someone who knows what they're doing." She grinned wickedly. "Now I need details, but first, I need coffee. This level of vicarious satisfaction requires caffeine."
***
The next day, walking into his classroom felt like entering a parallel universe where everything looked the same but nothing actually was.
I sat in my usual third-row spot, but my palms were sweating like I was about to take the SATs again. My notebook stayed closed because there was no way I could concentrate on Victorian literature when my brain was stuck on replay from the night before.
Adrian walked in wearing that same black button-down that should be illegal in academic settings, sleeves rolled up to show those forearms that had been wrapped around me less than twenty-four hours ago.
He set his folder down, wrote something on the board, and launched into his lecture like nothing had changed. But when his eyes finally met mine, just for a split second, lightning shot through my entire nervous system.
Heat flooded my cheeks. My thighs pressed together involuntarily. All I could think about was his voice whispering "good girl" and the way he'd made me completely fall apart under his hands.
I couldn't concentrate on a single word he said. Didn't take notes. Barely blinked. Just sat there reliving every moment while trying not to spontaneously combust in public.
He didn't acknowledge me after class. No secret glances, no subtle signals, nothing. But I knew he'd seen me. And somehow, that restraint made everything even more intense.
I left the room in a complete daze, clutching my folder like a life preserver, when a voice stopped me cold.
"Sophie Hale."
I turned to find Dr. Vaughn standing by the faculty bulletin board, her pale gray eyes studying me with uncomfortable intensity. She was immaculate in a black dress shirt and slate-gray skirt, red hair swept into a perfect chignon.
"Dr. Vaughn," I managed, my voice slightly breathless.
"I saw you this morning," she said without preamble, her tone carefully neutral. "Getting out of a rather expensive black Audi near the coffee shop."
My stomach dropped. "I'm sorry?"
"The driver," she continued, tilting her head like a predator studying prey. "Looked remarkably like Professor Lewis. Tall, dark hair, that particular way of carrying oneself that suggests someone who's accustomed to being obeyed."
I felt heat creep up my neck. "I don't know what you're implying."
Dr. Vaughn's smile was razor-sharp.
"I'm not implying anything, my dear. I'm stating an observation." She stepped closer, and I caught her scent—expensive perfume with undertones of something colder. "Tell me, how long have you and Adrian been... acquainted?"
The way she said his first name, with familiar intimacy, made my blood turn to ice water.
"I think there's been some misunderstanding…" I started.
"Has there?" Her voice dropped to barely above a whisper. "Because from where I'm standing, it looks like history is repeating itself. And that, Sophie, never ends well for the student."