ห้องสมุด
ค้นหา
หน้าหลัก / Romance / Bend me over, Professor / 125

แชร์

125

ผู้เขียน: Lindsay
last update ปรับปรุงล่าสุด: 2025-10-25 20:12:00

POV Anaise

"I hate that apartment."

"Mother, please." I take another sip of coffee, trying to pretend this conversation isn't happening at one of Manhattan's most exclusive restaurants.

"No, Isabella, I've seen the pictures Marcus sent. That shoebox downtown with the broken air conditioning and the neighbor who practices trumpet at midnight."

Well, she's not wrong about the trumpet situation.

My mother, Valentina Martinez, sits across from me looking like she stepped out of Vogue Italia. Dark hair swept into perfect chignon, diamond earrings catching marina lights, red lipstick precise enough to perform surgery with.

Looking at her is like staring into a mirror twenty-five years into the future. Same bone structure, same stubborn chin, same eyes that could cut glass when pissed off.

Which she currently is.

"Isabella, darling—"

"Mom, it's Anaise. Has been for nine years."

She makes this loud, disapproving sound that could probably shatter wind
อ่านหนังสือเล่มนี้ต่อได้ฟรี
สแกนรหัสเพื่อดาวน์โหลดแอป
บทที่ถูกล็อก
บทที่แล้ว บทต่อไป

บทล่าสุด

  • Bend me over, Professor    125

    POV Anaise "I hate that apartment.""Mother, please." I take another sip of coffee, trying to pretend this conversation isn't happening at one of Manhattan's most exclusive restaurants."No, Isabella, I've seen the pictures Marcus sent. That shoebox downtown with the broken air conditioning and the neighbor who practices trumpet at midnight."Well, she's not wrong about the trumpet situation.My mother, Valentina Martinez, sits across from me looking like she stepped out of Vogue Italia. Dark hair swept into perfect chignon, diamond earrings catching marina lights, red lipstick precise enough to perform surgery with.Looking at her is like staring into a mirror twenty-five years into the future. Same bone structure, same stubborn chin, same eyes that could cut glass when pissed off.Which she currently is."Isabella, darling—""Mom, it's Anaise. Has been for nine years."She makes this loud, disapproving sound that could probably shatter wind

  • Bend me over, Professor    124

    POV Alexander “Who are you currently fucking, Alexander?”I choke on my own spit so hard I’m pretty sure I just coughed up a lung. My grandfather sits behind his mahogany desk like some kind of corporate mafia Don, crystal tumbler in hand, watching me have what’s definitely the most undignified moment of my adult life.“Christ, Harold,” I rasp, grabbing his water glass because apparently nearly dying from shock doesn’t warrant basic hospitality. “Could you maybe ease into the interrogation next time?”“No.” His blue eyes are colder than a fucking glacier. “You’re thirty-two. You run a billion-dollar company. And the closest thing to a romantic relationship anyone’s seen you have is with your quarterly reports.”The walls of his study close in like they always do. Same mahogany torture chamber I’ve been summoned to since I was sixteen and suddenly orphaned. Same dead Coleman ancestors glaring down from oil paintings, j

  • Bend me over, Professor    123

    POV Anaise “So this man took your coffee and made you his personal coffee maker? What the hell?” Maya’s voice cut through our apartment like a hot knife through butter, her dark eyes flashing with indignation. “He never notices you, never even tells you ‘good job’, and now he appoints another job to you? The one he paid his assistant to do?”I dropped my purse on the kitchen counter and shrugged, trying to look way more casual than I felt. “Well, it doesn’t really matter.”“You’re so down bad for him.”“I am not.”Maya snorted, crossing her arms over her oversized sweater. “Bullshit, Ana. Complete and utter bullshit.”Maya Patel had been calling out my lies since freshman year at college. We’d been randomly assigned as roommates. Me, the uptight finance major with color-coded everything, and her, the free-spirited art student who painted at three AM and left coffee rings on every surface.

  • Bend me over, Professor    122

    POV Anaise “You shouldn’t be here.”The words hissed out of me like steam from a broken radiator. My heart was hammering so hard I could feel it in my throat, in my fingertips, in the space behind my eyes.He looked exactly the same. His black leather jacket hung loose over a white t-shirt, and he was leaning against the reception desk like he owned the fucking place.“Isa.” “Don’t.” I stepped closer, lowering my voice to a murderous whisper. “Don’t you dare show up at my workplace to Isa me.”He straightened up, that crooked smile spreading across his face like oil on water. “He wants to see you.”“I know.” The words came out sharper than I intended. “But not here. I’ve told you this a thousand times—do not come to my work. Ever.”“Isa, listen—”“No, you listen.” I was practically vibrating with rage now. “I don’t care what he wants. I don’t care how urgent it is. You do not show up here and make me

  • Bend me over, Professor    121

    Part V POV Anaise“Someone moved my pen.”The words shot out of my mouth like bullets before the elevator doors even fully opened, my voice echoing off the pristine marble of the forty-seventh floor at exactly 5:30 AM. I was talking to absolutely no one. Just me and the rage that had been building in my chest since I’d walked into my office and found my Pilot Precise V5 sitting two inches to the left of where I’d placed it last night.Two. Fucking. Inches.“Someone was in my office,” I continued my one-woman psychotic break. “Someone touched my desk. Someone moved my pen, and when I found out who it was… I’m going to make them eat that pen cap-first while I recite the quarterly projections.”I was losing it. Completely, utterly, magnificently losing my shit over a pen that cost three dollars and forty-nine cents at Staples. But it wasn’t about the pen—it was about the principle. The sacred

  • Bend me over, Professor    120

    The way she looked at Sia wrecked me. Not with disgust. Not even with pity. With fear.Like she’d just seen a version of herself, fast-forwarded and hollowed out. Knees on a tile floor, mascara running, dignity shattered.“Master,” Sia had whispered like it meant something sacred. And I saw Floris flinch.I’d seen a thousand expressions cross her face in our time together—defiance, arousal, grief, rage. But this? This was something new. A quiet, dawning terror. Not of me. Of becoming her.And I hated it. “You’re nothing like her, Floris.”My voice cut through the silence between us as we crossed the parking lot. She didn’t respond right away. Just kept walking, chin high, like she could outrun the comparison playing in her head.“Right,” she said, sharp as glass. “Because I’m so different from every other woman who’s worked for you.”“You are different.”“How? Because I haven’t called you master yet? Give it time.”I stopped walking. The air

บทอื่นๆ

บางทีคุณอาจจะชอบ

สำรวจและอ่านนวนิยายดีๆ ได้ฟรี
เข้าถึงนวนิยายดีๆ จำนวนมากได้ฟรีบนแอป GoodNovel ดาวน์โหลดหนังสือที่คุณชอบและอ่านได้ทุกที่ทุกเวลา
อ่านหนังสือฟรีบนแอป
สแกนรหัสเพื่ออ่านบนแอป
DMCA.com Protection Status