Two orgasms. Two men.

"Elijah?" Professor Dean said as he saw the man who entered.

He looked exactly like Professor Dean but older by maybe two or three years. Taller. Broader. And hotter in a way that was unfair, like his hot had a pro version. 

Same sharp jawline, same dark eyes, but this one carried power in the way he stood, like he could ruin you and make you thank him for it.

I didn’t wait for explanations. My skirt was still wrinkled, my legs still shaking. 

I pulled my clothes back together in a rush, heart racing, and slipped out of the office like I hadn’t just been fucked over his desk.

But I wanted more. God, I did. My body was still humming, throbbing, not fully satisfied. It was like my orgasm got interrupted by adrenaline and it left a tension inside me that I needed to release.

So I slipped down the hallway, heart hammering, until I reached the bathroom.

I ducked inside trying to masturbate, the tile cold beneath my heels. As I turned to lock the door and finally touch myself, Ethan rushed in behind me.

“What are you doing? This is the female’s toilet!” I snapped, spinning on him.

He didn’t stop. He looked wild, flushed, pupils blown wide, breath ragged.

“I’m high as fuck, Lucy,” he said, voice low, raw. “I saw you fucking Professor Dean. I saw everything. I’ve never been this fucking turned on in my life.”

My heart stuttered. It wasn’t like I didn’t want him, I did. I always had.

But here?

Now?

It was too risky. Too insane.

And yet...

He slammed the door shut behind him and locked it with a sharp click, his eyes wild, breath heavy.

Before I could say a word, he grabbed my wrists and pinned me to the cold tiled wall, his body against mine. 

I gasped as I felt the hard press of his cock through his jeans, already straining.

“Ethan—”

He silenced me with a kiss. Not soft. Not hesitant.

Hungry. Possessive. Filthy.

His tongue pushed into my mouth, claiming it like he’d waited years. One hand stayed tight on my wrists, the other slid down fast, hiking my skirt back up.

His eyes were wild, his voice wrecked.

“I couldn’t stop watching, Lucy. Watching you take him. That desk. That moan. Your fucking face when you came—" he growled, pressing his hips against me. “I’m hard as fuck and I need you. Right. Now.”

His fingers found my soaked pussy, slipping between the folds like he already owned it.

“Goddamn,” he muttered, pulling back just enough to look down. “You’re still wet. Still dripping for him.”

He didn’t hesitate. He plunged two fingers inside me, deep, fast, making me moan and arch into him. 

My back hit the wall hard, and I didn’t care. My body was fire, overworked and overstimulated, but still greedy.

“Ethan, fucck someone might come in—”

“Let them,” he whispered, pumping his fingers harder. “Let them hear how wet your pussy is for me too.”

I moaned shamelessly, thighs trembling as he curled his fingers just right. 

His mouth dropped to my neck, biting and licking, marking me like he wanted proof he was here inside me too.

Then he dropped to his knees.

“Ethan—”

“I need to taste what he left behind.”

His tongue found my clit in seconds, hot, fast, relentless, flicking and sucking while his fingers stayed deep inside me. 

The sound was obscene, wet, messy, delicious. He devoured me like a man starved.

“Shit, Ethan I’m gonna—”

“Come on my tongue, Lucy,” he groaned. “Give it to me. I fucking need it.”

I shattered against the wall as I released, hand clamped over my mouth to silence the scream that nearly ripped out of me. 

My legs went weak, and he held me there, tongue still working me through every aftershock until I was gasping.

When he stood up, his mouth was glistening, his eyes dark.

“Sit on the toilet.”

“What?”

“Now.” His voice was firm, dangerous, and dripping with heat. “Hike that skirt up and sit down. Legs open.”

I obeyed.

Heart racing, I backed toward the toilet seat, yanked my skirt up again, and sat. The porcelain was cold beneath me, but it didn’t matter. I was on fire.

He dropped to his knees between my legs, spreading them wide. He looked down at my soaked pussy like he could barely breathe.

“Fuck, you’re dripping,” he groaned, dragging his fingers through my folds. “Is this from him or from me?”

“Both,” I whispered, already trembling.

He groaned and unzipped his jeans, freeing his cock thick, hard, flushed with need. He stroked, watching me with raw hunger.

“No teasing. Just fuck me.”

“You want to come again, huh?” he said darkly, stepping in close. “You greedy little slut.”

Then he slammed into me in one hard thrust, burying his cock deep inside. I gasped, legs flying open wider to take him all.

“Fuck!” I cried, biting my lip to keep from screaming. “Ethan, shit it’s so—”

“Tight,” he grunted, “So fucking tight. You were just fucked and you’re still this tight for me?”

He grabbed my waist and started thrusting, fast, rough, brutal, the bathroom echoing with the filthy sound of skin on skin, of our bodies crashing together.

The risk of being caught made it hotter. Dirtier. Every time his cock slammed into me, my moans escaped no matter how hard I tried to stay quiet.

“Anyone could hear us,” I gasped.

“Let them,” he growled, pounding harder. “Let them know you’re mine too.”

His hand shot up, fingers tangled in my hair, yanking my head back so he could kiss me deep and possessive as he fucked me even faster, harder.

“You love this,” he hissed against my mouth. “Getting ruined in a bathroom. Dripping with two different men’s cum. Tell me.”

“I love it,” I moaned. “I fucking love it.”

His thumb found my clit, rubbing in tight, fast circles.

“Then come for me,” he growled. “Right here. On my cock. In this filthy fucking bathroom.”

My body snapped.

I came hard, clenching around him, crying out as the orgasm ripped through me, soaking him, the toilet seat, everything.

He cursed loudly, thrust once more, then spilled inside me, holding me tight, groaning against my neck.

We stayed like that for a second, panting, trembling, drenched in sweat and sex.

“You’re insane,” I whispered.

He pulled back and grinned.

“You started it.”

As soon as Ethan left, I stayed frozen for a moment, panties ruined, skirt wrinkled, my legs still shaking.

The smell of sex clung to the air, to my skin, to the stall walls. I couldn’t let anyone see me like this.

So I locked myself in again, turned on the tiny shower in the corner of the staff washroom, and stepped under the cold spray. 

The water ran down my body, washing off the sweat, the stickiness between my thighs, and the guilt I wasn’t sure I felt yet.

Two orgasms. Two men. One body. One day.

I let the water run down my face, into my mouth, cooling the heat that still throbbed low in my stomach.

I didn’t bother drying my hair properly. I threw on my clothes, stuffed my underwear in my bag, and walked out of the building without looking back.

I didn’t care about lectures anymore.

I was too sore. Too spent. Too full of everything.

My bed was the only place I wanted to be.

I got home and collapsed into bed, still aching and exhausted. I didn’t even care that I missed my lectures. My body needed rest more than my GPA did.

When I finally woke up, it was already evening. I yawned, stretched, and wandered outside to find my mum sitting on the porch, watching TikTok on her phone with the volume way too loud.

"Thank God you're awake," she said, without looking up. "Go drop this off for our new neighbor. It’s the kidna receipt."

I took the envelope from her, barely listening. Kidna? Must’ve been one of those things she ordered online again. Whatever.

I walked lazily to his door. Professor Dean's door.

I knocked once.

No reply.

“Professor Dean?” I called softly, leaning in.

Still nothing.

Curious, and a little impatient I cracked the door open. It wasn’t locked. The moment I stepped inside, a subtle, masculine scent hit me. 

Woodsy cologne, something warm and spicy... and something else. Something that made my thighs shift.

It was coming from the kitchen.

“Professor Dean?” I asked again.

A voice answered from somewhere inside.

"Not at home," he said, calm and deep.

I hesitated in the doorway. "I came to drop something off for him," I said, fidgeting with the envelope, trying to ignore the way the smell in the air was messing with my head.

Then he stepped out.

And oh my God.

He was shirtless. Muscular in that smooth, intimidating way not bulky, but cut, like every inch of him had been sculpted on purpose. 

His skin glowed slightly with heat, and his coiled hair was tousled, like he’d just stepped out of the shower or maybe a workout.

And his face… oh my geez. If Professor Dean was hot, this man was hotter. Like a more dangerous version. Same sharp features, same stormy eyes, but older, bolder, and completely sure of it.

"I'm Elijah Hallways," he said smoothly. "Dean’s stepbrother. And you?"

His voice was rich and articulate, and it went straight through me like a current. I almost forgot how to speak.

“Hey?” he repeated, raising an eyebrow when I didn’t answer.

I blinked. "Oh sorry. I figured you were related." I forced a small laugh. "I'm Lucy Charlton."

He stepped closer, extended a firm hand, and I shook it. His grip was warm. Confident. My pulse skipped.

He didn’t let go right away.

His eyes scanned me, slowly from head to toe. I could feel it. The weight of his gaze, lingering on the curve of my waist, the sliver of skin between my crop top and skirt, the way my cleavage swelled under the thin top.

And of course, my legs.

He didn’t pretend not to notice.

"Nice dress," he murmured, lips curling just slightly. “Bold.”

I didn’t reply. I didn’t trust my voice not to tremble.

"Just drop whatever you brought on the table over there," he said casually, nodding toward the small dining table behind him.

I walked past him, feeling his eyes stay on me the whole way.

And god... I liked it.