In My Professor's Arms のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 111 - チャプター 120

The penthouse pulses with our heat, the city lights a distant glow as Leo’s thick cock fills my pussy, buried deep, stirring my walls with every grind. My wrists are bound behind me with leather cuffs, the blindfold plunging me into a world of pure sensation, my body trembling on the velvet couch. My tits bounce, nipples raw from his bites, my pussy dripping, juices soaking the fabric beneath me. The faint buzz of his phone on the table—a reminder of the world outside—fades as his control consumes me. Victor’s shadow lingers, our open marriage a fragile line, but Leo’s dominance drowns it out, my clit throbbing, yearning for more.“You’re taking me so well, Emily,” Leo growls, his voice rough, his cock thrusting slow and deep, hitting my g-spot. His hands grip my hips, bruising, as my pussy clenches, milking him, the wet sounds filthy in the quiet room.I moan, my body rocking against his, the blindfold amplifying every thrust. “Fuck, Leo, harder,” I beg, my voice raw, cracking with n

The penthouse is a cocoon of quiet, the city skyline shimmering through the floor-to-ceiling windows, its glow softening the raw edge of what we’ve just done. My body hums, tender and sated, my pussy still tingling from Leo’s cock, his cum warm inside me, a lingering reminder of our two-hour surrender.My wrists ache from the leather cuffs, my ankles sore from the spreader bar, my skin marked by wax and flogger’s kisses. I’m sprawled on the padded bench, my black dress a crumpled heap, my naked body slick with sweat. Victor’s shadow—our open marriage, his secrets with Lily—creeps in, but Leo’s presence anchors me, his hazel eyes soft in the dim light.“You’re still here,” Leo says, his voice low, a gentle contrast to his earlier growls. He’s sitting beside me, shirtless, his silver-streaked hair mussed, his hand resting on my thigh, warm and steady.I step closer, my skin prickling, standing before him. "Did you think I'd run?" I challenge, my voice hoarse, goading but with the edge o

I pull into the driveway, the humming motor quieting behind the closing garage door, which shuts out the rest of the world. The success at the gallery is still burning in my system, the blue dots on my paintings, Emily’s sharp words in my mind, Leo’s toast in my memory, and Hailey’s quiet pride in my heart. But I am where my heart is, too, and Lily’s car in the drive from her day with Sophie makes my heart feel lighter. I grab my keys, ready to open it all up to the woman who dampens my flames, who makes my triumphs feel true.“You’re back,” she says, uncoiling from the couch to enfold me in a warm hug, the rough edges of the day smoothed away by the warm press of her body against mine, the rich smell of vanilla and a touch of perfume drawing me in. Lily is curled on the couch in tight leggings and loose-fitting top, her long hair tumbling in a muddled heap down her back, but it’s my eyes she sees first, I can feel it, reaching for me in words that hook my heart every time.“Couldn’t

(Emily's POV)The hotel elevator whirs up, my face glimmering back from walls of glass, silver dress hugging each curve. Last night's gallery buzz still lingers, José's art selling out, my gift to Leo paying dividends in a huge way. His text led me here: "Suite 1805. Mirrors waiting to show you." I knock, my heart racing fast. Leo opens the door, shirt open to show his muscular chest, hazel eyes dark with lust. "Emily," he grunts, low voice demanding, grasping me around the waist and pulling me in, door shutting with a click.The suite unfolds in extravagance, king-size bed situated in front of floor-to-ceiling mirrors on three walls, reflecting lights from the city outside. "Winning our battle," he breathes, hands working their way up my thighs under the dress, fingers caressing my damp panties.I moan, pushing against him, feeling his hard dick against my thigh. "You did it," I whisper, voice sex-kitten low, kissing him hard, tongues entwining as he steers me toward the bed.He bre

(Lily’s POV)The apartment is a cocoon of silence, the city’s pulse a faint hum beyond the windows, all horns and distant neon. I’m slumped at the kitchen table, my laptop’s glow bathing my face in cold blue light, the only thing awake in this dead-of-night hour. José’s at a gallery opening, probably charming strangers with his easy grin, while I’m here, alone, my skin prickling with a need I can’t name. Nine months since I left the university, and this blog—my secret, my sin—is the only place I feel the heat of who I used to be. My fingers itch, hovering over the keys, ready to spill the filth that’s been choking me all day.The table is littered with remnants of our life—José’s paint-stained coffee mug, a crumpled napkin with his sketch of me, my textbooks gathering dust. My t-shirt clings to my sweat-damp skin, the summer heat making my thighs stick to the chair. My pussy aches, a restless throb that’s been building since this morning, when José’s kisses felt too gentle, too safe.