All Chapters of In My Professor's Arms : Chapter 141 - Chapter 150

(Emily POV)The city glitters like a slutty jewel box below me. I step into Leo's glass-walled loft. The late-night traffic hums through the transparent walls and teases my nerves with every step. His musky cedar cologne fills the air, mixed with the sharp bite of whiskey. He stands by the massive window and gulps from his glass. His chiseled frame strains against a tight black shirt that hugs his broad shoulders.My stilettos clack on the cold concrete floor. The sound is sharp and deliberate. His eyes lock onto me. They look dark and hungry. He strips me bare with that gaze while I sway in my red dress. The fabric clings to my fat tits. My nipples poke through like hard little sluts begging for his mouth. The thought of the city watching sends a shiver down my spine. My pussy grows soaked. The dampness from my thong sticks to my thighs."Em, you definitely wore that dress to get me hard." He growls the words and abandons his glass with a clink. He stalks toward me. His cock forms

The convention center swallows us whole. Voices bounce off high ceilings. Coffee cups clink. Projectors hum like distant bees. I tug the lapels of my blazer straight and feel the black dress underneath hug every curve. The hem stops high on my thighs. Every step makes the fabric shift and tease. Leo walks beside me in a charcoal suit that looks poured onto him. His tie hangs loose, offering a glimpse of collarbone I want to bite. His fingers brush mine as we weave through the crowd. The contact is light, but it sparks straight between my legs.The morning flies by in a blur of handshakes and demos. Then Leo takes the stage for his keynote. He owns the room. His voice rolls out low and sure, commanding every pair of eyes. I stand near the wings and feel that voice inside my body. My panties grow soaked. I shift my weight and press my thighs together. He catches my stare from the podium. His eyes promise filthy things. My pussy throbs in answer.We drift through pane

(Lily's POV)The morning sun pours through the kitchen window. It splashes warm gold across the counter where I stand chopping bell peppers. The knife slices through the crisp flesh with a steady thwack that echoes in the quiet. Butter sizzles in the pan behind me. The rich, nutty scent rises and mixes with the sharp aroma of fresh coffee brewing in the pot. José stands at the stove. His back looks like a solid wall of tension. He flips an omelet with a quick flick of his wrist. The spatula scrapes against the pan with a low rasp.The air feels thick. It is not from the heat of cooking. It comes from the silence that has settled between us. The quiet hums with everything we are not saying. We move around each other like strangers who happen to share the same small space. The easy boyfriend-girlfriend energy has vanished. In its place is a careful dance of avoidance. Neither of us wants to name it out loud.I start humming a random tune. The sound feels wea

Sunlight sneaks through the bedroom curtains in thin, golden stripes. It lands across the tangled sheets and warms the places where José’s body used to be. I wake slowly, skin flushed from a night that never quite let me sleep. The air still holds his cologne. Woody, warm, stubborn. It clings to his pillow and to me. I breathe it in one last time, then stretch. My joints pop. My muscles protest. Everything feels heavy with what we said last night.The other side of the bed is cool. He’s already up. The clock glows 7:12 in soft red numbers. From the kitchen comes the clatter of pans and the low scrape of a spatula against iron. The sounds pull me upright. I swing my legs over the edge of the bed. The hardwood floor greets my bare feet with a chill that climbs straight up my spine. I’m wearing one of his old oversized tees. It brushes the tops of my thighs and smells faintly of detergent and him. I pad toward the noise, the breakup talk echoing in my skull like a song I can’t

The morning sun pours through the bedroom window like liquid gold. It spills over the tangled sheets and turns Sophie’s curly hair into a wild halo. She’s still half-asleep, making the softest little snoring sounds that always make me smile.I lie there for a second, just watching her. The air smells like her vanilla perfume mixed with the promise of fresh coffee. I can already hear the mugs clinking in the kitchen. My bare feet hit the cool hardwood as I slide out of bed. I tug on an oversized sweater. The wool brushes my skin and feels like armor against the tiny ache José left behind.Sophie stirs. She stretches like a cat, arms high, back arched, and then her eyes pop open. That grin of hers could power the entire city. “Rise and shine, new apartment day!” she sings, bouncing up. Her bare feet slap the floor as she follows me to the kitchen.I start the coffee. The machine gurgles and hisses, filling the room with that rich, dark scent that makes every