The knuckles of Nalia, who gripped tighter at the edge of the shabby armchair of the UCL study lounge, were white as she gazed at the shredded leather upholstery. She had eluded Adrian Volkov's morning lecture, which was a dreadful thing to do, but still the thought of his lips on her in the library was running through her veins, the intimate time they both had in his office, as the first discussion had become a clog on her brain; the thought of his lips on her, loathly agony between her thighs. She shouldn't be here. She was not to be anywhere within reach of him.But fate, so it appeared, had other things in mind.The door was pushed open, and Adrian came in, filling the small room with his presence as smoke does. The tailored navy suit, which seldom had been taken off his back, was there today, only it had something, hungry, it was, and piercing as a glance sealing them on her, like keen-edged tools going after the mark. Nalia's breath caught. She attempted to divert her eyes, to s
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