Professor Lucien
I pick up the glass and swallow the last of it.
My throat feels dry.
My chest burns.
But I welcome it.
*
*
*
"Get your hands off," I mumble, my words slurred, eyes heavy, the ceiling spinning above me. My arms twitch weakly, trying to push her away as fingers tug at my shirt, lifting it inch by inch.
The room’s humidity clings to my skin, the cold air hitting my chest, tightening my nipples. My breath catches. I blink, vision blurry.
"I’ll make you feel good, handsome," Layla whispers against my ear, her breath close. The scent of her perfume clogs my throat.