Please Harder, Professor

Chapter 191

Sophie’s POV

I need to talk to someone about last night, and Cleo is the only person I trust with this particular brand of mess.

We meet at our usual café downtown—busy enough that we can have privacy in the noise, close enough to campus that I don't need Bellamy driving me.

The thought of his name makes my stomach twist with the guilt that's been eating at me since I woke up this morning with Adrian's arm around me, marks from the paddle still tender on my skin.

Cleo arrives looking effortlessly put together in a leather jacket and high-waisted jeans, her hair in a sleek ponytail. She orders us both lattes and settles into the chair across from me, immediately reading my expression.

"Okay, what happened? You look like you haven't slept."

I haven't, really. I spent most of the night staring at the ceiling, Adrian's possessive arm heavy around my waist, my mind circling the same uncomfortable realization over and over.

"Adrian and I had a scene last night. In the Red Room." I keep my voice low, aware of the conversations flowing around us—college students studying, a business meeting happening two tables over, the general hum of a Thursday morning café.

Cleo nods, waiting for more. She knows about our dynamic, has never judged it, but she also knows me well enough to recognize when something is wrong.

"It was intense. Predicament bondage, the crop, the paddle. He…" I pause, trying to find the right words. "He used the paddle on my…"

"He hit you WHERE?!" Cleo's voice cuts through the ambient noise like a knife.

I lunge across the table, my hand clamping over her mouth, eyes wide with panic as I frantically scan the nearby tables. The business meeting glances over briefly. A woman with a laptop looks up, mildly interested.

But then everyone returns to their own conversations, and I slowly remove my hand from Cleo's face.

"Lower your voice," I hiss, my cheeks burning.

Cleo, to her credit, drops her volume but her eyes are still wide with shock. "Pardon me for being shocked, but I don't hear every day about girls being slapped in their…"

"Cleo, quiet!"

I cut her off before she can finish, glancing around again to make sure no one is listening.

"It wasn't like that. It was consensual, part of our dynamic, something we've done before. I'm not upset about what Adrian did. That's not the problem."

She leans back in her chair, studying my face with the kind of intensity that makes me want to squirm. "What is the actual problem then?"

I hesitate, wrapping both hands around my still-too-hot latte, using the warmth to ground myself. The words stick in my throat because saying them out loud makes them real, makes this thing I've been trying to ignore impossible to deny anymore.

"My mind wasn't fully there last night," I admit quietly. "No matter how hard I tried to stay present, to focus on Adrian, part of me kept... drifting."

Cleo's expression shifts from shocked to concerned. "Drifting where?"

I can't meet her eyes. I stare at my latte, at the foam art slowly dissolving, at anything except the knowing look I know she's giving me. The silence stretches between us, heavy with implication.

Then I hear her sharp intake of breath as she pieces it together.

"Bellamy."

Just his name spoken aloud makes my chest tighten with guilt. I nod, still not looking up.

"Sophie." Cleo's voice has lost all trace of humor. "That sucks. Like, really sucks. You know that, right? Thinking about another man while you're having sex with your fiancé is basically cheating, even if nothing physical happened."

My head snaps up, defensive immediately. "It's not like that. I wasn't fantasizing about Bellamy sexually, I wasn't imagining him instead of Adrian or anything like that. I was just..."

I struggle to articulate something I barely understand myself. "Thinking. About how steady he is, how uncomplicated things feel when he's around. About all the difficulties and secrets between Adrian and me lately."

Cleo doesn't look relieved by this clarification. If anything, she looks more worried. "Sophie, that's almost worse."

"How is that worse?"

"Physical attraction is one thing—brain chemistry, pheromones, whatever. Your body responding to someone attractive, that's biology."

She leans forward, her voice gentle but firm.

"But emotional distraction during intimacy with Adrian? During your most vulnerable moments together? That means your heart is somewhere else, even if your body isn't."

The words land like physical blows. I want to argue, to explain that she's wrong, that it's not that simple. But deep down, I know she's right. The thought terrifies me.

"I love Adrian," I say, and it sounds like I'm trying to convince both of us. "I'm marrying him in three weeks."

"I know you love him."

Cleo doesn't argue, doesn't challenge the statement.

"But is love enough when your mind wanders to another man during your most intimate moments? When you're literally in the middle of a scene with Adrian and thinking about Bellamy's hands?"

I feel tears prick at my eyes. "What am I supposed to do? Call off the wedding three weeks before? Destroy everything we've built because I can't control my thoughts?"

"I'm not saying that." Cleo reaches across the table, taking my hand. "I'm saying you need to figure out what you actually want. Not what you think you should want, not what makes sense on paper, not what's already in motion. What you actually want."

"I want Adrian," I insist, but even to my own ears it sounds hollow.

"Do you? Or do you want the idea of him? The potential of what he could be if he actually changed, if he stopped keeping secrets, if he put you first?"

She squeezes my hand.

"I'm not trying to be cruel, Soph, I'm genuinely worried. You're about to legally bind yourself to a man who makes you feel like you're constantly walking on eggshells, while thinking about another man who makes you feel safe."

The accuracy of her observation makes me want to cry. Or throw up. Or both.

We sit in silence for a moment, the café noise swirling around us. Finally, Cleo shifts the conversation to lighter topics—gossip about mutual friends, her complicated situation with Ayden, plans for after the wedding.

But the damage is done, the words spoken that can't be taken back.

When I leave an hour later, walking to where Bellamy waits with the car, Cleo's words echo in my head on repeat.

Your heart is somewhere else, even if your body isn't.

I slide into the backseat, avoiding Bellamy's eyes in the rearview mirror.

The guilt sits heavy in my chest—guilt for thinking about him during the scene with Adrian, guilt for having these feelings at all, guilt for not being able to control where my heart wanders.

If I love Adrian, why can't I keep Bellamy out of my thoughts?

The question haunts me the entire drive home.