Please Harder, Professor

Chapter 167

Adrian’s POV

Something was wrong with Sophie, and I couldn't figure out what.

She'd been distant since I returned—polite, functional, but not present. At first, I assumed it was justified anger over my abandonment. But this felt different. Like she was hiding something.

That evening, after Amelia was down, I found Sophie in the kitchen. Time to reclaim what was mine.

"Sophie," I said softly. "Come with me. To the Red Room."

Her hand froze on the kettle. "We haven't been there since before you left."

"I know. That's why we're going now."

I'd spent the afternoon preparing everything—candles, her favorite music, new silk ropes softer against post-pregnancy skin. When Sophie saw it, her breath caught.

"You did all this for me?"

"For us." I moved behind her, hands sliding possessively around her waist. "I want to remind you exactly who you belong to."

Her heart hammered against my chest. Good. I wanted her nervous, wanting, desperate for what only I could give her.

"I've missed you," I murmured against her ear. "Missed the way you surrender completely when we're in here. Are you going to be good for me tonight?"

"I don't... My body's different now. The weight, the stretch marks—"

I turned her to face me, gripping her chin firmly. "You carried my child. You think that makes you less attractive?" I let my eyes rake over her deliberately. "It makes me hard thinking about it. About marking you, breeding you, making you mine in every possible way."

Her pupils dilated. There it was—that flicker of arousal mixed with shock at my bluntness.

I undressed her slowly, maintaining eye contact, letting her see exactly how much I wanted her. When she stood naked, trying to hide her belly, I grabbed her wrists.

"Don't. I want to see every inch of what's mine."

I positioned her in the center of the room, binding her wrists with silk rope above her head. She tested the restraints instinctively—trapped, vulnerable, exactly where I wanted her.

"Color system tonight," I said, securing the final knot. "Green, yellow, red. You remember?"

"Yes."

"What's your color?"

"Green."

Once the blindfold was secured, I stepped back to admire my work.

Arms raised and bound, body stretched taut, skin gleaming gold in the candlelight—she was a fucking masterpiece. Every curve, every mark, every inch of her on display for me.

The mother of my child. My future wife. Mine.

I started with just my fingertips, trailing them down the sensitive underside of her arms with agonizing slowness. Goosebumps erupted in their wake, her skin responding instantly to my touch.

When I reached her breasts, I circled her nipples without touching them directly, making her arch forward desperately seeking contact.

"Patience," I murmured against her ear. "Tonight, you don't get to decide anything. Not the pace, not what happens next, not when you come. I'm in complete control."

I continued my exploration, hands mapping every curve—the dip of her waist, the new softness of her belly, the stretch marks I genuinely found sexy as hell. My touch was reverent but claiming, possessive, marking her as mine with every stroke.

"Do you know what I thought about while I was gone?"

I asked, my mouth replacing my hands, kissing and biting a deliberate path down her sternum.

"I thought about this. About having you tied up and desperate for me. About the way your body responds when I touch you right here..."

I took her nipple in my mouth, teeth grazing just hard enough to make her gasp and thrust her hips forward involuntarily.

"That's it," I encouraged, my voice rough with desire. "Let me hear every sound. No one exists right now except us, and I want to hear exactly what I'm doing to you."

I worked her body with focused intensity—hands and mouth in perfect coordination, building sensation systematically.

When I finally slid my hand between her thighs, I groaned at what I found. She was soaked, arousal coating my fingers, her body betraying just how desperately she needed this.

"Fuck, Sophie," I groaned, stroking through her wetness slowly, deliberately. "You're dripping for me. Your body knows exactly who it belongs to, doesn't it?"

"Yes," she whimpered. "Please, Adrian, I need—"

"I know what you need." I pushed two fingers inside her, feeling her clench around me immediately. "But you don't get to come yet. Not until I say."

I loved hearing her beg, loved the way my name sounded when she was desperate and aching. I worked her skillfully—fingers stroking that perfect spot inside her while my thumb circled her clit, building her higher and higher.

Just when her breathing turned ragged, when I felt her body starting to tighten toward release, I pulled back completely.

"Not yet," I said firmly when she made a frustrated, needy sound. "You come when I give you permission. Not before."

I repeated the pattern ruthlessly—building her up until she was trembling and pleading, then backing off, switching to different stimulation.

My mouth on her breasts while my fingers teased. My teeth grazing her inner thigh while my thumb brushed lightly where she needed pressure most. Every technique designed to drive her out of her mind with need.

"Please," she begged, her voice breaking. "Adrian, please, I can't—"

"You can. And you will." I increased the intensity, fingers pumping steadily while my mouth found her clit. "Because you're mine, and you take what I give you. Nothing more, nothing less."

She was shaking now, her whole body taut with denied pleasure, completely at my mercy. Only then, when she was absolutely desperate, did I remove the blindfold.

"Look at me," I commanded, my eyes locking with hers as I finally gave her exactly what she needed. "Eyes on me, Sophie. I want to watch you come apart for me."

She shattered with a scream, her body convulsing violently against the restraints as the orgasm tore through her.

Her inner walls clenched rhythmically around my fingers, her back arching, her eyes rolling back before focusing on me again with devastating intensity. I worked her through every wave, prolonging it, making it last until she was gasping and oversensitive.

Fucking beautiful.

I released her wrists quickly and caught her as her legs completely gave out, both of us sinking to the floor in a tangle of limbs. She was still trembling, still breathing hard, aftershocks rolling through her as I held her against me.

We lay together on the plush rug, her head on my chest, my fingers stroking lazily through her hair. The candles cast flickering shadows across our bodies—her flushed and satisfied, mine still thrumming with possessive satisfaction.

"Sophie," I said quietly, needing confirmation. "Do you forgive me? For leaving?"

She was silent for a heartbeat too long, then tilted her head up. "Yes," she whispered, arms tightening around me. "I forgive you."

Relief flooded through me, but something in her tone struck wrong. There was a distance in her eyes that hadn't existed before my disappearance—a shadow lurking beneath the surface that I couldn't identify.

"Are you sure you're okay?" I pressed, brushing a damp strand of hair from her face. "Not just about me leaving—about everything? You've been different since I got back. Distracted. Is something else bothering you?"

For just a second, her expression cracked—panic flashing across her features, or maybe guilt. Then it vanished, replaced by a gentle smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.

"I'm fine," she assured me, nestling closer against my chest. "Really. It's just been a lot to process. You leaving, you coming back, the engagement, getting back into classes. I'm adjusting to everything changing so fast."

I wanted to believe her. Desperately wanted to accept that simple explanation—adjustment, processing, natural growing pains after I'd destroyed everything.

But my instincts screamed otherwise. Something was wrong, and she was hiding it from me.

I held her tighter, breathing in the familiar scent of her hair, trying to silence the doubt crawling through my mind. She said she was fine. She said she forgave me.

That had to be enough.

It had to be.