Please Harder, Professor

Chapter 86

Sophie’s POV

Moving in feels surreal.

I stand in Adrian's apartment—our apartment now, I suppose—with a suitcase of hastily packed clothes and no idea where I belong.

The space stretches around me, all clean lines and expensive furniture, floor-to-ceiling windows that frame the city like a living painting. Everything is elegant, masculine, controlled.

Just like him.

My suitcase looks pathetic against the polished hardwood floors. A battered piece of luggage I've had since freshman year, stuffed with clothes Cleo grabbed from my dorm room and toiletries the hospital gift shop provided.

It contains everything I currently own that isn't locked in storage or scattered across a life I can no longer access.

I don't know where to put it. Don't know which closet is mine, which drawer I'm allowed to claim, which corner of this pristine space can accommodate the mess I've brought with me.

Adrian gives me room to settle. He doesn't hover in doorways or issue commands about where things should go.

He simply shows me the bedroom—our bedroom, with its massive bed and blackout curtains and the faint scent of his cologne embedded in the sheets—and then retreats to his study, leaving me alone with my uncertainty.

But the tension from our fight hasn't dissolved. It's shifted into something else, something that crackles in the air between us whenever we occupy the same room.

Every accidental brush of fingers when he hands me a glass of water. Every loaded glance across the kitchen island. Every moment of silence that stretches just a beat too long.

Unfinished business—that's what this feels like. A conversation we started with screaming and haven't figured out how to end.

I spend the afternoon unpacking, which takes all of twenty minutes. I spend the rest of the time wandering the apartment like a ghost, trailing my fingers along surfaces that don't know me yet, trying to imagine myself belonging here.

I can't.

That night, I find Adrian in the kitchen.

He's pouring whiskey into a crystal glass, his back to me, shoulders tense beneath the thin fabric of his shirt.

The overhead lights are off—only the under-cabinet glow illuminates him, casting shadows across his profile that make him look older, more tired, more human than the controlled professor I first met in that lecture hall a lifetime ago.

I should go to bed. The doctors' instructions echo in my head—rest, avoid stress, prioritize the baby. I should be responsible, sensible, all the things I've always been for everyone else.

Instead, I cross the room.

Adrian turns at the sound of my footsteps. His eyes find mine in the dim light, and something passes between us—question, answer, permission. The whiskey glass pauses halfway to his lips.

"You should be sleeping." His voice is low, rough at the edges. "The doctor said…"

"I know what the doctor said." I stop in front of him, close enough to feel the heat radiating from his body. "I don't want to sleep. I don't want to think. I just want..." The words dissolve before I can finish them, but it doesn't matter.

He understands.

The first kiss is tentative, testing. My lips brush against his like a question I'm not sure I'm allowed to ask. He tastes like whiskey and something darker, something that's purely Adrian—control and hunger in equal measure.

The second his fingers dig into my waist, I know I’m fucking done. The man doesn’t just touch—he claims, his grip possessive, rough enough to bruise, and god, I want the marks. His mouth crashes into mine, and I moan, my tongue lashing against his.

He lifts me onto the counter like I weigh nothing, my bare thighs spreading on instinct, the cold marble biting into my ass through my flimsy sleep shorts.

But I don’t give a fuck—not when Adrian’s hips slot between my legs, the hard ridge of his cock grinding against my soaked cunt through his slacks. I whimper, rocking against him, desperate for friction, for anything.

“You’re dripping,” he growls against my lips, one hand sliding down to palm my pussy through the damp cotton.

His fingers press hard, and I jerk, my back arching off the counter.

“Jesus, Sophie—this what you wanted? Sneaking over here like a little tease, begging for it?”

I can’t even answer—my brain’s short-circuiting, every nerve on fire. His thumb finds my clit through the fabric, rubbing slow, torturous circles, and I choke on a sob, my nails clawing at his shoulders. “Adrian—”

“Say it.” His voice is pure filth, dark and rough. “Tell me how bad you need it.”

“I… fuck, please.”

He yanks my shorts to the side, no warning, no mercy, and two thick fingers plunge into my cunt without hesitation.

I scream, my thighs clamping around his wrist, my hips bucking like a wild thing. He curls his fingers, dragging over that sweet spot inside me, and I see fucking stars.

“That’s it, baby,” he murmurs, watching me unravel with those predator’s eyes. “Take it. Fuck yourself on my hand.”

I do, shamelessly riding his fingers, my tits bouncing, my moans loud and broken. His thumb never lets up on my clit, rubbing faster now, matching the brutal pace of his fingers.

I can hear how wet I am—slick, filthy sounds filling the room, mixing with my gasps and his ragged breathing.

Then his mouth is on my neck, teeth sinking into my pulse point, and I lose it. My orgasm rips through me like a fucking storm, my cunt clenching around his fingers, my entire body seizing.

I thrash, sobbing his name, my vision whiting out as pleasure destroys me.

When it's over—when I'm trembling and breathless and clinging to him like he's the only solid thing in a spinning world—he lifts me from the counter and carries me to the couch.

We end up tangled together, my head on his chest, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on my arm.

The city glitters through the windows. A million lights in a million windows, a million lives unfolding in apartments just like this one. For one fragile moment, everything feels almost okay.

Adrian's heartbeat is steady beneath my ear. His chest rises and falls with deep, even breaths.

I let myself imagine this could be our life—quiet evenings and tangled limbs, the two of us against the world, building something real from the wreckage of everything we've destroyed.

"I'm sorry." The words come out before I can stop them. "For sneaking out, for not telling you, for all of it. I know you were scared. I was just so tired of feeling controlled."

His fingers pause on my arm. "I know." A long exhale, his chest shifting beneath my cheek. "I'm not good at this, Sophie. Caring about someone without trying to manage them. It's the only way I've ever known how to—"

My phone suddenly rings. The sound shatters like a rock through glass. I fumble for it on the coffee table, still tangled in Adrian's arms, still floating in the aftermath of his touch.

Cleo's name flashes on the screen.

"Hey." My voice comes out lazy, content.

"Soph, don't go online." Cleo's voice is tight, urgent, stripped of its usual warmth. "Don't look at anything. Don't check your notifications, don't open any apps, don't—"

"Cleo, slow down." I sit up, pulling away from Adrian's chest. The peace is already crumbling, I can feel it. "What happened?"

"Someone leaked it." She takes a shaky breath. "The pregnancy. I don't know how—maybe someone at the hospital, maybe a records breach, I don't know. But it's everywhere, Sophie."

My blood turns cold.

"Someone at the hospital is selling updates to the tabloids. Or they hacked the records. I can't tell which." Cleo's voice cracks. "I'm so sorry. I wanted to warn you before you saw it yourself. It's bad, Soph. It's really bad."

Adrian feels me stiffen. His hand stops moving on my arm. I feel him shift behind me, sitting up, tension flooding back into his body.

"What is it?" His voice is sharp with sudden alertness. "Sophie, what's wrong?"

I can't answer. The words are stuck in my throat, frozen alongside the fragile hope that had been building in my chest just moments ago.

The pregnancy. The baby. The one piece of this nightmare I thought was still private, still protected, still ours.

The fragile peace shatters like glass.

Everyone knows.