Please Harder, Professor

Chapter 71

I climb the stairs to my apartment slowly, each step heavy with exhaustion and Lolita's words echoing in my mind like a persistent melody I can't shake.

That boy has many more surprises hidden inside than you've ever seen. Just keep that in mind.

Could Adrian's panic have been terror rather than indifference? Had I been so focused on protecting myself from rejection that I'd misread the entire situation?

The memory of his face flashes through my mind again—not the cold dismissal I'd convinced myself I saw, but something rawer. More desperate. Like a man drowning rather than a man running.

"Sophie?" Cassian's voice pulls me from my spiraling thoughts.

He's standing in his doorway, still in his dress shirt and tie from earlier, though both look slightly rumpled from the day's chaos. His brown eyes search my face with immediate concern, taking in whatever devastation is written there.

"How are you holding up after today's drama?" he asks gently, stepping into the hallway.

"Exhausted," I admit, fumbling with my keys. "Everything feels so incredibly complicated right now."

"Come here." His voice carries that gentle command that always makes something in my chest respond, warm and reassuring. "Let me help you forget for a while."

I should say no. I should go to my empty apartment, make some tea, and try to process the emotional whiplash of the last few hours. But the thought of being alone with my racing thoughts feels unbearable.

"Okay," I whisper, letting him guide me into his apartment.

He leads me to his living room instead of straight to the bedroom, settling us both on his couch. The space feels warm and safe, dimmed by soft lamplight that casts everything in golden tones.

"Talk to me," Cassian says, taking my hands in his. "What's really going on in that beautiful head of yours?"

I look down at our joined hands, his so steady and warm while mine tremble slightly. "I keep replaying everything. Adrian's face when I told him about the baby. The way he looked so... scared."

"Scared?" Cassian's voice is carefully neutral, but I catch the slight tension in his shoulders. "You think he was scared rather than angry?"

"Lolita said something today. About Adrian having more surprises hidden inside than I've ever seen."

I meet his eyes, searching for judgment and finding only patient attention. "What if I misread his reaction completely? What if he wasn't rejecting me, but panicking?"

Cassian is quiet for a long moment, his thumbs stroking gentle circles over my knuckles. "Does it matter what he was feeling?"

"I don't know," I whisper honestly. "Maybe. He got himself arrested trying to talk to me, Cassian. That doesn't sound like someone who doesn't care."

"No," he agrees softly. "It doesn't. But it also doesn't sound like someone who's ready to be what you and the baby need."

The truth in his words hits me like a physical blow, and I feel tears sting my eyes. "I hate that I still care about his feelings. After everything he's put me through, I should be over this."

"Hey." Cassian's hand moves to cup my cheek, his touch infinitely gentle. "You don't just stop loving someone because they hurt you. That's not how hearts work."

"Do you think I'm an idiot for still loving him?" The question comes out barely above a whisper, vulnerability making my voice crack.

"I think you're human," Cassian says, his brown eyes warm with understanding. "And I think you're carrying a child with someone you have complicated feelings for. That would mess with anyone's head."

"It's not fair to you," I say, guilt making my chest tight. "You deserve someone who can be fully present with you, not someone who's constantly overthinking her past."

"Sophie." His voice is firm but kind. "I knew what I was getting into when I kissed you that first time. I knew Adrian was still in the picture, still in your heart. I'm not here because I expect you to be over him immediately."

"Then why are you here?" I ask, needing to understand what drives his patience.

"Because I see who you are when you're not drowning in his chaos."

Cassian’s thumb brushing away a tear I didn't realize had fallen. "I see your strength, your intelligence, your compassion. I see the woman you could be if someone actually supported you instead of constantly putting you through emotional whiplash."

His words break something loose in my chest, and before I can stop myself, I'm crying. Real tears, the kind that come from somewhere deep and desperate.

"I'm so tired," I sob against his shoulder as he pulls me close. "I'm tired of feeling confused and guilty and scared all the time. I just want to feel normal for five minutes."

"Then let me give you that," Cassian murmurs into my hair, his arms solid and secure around me. "Let me help you feel something other than pain."

When I pull back to look at him, his face is so open, so genuinely caring, that something shifts between us. The air grows thicker, charged with a different kind of energy.

"Cassian," I whisper, not entirely sure what I'm asking for.

"I know," he says softly, his hand moving to frame my face. "I want to take care of you, Sophie. Will you let me?"

The kiss is soft, patient, everything Adrian's kisses never were. When Cassian deepens it, asking rather than demanding, I try to lose myself in the difference.

His hands are reverent as they touch me, trailing from my face down to my shoulders, always giving me space to say no, always checking my responses.

"Come with me," he says against my lips, and I let him lead me to his bedroom.

His bedroom is dimly lit by bedside lamps, casting everything in warm golden tones that feel safe and intimate. Cassian moves with deliberate care, his hands gentle as they continue exploring.

"I have an idea," he says, his voice rough with desire. "Something gentle but... focused. Will you trust me?"

I nod, and he produces silk restraints from his nightstand drawer—soft, expensive, nothing like the hard leather and metal Adrian had preferred.

Cassian ties my wrists to his headboard with infinite care, checking the bonds repeatedly to ensure they're secure but not tight.

"Tell me if anything doesn't feel right," he says, pressing a kiss to each of my palms. "Promise me."

"I promise," I breathe, already feeling some of the day's tension start to ease.

He blindfolds me with what feels like silk, and suddenly every other sensation is heightened. His fingers trace patterns on my skin, reverent and exploratory, mapping every curve and hollow like he's memorizing me.

"You're so beautiful," he whispers, his voice full of wonder. "I could spend hours just touching you."

When the ice cube touches my collarbone, I gasp and arch against the restraints. The cold is shocking, electric, sending goosebumps racing across my skin as Cassian trails it slowly down my body.

"How does that feel?" he asks, his breath warm against my ear. "Good? Too much?"

"Good," I manage, though my voice sounds strained. "Really good."

He continues the temperature play, alternating between ice and the warmth of his mouth, always asking, always checking, always making sure I'm with him every step of the way.

It should be perfect. Cassian reads my responses with careful attention, adjusting his touch based on every sound I make, every way my body moves. He's attentive and skilled and completely focused on my pleasure.

But my mind won't cooperate.

Instead of losing myself in Cassian's gentle dominance, I keep comparing it to Adrian's intensity. Where Cassian asks permission for every touch, Adrian had simply taken what he wanted.

Where Cassian whispers sweet encouragements, Adrian had growled possessive commands that made my entire body respond like it was hardwired for his voice.

"That's my girl," Adrian would say, and I'd shatter completely.

Cassian's approach is healthier, I know that. It's respectful and caring and everything a good man should be. But some traitorous part of me misses the edge, the danger, the feeling that Adrian might completely lose control if I pushed him far enough.

"Sophie?" Cassian's voice cuts through my wandering thoughts. "You're not here with me."

I blink as he removes the blindfold, guilt flooding my cheeks when I see the concern in his brown eyes. He can see it written all over my face—the distraction, the mental absence, the fact that I was thinking about another man while tied to his bed.

"I'm sorry," I whisper, shame making my voice small. "I don't feel well."

"The pregnancy?" Cassian immediately moves to untie my restraints, desire replaced by worry as he helps me sit up. "We should stop. I should have thought—morning sickness can strike any time, right?"

"Yes," I say gratefully, pulling my clothes back on with shaking fingers. "I think I just need to rest."

But we both know it's not morning sickness making me feel sick to my stomach. It's the realization that no matter how perfect Cassian is for me on paper, no matter how much safer he is than Adrian, my body still belongs to someone else.

Someone who panicked at the news of our baby and got himself arrested trying to talk to me.

"I'll get you some ginger tea," Cassian says softly, giving me space to collect myself. "It's supposed to help with nausea."

"Thank you," I manage, grateful for his understanding even as guilt gnaws at my insides. "You're so good to me, Cassian."

"You deserve to be taken care of," he replies simply, disappearing into the kitchen.

After he retreats to give me privacy, I check my phone and feel my blood run cold. An unexpected name on the screen makes my stomach clench with dread.

Lisette: We finally need to talk like adults. Meet me tomorrow, I'll send the address later. It's urgent.

I stare at the message, my hands trembling as the implications wash over me. Lisette Vaughn wants to meet.

The woman who's been systematically trying to destroy Adrian, who looked at me with such hatred during our last encounter, who Cleo said has been having mental breakdowns in class.

Whatever she wants, it can't be good. But after everything that's happened—Adrian's arrest, my pregnancy, the public spectacle we've created—I know I have to face whatever's coming.

I can't keep running from the complicated mess my life has become.

The text feels like a countdown to disaster, ticking away in my pocket as Cassian returns with tea and gentle concern, having no idea that tomorrow might change everything.

Again.