I freeze.
His fingers trace slowly, teasing up the bare skin beneath my dress—light enough to drive me insane, heavy enough to be very,veryintentional.
“Landon,” I hiss, barely audible.
He hums like I just complimented him. “Shhh…I’m proving something.”
My legs clamp together instinctively, trapping Landon’s wandering hand between my thighs like a fucking vice. He chuckles—a deep, vibrating sound that travels straight to my clit—and nips at my earlobe.
“Careful, Peach. You’ll break my fingers before I even get to the good part.”
His thumb circles clockwise over the thin cotton of my underwear. The friction’s insufficient through the fabric, yet I feel my hips twitch forward. Landon makes a satisfied noiseagainst my neck that has me digging my fingernails into the scratched desktop.
“Miss Rivera, the Cole case,” Kilgore’s voice slices through the building tension between us.
I snap my gaze forward to find him staring right at our row. Thirty heads swivel in our direction. Landon’s finger drags upward through my dampening folds as he leans back in his chair, all casual innocence.
“Mr.Cole t-thought draining his wife of blood would help cover up the crime,” I whimper, as Landon’s finger slides across my clit.
“Very good,” Professor Kilgore hums, his eyes locked on me as he calls on another student and continues to discuss the case. His eyes burn into me like flames.
My eyelids flutter as his middle finger breaches the lace edge of my panties, calloused pad grazing the bundle of nerves.Jesus Christ.I force a cough into my fist while Landon murmurs, “You’re dripping through these already. Embarrassing.”
Kilgore clears his throat. “As I was saying—” The words blur as Landon’s knuckle brushes against my clit. A sharp jolt fires up my spine, every nerve ending flaring to life. “—the primary distinction between class and individual characteristics in forensic evidence,” Kilgore continues, voice maddeningly steady, “lies in the ability to match evidence to asinglesource. Thus forensic evidence is not all about the blood.”
My breath catches when Landon presses down harder, the heel of his palm grinding against the edge of the seat in just the right angle. The old metal desk chair creaks beneath me.
Two rows ahead, a blonde girl in thick glasses glances over her shoulder, frowning.
I meet her eyes and mouth,Don’t.
But my legs drift open another inch.
The air in the lecture hall is stifling—too warm, too still—and sweat beads beneath my breasts, sliding beneath the neckline of my dress like sin in slow motion. My hand curls around the edge of the desk as I try to keep my face neutral, normal,innocent, even as Landon drags the tip of his finger in one slow, deliberate circle around my clit.
“You’re not even paying attention,” he whispers against my ear, smug and low.
“I know the difference between shoe tread patterns and semen stains,” I whisper back, jaw tight, “so you canfuck off.”
His breath grazes my neck. “God, you’ve got the filthiest mouth.”
My entire body trembles like a plucked guitar string. I fumble for the textbook, knocking pens to the floor in a clatter that makes half the class jump, and Kilgore’s eyes lock on my tense body. His voice trailing off mid-sentence. Landon seizes the distraction, hooking two fingers under my underwear’s waistband. The elastic snaps against my hip bone.
“Naughty fucking girl,” he breathes against my ear. The words send hot shivers cascading down my neck. “Getting all hot and bothered for your professor. Distracting him in class like the temptress you are.”
His fingertips dip lower, grazing the soaked lace between my legs. My vision blurs. Kilgore’s voice rings in my ears as hediscusses the use of hair DNA to convict Mr.Cole back in 2008 for the murder of his wife.
“What do you think he’d do?” Landon’s teeth catch my earlobe, tugging. “If he knew his precious student was getting fingered in the back row? If he saw how pink you are right now?”
The pad of his middle finger finds my entrance. I choke on air.
“Eyes front,” Landon orders, low and rough. My gaze snaps to Kilgore’s back as he underlines something in red marker. Landon’s finger pushes in just past the first knuckle. My inner muscles spasm, greedy.
“There she is,” he croons. “Fuck, you’re tight.” His thumb resumes its assault on my clit while his finger works shallowly in and out. The slick sounds would be audible without the droning lecture. Heat floods my cheeks.
Professor Kilgore turns, catching my glassy stare. His Adam’s apple bobs.
A cold wave of panic washes over the burning arousal. Landon crooks his finger, hitting that spongy spot that makes stars burst behind my eyes. My hips jerk upward, slamming the desk’s underside. A male student turns to look back at me.
