Phei pulled away just enough—lips parting from hers with a wet pop, breath ragged—and looked down at her perfectly.
There she was: Patricia Bloom, his chemistry teacher now sprawled across the long table like an offering. Her thighs trembled wide apart, heels hooked over the table's edge, calves shaking.
And between those quaking thighs, her cunt was on full, shameless display.
Fuck, the sight punched the air out of him.
Her outer lips were swollen thick and dark rose, flushed almost angry from the ruthless way his fingers had worked her open minutes earlier.
They framed the slick, petal-soft inner folds that had bloomed outward like something obscene and sacred at once—glistening, coated in a thick layer of her own arousal that caught the lights and turned every crease into liquid silver.
And between those shaking legs, her cunt was everything.
How do you expect me to not get greedy at this sight?
