Emily heads out

Emily's tongue darted out again, lapping at the remnants of John's release with deliberate slowness. The taste was sharper than she'd expected—salty, musky, *him*—and she hummed in approval before flashing him a coy smile. "Mmm. I should probably wash my hands," she murmured, licking her pinkie clean with one last flick. The way his gaze darkened sent a fresh thrill through her.

She stood with deliberate grace, smoothing her skirt down just enough to maintain plausible deniability before bending over to gather her scattered notes—giving John an unobstructed view of her damp, swollen folds glistening through the lace of her ruined panties. The wet fabric clung to her, outlining every delicate fold, and she heard his sharp intake of breath as she straightened slowly.

"Thanks for the *tutoring*, Principal Lee," Emily purred, tucking her notebook against her chest in a way that pushed her cleavage higher. She took a step backward toward the door, hips swaying exaggeratedly with each movement.

John remained frozen in his chair, his disheveled tie hanging loose around his neck, his slacks still darkened with spilled water—and other things. His knuckles were white where they gripped the armrests. "Emily—" His voice cracked.

Emily paused at the library door, her fingers lingering on the brass handle as she glanced back over her shoulder. The setting sun caught the gold in her hair, turning her into a vision of molten honey. "See you tomorrow at the mixer, Principal Lee," she murmured, her voice a velvet promise. The way her teeth caught her lower lip made John's stomach clench. Then she was gone, the door clicking shut behind her with awful finality.

John stared at the closed door for three heartbeats before exhaling sharply through his nose. The air around him smelled of sex, the scent clinging to his skin like a guilty secret. He ran trembling fingers through his hair, trying in vain to smooth the damage Emily's hands had wrought.