Chapter 26 Final epilogue and grade me harder book introduction
NINA
10:46PM
I hummed softly as I padded toward our room with a mug of chamomile tea in hand, relishing the quiet for just a moment. The hallway was quiet and still, the kind of calm that only existed when Ezra was asleep and Kane hadn’t come up yet.
I turned the corner—
And stopped dead.
There, halfway down the hallway near the guest room, Kendrick had Laila pinned gently against the wall, his lips on hers. Her hands were buried in his shirt, her body arching into his like this wasn’t the first time.
I didn’t move. Couldn’t.
What the hell?
They didn’t see me at first. His head tilted slightly, deepening the kiss. Her fingers slipped into his hair like she knew every inch of him.
Laila. My best friend.
Kendrick. Kane's now closest friend.
My throat tightened. Not from anger—but from the sheer weight of what the hell is going on and why didn’t I know?
Then Laila opened her eyes.
She froze, eyes locking with mine in pure panic.
Kendrick turned, following her gaze, and when he saw me, he stiffened—but didn’t step away from her.
I blinked, lowering my tea. “Wow.”
Laila moved first, pushing gently off the wall, smoothing her shirt like it helped. “Nina—this isn’t—”
“No need to explain. I am not mad,” I said quickly, holding up a hand. “Just… surprised.”
Kendrick’s jaw ticked. “We didn’t want to make things weird.”
I raised a brow. “So kissing in the middle of the hallway was the subtle option?”
Laila let out a breathy laugh, half-awkward, half-mortified. “We didn’t plan it. It just... happened.”
I nodded slowly, still trying to piece it together. “And how long has ‘just happened’ been happening?”
Laila blushed pure red as she averted her gaze to her feet. Wow, who could've thought I'd ever see laila's shy side. Is this the end of the world?
I sighed. “Okay. Look. I’m not here to play mom or interrogator. But maybe next time, before you decide to sneak around under my roof—maybe give me a heads up? I’ve had enough surprises this year.”
Laila looked like she might cry. Kendrick looked like he wanted to be anywhere else.
I gave them both a small, cheeky smile. “I’m going to bed. Carry on with what you were doing, I won't disturb you anymore”
I gave Laila a wink and continued my walk. I opened the door to my room and my gaze moved to Kane. He stood by the window, his broad back to me, a towel slung low on his hips. His hair was still damp, drops of water trailing down the muscles of his back. He hadn't noticed me watching—but I always did.
He was different now. Softer with Ezra. Fiercer with me. He still looked at me like I was the air he needed to breathe.
I shifted on the bed, my robe slipping off one shoulder. “Come here.”
He turned. His eyes locked on mine—dark, hungry, careful. “You sure?”
I didn’t answer. I didn’t need to. I untied the robe slowly, letting it fall open around me.
His expression changed instantly—like a switch flipped inside him. The softness vanished, replaced by a look that made my breath hitch and my skin heat. He crossed the room in three strides and dropped to his knees at the edge of the bed, his hands going straight to my thighs.
“Say stop if anything hurts,” he murmured, kissing the inside of my knee. “If you need time—”
I threaded my fingers into his hair. “I need you.”
His hands slid up, gripping my hips with reverence and restraint. “You just gave birth. You’re—”
“Stronger than I’ve ever been,” I whispered. “And I want my husband.”
Something primal flickered in his eyes.
He stood slowly, leaning over me, bracing himself with one hand beside my head while the other cupped the side of my face. He kissed me like he’d been starving for it—like it hurt to go slow but he would for me.
His mouth found my neck, my collarbone, every new curve and change in my body like it was something sacred. “Every inch of you,” he breathed, voice rough and broken, “I’ve missed this. Missed you.”
I whimpered as his hand slid over my stomach, his fingers tracing the faint marks left behind. “Do you see this?” he asked, voice tight. “This is power. This is fking beautiful, Nina.”
My hips lifted into him instinctively, and he growled softly. “Don’t do that unless you’re ready for me to lose my mind.”
“I want to,” I whispered. “I need to feel like me again. You make me feel like me.”
Kane groaned, dipping his forehead to mine, struggling to keep it together. “I’m trying to go slow, baby.”
“You don’t have to. I trust you.”
It was as if that was all he needed to hear cause in the next moment, he had completely taken off all his clothes, and then he wrapped my legs around his waist.
He slammed into me with full force—and froze.
“Too much?” he panted, voice wrecked, breath searing against my cheek.
I dug my nails into his shoulders hard enough to leave marks. “No. Don’t stop. Don’t you fking stop.”
Something snapped in him.
He moved—rough, relentless, like something feral finally unleashed. Every thrust was a growl, every grip of his hands bruising and soft all at once. He didn’t hold back—and I didn’t want him to.
“Nina,” he choked, teeth dragging across my throat. “You’re gonna fking kill me.”
“Then die in me,” I whispered, biting his earlobe, tasting the salt of his skin. “Let me be the last thing you feel.”
He swore, hoarse and desperate, and slammed deeper, harder, like he wanted to crawl inside me and never leave. My legs locked tighter around his waist, dragging him in.
“You ruin me,” he growled, forehead to mine, eyes wild. “You always fking ruin me.”
“Then be ruined,” I spat, yanking his hair back so I could look him in the eyes. “Be mine.”
That was it.
He lost control.
His mouth was everywhere—rough kisses down my throat, over my breasts, across my belly where our son had grown. “You made life here,” he groaned, kissing every stretch, every scar. “This is goddamn beautiful.”
My body writhed under him, moans breaking free without shame, without fear. I wasn’t just his wife—I was his obsession, his salvation, his undoing.
“Kane,” I gasped, my voice barely recognizable.
“Let go for me,” he snarled, thrusts punishing now, dragging me to the edge with him. “Come on—fall apart for me.”
And I did.
My scream tore through the room as my body shattered, pleasure and pain and love crashing through me all at once. Kane followed with a guttural sound, hips jerking, burying himself deep as he came with a force that left us both shaking.
But he didn’t stop.
Not after the first time. Not after the second.
He flipped me over, dragged me to the edge, lifted my hips like I weighed nothing. “You said take all of you,” he rasped against my ear, sliding in again, rougher. “So I’m taking it. Every damn piece.”
And I gave it—again and again.
By the time he finally collapsed on top of me, hours later, we were drenched in sweat, sheets tangled beneath us, the air heavy with sex and heat.
He kissed my shoulder, slow and tender now, breathing hard. “Mine,” he whispered, raw and ruined. “No matter what. Always.”
I turned my head, kissed his lips, tasting everything we’d just spilled between us. “Yours,” I murmured. “Even before I knew it. I was always yours.”
We laid there in the wreckage of the night—hearts still racing, bodies still humming, the world outside forgotten.
Because this?.
This was home.
This was us.
'Grade Me Harder' Book Introduction
Blurb:
Ava Clarke is twenty-one, bold, and fully aware of the rumors swirling around Professor Damon Wolfe—the Literature Department’s most feared and desired professor. Cold. Brilliant. Untouchable. His classes are impossible to ace, and his gaze could undress you from across the room.
She doesn’t need the credit. She wants the challenge.
From day one, he singles her out. Not cruel—controlled. Too controlled. Like every sharp correction, every low-voiced “Miss Clarke” is hiding something far more dangerous underneath.
Then she gets a C on an essay she knows deserved better.
When she storms into his office demanding he explain himself, she expects a lecture. Not a locked door. Not a voice that drops an octave. Not eyes that pin her in place like prey.
“You want to be graded differently?” he asks. “Then earn it.”
What follows is a descent into submission, power, and mind games.
He grades her with his mouth.
He tests her limits with silk ties and filthy commands.
And every lesson leaves her begging for more.
The rule is simple: no feelings. No strings. Just extra credit in the dark.
But when obsession starts bleeding into daylight, and one video threatens to expose their secret, Ava and Professor Wolfe will have to decide what they’re really risking—
Reputation?
Or control?
Excerpt: Ava slammed the paper down on the polished oak desk, her pulse hammering like a warning.
“C, Professor Wolfe? Really?”
Damon Wolfe didn’t flinch. He didn’t even look up at first—just finished the line he was scribbling in red ink on another poor student’s essay. His office was silent except for the sound of his pen and the low tick of the antique clock on the wall.
Then he set the pen down, leaned back in his chair, and finally looked at her.
Slate-gray eyes. Cold, unreadable.
“Miss Clarke,” he said, voice smooth as smoke. “I assume you’re here to contest your grade.”
“I’m here because that paper was better than half the crap you handed A’s to.”
His brow lifted, amused. “Language.”
“I’m not one of your little freshmen you can intimidate with that broody silence thing,” she snapped. “I know what I wrote was good.”
“You want a better grade?” he asked quietly. “You think I’ve made a mistake?”
“I think you’re an arrogant bastard who punishes women for not writing like men.”
The words landed like a slap—but still, he didn’t blink. Just stood slowly, circled the desk, and stopped inches from her.
He was tall. Broad-shouldered. Shirt rolled at the sleeves, exposing veined forearms and hands that looked like they could do real damage.
“You came here,” he said, voice low, “because you want me to change your grade. So tell me, Miss Clarke… how far are you willing to go for an A?”
The room tightened around them.
Ava swallowed. “You’re joking.”
His hand came up—slow, deliberate—and brushed a lock of hair from her cheek.
“I don’t joke. Not about discipline.”
She should’ve backed away. Should’ve slapped him, stormed out, reported him.
Instead, her breath hitched. Heat curled in her gut.
“I’d go far,” she whispered. “If it meant putting you in your place.”
Something flashed in his eyes. Hunger. Dark, controlled rage.
He reached behind her and locked the door.
“Then bend over the desk.”
Ava’s heart slammed against her ribs. She didn’t move.
He stepped behind her, one hand sliding up her spine, firm and commanding. “Last chance. Say stop.”
She didn’t.
So he did what he said.
Bent her over the desk.
Lifted her skirt.
And taught her exactly how he graded behind closed doors.
No mercy. No hesitation. Just rough hands, dirty words, and a promise whispered against her neck:
“You want the A? You’ll earn it on your knees next.”