Chapter 44 Chapter Eighteen of Grade Me Harder
Professor Wolfe couldn’t understand why Serena had come after me instead of him but I did. Because I’m a woman, and I know how far we’re willing to go for the man we want.
But Serena isn’t just any woman.
She’s the obsessive kind. The kind who watches from the shadows, heart burning, as the man she covets touches someone else again and again. She didn’t just want him. She wanted to replace me.
And this? This was her elaborate plan to tear us apart and claim him as her own.
We stayed like that for hours—cuddled together, whispering soft, sweet nothings until the sky outside darkened.
11:00 PM.
Professor Wolfe finally stood. “It’s getting late. I’ll walk you home.”
My hand instinctively reached out, curling around the fabric of his jeans. A cold wave of dread crept in, tightening in my chest. With him, I felt something I hadn’t known in so long; peace. I didn't feel judged, abandoned, hated, or mocked; instead, I felt loved and cherished.
My fist tightened around his jeans as I concluded. I didn't want to go back. I wanted to forget. And I knew only he could do that.
I didn't need to use my words.
Wolfe understood, "What about your parents? They'd be worried"
I stood up on my shaky feet, "I don't care anymore"
Professor Wolfe didn't say anything else. He pulled me closer, and we strolled out of the old lab. Fortunately, it was dark enough so we couldn't be seen.
The gate was locked, but Wolfe led me around the back where ivy curled over a half-cracked stone wall. He helped me up and over with ease like he’d done this before.
Minutes later, we were walking down the quiet street. His house stood just ahead, tucked between trees and dim porch lights. Inside, the air smelled faintly of coffee and something sharp; clean linen and his cologne. He locked the door behind us without a word.
“I’ll get you something to wear,” he murmured, disappearing down the hall.
I stood there, suddenly uncertain, clutching my elbows.
When he came back, he handed me a faded gray hoodie. “Bathroom’s through there. Towels under the sink.”
I took the hoodie from his hands, our fingers brushing for the briefest moment as I held onto it. His scent was already soaked into the fabric, familiar and comforting.
Inside the bathroom, I changed quickly, stripping out of my clothes. I stared at myself in the mirror for a second too long. I gazed at my reflection, noticing how hollow it appeared, with dark circles lingering under my eyes.
I sighed as I folded the hoodie and set it far away from the shower to keep it dry. I turned on the shower and stepped under the stream, allowing the cold water to run down my bare BODY. I reached up to gather my hair, but strong arms snaked around my waist and yanked me back into him.
My body instinctively pressed tightly onto his bare naked body that was slowly getting wet from the shower sprinkling all over us. I opened my eyes as he crashed his lips on mine roughly. His mouth moved over mine like he was claiming something, not kissing. It was desperate, unspoken, and wrong in all the ways that made it feel right.
Water pounded against us, soaking skin and hair and the last of our restraint.
My fingers tangled in his hair as I gasped into his mouth. He swallowed the sound greedily, pinning me to the slick tiles like he needed to feel every inch of me just to stay sane.
He shoved his hands into my hair, dragging my head back with a growl, exposing the fragile column of my throat like he was about to devour it.
His mouth was hot, punishing, kissing, biting, claiming every inch of skin like it belonged to him. “I could make you forget,” he rasped against my throat, his voice frayed and dark. “Every name, every lie. Just close your eyes and let me ruin you.”
But then he stilled, chest heaving, his eyes locked on mine. "Wait." He reached for something behind him, a bottle, half-full, dark amber gleaming in the low light.
“You ever been drunk before, sweetheart?” he asked, voice smooth like sin.
I hesitated. “No.”
His grin was slow and wicked like he’d just unwrapped a present he planned to break. “Firsts. Fuck, I love firsts.”
He twisted the cap off, the scent of whiskey curling through the air as he lifted the bottle. “You’re gonna take this for me,” he said, tilting it toward my lips. “It’s gonna burn. That’s the point.”
The glass touched my mouth. I opened. I swallowed. It was fire, rough and scorching and I choked on it, eyes watering.
He wiped my lips with his thumb, then sucked it clean with a low groan. “That’s it. Good fucking girl.”
He gave me more, another mouthful, slower this time and as the burn spread in my chest, he carried me to his room and pushed me back into the bed, spreading my legs with ruthless precision.
“Keep drinking,” he ordered his voice a growl as he pressed the bottle into my hand. “I want you warm and flushed when I fuck you.”
The moment the bottle tipped again, his mouth crashed onto mine, stealing the taste of whiskey right from my lips. His fingers slid down my body, parting me, teasing, claiming. I moaned into his kiss, and he drank it in like it was another shot.
He tasted the whiskey off my lips and then pushed me backward onto the bed. My thighs parted on instinct, my heart pounding, my body swimming with heat and burn, and everything I didn’t know how to name anymore.
I took another sip. It scorched going down, making my head spin, nerves crackling with a new kind of high. My skin tingled. I felt reckless. Bold. His.
And then he was between my legs—hard, the thick head of his cock pressing against my entrance.
“You’re soaked,” he groaned, dragging himself through my slick folds. “Fucking perfect.”
I gasped, eyes fluttering, as he pushed in—slow at first, filling me in torturous inches. The stretch made me arch off the mattress, the alcohol dulling the sharpness of the intrusion but not the intensity. It was surreal, dreamy like every nerve was floating under my skin but still begging for more.
“Wolfe,” I breathed, unable to form a full sentence.
“I know, baby. I know.”
He bottomed out and paused, buried to the hilt. The burn of it clashed with the numbness blooming in my limbs, leaving me drunk on sensation. His cock throbbed inside me, and I clenched, making him curse under his breath.
Then he moved.
Each thrust slammed into me with rough precision, and the bed rocked beneath us. I moaned loudly as I helplessly gripped the sheets as he drove into me again and again. My body was slow to react like I was underwater, but everything still felt good. So fucking good.
My vision blurred. My skin felt electric. The room tilted slightly as Wolfe lifted one of my legs over his shoulder, pushing even deeper now, hitting that spot that made my toes curl, and my mouth falls open.
“Oh my god—”
“That’s it,” he growled, voice a rasp against my throat. “Let it go. You’re already mine.”
He leaned down, crushing me beneath him, and the new angle made me cry out. I could feel the wet drag of our bodies and hear the lewd sounds of him pounding into me with obscene force. My head lolled back, my mind fraying, my hands scrambling across his back like I needed to anchor myself or float away.
Then he flipped me over like I weighed nothing.
Face down now, ass in the air, Wolfe pushed back into me from behind—harder, deeper. The slap of skin against skin echoed in the room. My body jolted forward with every thrust, and my vision blurred with tears I didn’t remember forming.
“You feel everything, don’t you?” he rasped, pulling my hips back against him.
I nodded, the movement clumsy, my cheek pressed to the sheets. The pleasure was molten now, spreading slowly and sinful through my gut.
Then he slowed his pace and reached forward to wrap a hand around my throat, gently lifting me so I was flush against his chest while he was still buried inside me.
“Ride me.”
He sat back on the bed, pulling me into his lap without ever slipping out. I was straddling him now, thighs trembling, head spinning from the alcohol and the relentless waves of pleasure.
My hands fumbled against his chest, and I moved—rocked my hips, felt the way he stretched me, filled me. His hands gripped my waist, guiding me, and then suddenly he thrust up into me, sharp and deep, over and over again.
I gasped, my body shuddering. Everything was fire and haze and him.
My orgasm hit like a sucker punch, wild and unstoppable. I clenched around him, nails digging into his shoulders, and his name ripped from my throat like a sob. Wolfe snarled and slammed up into me, again and again, chasing his release.
“I’m gonna come,” he groaned, eyes dark and wild. “Gonna fill you up. You want that?”
“Yes—yes, please—”
With a final deep thrust, he came inside me, hot and thick, his cock twitching as he spilled everything into me. I felt it in every inch of my body. I felt him.
He lay beneath me, chest rising and falling, his cock slowly thickening again inside my sore, soaked heat. My legs were jelly, but when I shifted slightly, I felt it—his length, twitching, swelling, hungry for another round.
I blinked down at him, dazed. “You’re still—”
He grabbed my hips. “Don’t even think about running.”
I barely managed to gasp before he flipped us again, this time slower. Deliberate. He crawled over me like a storm cloud rolling in—heavy and inevitable. His cock pressed against my thigh, slick from the first round, and twice as eager now.
“Round two,” he whispered against my throat, dragging his teeth down the curve of my neck. “I’m not done with you. Not even fucking close.”
He slipped back inside in one slow, unbearable stroke, stretching me wide again. I whimpered. I was sensitive—so sensitive—but my body didn’t care. It welcomed him like it had been made for him like every inch of my pussy had been molded by his cock alone.
His hips started moving, slow and punishing, every thrust deeper than the last. My fingers clawed at his back, nails digging in as he rocked into me, grinding against every overstimulated nerve he’d already broken open.
“Feel that?” he murmured into my ear, licking the shell of it. “Your cunt’s still dripping. Still desperate.”
I moaned. He grabbed my jaw, turning my face toward him.
“Eyes on me,” he ordered. “I want to watch you fall apart all over again.”
He angled his hips and slammed into that perfect spot inside me. My head rolled back as the pleasure returned like a tidal wave, raw and devastating. My legs wrapped around his waist, locking him in, urging him deeper.
He reached down and circled my clit with two fingers, tight, fast, filthy. My thighs trembled, back arching as the orgasm built again—too fast, too much.
“You’re going to come again for me,” he growled, “and you’re going to fucking thank me for it.”
I choked on a sob. “Wolfe—fuck—”
“Say it.”
“Thank you,” I moaned. “Please don’t stop—thank you.”
“Good girl,” he hissed, snapping his hips harder now, his abs flexing against mine. “That’s what I wanted. Keep saying it while I wreck you.”
I came again; violent, wrecked, sobbing his name like a litany. He didn’t stop. Not even when I cried from the pleasure. Not even when my body clenched so tight around him he groaned into my neck.
His thrusts got rougher, his rhythm unraveling.
He bit down on my shoulder as he came inside me for the second time, thrusting through every pulse, milking the orgasm from both of us until we were trembling, panting messes.
He collapsed beside me this time, pulling me into his chest like I was something fragile after all that.