My Taboo Harem!-Chapter 293: "NO!" (r-18)

He pulled back—just far enough that their mouths separated by the thinnest breath of air. Just far enough that she could see his eyes: patient, utterly certain. No triumph. No mockery. Only that quiet, devastating focus that made her feel seen in a way she hadn’t been in years.

"Do you want me to stop?" he asked.

The question landed like a stone in still water.

Every instinct she’d spent a decade honing—the teacher, the professional, the woman who had built walls of competence and distance—screamed yes.

Say yes. End this. Salvage what’s left of your life before it burns.

But the truth rose faster than the fear.

"NO!" she breathed. "Gods help me... no."

Something flickered across his face—relief, maybe, or recognition. Something softer than victory. He didn’t smile like a conqueror. He smiled like a man who’d just been given permission to breathe.

"Then stop thinking," he said quietly. "Just for tonight. Just for right now. Let me prove what I promised."

And he kissed her again.

Slower this time, if that was even possible.

Deeper.

His tongue stroked hers in long, languid pulls—teaching her the rhythm, coaxing her to follow, drawing out every small, helpless sound she tried to swallow.

One hand cradled the back of her neck—thumb stroking the sensitive tendon there; the other slid to her waist—fingers splaying wide over the curve of her hip, anchoring her without caging her.

She melted into it.

Melted into him.

Her fingers loosened their death grip on his shirt only to slide upward—over his collarbones, along the sides of his throat, into his hair.

She tugged once—light, uncertain—and felt the low rumble of approval in his chest.

The classroom around them had vanished.

There was only the wet slide of mouths—tongues tangling slow and deep, teeth grazing lips just enough to sting, spit slicking their chins as they kissed like they’d been starving for it. He sucked on her lower lip—hard enough to make her whimper—then soothed it with a slow lick that made her knees buckle completely.

She chased his mouth when he pulled back a fraction—needy little sounds spilling from her throat—and he let her catch him, let her deepen it, let her take.

His hand at her waist slid higher—under the hem of her blouse, palm flat against the bare skin of her lower back, fingers splaying wide, warm and possessive. The touch burned—slow heat spreading up her spine, making her arch into him, tits pressing harder against his chest, nipples stiffening painfully against her bra.

She moaned into his mouth—loud, broken, shameless—hips jerking forward to rub against the hard length she could feel straining his pants.

He growled—low, primal—and kissed her harder, tongue thrusting deep, hand sliding lower to grip her ass—fingers digging in, pulling her tighter against his cock.

Patricia Bloom—teacher, professional, woman with everything to lose—was grinding against her student’s erection in her own classroom, moaning into his mouth like she’d die without more.

And she didn’t care.

She couldn’t stop.

She was already coming undone.

And he hadn’t even touched her below the waist yet.

He moved behind her with deliberate slowness, one hand sliding up to gather her hair in a loose fist and lift it gently aside, exposing the elegant column of her neck to the cool air of the room.

The sudden vulnerability made her shiver—fine hairs rising along her nape, pulse jumping visibly under the thin skin.

His breath ghosted over the newly bared flesh first—warm, steady, teasing—close enough that she felt the heat of it before his lips ever touched her. Patricia’s shoulders tensed, then softened involuntarily as the anticipation coiled low in her belly.

Then his mouth settled at the base of her throat—right where her pulse hammered wildly, frantic and exposed.

He pressed a slow, open-mouthed kiss there—lips parting wide, sealing hot and wet over the fluttering point. He sucked deeply—long, unhurried pulls that drew the tender skin into the heat of his mouth, tongue stroking slow, deliberate circles along the captured flesh.

The suction was firm, possessive—enough to pull blood to the surface in a blooming flush, enough to make her gasp sharp and high, head tipping back on instinct as liquid heat poured down her spine and pooled between her thighs.

He released the spot with a soft, wet pop—leaving a dark pink mark already darkening toward bruise—and moved higher.

His free hand rose to the collar of her blouse. One button at a time—unhurried, reverent—he slipped each fastening open, the crisp fabric parting with tiny, crisp sounds.

The blouse gaped wider with every undone button—revealing the pale hollow at the base of her throat, the fragile dip above her collarbone, the smooth expanse of skin between, flushed now from his earlier attention.

He ignored everything below.

His mouth followed the newly exposed skin—kissing a slow, devastating path upward along the side of her neck.

Another deep, lingering suck just below her ear—lips firm and scorching, drawing the skin in until it flushed deep crimson beneath the pressure, tongue tracing the edge of the fresh mark in lazy, wet circles before he moved higher.

Each kiss was the same: long, possessive pulls that left faint red blooms in their wake, teeth grazing only enough to tease sharp sensation without breaking skin, his breath fanning over the damp, sensitive spots afterward like a promise of more.

He mapped every inch of her throat and the newly bared upper chest with nothing but lips and tongue—slow, worshipful, devastating—never once glancing lower, never once letting his gaze stray to the black lace bra still hidden beneath the half-opened blouse.

Only the skin he’d uncovered. Only the places his mouth could reach while she trembled and forgot how to breathe.

Patricia’s hands gripped the edge of the desk behind her—knuckles blanching white—as another low, broken moan slipped from her throat. Her head tipped farther back—offering more throat, more skin, more of herself—body arching toward his mouth without conscious thought.

Her thighs pressed together hard—trying to ease the growing ache between them—but every deep suck at her neck sent fresh heat flooding downward, making her clit throb and her panties cling wetly to her folds.

He sucked harder at the tender spot just under her jaw—lips sealing tight, tongue lashing slow circles inside his mouth—and she cried out—sharp, needy, hips jerking forward involuntarily. A fresh bloom of red darkened beneath his lips, the mark stark against her pale skin.

He released it with another soft pop, breath hot against the wet spot, then moved to the other side—mirroring the path, sucking and licking and biting just enough to make her whimper and shake.

By the time he finished, her throat and upper chest were a canvas of his mouth—red and purple blooms scattered like dark flowers, skin glistening with his saliva, every mark throbbing in time with her racing pulse.

He pulled back just enough to look at her—eyes dark, satisfied, possessive.

Patricia was trembling—breath ragged, lips parted, eyes glassy, body flushed and marked and aching.

And he hadn’t even touched her below the collarbone yet.

But she was already ruined.

And she knew it.