Chapter 31
**Sara**
I blinked hard, trying to focus on Tom's face as my head pounded. "What... what am I doing here?" I croaked, my throat raw from screaming.
Tom held up his hands, like he was trying to calm a spooked horse. "Easy there, Sara. You had a bit too much to drink last night, remember? The pub? Jessica pawning you off on me?"
Fragments of memories flashed through my mind - tequila shots, loud music, Jessica disappearing with Brad. I groaned, burying my face in my hands. "Oh God."
"I didn't know where you lived," Tom continued, "so I brought you here. You slept on the bed. I took the guest room. I swear I didn't do anything... untoward."
I peeked at him through my fingers. "Untoward? Who even says that?"
"Apparently, I do when I'm trying not to get screamed at again," Tom said, rubbing his ear. "My neighbors probably think I'm running some kind of torture chamber in here."
I tried to push myself up, but my hand slipped on the blanket twisted around me. I flailed, arms windmilling. "A little help?"
Tom stepped forward, grasping my outstretched hand. With a grunt, he pulled me to my feet. I swayed, the room spinning, and plopped down on the edge of the bed.
"Thanks," I mumbled. "When I woke up, I thought I was in my bedroom. I was so confused."
"Alright."
I squinted at him, trying to gauge if he was laughing at me. My head felt like it was stuffed with cotton, and my mouth tasted like I'd licked the bottom of an ashtray. "Do you have any water?" I croaked.
"Of course," Tom said, disappearing into the kitchen.
He returned with a glass of water and two pills. "Here," he said, holding them out to me. "For the headache, I'm sure you have."
I eyed the pills suspiciously. "What are those?"
"Just ibuprofen. I promise I'm not trying to drug you."
"That's exactly what someone trying to drug me would say," I retorted, but I took the pills anyway. My head was killing me.
As I sipped the water, Tom sat in a chair across from me. "So," he said, "how much do you remember from last night?"
I groaned. "Bits and pieces. Jessica dragging me out, tequila shots, her ditching me for Brad..." I trailed off, a horrifying thought occurring to me. "Oh God, please tell me I didn't do anything embarrassing."
"No, you were actually quite well-behaved. A bit wobbly on your feet, but nothing too scandalous."
I sighed in relief, then winced as my head throbbed. "Small mercies, I guess."
We sat in awkward silence, the air thick with unspoken tension. I fidgeted with the hem of my dress, trying to think of something to say.
"Listen," I finally blurted out, "you should take the bed. I'll crash in the guest room."
Tom's eyebrows shot up. "Absolutely not. You're my guest, and you're not feeling well. You take the bed. I'll use the guest room."
"But-"
"No buts," he said firmly. "Doctor's orders."
"You're not that kind of doctor."
"Close enough," he grinned. "Now, get some rest. I'll be right down the hall if you need anything."
As Tom disappeared into the guest room, I flopped back onto the bed with a groan. My head was still spinning, but at least the nausea had subsided. I closed my eyes, trying to will myself to sleep.
But sleep wouldn't come. Instead, my traitorous mind kept replaying fragments of memories: Tom's kindness in bringing me here and making sure I was safe, the way he'd looked at me in class, a mix of longing and regret in his eyes.
And then, unbidden, came flashes of that night. The night we'd spent together in this very bed. The feel of his hands on my skin, his lips trailing fire down my neck. The way he'd-
"Nope!" I yelped, sitting bolt upright. "Not going there."
I pressed my palms against my eyes, as if I could physically push the memories away. But it was no use. Now that I'd opened that particular Pandora's box, the images kept flooding in.
I remembered how Tom looked at me that night, like I was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. How he'd taken his time, exploring every inch of me with reverent hands and eager lips. The way he'd-
"Oh, for fuck's sake," I muttered, flopping back onto the pillows.
This was ridiculous. I was lying in bed where I'd had mind-blowing sex with my professor, trying desperately not to think about said mind-blowing sex, while said professor slept just down the hall.
I rolled over, burying my face in the pillow. It still smelled faintly of Tom's cologne, and I groaned in frustration.
"This is fine," I mumbled into the pillow. "Everything is fine. I'm just going to lie here and definitely not think about how good Tom looks without his shirt on. Nope. Not at all."
I squeezed my eyes shut, willing sleep to come and put me out of my misery. But all I could think about was Tom's hands, his lips, the way he'd made me feel... His strong fingers tracing every curve of my body, setting my skin on fire. The passionate kisses left me breathless, his tongue exploring my mouth. The delicious friction as our bodies moved together, the sound of skin against skin filling the room. His deep moans mixing with my own gasps of pleasure. The way he'd filled me so completely, hitting just the right spot with each thrust until I saw stars.
I bit my lip, pushing away the vivid memories, but they kept flooding back. The heat of his breath on my neck, the taste of his skin, the overwhelming sensation of him inside me. God, I could almost hear the rhythmic creaking of the bed and feel the trembling in my thighs as I approached climax.
It was going to be a long night. A very long, frustratingly arousing night.
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