“Professor Winston?” It’s a low female voice, smoky with the faintest hint of an accent, and even though I’ve only heard it once, I recognize it immediately. “Come in.” My stomach tightens as Reanna Lorak steps into the small space I share with my computer. Alone. Her blue eyes are so intense, and she’s tall with that magnetic quality models have. She’s still in those jeans and that top, tiny spaghetti straps, no bra, nipples pointed. She’s fit like an athlete, and I blink a few times, tearing my eyes away from her midriff. Jesus, fuck that. I’m not ogling her body, what the hell? I’m the
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