Stiles woke up the next morning with a knot in her stomach that wouldn’t unwind. Her pussy was still tender from the marathon fuck session in the classroom—three loads of Derek’s cum had left her leaking all night, staining the sheets while Jackson slept obliviously beside her. She touched herself absently in the shower, fingers circling her clit as memories flooded back: his thick cock pounding her on the desk, then the chair, her riding him like a desperate whore. God, what if he comes for more today? But as the day dragged on at the university, Derek didn’t approach her. No texts, no smirks from the back row during her other classes. He just sat there, quiet, focused—like the model student she’d never let him be. Stiles felt a wave of relief wash over her. Maybe he’s done… maybe it was a one-time thing. Her strict prof mask slipped back on easier, and she even scolded a few other students sharply, feeling in control again.