Count to three: My affair with my dynamics professor (teacher x student)

Chapter 71

Frida cried out, hands scrambling for Inés's back.

The pressure on her throat held her still — just that gentle, possessive choke — and Inés moved above her like a tide, deliberate and endless.

"You feel that?" she growled into her ear.

Frida whimpered, nodding under the weight of her hand.

Inés started to roll her hips, harder now, dragging them together again and again, slick and filthy and so precise.

Frida was already shaking.

"Stay with me," Inés murmured, her lips brushing her cheek, her jaw, her mouth. "I want to watch you fall apart."

"I'm—fuck—I'm not gonna last—"

"You don't have to," she said, voice like silk. "Just give it to me."

And Frida did.

She let go so completely it startled her — no tension, no mask, just a woman wrecked open beneath the only person who could take her and hold her at the same time.

When she came, it was with a full-body shudder, legs spasming around Inés, her breath caught in her throat, her mouth open but silent. Just raw soundless collapse.

Inés held her through it — the choke loosening to a caress, the movement slowing, then stopping. Her hand cupped her cheek, brushing away the sweat-stuck hair, her other arm wrapping around her middle like a shelter.

But Frida wasn't done.

She was crying softly — not from pain, not exactly from pleasure either, but from the way she felt owned and seen at once.

And Inés — solid and still on top of her — kissed her temple, her eyelids, her mouth. Whispered things too low to catch, too soft to be anything but true.

"I've got you," she said.

And she did.

It took a long time for either of them to move.

Inés stayed half draped over Frida, her weight a steady pressure, one arm curled protectively beneath the younger woman's head, the other resting along the curve of her hip. Her breath was still uneven, chest rising and falling in slow, grounding waves.

Frida was flushed and sweat-slicked beneath her, the strands of hair at her temple damp, stuck to her cheek. Her eyes were open — barely — watching the ceiling without really seeing it, her chest still fluttering in soft aftershocks.

Neither of them had the energy to speak.

But it wasn't a silence built from fear this time. Not anger. Not confusion.

It was silence like a held breath — the kind you don't dare break until you've made sure the other person is still there.

Inés finally shifted, just enough to roll to the side and bring Frida with her. She didn't let her go — just cradled her close, one thigh between Frida's legs, an arm wrapped across her back like she had to stay touching her. Like she didn't quite trust that she'd still be there if she let go.

Frida exhaled shakily. Her fingers found the inside of Inés's wrist.

"You okay?" she asked after a beat, voice hoarse and almost shy.

Inés hummed low in her throat. "No."

Frida blinked, surprised.

Then Inés added, softly: "But better than I was."

Frida didn't speak. She just nodded, eyes stinging again. She tucked her face into the crook of Inés's neck and held on tighter.

"I don't want to fight like that again," she murmured. "But if we do..."