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Summary
"Stay still," Rumi ordered with a dry voice.
Zoey stopped, confused, with Rumi buried in her entrails but static.
"What...? Rumi, move..." Zoey moaned, trying to rotate her pelvis, but Rumi's grip was immovable.
Rumi, with exasperating calm, opened the textbook on the desk again, passing the pages by Zoey's naked waist.
"You said you wanted practice," Rumi whispered in Zoey's ear, her hot breath contrasting with the coldness of her tone. "Well, here you have it. You're full. You're in position. But if you want me to move, if you want to feel me fuck, you're going to have to earn every thrust. You said you already knew the topics, fine, then we'll move on to the questions."
Zoey opened her eyes wide. The reality of the trap fell on her like a bucket of cold water. She hadn't won. She had traded her freedom of movement for a cage of flesh.
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Zoey wants to get her way, Rumi makes her believe she won but she only reversed the roles