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“Just… Need the bathroom, sir.”
The same blush from his cheeks rushes down to his neck. Mortification sets in when Professor Graham simply smiles — a crooked, devious thing that warms Hannibal’s chest and spreads tingles through his cunt. The corner of the ruler digs in a little harder at the soft underbelly of Hannibal’s jaw, sending sparks of heat up over his face and all across his scalp.
“You should have gone earlier, then. You know better than to disrupt my class. Don’t you?”