(Lily's POV)

It's my first day at this prestigious university, and honestly i'm eager to know what this school has for me.

On the beautiful sunny Monday morning, I walked into the lecture hall. It was cold, almost clinical, but I wasn't bothered in any way. I’d always preferred sitting in the front row, close enough to catch every word the professor said and every detail of their expression. Today, however, the front row wasn’t just a strategic choice for academic success. Something inside me had been urging me forward since the moment I arrived, though I didn’t fully understand why. Maybe it's because I'm new here, but in contrast to my regular position, I actually wanted to sit anywhere else except the front row, but there is a pull taking me to my beloved front row.

When he walked in, everything seemed to make more sense.

Professor Victor Graham.

The name had been printed neatly on the syllabus I’d scanned over the weekend, but it hadn’t prepared me for this. He wasn’t the regular professor you'd meet in every school. I mean, professors were supposed to be dull—bookish men with crooked ties, graying hair, old-fashioned, and everything that could possibly distinguish them from being in vogue. But this man was nothing of the sort.

He strode into the room with confidence, a silent declaration of his authority that filled the entire space. He wore a tailored navy blue suit that emphasized his broad shoulders and lean frame, his crisp white shirt open just at the collar, sharp and clearly defined, possessing an utmost degree of firmness and freshness, and revealing a sliver of tanned skin. His dark eyes were piercing, scanning the room with a sharpness that made my breath hitch. He didn’t just look at the class; he assessed us, each and every one.

“Good morning,” he said, his voice deep and smooth. It rolled through the room, effortlessly commanding perfect silence. “Welcome to Philosophy 301. I’m Professor Victor Graham.”

Professor Graham's voice was calm and brave. The sound of his voice sent shivers down my spine. It was rich, warm, and devastatingly male, wrapping around me like a velvet cloak; it was like no other. My pulse quickened, and I crossed my legs tightly, hoping to steady the heat building between them.

When his gaze passed over me, I felt it like a physical touch. My stomach flipped, and a strange heat bloomed low in my belly. I ducked my head, pretending to adjust my notebook, but the sensation lingered.

It wasn't just his words; it's the way he carried himself. Confident, unshaken. My focus shouldn't be on the way his shirt rested on his chest when he leaned a little bit on the pulpit, or how his jawline looked sharper im the dim light of the lecture hall. But I couldn't help it, no matter how I tried to stop, I just couldn't.

I’d never felt this way before.

At twenty-one, I was still a virgin, not out of some moral code but simply because nothing had ever ignited me. I've never been completely into boys. The two I dated in high school and college had been sweet, attentive even, but their touches had left me cold. I’d wondered if something was wrong with me, if I was incapable of desire. But now, sitting in this lecture hall, staring at the man at the podium, I knew that wasn’t true, and something mysterious is how he's doing this to me unconsciously.

Every movement he made was mesmerizing. The way his hands gestured as he spoke, the way his lips curved over each word, the slight crease in his brow as he emphasized a point—it all drew me in. Maybe I'm just not a baby anymore, and I've moved on from being the young teenager I was.

Little did I know that my nipples tightened beneath my blouse, pressing against the lace of my bra in a way that was almost painful. My skin prickled with goosebumps, but it wasn’t from the cold; it was from something I could explain, but yet couldn't understand why.

Before the lecture started, he asked to go through the first page of our manual so we can have a little prepared of what he Is about to lecture on since that's where the lecture is driven from. I've read that before so I didn't really bother to focus on it. He noticed it wasn't, but he didn't look at me right away, but when he finally did, his gaze seemed... heavier. My heart shattered and I immediately controlled myself to start reading it.

By this time, the space felt overwhelming. Since it was the first day, the wasn't too occupied I guess a lot of students haven't resumed so the space felt quiet but the sound of his voice? It drowned everything out.

He began the lecture, his voice weaving effortlessly through concepts I should have been paying attention to. I tried to focus, but my thoughts kept drifting, completely in another world, a world full of fantasies. What would it feel like to have those hands on me? To have that commanding voice murmuring my name, telling me what to do?

The heat in my body is built with every passing minute. My thighs pressed together, desperate to ease the ache forming between them. I could feel my pulse throbbing in places I didn’t dare acknowledge, and it terrified me how much I wanted him, even though it's crazy, but I crazily do.

He posed a question to the class, and before I could stop myself, I raised my hand.

“Yes, you,” he said, his eyes locking onto mine. My stomach flipped at the sound of his voice. “Lily, isn’t it?”

He knew my name. I felt it was something different, but it felt like something that is.

My name sounded different in his voice, sharper, more important.

"You're the only new student here, so who wouldn't know your name? That's nothing special." My inner self echoed in my head.

“Yes, Professor,” I managed, surprised my voice didn’t tremble. I answered his question as clearly as I could, though my heart was pounding so loudly it drowned out my thoughts.

“Interesting perspective,” he said, his lips curling into a faint smile. It wasn’t a generic, polite smile—it was knowing, almost amused, as if he could see right through me.

My cheeks burned, but I couldn’t look away. His gaze lingered just a second too long, and I felt an electric thrill shoot through me. Did he know what I was feeling? Could he tell how my body reacted to him?

The rest of the lecture passed in a haze. I couldn’t escape the sense that his attention kept drifting back to me. It felt like he was focusing on me and noticed every single thing I'm feeling. Every time his dark eyes met mine, it sent a fresh wave of heat rushing through me. I told myself I was just imagining it, but deep down, I didn’t believe that.

By the time the lecture ended, I was a mess; my skin tingled, and I pressed my thigh together . I've never felt this type of connection with someone, never before. My thighs ached from being clenched together the whole time, and my chest felt tight with unspent energy. I stayed in my seat, pretending to organize my notes as the other students filed out. I needed a moment to get myself together and to calm the river of water flowing inside of me.

He was still on the podium all this while, trying to get his teaching materials together. "What's he packing that's taking this long?" I thought in my mind.

But then his voice disrupted my thought and cut through the quiet. “Lily.”

My heart stopped. Slowly, I turned to face him.

“Yes, Professor?”

He was watching me, his dark eyes intense and unreadable. “You seem to have a good grasp of the material.”

The compliment shouldn’t have sent a rush of heat through me, but the way he said it—soft, deliberate—made my knees feel weak.

“Thank you, Professor,” I murmured, my voice barely above a whisper.

For a moment, neither of us moved. His eyes stayed on mine, as though he was searching for something unusual. Then he nodded, a small, almost imperceptible gesture, and turned back to his notes, picked them up, and left.

Honestly, this whole feeling isn't normal. Students don't feel this way about their professors, and professors definitely do not feel this way about their students. Not that he felt anything—he couldn't. Yet my chest tightened every time I think about it, my body betrays me.

I waited for a few minutes before I stood up and walked slowly out of the room before I could embarrass myself further, my cheeks burning and my thoughts spinning.

As I walked down the hallway, the memory of his gaze haunted me. Had I imagined it? The way his eyes lingered, the softness in his voice—was it all in my head? Or had he felt it too, that strange, electric pull?

I needed a distraction, something to keep my mind away from the relaying of the every glace and words.

While strolling outside, I met a group of three coursemates, José, Sophie, and Davies.

We discussed a little, and since they've been students here since first year, they knew a whole lot more about this school than me. I'm not going to lie; they were all wonderful people to talk to.

That was definitely not the highlight of my day, not even close to it, because even during the interaction, my mind was somewhere else, with someone else.

I thought about his gaze heavy and unshakeable, as he looked at me before he left after he complimented me earlier. My pulse raced, my thoughts spinning. Maybe it was nothing. Or maybe... It was everything.

The city buzzed around me as I walked home, but it felt like I was moving in a haze. Cars honked, distant voices called out, and the occasional bark of a dog echoed down the street; you know how it is, but none of it registered. My body was still hummed with an energy I couldn’t shake, every step a reminder of the tension coiling deep inside me.

Professor Victor Graham. His name alone sent a shiver through me.

I climbed the stairs to my apartment, my bag slung over my shoulder and my mind spinning. The air in the hallway was thick and stale, but when I opened my door and stepped inside, it felt no different. I dropped my bag by the door and kicked off my shoes; I wasn't even the one contemplating my movement.

The silence of the apartment only amplified the storm inside me.

I leaned against the wall, pressing a hand to my chest as I tried to steady my breathing. My skin was still flushed, heat radiating from my cheeks down to the hollow of my throat. My blouse clung to me in all the wrong places, and my nipples—still embarrassingly hard—attached with a sensitivity I couldn’t ignore.

“God, what is wrong with me?” I muttered to myself.

My brain was already spinning at this point.

But I knew. I knew.

My mind replayed every single moment of the lecture, every glance, every word. The way he said my name—Lily—in that deep, commanding voice. The way his dark eyes lingered on me, studying me, unraveling me. The faint curve of his lips when he smiled, like he knew exactly what he was doing to me.

I could feel myself spiraling, my thoughts traveling into different places I shouldn’t let them go, but I didn’t care. I was just too far gone.

I wandered into the kitchen, opening the refrigerator out of habit rather than hunger. The cool air washed over me, but it only made me more aware of how hot I was, how flushed my skin had become. I grabbed a bottle of Coca-Cola and twisted off the cap, drinking deeply as if that would cool the fire raging inside me.

It didn’t.

I closed the fridge and leaned against the counter, staring blankly at the cabinets as my thoughts consumed me. What would it feel like to have him here, standing close enough that I could feel the heat of his body? Would he touch me the way I wanted to be touched, his hands exploring the body no one had ever claimed?

The image was so vivid that I dropped the bottle, the thud jolting me back to reality. I cursed under my breath, bending to pick it up, but even that simple motion reminded me of how sensitive I was, how tightly wound every nerve in my body felt.

"I need to do something, anything, to shake this off. I needed a distraction. What the actual fuck is wrong with you, Lily?" I said to myself.

I turned on the TV, flipping aimlessly through channels, but nothing held my attention. I paced the living room, my arms crossed tightly over my chest, trying to will my body to calm down. But every step, every movement, only brought the memory of him back to the forefront of my mind.

His broad shoulders straining against his suit jacket. His hands, large and capable, brushing the edge of the podium. His voice, smooth as velvet, wrapping around me like a caress.

My thighs pressed together involuntarily, a desperate attempt to suppress the ache building between them. It didn’t help.

After a few minutes of trying to get my mind off it by watching TV, I gave up.

Shutting off the TV, I made my way to the bedroom, stripping off my blazer and tossing it onto the chair in the corner. My blouse followed, and I caught sight of myself in the mirror as I unclasped my bra. My nipples were stiff, the pale skin around them flushed pink. I bit my lip, my cheeks burning as I looked away.

Sliding out of my skirt, I climbed onto the bed, the cool sheets offering a brief reprieve against my heated skin. But even here, in the quiet sanctuary of my room, I couldn’t escape him.

I lay back, staring up at the ceiling as my fingers traced absent patterns along my stomach. I tried to think about anything else, but his image burned into my mind. The way he looked at me during the lecture, the way his lips moved as he spoke—I could see everything over and over again; I could even feel it.

My hand slowly drifted lower, brushing over the waistband of my panties, and I gasped at the sensation. The fabric was damp, a physical betrayal of everything I was feeling.

“Stop it, Lily,” I whispered, but my fingers didn’t listen.

I let my legs fall apart, my breathing shallow as my hand slipped beneath the elastic. The wet heat of my skin shocked me, and I bit down hard on my lip to keep from crying out. My fingers moved instinctively, exploring the slick folds as a wave of pleasure rippled through me.

I pulled my hand on the surface of my pussy, exploring it briefly.

In my mind, it wasn’t my hand. It was his.

His fingers, strong and confident, teasing me, guiding me. His voice, low and commanding, whispering my name as he leaned over me, his breath hot against my ear.

My back arched as I pressed harder, my thighs trembling with the effort to keep still. My other hand gripped the sheets, holding on as the tension in my body built to an unbearable peak.

I imagined him pinning me down, his weight pressing me into the mattress as his lips clamped with mine. His hands would explore every inch of me, stripping away my innocence with a touch that left no room for doubt.

A whimper escaped me, my body shuddering as the coil of heat inside me finally snapped. The release was overwhelming, leaving me breathless and shaking.

I lay there for a long moment, my chest rising and falling as I tried to process what had just happened the whole time. My hand was still wet, my skin still tingling with the aftershocks of something I didn’t fully understand.

"What was I doing?"

"I rolled onto my side, clutching a pillow to my chest as guilt began to creep in. He is my professor, for God’s sake. This was wrong. It had to be."

But even as I told myself that, I couldn’t shake the memory of his gaze, the way it made me feel like I wasn't the only person in the room.

Deep down, I knew this wasn’t the end; it was just the beginning.

The strange thing that happened the other time had been sitting in the back of my mind since that moment. I was trying my best to always not think about it, but I couldn’t let it go, and it made me feel the exact same way every time.

The syllabus had clearly stated Professor Graham’s office hours. Every lecture was open to all students taking his course, no appointment necessary. But even at that, he was a very respected figure and considered a very strict, no-nonsense person by other students, so he was one of the least-visited professors in the school. But I had to, and this wasn’t even about class—it was for myself.

I stood in front of my mirror, brushing my hair for what felt like the hundredth time. My heart was pounding so loudly I could hear it in my ears. The thin sweater I wore hugged my curves just enough without being too obvious. My jeans were fitted but not tight. Casual. Harmless.

Except I didn’t feel harmless.

I felt like I was walking straight into the lion’s den, and I didn’t know if I wanted to run away or be devoured.

I grabbed my notebook off the counter and shoved it into my bag, convincing myself this was about school. Just a question or two about the lecture, I thought. Something simple, something that wouldn’t raise suspicions. I didn’t even think about what exactly I wanted to ask. The thought of being with him was overwhelming on its own.

As I walked to campus, my stomach twisted with anticipation. My legs felt shaky, and my palms were clammy. I kept imagining the moment I would see him again—the way his dark eyes would look up from his desk, how his lips would form my name.

What are you doing, Lily?

The voice in my head tried to reason with me, but it was useless. I was already here, standing outside the philosophy department office. The hallway was quiet, the hum of the fluorescent lights the only sound. I swallowed hard and adjusted the strap of my bag.

The door to his office was slightly ajar, and I could hear the low murmur of his voice inside. My breath caught. For a moment, I considered turning around and leaving. But then I thought of the way he had looked at me in class, the way his voice had softened when he said my name, and I couldn’t walk away.

I knocked lightly on the doorframe.

“Come in,” his voice called, deep and smooth.

I was surprised as to why he didn’t lock his door. I pushed the door open and stepped inside. He was seated at his desk, a stack of papers in front of him, pen in hand. When he looked up, his dark eyes met mine, and my stomach flipped.

“Lily,” he said, leaning back in his chair. His lips curved into a faint smile. “How may I help you?”

I froze for a moment, my mouth suddenly dry. “I—uh—I had a question about the lecture,” I managed, gripping the strap of my bag like it was an inspirational tool.

“Have a seat,” he said, gesturing to the chair across from him.

I obeyed, my legs feeling like jelly as I sank into the chair. The room felt too small, his presence overwhelming.

“What’s that?” he asked, his tone patient but curious.

I fumbled with my notebook, flipping it open to a random page. “I wanted to ask about—um—the example you gave about moral relativism. You said it was tied to a cultural context, but I wasn’t sure if…”

My voice trailed off as his eyes settled on mine. He wasn’t looking at my notebook or my hands. He was looking at me.

“I see,” he said slowly, leaning forward slightly. “You’re wondering if the cultural context undermines the concept of moral universality.”

I nodded quickly, grateful he had saved me from my own incoherence, because the question had just flown out—not that I had prepared something tangible before. I could have disgraced myself if he hadn’t.

He launched into an explanation, his voice measured and thoughtful. But I could barely concentrate. The way he leaned forward, the way his hands moved as he spoke, the way his tie rested just slightly loose against his chest—it was all too much.

My body betrayed me again. I could feel shivers through my spine. My nipples tightened beneath my sweater, my thighs clenching together as heat pooled low in my stomach. I tried to keep my expression neutral, nodding occasionally to feign understanding, because I felt that was the best thing I could do, but my mind was racing.

When he finished speaking, I managed a weak smile. “That makes a lot of sense. Thank you, Professor.”

He didn’t respond right away. His eyes lingered on me, dark and searching. The air between us felt thick, charged with something unspoken.

“You’re very attentive in class,” he said finally, his voice softer than before.

My cheeks burned. “I—I try to be.”

The reaction my lips gave wasn’t even up to a quarter of what my pussy would say if it could talk.

A small smile tugged at his lips, but there was something in his expression I couldn’t quite read. Something that made my breath hitch.

“Do you have any other questions?” he asked, his tone almost inviting.

I shook my head, but I didn’t move to leave. I couldn’t. I just couldn’t.

The silence stretched between us, heavy and electric. He shifted in his chair, his gaze flickering briefly to my hands resting on the notebook before returning to my face.

“Lily,” he said, my name rolling off his tongue like a secret.

“Yes?” My voice came off soft like a whisper.

For a moment, I thought he was going to say something else, something that would shatter the careful line between us. But instead, he leaned back, his expression unreadable.

“Keep up the good work,” he said, his voice once again professional.

I nodded, my chest tight as I gathered my things and stood. “Thank you, Professor,” I said, my voice trembling.

As I turned to leave, my foot caught the edge of the chair leg, and my notebook slipped from my hands, landing on the floor embarrassingly.

I already knew you were going to embarrass yourself, my mind spoke to me.

“Let me,” he said, rising from his chair.

Before I could stop him, he bent down to pick it up. Our hands brushed as he handed it back to me, and the contact sent a jolt through my body. My breath caught, and when I looked up, his eyes were locked on mine.

Neither of us moved.

The moment stretched endlessly, the air between us heavy with tension. My lips parted, a soft gasp escaping me as I felt the heat of his gaze travel over my face.

This triggered me more.

“Lily,” he said again, his voice low and almost hesitant.

I couldn’t respond. My heart was pounding too loudly, my body frozen under his gaze.

Finally, he straightened, breaking the spell. “Have a good day,” he said, his tone neutral but his eyes still holding that flicker of something else.

I nodded numbly and turned to leave, my legs shaky as I walked out the door.

It felt like I just escaped a haunted place.

As I stepped into the hallway, I pressed a hand to my chest, my pulse racing. The tension in that room, the way his eyes lingered on me—it wasn’t in my head. It couldn’t be.

And the worst part?

I wanted more.