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.

(Victor's POV)

The mornings felt colder lately, though it wasn’t the weather. The chill that had settled in my life had little to do with the seasons and everything to do with Emily.

Our marriage had always been built on shared goals, mutual ambition, and the sense that we were moving forward together. But somewhere along the way, we moved from that to not having a real conversation in months.

And the intimacy? That had disappeared when she left for the capital. Days turned to weeks, weeks to months, and it's been six months. That was how long it had been since we’d been together, in every sense of the word.

I could still remember the last time. The last time we shared as a couple. The mechanical rhythm, the absence of passion, the way she had rolled over and gone straight to sleep afterward. Even before that? It was seventeen weeks. I know she's not to be fully blamed for it. As a career-inclined person, the hustle and bustle of her job is completely overwhelming.

When she’d announced her promotion and transfer to the capital, I had hesitated. But I knew it was a fantastic opportunity. I also knew what my support would mean to her. Supporting her career was definitely the best thing I could have done, but I hadn’t been prepared for how empty the home would feel without her.

I wasn’t prepared for how empty I would feel.

---

The lecture hall buzzed with noise as students shuffled to their seats. I stood at the podium, organizing my notes while my eyes scanned the room for her. I don't know how she had managed to successfully make me feel this way, and I hated how much I got excited, even ordinarily, by the anticipation of seeing her—how her presence seemed to light up the dreary monotony that lurks in me.

And then she walked in.

Lily Rivers.

She didn’t strut but glided; her steps were quiet, deliberate, but she still commanded my attention like no one else. Her golden hair shimmered under the fluorescent lights, and the soft sway of her hips was enough to make my breath hitch. She wore a fitted sweater that hugged her body perfectly, paired with a skirt that stopped just high enough to tease the wild imagination building up in me.

She took her usual seat in the front row, and I felt like she intentionally sat there to vet my attention. I felt the heat rise in my chest. The way she settled into her chair, crossing her legs casually, gave her an effortless confidence that set her apart.

God help me, I couldn’t stop staring.

I tried to focus on my lecture notes, forcing my gaze to the words in front of me. But all I could think about was her. The way she had leaned forward last week during office hours, her blouse just slightly undone, revealing the delicate curve of her collarbone. The faint scent of her perfume that had lingered in my office long after she left.

"What exactly is wrong with you, Victor?" I said in my mind.

I’d spent years crafting a reputation—an esteemed professor, an intellectual authority. I was the man students looked up to, the man other faculty respected. And now, one look from a twenty-one-year-old girl is the one posing a threat to all these?

I glanced up again and caught her adjusting her skirt, the fabric sliding an inch higher on her thigh, showcasing her beautiful skin. My mouth went dry. What would that skin feel like under my fingers? Soft, smooth, warm? Would she gasp if I traced my hand along the inside of her thigh, teasing her, making her squirm?

I felt my cock stir at the thought, and I gritted my teeth, turning my back to the class under the guise of writing on the board.

Get a grip, Victor.

This wasn’t just inappropriate—it was dangerous. But no matter how much I told myself that, the fantasies wouldn’t stop.

The lecture began. I managed to find my rhythm, letting the words flow as I explained moral relativism. Philosophy was my sanctuary, the place where I was in control. But even here, with my voice commanding the room, I felt the pull of her presence.

She wasn’t like anyone else.

The way she gave me full concentration, looking at me with those piercing blue eyes. It wasn't just admiration; it was something deeper, something that made my skin prickle. She didn’t just listen; she devoured every word, leaning in like she was hungry for more.

I didn't even know what exactly could be going on in her mind right now, but I knew she had always enjoyed my lectures. Her response, demeanor, questions, and even how she found it comfortable to come to my office whenever she needed assistance.

And here it was again.

Her hand shot up to ask a question. I almost welcomed the distraction.

“Yes, Lily?” I said, making sure my tone was steady.

Her lips parted slightly before she spoke, and for a second, all I could think about was how they would feel against mine. Soft, warm, pliant.

“You said moral relativism undermines universal truths,” she began, her voice smooth and confident, “but doesn’t that depend on the assumption that such truths exist independently of cultural constructs? Couldn’t it be argued that moral universality is a tool of power?”

Her question was sharp, challenging, but all I could focus on was the way her tongue flicked against her bottom lip as she spoke.

“An intriguing point,” I managed, my voice tighter than I intended. “But you’re conflating the mechanisms of enforcement with the existence of the truths themselves.”

Her smile was faint, almost teasing. “Or perhaps I’m questioning the existence altogether.”

The rest of the class chuckled softly, but my focus was entirely on her. The curve of her smile, the tilt of her head, the faint flush of color on her cheeks—it was intoxicating. I couldn't just get enough of her lips; maybe when my lips met them, it'd feel better.

“Well,” I said, leaning slightly against the podium, “then it seems we’ve reached an impasse, haven’t we?”

She held my gaze for a moment longer than necessary, and I felt something shift in the air between us.

The rest of the lecture passed in a blur. I answered questions, posed theories, and engaged with the class, but my attention kept circling back to her. Just her. She crossed and uncrossed her legs once, the motion so subtle no one else noticed. But I did. And the brief glimpse of her skin made my thoughts spiral into dangerous territory.

What would she sound like if I slid my hand higher, teasing her until she whimpered? What would her breath feel like against my neck as I pulled her closer, letting her feel just how badly I wanted her?

I was losing control.

When the class ended, I gathered my notes, determined to leave earlier, but I couldn't. I still felt my dick brushing against my trousers; I just couldn't leave immediately. As the students filed out, I noticed Lily lingering in her seat.

“Lily,” I said, my voice sharper than I intended. “Do you need something?”

She looked up, her blue eyes wide and disarming. “I just had a quick question about the lecture,” she said, rising from her seat and making her way to the front of the room.

I swallowed hard as she approached, the soft click of her heels on the floor echoing in the half-empty hall. She stopped just a few feet from me, and the faint scent of her perfume—floral and sweet—hit me like a drug.

“What’s your question?” I asked, my tone colder than necessary as I tried to create some distance.

She asked her question.

Her words barely registered. All I could think about was the way her chest rose and fell with each breath, the delicate curve of her neck, the faint blush that spread across her cheeks as she spoke.

“You raise an interesting point,” I said, my voice low and tight.

She smiled, and it made something snap inside me.

I shouldn’t have noticed the way her tongue darted out to wet her lips. I shouldn’t have let my gaze linger on the soft skin of her throat. And I definitely shouldn’t have wanted her to take another step closer, to bridge the small gap between us until I could feel the warmth of her body against mine.

But I did.

And when she shifted slightly, her arm brushing against mine, I felt the jolt like a live wire.

“Professor?” she said, her voice soft, questioning.

“Yes?”

The word came out rougher than I intended, and her lips parted slightly, her brows furrowing in confusion—or was it something else?

Just then, I could see someone standing at the door. It was Megan.

"Thank you for taking the time," Lily said, stepping back.

She moved closer to the door, and Megan gave way for her to pass. Megan just stood there, watching me pack my teaching materials together.

I let out a shaky breath, gripping the edge of the podium for support. My throbbing cock already back to its normal state.

I walked to Megan. She greeted me jokingly, like she always does, and teased me about being the best professor in the world.

She looked at me with a bit of skepticism, and I felt she was thinking about who she had just seen me with. She's a very sensitive person, even from high school; she's always been able to catch every clue, a very big overthinker, and just everything that can make someone a very great detective.

My mind was divided at this moment, more than half of it with Lily.

I wasn't sure how much longer I could resist.

And one thing for sure she always comes back to me.

Maybe she feels the same.

Chapter 5:

(Lily's POV)

The rain started pouring suddenly, like the cloud couldn't hold it anymore; it didn't even leave a sign that it was going to happen.

The water was dropping so heavily, and I stood drenched in the lobby, rainwater pooling around my feet as the storm outside seemed to seep into the very space around me, the sound of raindrops pounding against the roof and walls a deafening accompaniment to my own ragged breathing.

The water around my feet was so cold that I was starting to shiver, and my legs, exposed to the cold rainwater, made my body give a cold shock response, which started to make me have goosebumps, and the heavier the rain gets, the colder its water is.

The day was supposed to be quite a good day. But then there was him who is the actual determiner of it. In class today, he barely looked at me; his eyes kept scanning the whole room like i wasn't even there.

"Lily, why does that even bother you?" I asked myself.

His job is primarily to lecture us on philosophy, and philosophy only. It's normal for him to focus on everyone knowing is following or not. It shouldn't have bothered me—it was normal—it was professional, but it did.

I hate the whole of this, I hate the fact that it did bother me; i hate to the extent that it did, but I'm really bothered by it.

At this point, I can't even deny that I'm lost in it, I'm lost in him. I'm completely helpless and there's nothing I can't do to help.

I rarely fight back the feelings like I used to do because it really is, and the more I try to fight back the feelings, the more it shows its authenticity.

Even though he wasn't focused on me, I was still head over heels for him. The way he leaned against the podium, his smooth and commanding voice—it was impossible to ignore. When he rolled up his shirt sleeves, I was completely gone. And when his eyes met mine, it felt like he saw something he always wanted to.

I always tried to put an end to this attraction, but I guess it's beyond my power, I just cannot.

"I came here to learn, to prove myself—not to become some livestock over a man who didn't see me as anything more than a mere student," I said to myself.

It felt like I'm a loop, because I'm always repeating this cycle. Every time I thought I'd get home out of my head, something would pull him right back in—a memory, a fleeting glance, even the sound of his just might just play in my head again.

Sometimes it's not even just the excitement the attraction brings; it comes with guilt. He trusted me as a student, but I'm here fantasizing about every thing that crosses my mind.

I thought about everything very quickly. It made me forget the outside world and I only remember where I was after I managed to come out of my illusion.

The rain's still there, falling heavily. My feet are now very cold. I was contemplating if I should leave or wait longer.

It keeps getting heavier, and it looks like it wasn't coming to an end anytime soon. It's so cold.

The rain seemed endless, the cold getting more unbearable. I couldn't wait any longer, I just knew it had to leave.

I stepped out of the lobby and now into the heavy neverending rain, as soon as I was in it, the rain hit me like a ton of bricks.

The droplets feel like needles on my skin, stinging and cold. I blink rapidly, trying to clear my vision, but the rain is relentless.

My clothes are instantly soaked, clinging to my body like a cold, wet shroud. The fabric weighs me down, making every step feel like a struggle. My shoes squelch with each step, water seeping in and making my feet feel like ice.

The rain drums against my ears, a deafening roar that makes it hard to hear anything else. I feel disoriented, like I'm in a washing machine on a spin cycle.

My skin starts to prickle with goosebumps, and I can feel my body temperature dropping rapidly. My teeth chatter, and I wrap my arms around myself, trying to conserve what little body heat I have left.

I was already having a severe headache.

As I try to make my way through the downpour, the rainwater rises up my legs, swirling around my calves like a cold, grey mist. I stumble, my feet slipping on the slick pavement.

I'm soaked to the bone, shivering, and struggling to see or hear anything. All I can do is keep moving forward, because I just can't bear staying at where i was earlier, I'd probably have to just manage to scale through. Every step felt like I was sinking gradually.

I hugged my bag to my chest, and the water kept plastering on my face; my clothes clung to my body, every inch of me exposed beneath their weight. The cold kept piercing through me, but I kept moving.

Just then, the blinding glare of headlights suddenly cut through the rain, stopping my tracks. I couldn't hear the sound so the driver was probably moving very slowly. My heart leaped to my throat as I squinted, trying to see who it was.

I turned back to see a familiar sleek, black sedan roll to a stop just behind, its windshield wipers battling the relentless downpour.

The driver's window lowered, and there he was—Victor. His dark, deep voice reached me through the chaos of the storm.

His countenance felt like the rain was something planned by him. His face looks like it's filled with more of the satisfaction that his plan came to life than empathy for me. My crazy thoughts continued.

"Lily, get in," he projected.

For a moment, I couldn't move. My breath hung, my pulse causing a steady rhythmic vibration wildly as my eyes locked onto his.

"I—" I was startled, trying to say a word of disapproval, but no words came.

"Now," he amplified loudly.

I managed to take a step, then two, and more, staggering forward. The rain was hammering against my back.

I reached the car, grabbed the door handle, and pulled myself in, trying to minimize the amount of rainwater that would follow me into the car.

I slide into the passenger seat, trying to avoid getting the seat too wet. I'm aware that I'm dripping water everywhere, and I try to apologize, but my teeth are chattering too much to let any words out.

The heat of the car’s interior was suffocating, or maybe it was just him. The damp chill clung to me, but all I could feel was the warmth radiating from his presence. My soaked blouse was plastered to my skin, and I crossed my arms over my chest, feeling like it was some sort of shield of myself from his eyes—or maybe myself from him.

He made sure to make me make myself very comfortable before I saw him look at the interior mirror. He cleared his throat, his fingers flexing around the steering wheel as she was driving visibly slowly.

"Does he want us to spend forever in this car?" I said in my mind.

"I hope you are very comfortable like this," he cleared his throat and said.

I glanced sideways, watching his jaw tighten. My pulse quickened when his gaze flickered to me, dark eyes lingering on my face. That was when I realized what he actually meant.

"I didn't mean to..." My voice became very unsteady.

He exhaled sharply through his nose. "You're always doing it."

"Doing what?"

"Acting like you are completely perfect all alone and you need noone," he said, his voice low but steady.

The tension heightened, stretching between us like a taut wire. The rain hammered against the roof. I could feel his eyes on me again; when I turned my head, he still didn't look away.

I wanted to say something, at least something reasonable, but I didn't know what I could say.His hand shifted on the wheel as he focused back on the steering.

"You’re freezing," he said without any enthusiasm, like I wasn't the one he was talking to.

He was starting to sound like a sweet, strict man, or maybe someone who realized he's too sweet, so he's trying to act strict.

Before I could respond, he stretched to the other front seat, grabbed a jacket from the back seat, and handed it to me without looking, the rough brush of his fingers against mine sending a jolt up my arm.

"Thanks," I murmured, clutching the jacket to my chest.The silence returned, heavier now, filled with everything we weren’t saying. My heart pounded so loudly I was sure he could hear it.

The car pulled to a stop outside my building, the rain still pouring in sheets. I didn’t move. Neither did he.

"Lily," he said, my name a whisper that felt like a command.

I turned to him, my breath catching when I saw the way he was looking at me. His eyes were dark, unreadable, but it felt like there was something there—something I didn’t dare name.

He leaned forward, just slightly, and I felt the air shift between us. My hand gripped the jacket tighter, the damp fabric pressing against my chest as my pulse thundered in my ears.

And then, just as quickly, he placed his hand on my right shoulder.

"Oh my gosh, did he just...?! His hand on my shoulder! It's like a jolt of electricity just ran through my entire body. I feel like I'm melting into his touch. I felt warm and safe.

"Go inside," he said, his voice tight. "Before you get sicker, make sure you take good care of yourself; you've had a long day already."

I hesitated, searching his face for something—a clue—anything—but it was closed off, his expression was very unreadable

"Goodnight, Victor," I whispered, my voice barely audible over the rain.

He only noticed, but his eyes followed me as I stepped out into the storm, the rain washing over me again as I hurried inside.

Once I was safe behind the door, I turned back to see his car still there, his headlights cutting through the downpour. And then, he drove off, leaving me standing there with my heart racing and my mind spinning.

But..., could he?