In My Professor's Arms

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.