And then he does something unexpected. Something no person in his position should ever do, and no person in my position should ever allow someone like him to do. He places his hand on my stained top, moving delicately over it with pinched brows. All I can do is stare, because once again, I’m frozen to the spot, unable to stop what he’s doing, even though I know that he should. We’re both relieved of the situation when his hand brushes against my now erect nipple, and another tingle rushes up my spine and flows down my arms, and as quickly as the moment came, it disappears. Professor Matthews straightens up, face returning to stone as he drops the cloth and walks back to his desk.
“We’re done for the day.” His tone is emotionless as he sits down.
A heaviness sits in the air. I blink away the moment and collect my things, grateful to get away. It was dangerous. What just happened. It’s something that could get him fired and me… for me it’s the makings of the kind of personal feelings I shouldn’t be having.
Chapter Three
Ian
Stupid. Fucking stupid. It never should have happened the way it played out. I could feel your eyes burrowing into my skull as you observed my unprofessionalism. The way you fixated on me staring at your breasts that sat perfect and perky in the bra you wore to my office. Was it intentional? Did you mean to wear it? Did it thrill you to know that I liked what I saw? No, like isn’t even apropos to describe how delightful it was to see how the fabric hugged your breasts, giving me a perfect outline of them underneath. The way my cock thickened at the flashes of images that flurried through my mind of you moaning beneath me as I took a delicate nipple into my mouth and sucked and nibbled. How you would grind your pussy against my erection as I teased you with my mouth.
I could feel something in you, and that’s all I needed. A spark that lit the curiosity and arousal. It wasn’t a lot, but it was all the monster needed to smile its menacing smile and come forth from the shadows. I throw my head back onto my office chair, thinking about you. Would it please you to know that I am? Would it please you to know that my dick is achingly hard and the only release I need right now is something only you can give me? If I were to tell you that you make me want to throw away the man I am now and resurrect the man I was before just to have you, would you be flattered, or would you run away? Would you shun me for my actions and thoughts, or would you welcome and embrace them? If I were you, I would do the former. If I were you, I wouldn’t give me an inch. Because we all know what happens with monsters when you allow them to step a foot inside your home.
They’ll ravage everything that exists until there’s nothing left but the dark, bleak emptiness of your soul…
You should be smart about the position you’re in, Viola. You need to squash any little seedling of attraction that you have before the weed comes and ruins it forever. Of course, I don’t want you to. I want you all to myself. I want to be the man you want me to be and the man I know I can fight to be, but never will. Looking into the existence you call your real life through your social media accounts was the worst mistake I could have made. I knew it. He knew it. I didn’t care. This hunger to get to know you grew heavy inside my chest and if I hadn’t had fed Him what it wanted, it would have exploded. I pictured you as I fucked that girl that is similar to you. I’m pretty sure I even screamed out your name, but she didn’t even notice. She was too busy crying out and attempting to embed her nails into my back as I hammered into her like a crazy person. I don’t like that term. Crazy. Crazy is the pathetic man’s attempt at differentiating between who they have categorized as “normal.” The ones that go against the paradigms of socially acceptable behavior. However, for lack of a better word, I’m reduced to using it as a descriptor for myself. I am crazy. Crazy to let my perfect record bleed with the temptation you give me.
I pick up my phone and open the dating app again, typing out a message to the girl I had sex with. Jessica is her name. It’s not as pretty as your name. She doesn’t have my body yearning for her touch that way yours does, but she’ll have to do, because what am I supposed to do when you refuse to leave my head, taunting me? It doesn’t take
