She walks into the lecture hall with that firm, elegant stride - naturally sensual. Her heels echo against the floor, each step carrying a silent promise. Her hair cascades in soft waves over her shoulders, and her delicate yet intoxicating perfume reaches me before I even get a full view of her. The scent, mingling with paper and ink, lingers in my mind long after class is over. I get lost in the way her body moves, unhurried, deliberate. The curves accentuated by the snug fit of her blouse, the gentle rise and fall of her chest with each word she speaks.
Her eyes are deep, intense, and when they lock onto mine, I swear they know the effect they have. But she doesn’t look away. She holds me there, as if silently daring me to do something about it. I should be paying attention to the lecture, but how can I? My gaze follows her every movement. When she leans slightly over the desk to pick up the board eraser, her skirt lifts just enough to reveal a tantalising glimpse of her thigh. Her lips purse ever so slightly as she scribbles something on the board, focused, seemingly oblivious to the storm she stirs within me.
Or perhaps, not so oblivious at all. I test the waters. I let my pen fall as she walks past. She bends to pick it up, and for a brief moment, time slows. My eyes travel the length of her toned legs, the fabric of her skirt stretching just a little more than it should. I swallow hard as she hands me the pen with a knowing, enigmatic smile. Her gaze lingers, appraising. Teasing. I like the way she plays this game. The way she glances over her glasses, the faint arch of her eyebrow when she catches me looking. As if asking how far I’d be willing to go. I should ignore it.
But I don’t want to. Every day, the temptation grows stronger. The desire to test these limits, to find out what happens when that commanding voice turns into a whisper in my ear. When those hands, which so deftly glide across the board, explore my skin in the same way. We’ve made love a thousand times with our eyes. But I am still the last to leave the room when the bell rings, lingering, waiting for a moment more. A chance. A silent invitation. She knows. I know. We are both adults. I am a man.
Drink me in as you sip your tea. I will do as you wish… but only if you ask. But when it all comes to an end, I simply grab my bag, straighten my posture, and pick up a book, holding it strategically in front of me to conceal the unmistakable evidence of my arousal as I walk towards the door.
"Professor, see you tomorrow."
