Countdown to Eight

Latest chapter

• In My Professor's Arms    His Dick Was Still in My Head, Why This?

  I walked fast into the humanities building. The morning was cool and calm, with crisp hair that makes it looks like going to rain heavily.I slowed my pace when I got in, my denim jacket loosely over a black with tight jeans, and backpack straps digging into shoulders.My heart beat was steady, each beat reminding me of last night's sleepless spiral. My parents' split, Mom's tears, Dad's reaction, everything had haunted down.I pushed through the doors, as I head for Victor’s office. The corridor was quiet. Doors closed. A janitor's mop splashing. My jeans rubbing, clinging to my legs, and I felt like I was sweating heavily even though I was not. My backpack feeling heavy, my mind running all around. The picture, him, the boys. I was destroying a home, like ours was.My heart was shattered.I got to the front of his door, Dr. Victor Graham, my heart seized, my breath trapped, my hand frozen, my rap sharp, and my knuckles trembling as I gave three soft knocks."Come in," he said, from

• In My Professor's Arms    The Night F**ked Me Harder Than He Ever

  My bedroom was a silent cavern. The room was darkness , and the only visible light was the glow of a streetlight seeping through the blinds, creating slanted shadows on the walls. I was lying on my bed. The sheets were wrinkled, my askew tank top, tight leggings, my sticky skin from the day's heat, my hair down, draped on the pillow, grazing my neck, unnoticed.The air was still and heavy. My heart was pounding, and my breath uneven. The envelope, the picture—him, a woman, two boys, all smiling.My parents' divorce, ten years younger, Mom's tears, Dad's slammed doors, my headphones, my hiding, washed over me, wave upon wave, my chest constricted, my eyes stinging, my fear palpable, my reality clearer: I was going to be her, the other woman, wrecking a home, like Dad wrecked ours, like Mom wrecked herself, my world unstable, alive.I shifted, the bed creaking, my tank top sticking, my legs stirring, my hands wringing the sheet, its cotton rough, my heart racing, the photo's picture vi

• In My Professor's Arms    We Fucked Before, But I Didn’t Know..

  (Lily's POV)The quad was a gray and green blur, today, the air heavy with spring heat, adhering to my skin like a second layer. I walked across the quad, my sneakers screeching on the ground, my backpack thudding, its straps digging into my shoulders, my denim skirt shifting, my white shirt sticking, damp at the base of my spine. The sun was hot, reflecting off bike racks, pounding against the sweat on my neck, my hair loose, strands adhering to my cheek, itching, unattended.My heart pounded, continually with every single step I took, going to Victor's office. My head was screaming at me to head back, my need for "Beyond Good and Evil by Friedrich Nietzsche" is what's pulling me forward.I really need this textbook today, and I he's the only person I can remember having, but I've not seen or spoken with him since the last text.My phone was silent in my pocket, no texts, no calls. José’s word always in my mind, “Whenever you’re ready,” burning brighter, my heart torn, my world unst

• In My Professor's Arms    He Didn’t Kiss Me… But I Felt It

  The city was blurry, and streetlights passed by, José's sedan vibrating under us, the engine a low rumble through the quiet.I sat in the front seat beside him, my tank top loose, leggings soft, my skin still warm from his apartment, the memory of his hand brushing mine, his voice saying, “I’m here, whenever you’re ready.”My bag slumped at my feet, my phone heavy in my lap, the glow of his dashboard casting shadows on my thighs. The air was perfumed with leather, his cologne, and the sweet bite of mango from the snacks we'd shared, my lips still tingling from the taste.My heart was heavy, weighed down, José's warmth a light I couldn't shake, Victor's cold text from last night a bruise that was already healing.José's hands were steady on the wheel, his black t-shirt clinging, his profile cut sharp in the streetlights, his smile gentle, as though he had some secret I didn't."You're quiet," he said, his voice low and teasing, his eyes flicking to me, then back to the road. "Still thi

• In My Professor's Arms    Alone in His Apartment, I Couldn’t Stop Shaking

  José's apartment was a warm glow, the kind of warm that enveloped you like a blanket.I fell into his couch, the cushions was soft, worn, the scented faintly of leather and his cologne, clean and spicy.The coffee table was a neat, on it were some chips, salsa, a bowl of sliced mango, and two iced teas sweating in the heat.My tank top clung to my back,my leggings snug, my sneakers kicked off by the door next to my bag, which I’d tossed without thinking.The drive from my home had been quick, José's sedan humming, his laughter ringing out in the car, my heart still racing from that morning's invitation, his voice teasing, "Just us." And now here we were, the air thick with something unspoken, my body vibrating, Victor's cold text from the previous night a distant ache.José was leaning against the counter, his blue hoodie traded for a black t-shirt, jeans slung low, his smile easy as he fooled with a speaker.He started playing music, a low indie song, guitars strumming, the kind that

• In My Professor's Arms    Ghosted and Tempted

  The apartment was too quiet, the kind of quiet that felt heavy. I reclined on my couch, still dressed in last night's black skirt and cream-colored top from movie night.My sneakers sat by the door, laces tied, and my bag leaned against them, spilling a water bottle. My body quivered, uncomfortable, the memory of José's arm touching mine on the quad springing up in me.His voice, low and smooth, saying, "Stay close, Lily," when that creep in the black coat snarled from the woods. My heart had spiked then, and it was spiking now, but only half due to fear. José's smile, his warmth, the way he'd stood between me and that darkness it stirred something I wasn't ready to name.I shifted, the couch creaking, my skirt around my thighs, the fabric silky but too tight, as if it were holding me together.Victor's face followed, his cold eyes, the way he'd pinned me to his desk that Friday, his lips burning. But he hadn't texted since, not a word, and the silence was a duty I couldn't escape.My