Forbidden Academia - A Sinful Syllabus

~ ~ Avery ~ ~

His tongue was a hot, slick brand against my clit, and I was already coming apart. My fingers were buried in his dark hair, tugging slightly, a desperate plea for more. Just hours ago, he was a stranger across a crowded bar, his eyes a storm cloud grey that had somehow snagged mine and refused to let go. 

Now? Now his mouth was doing things that made my entire body thrum with a frantic, desperate need.

My panties had been discarded somewhere on his impeccably tidy floor about ten minutes ago, and the way his hand was now cupping my dripping cunt… God, I was going to lose it.

“You taste so good, Avery,” he murmured against my swollen flesh, his breath sending another tremor through me. His hand shifted, his fingers sliding deep inside, and I gasped, my back arching off the plush rug beneath us. Liam had never made me feel like this. Never this raw, this exposed, this utterly consumed.

That pathetic excuse for a boyfriend was a distant, fuzzy memory now, overshadowed by the intense pleasure this man, this beautiful, dominant stranger, was relentlessly inflicting.

He lifted his head, and his face… damn, his face was sculpted perfection. Sharp angles, a strong jawline, and those eyes, those intense, knowing eyes, were fixed on mine, filled with a heat that made my insides melt. A small, almost imperceptible smirk played on his lips, as if he knew exactly the effect he was having on me.

He smelled of expensive cologne and something inherently… male. Woodsy and intoxicating. I caught a glimpse of his hand, the long, elegant fingers that had just been pleasuring me now flexing slightly.

“You like it like that?” he asked, his voice low and husky, a direct contrast to the demanding way his hands were now gripping my hips, lifting me higher as he continued to feast between my legs. He pressed a little harder, his thumb finding that incredibly sensitive spot, and I cried out, a sound that was half pleasure, half pain.

“Fuck, yes,” I choked out, my breath coming in ragged gasps. My own hand reached down, finding the hard ridge beneath his trousers. It was thick. So fucking thick. Just the feel of it pressing against my palm sent another wave of heat crashing through me. I rubbed against him through the fabric, feeling him twitch beneath my touch.

He finally shifted, kneeling between my legs. His eyes locked onto mine, that intense gaze promising things I couldn't even fully comprehend yet. “Open for me, Avery.” It wasn’t a request, it was a command, and my body obeyed instantly, my thighs spreading wider, offering him everything.

His cock was huge. Thick and heavy, the head already glistening with my cum. The color was a rich, dark rose, and the visible veins pulsed beneath his skin. I swallowed hard, my own wetness intensifying just from the sight of it. He didn’t hesitate, sliding in slowly, stretching me in a way that made me whimper. It felt so good, so unbelievably right, filling me completely, a pressure building deep within my core.

“Oh, fuck,” I moaned, my hands gripping his shoulders, my nails digging in. He felt incredible inside me, solid and powerful. He started to move, slow and deep at first, letting me adjust to his impressive size, and then the pace quickened, his thrusts becoming more insistent, more demanding. He pulled almost all the way out and then slammed back in, hitting that spot that made my vision blur.

“Tell me what you want,” he’d commanded earlier at the bar, his hand a possessive weight on the small of my back as we’d leaned in close, the music thumping around us. I hadn’t known then. But now? Now I knew exactly the kind of control he offered, the kind of surrender I craved.

“Harder,” I gasped, my hips bucking against his. “Please, fuck me harder.” My cunt was so wet, I could feel him sliding effortlessly in and out, but I wanted more friction, more intensity.

He obliged, his powerful body rocking against mine, sweat beading on his forehead. The sounds of our bodies colliding – the wet smack of skin on skin, my ragged moans, his guttural grunts – filled the air. He plunged deeper, hitting that sweet spot that sent a fresh wave of pleasure washing over me. My cunt was slick and hot, clenching around him with every thrust, a tight, insistent grip.

He flipped us over with surprising ease, pinning my arms above my head with one hand. His eyes were dark, almost predatory, a dangerous glint in their depths. “You’re mine tonight, remember?”

“Y-yes,” I choked out, the thrill of his dominance coursing through me, even as a tiny seed of something else, something akin to fear mixed with excitement, bloomed in my chest. “Yours.” My voice was a shaky whisper.

He continued to pound into me, his rhythm relentless. I could feel his cock swelling even further inside me, stretching me to my limit, but it was a delicious kind of discomfort. My orgasm built slowly, a tightening coil of pleasure in my core, each thrust bringing me closer to the edge.

Just as I thought I couldn’t take anymore, he leaned down, his teeth gently nipping at my neck, then lower, sucking hard on my nipple through the thin fabric of my discarded shirt. The sharp tug sent a searing sensation straight to my core, pushing me over the edge. My body convulsed around him, my scream echoing in the dimly lit room.

He kept fucking me even as I came, his own release following quickly after, a shuddering climax that rocked us both. He groaned my name, his body going rigid as he emptied himself inside me, the feeling of his hot seed a potent reminder of the night’s transgression. We collapsed against each other, breathless and slick, the remnants of our passionate encounter clinging to our skin like a second layer.

^^ ^^ ^^ ^^

The next morning, sunlight, sharp and unwelcome, sliced through the gap in the curtains, dragging me back to reality. The man beside me, his dark hair a tangled mess on the white pillowcase, still slept soundly. I slipped out of bed, needing the oblivion of caffeine and a moment to piece together the incredibly reckless, unbelievably satisfying night I’d just had with a complete stranger I’d met at O’Malley’s after far too many vodka sodas following my disastrous breakup.

Padding into his minimalist living room, my eyes landed on a framed photo on the sleek, dark bookshelf. Him. Looking impossibly distinguished in some kind of formal academic robe, his hand clasped with the university president. Below it, a small, silver plaque read: “Draco Thorne, Head of Literature Department.”

My hand, reaching for a delicate-looking mug, froze mid-air. Head of… Literature? Oh, for the love of… That meant… that meant the man whose thick, heavy cock had been buried deep inside my wet cunt just hours ago, the man who’d called me his “little whore” as he’d sucked on my nipples, the man whose scent still clung to my skin like a forbidden secret…

Was my new professor.

Fuck.