~001

ZIRA POV

I hated how much I looked forward to Thursday nights.

The moment my last meeting ended, I locked my office door, dimmed the lights, and opened my laptop. My heart was already beating faster than it should for a twenty-nine-year-old Literature professor.

Shadowed Knight was live.

He sat on the edge of his bed, wearing only black boxer briefs that did nothing to hide the impressive bulge beneath. Lean, toned muscles shifted under his skin as he leaned forward, dark hair falling messily over his forehead. Those sharp dark eyes stared into the camera with that signature cocky half-smirk that always made my thighs press together.

“Looks like we have a full house tonight,” he said, voice low and rough. “You all waiting for me to take these off?”

I sat back in my chair, my curvy body sinking into the leather. My fitted blouse stretched across my full breasts as I crossed my legs, the pencil skirt riding up my thick thighs. My green eyes were glued to the screen.

As Obsidian Queen, I had become his most generous patron. I tipped more than anyone else, sometimes thousands in one night. I told myself it was just stress relief. A secret indulgence after dealing with lazy, entitled students all day. But the truth was simpler and more dangerous — I was obsessed.

I typed into the chat, my fingers steady despite the growing heat between my legs.

**Obsidian Queen:** Take them off. Slowly. And don’t rush tonight. I want to enjoy every second.

Tristan’s smirk deepened the second my message appeared. He knew my username well by now. I was the one who always demanded more, always pushed him to perform better.

“Bossy tonight, Obsidian Queen?” he murmured, hooking his thumbs into the waistband. “You never get tired of telling me what to do, do you?”

He pushed the boxer briefs down inch by inch, revealing the thick, heavy length of his cock. It was already hardening under the attention. My breath caught. He wrapped a hand around himself and gave one slow stroke, eyes half-lidded.

I sent a massive tip.

**Obsidian Queen:** Good boy. Now tell me how hard you are for me.

Tristan let out a low chuckle that sent shivers down my spine. “Getting there. Thinking about how you’d sound if you were here watching me in person instead of hiding behind a screen.”

I bit my lip, annoyed at how easily his words affected me. I was supposed to be the one in control. The strict, sarcastic professor who made students squirm with a single raised eyebrow. Yet every Thursday I found myself wet and aching for a twenty-two-year-old cam boy I had never even met.

The stream continued for another forty minutes. By the time he finally came — thick ropes spilling over his abs while he groaned — I was breathing hard, my green eyes dark with lust and frustration.

I closed the laptop and leaned back, running a hand over my face.

“This is getting ridiculous, Zira,” I muttered to myself.

---

The next morning, I walked into my Advanced Literature lecture hall with my usual sharp energy. My long wavy black hair was pinned up in a loose bun, a few rebellious strands framing my face. The emerald green blouse I wore hugged my generous curves, and the black pencil skirt accentuated my wide hips and thick thighs. I knew I looked good. I also knew some students whispered about it behind my back.

I set my bag down and scanned the room, my gleaming green eyes sharp.

“Since some of you clearly forgot what critical thinking is over the weekend,” I began, voice laced with sarcasm, “we’ll start with a discussion on repressed desire in Victorian literature. And please, spare me the shallow interpretations. I’ve heard them all before.”

A few students shifted uncomfortably. Good. I liked keeping them alert.

Halfway through the lecture, the door opened quietly. A tall young man slipped in and took an empty seat near the middle row. Dark tousled hair, sharp jawline, intense dark eyes. He moved with quiet confidence that immediately annoyed me. Late on his first day in my class? Typical.

I continued teaching, but something about him kept pulling my attention. He listened carefully, occasionally jotting notes, but there was a quiet defiance in his posture that irritated me.

When the lecture ended, students began filing out. I was packing my things when I noticed the new student had left his notebook behind on the desk. Black cover, slightly worn.

I picked it up, intending to drop it at the lost and found. As I flipped it open to check for a name, a small rectangular card slipped out and fell to the floor.

I bent down to pick it up.

It was a sleek black business card with silver text.

**Shadowed Knight**

Private Sessions • Exclusive Content

Username: shadowed_knight

A QR code sat at the bottom.

My green eyes widened. My fingers tightened around the card so hard the edges bit into my skin.

No. It couldn’t be.

But the username was unmistakable. The same username I had been tipping thousands to for months. The same cam boy whose body and voice I had been fantasizing about in the dark.

I looked up sharply, searching the emptying hallway.

There he was — walking away with his backpack slung over one shoulder.

Tristan Vale.

The new transfer student in my Literature class.

The same twenty-two-year-old who had stroked himself and come for me on camera just last night.

My stomach dropped. Heat flooded my face, followed immediately by cold dread.

He didn’t know yet. He hadn’t seen me pick up the card. But I knew.

I knew exactly who he was.

And worse — he was now my student.

I slipped the card into my pocket, heart hammering against my ribs. My curvy chest rose and fell rapidly as I tried to steady my breathing.

This was bad.

This was very, very bad.

Because the strict, sarcastic Professor Zira Voss had been secretly obsessed with one of her own students for months — and now he was sitting in her classroom three times a week.

I pressed my lips together, green eyes narrowing with a mix of shock, irritation, and something far more dangerous.

I needed to stay away from Tristan Vale.

But something told me he wasn’t going to make that easy.