~005

ZIRA POV

My hands were still shaking when I locked the office door behind Tristan’s retreating back. The ache between my thighs was unbearable — a deep, throbbing emptiness that made my knees weak. I leaned against the desk, breath coming in short, humiliated gasps.

Two of his fingers had been inside me only moments ago, curling perfectly against that spot that made stars burst behind my eyelids. I had been right there, teetering on the edge of a shattering orgasm, and he had simply… stopped.

Pulled away. Licked me off his fingers like I was nothing more than a snack. Then walked out with those deadly parting words.

Three to five working days.

I pressed my thighs together, trying to ease the frustration, but it only made it worse. My soaked lace panties clung uncomfortably.

The strict, untouchable Professor Zira Voss had been reduced to a trembling, dripping mess by her own twenty-two-year-old student. And worse,I had let and wanted him.

No. I had needed him.

I squeezed my eyes shut, forcing myself to breathe through the lingering heat. This couldn’t continue. The probation was already with the board. Even if I tried to retract it now, the process had started

Questions would be asked. Why the sudden reversal? Why had I targeted him so viciously from day one?

My reputation……everything I had built, was balancing on a knife’s edge because I couldn’t control my obsession with Shadowed Knight.

I straightened my pencil skirt with trembling fingers, smoothed my emerald blouse over my full breasts, and tried to pull myself together.

Class was in twenty minutes. I had to face him again. Face the entire room while knowing exactly how his fingers felt buried inside me.

The walk to the lecture hall felt like marching to my own execution. Students were already filing in. I kept my chin high, green eyes sharp and cold, the mask of the ruthless professor firmly back in place.

Tristan was already there, seated near the front again. Our eyes met the moment I stepped onto the small stage. His dark gaze was unreadable, but the corner of his mouth twitched — that same cocky half-smirk he wore on camera. He knew exactly what state he had left me in.

I began the lecture on Victorian repression and forbidden desires with mechanical precision, but my voice lacked its usual cutting edge. Every time I glanced at him, memories flooded back: his thick cock in his hand, his low groans when I commanded him, the way his fingers had stretched me.

Halfway through, my phone vibrated silently in my pocket. Once. Twice. I ignored it.

Then it vibrated again — insistent.

I waited until a student was speaking before slipping it out under the desk to glance at the screen.

Unknown number. Three messages.

**Unknown:** Professor Voss, this is Dean Hargrove’s office. Urgent matter regarding a student complaint. Please come to the administration building immediately after your lecture.

**Unknown:** It concerns Tristan Vale and allegations of inappropriate conduct.

**Unknown:** There is also a video file attached that has been forwarded to the board.

My blood turned to ice.

A video.

My stomach dropped so violently I nearly swayed on my feet. The room seemed to tilt. Students’ voices blurred into background noise. I forced myself to finish the lecture, dismissing class ten minutes early with a clipped “Read chapters seven through nine for tomorrow.”

The moment the last student left, I grabbed my bag and practically ran toward the administration building, heart hammering against my ribs. My mind raced through nightmare scenarios. Had someone seen us in my office? Had Tristan recorded our encounter? No — he had walked out too quickly. But the timing… right after he left my office?

Dean Hargrove’s secretary waved me straight in. The dean, a stern woman in her fifties, sat behind her desk with two other board members. Their faces were grave.

“Professor Voss. Sit down.”

I sat, spine rigid, green eyes locked on the dean. “What’s this about?”

Dean Hargrove slid a tablet across the desk. “We received an anonymous complaint this morning about Mr. Vale. But what’s more concerning is this.”

She tapped play.

The video started. It was grainy but clear enough. A cam site interface. Shadowed Knight’s private session. My voice — unmistakable even through the slight distortion — filled the speakers.

“Take your pants off. Slowly.”

“Faster.”

The camera showed Tristan’s lower body, his hand stroking his thick cock exactly as I had commanded. But then the video cut to a split screen. On the right, a still image of me from faculty orientation last year. On the left, zoomed-in screenshots of chat messages from Obsidian Queen.

My messages. My tips. My commands.

My voice ordering him to come for me.

The room spun. I felt like I was going to be sick.

“Where did you get this?” I whispered, voice hoarse.

“Anonymous email to the entire ethics board and the dean’s office,” one of the board members said. “Sent less than an hour ago. The complaint alleges that you have been engaged in an inappropriate relationship with a student, using your position to coerce or manipulate him through this… platform.”

“I didn’t coerce anyone,” I snapped, but my voice cracked. The humiliation burned hotter than any lust Tristan had ignited earlier. “This is private. This has nothing to do with my teaching.”

Dean Hargrove leaned forward. “Be that as it may, Professor, the optics are catastrophic. A respected literature professor secretly paying a student thousands of dollars to perform sexual acts on camera? And then placing that same student on academic probation when he enrolls in your class? It looks like retaliation. Or grooming. Or both.”

My green eyes widened in horror. “That’s not — I didn’t know he was my student when—”

“You admit it’s you?” the other board member cut in.

I froze. Denying it now would be pointless. The voice was clearly mine. The username linked back through payment records if they dug deep enough.

Before I could respond, the door burst open.

Tristan stormed in, breathing hard, dark hair messy like he had run across campus. His sharp eyes took in the scene — the tablet, the grim faces, my pale expression — and something dark flashed across his face.

“What the hell is going on?” he demanded.

“Mr. Vale, this meeting doesn’t concern—” Dean Hargrove began.

“It damn well does,” Tristan growled, stepping beside my chair. “I’m the student in question, aren’t I?”

He looked down at me. For a split second, I saw raw conflict in his dark eyes — anger, lust, and something almost protective. Then it hardened.

“I received the same video,” he said flatly. “Along with a message saying if I didn’t drop out quietly, it would be leaked to every student and every news outlet covering campus scandals.”

Chaos erupted.

The board members started speaking over each other. Questions flew. Demands for explanations. Tristan stood tall, refusing to sit, his presence filling the room like a storm. I could feel the heat of his body next to mine, the same body I had commanded so many nights.

My mind reeled. Who had sent it? Who hated one or both of us enough to destroy us publicly?

Then my phone rang. I glanced down — it was the hospital.

With trembling fingers, I answered.

“Professor Voss? It’s Dr. Patel again. Your father… he’s taken a turn for the worse. Another episode. We’re rushing him into surgery. You need to come now.”

The phone slipped from my hand and clattered onto the floor.

Everything turned upside down in that single moment.

My career — hanging by a thread because of a leaked sex video involving my student.

My father — possibly dying while I sat here defending my obsession.

And Tristan — the boy I had tried to ruin, the boy who had just edged me to the brink of madness in my office — standing beside me as the board demanded answers.

I looked up at him, green eyes wide with panic and something far more complicated. Guilt. Fear. And a desperate, unwanted need.

Tristan’s jaw clenched. He reached down and picked up my phone, then surprised everyone by addressing the dean directly.

“This video was sent to destroy both of us. I won’t be answering any questions until Professor Voss deals with her family emergency. And if anyone leaks this further before we get to the bottom of who sent it…” His voice dropped to a dangerous low. “I’ll make sure the real story comes out. All of it.”

He turned to me, dark eyes burning with intensity.

“Go. I’ll handle this for now.”

As I stood on unsteady legs, my curvy body feeling suddenly fragile, one terrifying truth crystallized:

Someone knew everything.

And they had just declared war on both of us.

The probation, the scholarship, my father’s health, our twisted secret — everything was spiraling into chaos. And the worst part?

Deep down, a sick, obsessive part of me wondered if Tristan had sent it himself… or if he was about to become the only person I could trust in the coming storm.

I rushed out of the office, heart pounding, thighs still faintly aching from his touch, tears burning in my green eyes.

Nothing would ever be the same again.