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Dr. Lena
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2025-11-27 08:39:04The hospital room feels too bright under the fluorescent lights. They buzz faintly overhead and throw a cold, clinical glow across the crisp white sheets. My thin gown scratches against my skin every time I move. The air smells sharp with antiseptic and a faint metallic bite from all the machines. I shift in the bed, still weak from yesterday’s collapse.
The memory of hitting the office floor flashes behind my eyes. It is late afternoon now. The sun dips low outside and sends golden slivers through the half-closed blinds. I glance at the clock on the wall. It reads 4:37 PM, Tuesday, November 11, 2025. Lily left after her morning visit. That brief moment of comfort already feels too far away. I toy with the IV line taped to my hand. The plastic feels cool and foreign under my fingertips. I wait for her to come back.The door creaks open. Dr. Lena steps inside. Her white coat swishes softly around her knees. She has pulled her dark hair into a neat ponytail. A clipb
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In My Professor's Arms Dr. Lena
The hospital room feels too bright under the fluorescent lights. They buzz faintly overhead and throw a cold, clinical glow across the crisp white sheets. My thin gown scratches against my skin every time I move. The air smells sharp with antiseptic and a faint metallic bite from all the machines. I shift in the bed, still weak from yesterday’s collapse. The memory of hitting the office floor flashes behind my eyes. It is late afternoon now. The sun dips low outside and sends golden slivers through the half-closed blinds. I glance at the clock on the wall. It reads 4:37 PM, Tuesday, November 11, 2025. Lily left after her morning visit. That brief moment of comfort already feels too far away. I toy with the IV line taped to my hand. The plastic feels cool and foreign under my fingertips. I wait for her to come back.The door creaks open. Dr. Lena steps inside. Her white coat swishes softly around her knees. She has pulled her dark hair into a neat ponytail. A clipb
In My Professor's Arms High Tension
Sunlight pours through the wide windows of my new apartment. It paints golden streaks across the half-unpacked boxes and the laptop I abandoned last night. The screen stays dark, a silent witness to the tense video call with Victor. The air hangs heavy. A faint vanilla scent lingers from the candle that burned itself out on the coffee table. It mixes with the sharp, clean smell of early rain tapping against the glass panes.I wake up on the couch. My body feels like lead. Victor’s shirt twists around my torso. The fabric clings to my skin, soft yet damp from the sweat of restless dreams. Those dreams keep replaying that anonymous post. The one that turned everything upside down. My phone buzzes on the coffee table. The screen lights up with a string of missed calls from Victor. My heart drops into my stomach. I snatch the phone. A voicemail waits, timestamped an hour ago. I press play. His voice comes through shaky and strained. “Lily, I’m at the hospital. Call me.”
In My Professor's Arms Groomed?
Morning sun slips through the wide windows of my new apartment. Golden light spills over the scattered moving boxes. It lands on the laptop that sits closed on the desk. That machine has been my lifeline for months. I shut it down last night in a haze of tension. The air feels thick. It carries the faint spice from yesterday’s tacos. There’s also the damp scent of rain that still lingers outside. The smell is a quiet reminder of the storm that brews inside me.I wake up on the couch. My body is stiff from the awkward position. Victor’s shirt clings to my skin. The fabric is soft, but it is damp with sweat from restless dreams. My phone buzzes on the coffee table. The screen lights up with a flood of notifications. I grab it quickly. My stomach twists as I glance at the blog stats. “Whispers in the Dark” has hit forty thousand views. That should feel like a victory. A new alert stops me cold.I sit up straight. The leather couch creaks under my weight. I open the ap
In My Professor's Arms Watch My Back?
Morning sun slips through the wide windows of my new apartment. It paints soft golden streaks across the scattered moving boxes. The light also dances over my laptop, which sits open on the coffee table like a loyal soldier. I crashed on the couch last night after hours of rivalry-fueled typing. The air still carries a faint whiff of yesterday’s pizza grease. It mixes with the crisp scent of dawn that filters in from outside. I wake up slowly. My neck feels stiff from the awkward angle. Victor’s shirt twists around my body. The fabric stays warm and soft against my skin. I stretch my arms high above my head. My joints pop in protest. I reach for my phone on the floor. The screen lights up with a flood of notifications.Thirty thousand views on “Whispers in the Dark.” My heart races with excitement. The competition feels like a live wire buzzing under my skin. Ivy’s “Velvet Secrets” sits right behind me, nipping at my heels. I shuffle to the kitchen. The tiles feel cold unde
In My Professor's Arms Twenty-Eight Thousand Views
Morning sun spills through the wide windows of my new apartment. It paints golden streaks across half-unpacked boxes and the laptop still glowing on my desk. The screen shows the tail end of last night’s writing marathon. The air smells like leftover curry from yesterday. It mixes with the clean bite of rain drumming against the glass. The soft patter tugs me fully awake.I stretch hard. My joints pop in protest. Victor’s white shirt slides off one shoulder. The cotton is worn soft from a hundred washes. It carries his woody cologne and something warmer, something that settles low in my belly. My phone vibrates on the nightstand. The screen lights up with notifications. My pulse jumps. The blog stats stare back at me. “Whispers in the Dark” just hit twenty thousand views. Ivy’s latest piece, “Velvet Secrets,” is climbing faster. Her numbers tick upward like a taunt.I swing my legs over the edge of the bed. The hardwood floor is cool against my bare feet. I shuffle
In My Professor's Arms Competition Thrill
Morning sunlight pours through the wide windows of my new apartment. It splashes golden light across the scattered moving boxes and the glowing laptop on my desk. The air carries a faint buzz from the city waking up below. I catch a whiff of fresh bread drifting up from the bakery downstairs. My stomach growls in response. I sit curled up in Victor’s oversized shirt. The fabric feels soft and warm against my skin. His woody scent clings to every thread. It pulls me straight back to our wild night at Aurora Press. I sip my coffee. The bitter heat slides down my throat. I hit refresh on my blog, “Whispers in the Dark.” The numbers explode before my eyes. Five thousand views. Then ten thousand. Likes and comments flood in like a tidal wave. They all spark from the steamy post I dropped about Victor last night. My heart pounds so hard I feel it in my fingertips. I lean back against the couch. It creaks under my weight. I scroll through the feedback. One comment reads, “S
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