Masuk
I was lost in him again, In my head, Professor Damien Vale had me pinned against the wall of his office, his mouth claiming mine in a hungry, possessive kiss that stole every breath from my lungs. His large hand gripped my waist, pulling me flush against his hard body as his other hand moved slowly down the front of his shirt, unbuttoning it one by one. I could almost feel the heat of his skin, trace the muscle and the faint scars I’d only imagined existed beneath those perfectly tailored suits. His dark eyes burned into mine with raw need, like I was the only thing in his world that mattered.
“Ava…” he growled against my lips, voice low and dangerous. A sharp sting hit the back of my head. I jolted upright in my seat, heart slamming against my ribs, a crumpled paper ball bounced onto my desk. The entire lecture hall was staring at me. Heat flooded my face as reality crashed back in. Sophia Kensington and her puppet Lila Monroe were laughing loudly from the front row, their voices abrupting through the silence so loudly. “Oh my God, look at her,” Sophia cackled, flipping her long blonde hair. “Drooling again like a pathetic little puppy. Were you having a wet dream in class, Blake? So embarrassing.” Lila leaned against Sophia’s shoulder, giggling obnoxiously. “She probably creamed her cheap panties just sitting there spacing out, what a loser.” Snickers rippled across the room. I bit the inside of my cheek hard, forcing my expression to stay normal even as humiliation burned through me, Ava don’t react. Don’t give them the satisfaction. I’d learned that lesson the hard way since sophomore year. Sophia had decided I was her favorite target the moment I beat her GPA ranking, and Lila followed like the loyal little snake she was or should I say a puppet. I slowly picked up the paper ball and smoothed it out on my desk, pretending their words didn’t sting. Inside was written in big pink letters: “Earth to Scholarship Slut.” Class continued, but I couldn’t focus. My eyes kept drifting to the front of the room where he stood. Professor Damien Vale, He had joined the faculty at the beginning of senior year, and from the first moment I saw him, I was ruined and obsessed. Tall, broad-shouldered, with sharp cheekbones and dark, intense eyes that made my stomach do a back flip every single time. He was unfairly gorgeous, the kind of man who looked like he belonged on magazine covers, not behind a lecture table. His voice was deep and commanding, even when he spoke in that cold, professional tone he used with everyone. He never smiled and never showed favoritism. He acted like none of us existed beyond the grades he assigned. And somehow, that made my stupid crush even worse. Sophia raised her hand, leaning forward so her cleavage spilled out of her expensive top. “Professor, can you explain that part again? I’m a little… distracted.” Damien barely glanced at her. “Pay attention, Miss Kensington. The material is on the slides.” His voice had no warmth and no reaction to her obvious flirting. Just a flat response. I secretly loved that about him. The rest of the class dragged on. When it finally ended, I packed my bag quickly, hoping to slip out unnoticed but no such luck. Sophia and Lila blocked my path at the end of the row, arms crossed, same matching smirks on their faces. “Seriously, Ava,” Sophia said sweetly, loud enough for nearby students to hear. “If you’re going to fantasize in public, at least close your mouth, you literally looked brain dead and to be be fair it’s pathetic.” Lila snorted. “Maybe she was thinking about Julian again. Or maybe she’s finally realizing she’ll never be on our level. Keep dreaming, charity case.” I straightened my shoulders, refusing to shrink. “Are you done?” Sophia stepped closer, her perfume suffocating. “Not even close. Watch your back this semester, I heard Julian’s getting impatient. He wants you crawling on your knees soon. You might as well start practicing.” My stomach turned, julian Hale had been tormenting me for months the rich, entitled asshole who had decided he wanted to “own” me. He made my life hell whenever I rejected him, he began spreading rumors, messing with my group projects, and threatening my part time job, sophia loved helping him in doing that. Before I could respond, a calm voice cut through the tension. “Move.” Zara Knox, my sharp tongued friend, appeared beside me like a storm. She glared at Sophia and Lila with zero fear. “Unless you want me to accidentally spill my coffee on those overpriced extensions, get the fuck out of the way.” Mia Chen, my sweet and gentle friend, stood right behind her, giving me a supportive smile even though she looked nervous. Sophia laughed coldly. “Cute, The scholarship rejects, has a cute little bulldog.” She flicked her hair and walked off with Lila trailing behind, but not before whispering loud enough for me to hear, “Enjoy your sad little life, Blake.” Zara rolled her eyes. “Bitches. You okay?” I nodded, forcing a small smile even though my cheeks still burned. “I’m fine, it’s the same shit, different day.” Mia linked her arm with mine as we walked out of the hall. “They’re just jealous because you’re smarter than both of them combined, they're just bunchs of overpriced dumb brains, ignore them.” But it was getting harder to ignore. The bullying had worsened this semester, the pranks, rumors, public humiliation. We’d reported them multiple times, but the school authorities always dismissed it. Sophia’s father donated too much money and Julian’s family was even more powerful. We were just scholarship students making noise. As we stepped into the crowded hallway, I caught a glimpse of Professor Damien Vale walking ahead of us. His broad back was straight, steps confident and unhurried. He didn’t look at anyone, not even once. Yet my stupid heart still raced. I wondered what it would feel like if he actually noticed me. If those strong hands touched me the way they did in my daydreams. If he unbuttoned that shirt for real and looked at me like I was his. A dangerous, addictive thought. And If he could actually stare at me and notice me like he has never done before, just to me…The pressure had been building for days, each evening session tighter than the last, each deliberate touch under the desk leaving me more frayed and desperate. By the time I walked into his office that night, wearing the short black skirt and low-cut top he had required, I was already on edge. My body felt too hot, too aware. Every shift of fabric against my skin reminded me of his hands. Damien was seated behind the desk as usual, calm, controlled, watching me with those dark, unreadable eyes. He didn’t speak at first. He simply pointed to the chair.I sat and opened the folder, I tried to work.His hand found my thigh within minutes, fingers gripping hard enough to bruise, then dragging slowly upward until they brushed the damp edge of my underwear. He stopped there, as always, and left me aching. “Still so responsive,” he murmured. “ What does that say about you, Ava?”Something inside me finally snapped.I shoved the chair back so hard it scraped loudly against the floor. Paper
The email arrived at 6:12 a.m. the next morning.Subject: Research Attire RequirementsMiss Blake,For the remaining duration of the independent project, you will adhere to the following dress code during evening sessions:- Skirts no longer than mid-thigh- Tops with a neckline no higher than two inches below the collarboneThis is non-negotiable. Failure to comply will result in an automatic reduction of the project grade.Professor D. ValeI stared at the screen until the words blurred. He was doing this on purpose. He was forcing me to dress exactly the way he had accused me of dressing before, and then he would punish me for it. I showed up that evening in the shortest black skirt I owned and a soft grey top that dipped just low enough to show the beginning of my cleavage. My hands were shaking when I knocked. He was standing by the window when I entered. He turned slowly, eyes dragging over me from the hem of the skirt up to the neckline of the top. Something dark and satisfied
The evenings had started blending into one long, aching stretch of tension. By the fourth night I walked into Damien’s office with my heart already racing, my body already half-aware of what was coming. I had stopped wearing anything remotely revealing. Tonight it was a simple white blouse buttoned all the way up and dark jeans, armor. It didn’t help. He was already seated when I entered, sleeves rolled, expression unreadable. He didn’t look up from the papers in front of him. “Sit. Same as always.”I sat. Opened my folder, tried to work.For the first forty minutes he barely spoke. He only watched. Every time I shifted, every time I crossed my legs or adjusted my posture, I felt his attention sharpen like a blade. The silence was worse than the accusations. It left too much room for the memory of his voice forcing confessions out of me, for the way my body had reacted to every cruel, precise reminder of what I had done. I was mid-sentence on a market analysis when I heard the soft
The silence in the office had become unbearable. I kept my eyes fixed on the research papers in front of me, but the words had long since stopped making sense. Every time I shifted even slightly in the chair, I felt Damien’s gaze sharpen. He hadn’t looked away once since I sat down. The weight of it was starting to feel like hands on my skin. He spoke without warning, voice low and deliberate. “You wore that skirt the day you carried my books.”My head snapped up. Heat flooded my face so fast it made me dizzy. Damien’s expression was cold, almost clinical, but his eyes were dark. “The really short one. The one that barely covered the tops of your thighs when you bent down to pick up the papers that fell. You knew exactly how short it was. You wanted me to look.” “I didn’t…..” “Say it.”The command was quiet, but it landed like a whip. I swallowed hard, fingers tightening around the pen until my knuckles ached. “I… I wore a short skirt that day,” I whispered. “And you
I stood outside Professor Damien Vale’s office at exactly 6:58 p.m., heart slamming so hard against my ribs I was sure the entire faculty building could hear it. My palms were damp. I had changed three times before leaving the dorm, finally settling on jeans and a plain black long-sleeve top that covered everything. There was no short skirts or deep necklines. Nothing he could accuse me of. I knocked once. “Come in.” His voice was colder than I had ever heard it. I stepped inside and closed the door behind me. The office felt smaller than usual. The blinds were half-drawn, the desk lamp casting a pool of warm light that somehow made the shadows around us darker. Damien sat behind his desk in a black button-down with the sleeves rolled to his elbows, watching me like a predator that had finally trapped something it had been hunting for weeks. He didn’t invite me to sit. He just stared. I cleared my throat. “Professor, about the email…” “Sit.” The single word was sharp enough t
I woke up to the kind of headache that felt like someone had taken a hammer to the inside of my skull. Sunlight stabbed through the thin dorm curtains, and for a second I didn’t remember why everything hurt. Then I licked my lips and tasted the faint, lingering ghost of him.My fingers flew to my mouth. Swollen. Sensitive. Still slightly bruised from the force of that kiss. The memory slammed into me so hard I rolled onto my side and pressed my face into the pillow, a low, mortified sound escaping my throat. I had kissed Professor Damien Vale.I had kissed him while drunk, in a plunging emerald gown, on the terrace of the Founder’s Week masquerade. And for three perfect, terrifying seconds he had kissed me back hard, hungry, like he’d been starving for it before he shoved me away and told me never to do it again. Shame and longing twisted together until my stomach turned. I sat up too fast, the room spinning, and pressed both hands over my face. “Stupid,” I whispered into my palms.







