Chapter 1

My name is Naomi Spencer, a freshman at an art college.

Ever since I started dating my boyfriend, I'd go to bars every weekend. Each time the alcohol hit, my desires surged, and gradually, I became addicted to that atmosphere.

That night was another weekend. My boyfriend, a few classmates, and I went to a bar near campus. The place was full of attractive men and women.

To make my boyfriend look good, I deliberately wore a deep V-neck blouse that accentuated my full, rounded curves, revealing a deep cleavage.

Everyone in the bar was letting loose, and the intense atmosphere made something inside me itch with restlessness.

The men at the table kept sneaking glances at my chest.

Their heated gazes stirred something within me.

After a few drinks, everyone's behavior grew more unrestrained.

One of the men, I heard, was a lecturer from a nearby university. His name was Axel Keating.

He spoke bluntly. "Every single one of my female students is eager—practically lining up to have fun with me."

His words made me feel a little sick. It was greasy and repulsive.

A girl beside him immediately asked, "Seriously? Why would they be so eager?"

Axel grinned. "Because they've never seen anything as big as mine."

The moment he said that, everyone at the table looked shocked—and oddly impressed.

Some girls even reached out, trying to gauge for themselves.

Even I felt a flicker of curiosity. Axel had a prominent Adam's apple, his masculine features strikingly pronounced.

A man like that… must be strong in that regard too.

Compared to him, my boyfriend—though boyish and cute—could never satisfy me.

Every time, before I even felt anything, he was already pulling up his pants.

The comparison left me feeling restless, unsatisfied.

By the time we were halfway through the night, we were all dizzy with alcohol.

The moment we stepped out of the bar, the world was already spinning.

Urged on by the alcohol, my body felt like a parched field, desperate for a spring rain. The only thought was to get a room with my boyfriend and release it all.

But before we could take more than a couple of steps, a wave of dizziness hit me. My legs gave out, and I collapsed onto the curb.

Damn it—I was still the pure, admired girl on campus. If anyone saw me spending the night sprawled on the street, how would I ever face college again?

But what I didn't expect even more was that my boyfriend was just as drunk. He grabbed me, his hands wandering insistently beneath my skirt.

We were on the street. His strength was overwhelming—I couldn't break free. All I could do was murmur weakly, "This isn't a hotel… don't take my clothes off here. What if someone sees us?"

But he seemed not to hear me. His hands kept moving.

One large hand slipped under my skirt and squeezed my rounded hip firmly.

Strange… when did my boyfriend's hands become so strong and solid?

The grip made my body tense—yet, unexpectedly, it felt… good.

I glanced around. Thankfully, it was late, and the street was nearly empty.

So I let him continue roaming his hands over me. After all, this kind of pleasure was rare—I didn't want to waste it.

Seeing that I wasn't resisting, he grew bolder. He leaned over me, his body pressing down, reeking of alcohol. I could feel his breath against my skin. More outrageously, his hands slipped around from behind, roughly kneading my fullness.

"Mm… don't—there are still people around. Why don't we get a room? I'll pay for it…"

He still didn't respond. Instead, his hands slipped inside my blouse.

I was wearing a low-cut top—one easy movement was all it took.

Under his palms, my softness shifted freely, changing shape at his touch. Every pore in my body seemed to open, and a sensation I had never felt before surged through me.

Since when had my boyfriend become this skilled? My bones felt weak beneath his touch. Especially the sensitive tips—they were always quick to react.

He used his fingers, teasing and circling, quick and deliberate.

They hardened almost immediately.

I bit back the rising tremor deep in my bones, clenching my throat to keep any soft moan from escaping.

Perhaps my tight clothing restricted him.

In the next second, he suddenly grabbed my blouse and yanked it downward…