AFTER CLASS, STAY BEHIND (1)

I flung my bag across the room, my body landing hard on the mattress it had been yearning for all day. I stared up at the ceiling, scrolling through the messy blueprints and exhausted lines blurring in my head.

Architecture wasn't for the weak. And I wasn't just anyone.

I am Ciara Miller. A twenty years old, top-tier student and the golden girl to most of my professors. My entire life has been structured, intentional, and strictly controlled.

That clean, mathematical logic was exactly why I chose Architecture as a major in the first place.

But lately, the clean geometry of my future had become completely warped by the presence of just one man.

Professor Liam..

Tall, broad shoulders, with a lean muscular frame - he was a far cry from your average, dusty academic. He was the demanding type who could reduce an entire lecture hall to absolute silence with a single, icy glance.

He was probably in his late 30s but he possessed an intimidating, severe aura that could make the smartest student in the room lose their train of thought and stammer.

I was obsessed with the microscopic details of him. The way he rolled his sleeves to his forearms to a precise, flawless height. The way his Adam's apple danced smoothly when he spoke. And the deep, low timbre of his voice when he called my name.

I sat up, slowly peeling off my clothes and tossing the worn fabric into the laundry bin. I reeked of campus sweat and drafting ink, but my body stubbornly refused to head to the shower without a little action first.

Picking up my headphones and iPad, I opened an incognito browser and typed in the familiar search bar. Don't look at me like that. Even straight-A students need a release valve for their stress.

I scrolled through the grid of videos, hunting for something heavy enough to satisfy the dull throbbing ache between my thighs. I hadn't had sex with a real person since a disastrous completely horrible encounter back in high school, since then, I preferred managing my own data.

Finally, my eyes locked into a video that matches my exact mood. As the male actor in the screen started off slow and deliberate, I set the iPad on my desk and laid flat on the hardwood floor with my legs spread wide, my fingers instantly finding the sensitive entrance of my pussy.

Unknotting my towel with my free hand, I cupped my own breasts, trying to match the heavy, rhythmic motion playing out on the screen. My skin slicked over, my body generating enough heat and wetness that I easily slid my first finger all the way inside.

I licked into the tempo of the audio

“Ahh…come on,” I moaned against the quiet room, thrusting my finger deeper.

“Faster…ahhh..please.. please.” The actress on screen begged. The man on the monitor shifted, beginning to pond deep, brutal strokes inside her.

“Fuck, you like that? You slut…” he growled, slamming his cock into her with total dominance.

To match the sudden spike in energy, I forced a second finger inside myself, stretching the tight walls.

“Uhhmmm..fuck..Liam!”

Yes you heard right. I gasped my professor's name out loud into the empty room, masturbating aggressively to the fantasy of a man who barely seemed to notice I existed outside of my GPA.

In my head, it wasn't my fingers drilling into my core. I drove my fingers harder and deeper at the thought, my lower abdomen shuddering violently at the friction.

“Ooh .yes.. shit..” I groaned, arching my back off the floor, imagining his handsome, severe face looking at me, calling me his dirty slutty student as he rammed his weight into me.

“Ahh…ahh ..oohh.” My thighs vibrated uncontrollably as my vision went completely dark. The sudden, intense gush of hot liquid coating my fingers were exactly the release I needed.

With a trembling hand, I killed the video, threw my headset on the bed and finally walked into the bathroom.

The cold shock of the shower water hit my flushed skin, creating a wide, quiet opening for my mind to sculpt his face all over again in the steam.

What could I do to make him actually looks to me? Not in the regular, professional “you are doing excellent work, Miss Miller” manner, but in a raw, primal “how could I have ever ignored this beauty” type of way.

The next morning passed in a boring, agonizing slow blur. A rotation of older and young lecturers shuffled into the the lecture halls, delivering monotonous slides to prove exactly why they held Ph.Ds and MScs in their respective fields.

But finally, the long awaited hours arrived. Professor Liam stepped through the door, his sudden presence causing students to scramble frantically to their seats. The moment he crossed the threshold, the entire room went silent. That was the absolute power of his aura.

I had already strategically positioned myself directly in the center of the front row. Today, I had deliberately chosen a tight fitted tshirt that left a generous hunt if my cleavage exposed.

Why was I trying so hard to disrupt my lecturer's composure? Would he even notice?

He stopped at the front podium, looking devastatingly hot and completely unbothered as always. His crisp blue button-down shirt wrapped firmly across his frame, clearly defining the lean muscle of his torso, if someone looked close enough and I was looking.

He unzipped his leather bag, pulling out his lecture notes, a tablet and a dry erase marker. Before speaking, he lifted his head to scan the rows of students. When his gray eyes finally landed on me, I caught - a brief, fracttions-of -a- second pause in his trajectory.

Did I look away or blush? Never.

I stared right back, locking eyes with him. His gaze dropped a noticeable fraction lower, taking in my exposed neckline for one quiet beat, before smoothly moving on to the next person as if nothing had happened.

A heavy rush of pure adrenaline flooded my chest. I couldn't stop the tiny, knowing smile that pulled across my lips. It was a victory. A small, dangerous, but completely undeniable victory. He noticed me.

The actual lecture passed like a total breeze. To be honest, I wasn't sure if my brain had processed the technical words leaving his mouth or just staring at the lips the words were escaping from.

When the clock finally ran out, the class immediately began packing up their drafting tools and rustling papers to leave. I was doing same when his deep, commanding voice cut through the noise of the lecture hall.

“Ciara Miller.”

I froze instantly, a tight knit forming in the pit of my stomach.

“Yes, sir?” I replied, keeping my voice steady. He gave a brief nod, motioning with his hand for me to step down. I quickly zipped my bag and walked down the steps to wooden desk where he was.

“Am I doing my job wrong, or are you completely losing your focus, Miss Miller?” He asked coldly, not even sparing me a glance as he flipped through a stack of grading files.

My eyebrows furrowed in genuine confusion. “I don't think I understand, sir.”

“You see, you are one of the very few students who make me believe I am competent educator,” he said, his voice dropping as he finally slid a graded test paper across the desk, face up.

“So how am I supposed to maintain that confidence….when you pull a B-plus on a standard test? That is a first for your academic record, and certainly a first in my course “

My eyes twitched at the red ink staring back at me. A B-plus. It felt like a massive, ugly stain on my perfect record. I lifted my head to offer an excuse, but he cut me off before I could speak.

“Does this sudden drop in your focus have anything to do with your recent choice of attire?”

“No, sir,” I lied quietly, the air thinning between us. “I..I don't know this happened.”

“Oh, I think you do.” Liam leaned forward slightly, his harp gray eyes locking into mine with an overwhelming weight of our authority.

“After your classes today, stay behind at my office.”

Those heavenly, dangerous words finally left his lips, setting a trap I had no intention of escaping.