L O R E N Z A
God himself has blessed me today! I must have been a saint in my past life to earn the divine privilege of tasting this heavenly cheesecake!
I've already finished three. The last two? They're coming to my room with me—saved for a late-night reading session. Uff, pure heaven!
I took one final, massive bite of my third cheesecake, stuffing my mouth like a chipmunk on a mission. Now, I'm speed-chewing like my life depends on it—class is about to start! If someone walks in and sees me looking like I just had a spiritual experience with dessert, someone's definitely going to see me, and my last shred of dignity will be gone forever.
I grabbed all the wrappers and the spoon and stepped out of class to wash my hands and face
Just as I was about to dash toward the washroom, a voice echoed from behind me. Deep. Steady. Familiar. But for some reason, it carried an intensity that sent a strange shiver down my spine. My body froze for half a second—heart skipping a beat, stomach doing an unnecessary somersault when I heard what he just said.
"Looking satisfied, little miss?"
My breath hitched. Eyes widening, I swallowed the thick lump forming in my throat, the weight of his words settling far too heavily on my chest. Slowly—almost reluctantly—I turned, dreading what I might find.
And there he was.
Professor Windermare.
Leaning effortlessly against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, his gaze locked onto me with an intensity that made my pulse stutter. His expression was unreadable—calm, knowing, laced with something unsettlingly intimate. The soft sunlight light casting sharp shadows over his face, accentuating the sharp angles of his jaw, the slight smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.
My fingers twitched at my sides. Something about the way he looked at me—like he had just caught me in the middle of something far more scandalous than devouring a cheesecake—made my stomach twist in ways I wasn't prepared to unpack.
It felt like my throat had gone completely dry. It was just him—just Professor Windmare. Then why did I feel this way?
A strange sensation coiled in my chest, something unfamiliar yet oddly persistent. Like a whisper of something I couldn't quite name. The irony wasn't lost on me—the man himself was familiar, yet the feeling he stirred in me was anything but.
I had a whole speech ready in my head.
Something like—"Why are you looking at me like you've just seen a ghost?" Or maybe a dramatic "Thank you for the cheesecake, my savior." Heck, even a casual "Appreciate you looking out for me this morning."
But did any of that come out? Nope. My brain officially disconnected from my mouth.
Instead, my throat betrayed me, and all I managed was a soft whisper, barely audible—
"Sir?"
His smirk deepened the moment he heard my voice, as if my small, vulnerable whisper had given him some sort of twisted satisfaction.
Slowly—almost deliberately—he pushed off the wall, closing the distance between us with a few measured steps. Three… four… each one making my pulse spike just a little more.
And then, as if he had all the time in the world, he leaned in—just enough to match my height, just enough to make the air between us feel suffocatingly small.
His voice was low, smooth, laced with amusement.
"Yes, little miss?"
I swear, I felt something stir inside me—something I couldn't even begin to put into words.
It started in my chest, a strange warmth spreading downward—slow, teasing, unstoppable. From my chest to my stomach, from my stomach to… lower.
And that's when it hit me.
A sudden, unexplainable sensation that made my knees go weak, my breath hitch, and my entire body feel like it had just short-circuited.
I must have been an open book—every little reaction I was trying to suppress laid bare for him to see. My body betrayed me, my breath uneven, my lips parted just slightly as I struggled to regain control.
And he noticed.
Of course, he noticed.
His smirk deepened, dark amusement flickering in his eyes as he leaned in just a fraction more, the heat of his presence seeping into my skin.
Then, in that smooth, knowing voice, he murmured—
"Was the cake really that good, little miss? Good enough to steal your voice away?"
His words curled around me, teasing, and being dangerous. And the worst part? I didn't know if he was just talking about the cake anymore.
If I had even a shred of dignity, I swear I would've rolled my eyes back and dramatically fainted like some helpless heroine in a cheap romance novel.
Because, honestly? Just hearing his voice—smooth, deep, and laced with pure sin—felt like a damn near spiritual experience.
Scratch that. It felt like a full-blown verbal orgasm.
What the hell is wrong with me?!
Just as I opened my mouth to say something—anything—the bell rang.
I let out a breath I hadn't even realized I was holding, relief washing over me like a damn blessing from above.
"I need to prepare for the next class, so… I'm leaving."
That's all I managed before turning on my heels and bolting straight toward the washroom like my life depended on it.
But even as I ran, even though I didn't turn back, I knew.
I knew he was watching.
I knew he was enjoying every second of my reaction.
His voice. His gaze. The way he called me "little miss."
It played in my head all day long, looping like a broken record. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't shake it off.
Studying? Impossible.
Focusing? A joke.
Every time I tried to concentrate, my mind betrayed me—dragging me right back to that moment. To him.
But why?
Why did he suddenly look at me like that?
Why did it feel like he was seeing something I didn't even understand about myself?
Why, why, why was he messing with my head like this?
Somehow, I dragged myself through the rest of the day, my brain a scrambled mess. And finally—finally—night arrived.
Freshly showered, I plopped down on my bed, feeling the weight of the day settle over me. I had eaten dinner just 45 minutes ago, my stomach still full.
And yet…
My tongue tingled with the craving for something sweet. But not just anything. Oh no, I knew exactly what I wanted.
A mischievous giggle slipped past my lips as I reached for my secret stash—my beloved cheesecakes.
The moment I laid eyes on them, I swear heaven opened up again. These cheesecakes had an aura—divine, irresistible, my true source of happiness.
With the excitement of a long-lost lover, I unwrapped one, sighing dramatically.
Flipping to where I left off in my book, I took a slow, sinful bite.
Perfect. Literature and cheesecake—the true dream team.
I had no clue where the time went.
One second, I was taking slow, indulgent bites of my cheesecake, fully immersed in my book. The next? Both cheesecakes were gone, my fingers smudged with crumbs, and I had somehow powered through an insane number of pages without even realizing it.
Fuck.
And wait—WHAT?!
Where the hell did these steamy, intimate scenes come from?!
Just a few chapters ago, the heroine was throwing a full-blown tantrum, calling the hero every name under the sun for cheating. Now? Now she was—oh god, was that a moan?!
Damn. Either this book had the wildest plot twist ever, or I was way too distracted while reading.
The way the hero pinned her against the wall, cupping her face with both hands, his voice all deep and desperate as he swore she was the only one he loved…
So. Damn. Cringe.
And yet… why was I still reading?
Why did my brain not roll its eyes and move on?
When exactly did I become this much of a filthy little creature, huh?!
I swear to god, I've tried watching porn. Really, I have.
But nothing—nothing—turns me on the way these books do.
The way they describe every little detail, the slow burn, the tension, the stolen glances—ugh, it's just different. And the best (or worst?) part? It's all in my head.
Every single thing, I get to imagine exactly how I want. And let's be honest… I probably take what's written and crank it up to an extreme level in my mind.
No video could ever compete with the filth my imagination creates.
Just holding onto one tiny hope—
That maybe, one day, I'll get to recreate all of this with the love of my life.
A girl can dream, right?
The moment my eyes landed on the clock, I swear my soul left my body.
2 AM?! EXCUSE ME?!
I have school tomorrow! SCHOOL! And here I am, acting like a jobless millionaire who doesn't need sleep!
At this point, I should just start attending my classes as a ghost because there's no way my body is functioning in the morning.
I slammed my bookmark into place like it was a life-saving emergency, practically yeeted my book to the side, and bolted to wash my hands.
Then, like a dehydrated camel, I chugged down a whole glass of water in record time.
Without wasting another second, I dived under my blanket, burrito-wrapped myself, and prayed for at least a few hours of sleep before my inevitable morning regret.
But the moment I closed my eyes—boom.
Professor Windermare's face.
How?! Why?! IN WHAT DAMN WORLD DID MY BRAIN DECIDE THIS WAS THE PERFECT TIME FOR A JUMPSCARE?!
I shot up, practically yeeting my blanket off me.
My heart? Oh, it was racing. Beating so damn hard it felt like it was about to burst right out of my chest like some horror movie scene.
My eyes widened like a pair of glass marbles, frozen in shock as I stared blankly into the darkness.
What was I even looking at? Why was I looking? I had no damn clue.
But of all the people in the entire freaking world, why him?!
I smacked my own cheeks three... no, four times, as if that would knock some sense back into me.
Focus. Sleep. Forget his damn face.
Desperate times call for desperate measures—so I did the only thing I could think of.
I started singing myself a lullaby.
Was my voice as soothing as a nightingale? Absolutely not.
I sounded like a dying crow.
But did I have a better option?
No. Hehe.
After way too much struggling, I finally slipped into a hazy state of drowsiness and, at long last, fell asleep.
Tonight, my dad wasn't in the room. And for the first time in forever, I thought—maybe—I'd get through the night without a panic attack.
But clearly, God took one look at my peace and said, "Nah, too easy." Because guess who showed up to fill in the blanks?
Professor. Freaking. Windermare.
"Oh damn... You're going so good, little miss."
His grip on my waist tightened as he threw his head back, a deep moan
escaping his lips.
I could feel sweat trickling down my forehead as I kept moving my waist, pushing him to the edge. His jaw clenched, teeth grinding, and his breath grew heavier—deeper.
And, oh lord—if this wasn't the sexiest thing I had ever heard, then what
was?!
"l never thought you 'd be this good. "
His breath came out ragged, his voice trembling with something dangerously close to surrender. His grip on me tightened, fingers digging in like he was barely holding on.
And that? That sent a wicked thrill through me, pulling a slow, satisfied smirk onto my lips.
But suddenly, catching me completely off guard, he flipped me over.
Before I could even process it, my back hit the bed, and he was hovering over me—all dominance, heat, and raw intensity.
Oh. My. Holy. God.
Look at him.
The way his messy hair framed his face, the way his chest rose and fell with every deep breath, the way his eyes bore into me like he was ready to devour—
How the hell does someone look this ridiculously sexy from this angle?!
He stared at me like I was some kind of goddess—like I was something rare, something meant to be worshipped.
The admiration in his eyes, the raw passion burning beneath it, sent a shiver down my spine.
And suddenly, an uncontrollable urge took over me—I wanted to kiss him.
But before I could even act on it, he beat me to it. As if he had read my mind, he leaned down, capturing my lips with his own.
I shut my eyes and melted into the kiss, letting it consume me.
Oh. My. God.
The way he tasted—intoxicating. Addictive.
Better than my cheesecakes. And that's saying something.
He pulled away slowly, his eyes dark and unreadable. His thumb brushed over my lips, wiping away any trace of the kiss. And then—just like that—he pushed it into my mouth.
Without thinking, without hesitation, I wrapped my lips around it, sucking obediently.
A low chuckle rumbled from his chest as his gaze grew even more intense.
"Such a pretty little miss... "he murmured, his voice dri pping with satisfaction. "Looking so beautiful yet so vulnerable beneath me."
He leaned in closer, his breath warm against my skin.
"This is your place, Miss Floris— under me. Where / can have you, taste you, make you mine whenever / want."
I had no idea how to react.
Should I stop him? Should I pull him closer?
My brain had completely shut down, refusing to function.
All I could do was feel him.
And God—I wanted to feel more.
He suddenly pulled me closer, his grip firm yet possessive. My breath hitched as his body pressed against mine, heat radiating between us.
His face buried into my neck, lips grazing my collarbone before he sucked, sending a shiver down my spine. My fingers instinctively dug into his back as he moved—slow, deep, and deliberate—like he was savoring every second, every reaction he pulled from me.
My thoughts? Completely shattered. My senses? Overloaded.
Dignity? Gone.
All I could do was hold on and let him take me under.
Just when I was about to see more, about to let myself completely drown in the moment—
BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!
My alarm screamed, shattering my dream into a million cruel little pieces.
I slowly opened my eyes, still dazed, still caught somewhere between fantasy and reality.
What the hell did I just see?!
And more importantly—how the hell did I see that?!
I jumped up, sitting straight like I had just been electrocuted.
My eyes? Wide as freaking dinner plates.
No, no, no. This can't be happening.
I've had plenty of wet dreams before—but it was always with some faceless stranger. Just vague, shadowy figures.
But this time? I saw a face.
Clearly.
I felt it. Like it wasn't even a dream but something real—something I had actually lived in.
And worst of all?
Why the hell was it HIS face?!
Professor Windermare.
I finally noticed—I was a damn mess.
Sweat everywhere, my blanket gone, probably tossed across the room in my sleep-induced madness.
But that wasn't the worst part.
Something felt... off down there. A weird throbbing sensation, a heat
that refused to die down.
With a racing heart, I hesitantly slipped my hand inside my pajama pants—just to check.
And HOLY. FREAKING. HELL.
I was soaked.
Like my body had surrendered itself completely—to him, to that dream, to every damn thing he did to me in it.
Panicking like a sinner in church, I bolted to the bathroom, nearly tripping over my own damn feet.
I turned on the tap at full blast and slapped cold water onto my face like my life depended on it.
But did it help? HELL NO.
Inside, I was still burning up—like someone had cranked my internal thermostat to "horny disaster" mode.
It felt like my entire bloodstream had turned to lava, like I was second away from spontaneous combustion.
And my heart? Forget it.
That traitor was beating so damn loud I was convinced it was about to burst out of my chest
Alien-movie style.
I looked into the mirror, staring at my own reflection.
It was me—but at the same time, it wasn't.
I looked the same, but something about my eyes, my expression—felt foreign. Like I wasn't inside my own body anymore.
What the hell was this feeling?
Why was I feeling like this?
And worst of all—why was I feeling this for him?
Of all people.
This was wrong.
This was forbidden.
Because he wasn't just anyone.
He was my teacher.
Older. Wiser. Off-limits.
And worst of all? Married.
Please, Lorenza, get over it.
You can't feel this way. You shouldn't.
Don't lose your damn dignity.
Your dreams? They're bigger than this. Bigger than him.
You have to stand on your own feet. You have to get your mother out of this hell.
You promised her a better life.
You can't afford to get distracted. Not by this.
This is wrong. I know it.
I know I'm walking down the wrong path.
But then why does it feel so damn right?
Why does it feel like if I keep going, I'll finally—finally—find myself?
Why does it feel like this mistake is the only thing that makes sense?
Why... just why?