Disclaimer: The author's imagination and passion are the only sources of inspiration for this novel, which is a work of dedication. Parallels between these pages and the past or present may be apparent to some readers, but they are completely coincidental. You are free to interpret this art anyway you see fit, and it is meant for your enjoyment.
The dorm room was stifling, the old ceiling fan spinning lazily, cutting through the thick, humid air of Quezon City without actually cooling it. Kryztal lay atop her sheets, her ink-black hair splayed across the pillow like a dark inkblot. Outside, the distant sound of crickets and the occasional roar of a tricycle engine punctuated the night, but Kryztal heard none of it.
She was drifting in a sea of mercury and gold.
In her dream, the lecture hall was empty, the shadows stretched long and distorted across the floor. She was standing at the podium, but she wasn't alone. Alexander was there, looming over her, his presence even more suffocating than in reality.
"Ms. Sydrin," he whispered, his voice a low vibration that seemed to come from the walls themselves. "You've been distracted."
He didn't touch her, not at first. He simply stood so close that she could feel the radiating heat of his frame. In the logic of the dream, her modesty was gone. She was wearing the same burgundy top from class, but it was unbuttoned, hanging off her shoulders. Her breasts were fully exposed, the nipples dark and turgid, aching for a touch she had never known.
"I... I'm sorry, Professor," she gasped, her silver eyes searching his honey-gold ones.
Suddenly, he moved. His large, calloused hands gripped her waist, his fingers digging into her soft skin. He lifted her effortlessly, sitting her onto the cold, hard wood of the professor's desk. The contrast of the cool wood against her heated skin made her arch her back, thrusting her chest toward him.
"You want to know about the foundations of a structure?" he growled, his face inches from hers. "It's about endurance. It's about how much weight a thing can take before it breaks."
He didn't wait for an answer. His mouth slammed onto hers, and for a virgin who had only ever imagined what a kiss felt like, the sensation was a violent awakening. It wasn't soft; it was a claim. His tongue invaded her mouth, tasting of scotch and authority, while his hands traveled upward, finally cupping the heavy weight of her breasts.
"Ah! Alexander!" she moaned in the dream, the use of his first name feeling like a forbidden prayer.
He squeezed her, his thumbs flicking over her sensitive peaks until she was writhing. Then, he moved lower. In one swift motion, her skirt was gone, and his face was buried between her thighs. She felt the wet, hot slide of his tongue against her—a sensation so intense it felt like electricity was being poured into her veins.
"Professor... please..." she begged, her head tossing back, her hair sweeping across the desk.
He looked up, his eyes predatory and dark. He stood, unzipping his trousers. When his cock sprang free, it was massive, a dark, pulsing pillar of muscle that looked terrifying yet irresistible. He grabbed her thighs, pulling her to the very edge of the desk.
"You're so tight, Kryztal," he whispered, his voice thick with a hunger that matched her own. "Let's see if you can hold me."
He lunged forward. In the dream, there was no pain, only a sudden, overwhelming fullness. He buried himself inside her in one deep, rhythmic thrust. Kryztal screamed, her fingers digging into his muscular shoulders, her legs wrapping around his waist to pull him even deeper. The wet, slapping sound of their bodies meeting echoed through the empty hall. He was hammering into her, his pace feral and unrelenting, filling her with a heat that felt like it was melting her bones. She felt her muscles clenching around him, a rhythmic pulsing that drove them both to the edge.
Kryztal bolted upright in her bed, a sharp gasp tearing from her throat.
Her chest was heaving, her skin slick with a fine sheen of sweat. The room was dark, the only light coming from the moon filtering through the small dorm window. She sat there for a moment, her heart drumming a frantic rhythm against her ribs, the phantom sensation of Alexander's weight still pressing down on her.
"What... what was that?" she whispered, her voice trembling.
She moved her legs, and a cold, damp sensation greeted her. Her eyes widened. She reached down, her fingers brushing against the silk of her panties. They were soaked. Not with sweat, but with the slick evidence of her own body's betrayal.
She had never had a dream like that. She had never felt that—a climax so powerful it had physically manifested while she slept. Her face burned with a shame so intense she had to hide her face in her hands.
"I'm going crazy," she hissed to the empty room. "Bakit siya? Bakit si Professor Santillan?" (Why him? Why Professor Santillan?)
She couldn't get his face out of her head. Since that first day, he had been a constant shadow in her mind. He was cold, yes. He was strict and sometimes borderline cruel. But there was something beneath that professional veneer—a darkness that called to the hidden, repressed parts of her. She found him handsome, obviously, but it was more than that. It was the way he looked at her—like he wanted to devour her and protect her all at once.
The next morning, the UP Sunken Garden was alive with students, but Kryztal sat on a bench with Ria, staring blankly at her iced coffee. She hadn't slept a wink after the dream.
"Huy, Kryztal! You look like a zombie. Anyare sa'yo?" (What happened to you?) Ria asked, nudging her arm.
Kryztal bit her lip, looking around to make sure no one was listening. "Ria... I think I have a problem."
Ria leaned in, her eyes sparkling with gossip. "What? Did you fail a quiz? Or is this about a guy?"
"It's... it's a guy," Kryztal whispered, her cheeks turning a soft pink. "But it's not just any guy. It's... it's Professor Santillan."
Ria's jaw dropped so far her straw nearly fell out of her mouth. She let out a muffled shriek, clapping her hands over her mouth. "Seryoso?! (Seriously?!) The 'Ice King' of the Architecture Department? Girl, you have a death wish!"
"I know, I know!" Kryztal groaned, burying her face in her hands. "It's just a crush, I think. He's just so... intense. And smart. And the way he carries himself..."
"And the way those muscles look under his shirts?" Ria teased, wagging her eyebrows. "Let's be real, Kryztal. The man is a total 'dilf' even if he isn't a father yet. Every girl in the department talks about him, but no one dares to actually look him in the eye. You're the only one brave—or crazy—enough."
"It's not like that," Kryztal defended weakly. "But I had... I had a dream about him last night."
Ria leaned in even closer, her voice a conspiratorial whisper. "Anong klaseng dream? (What kind of dream?) Was it about flying buttresses or... something more structural?"
Kryztal's face went from pink to a violent shade of red. "Ria! Huwag ka ngang maingay!" (Don't be so loud!)
Ria cackled, a bright, infectious sound. "Oh my god, you totally had a spicy dream about the professor! Grabe ka, Kryztal! (You're too much, Kryztal!) Our innocent little valedictorian is actually a closeted naughty girl!"
"It was just a dream," Kryztal insisted, though her heart was racing just thinking about it. "But today in class, I don't think I can even look at him. Especially since he moved me to the front row. I feel like he can see right through me."
"Maybe he moved you there because he wants a better view too," Ria joked, then noticed Kryztal's genuine distress. She softened, patting her friend's hand. "Look, it's normal to have a crush on a hot teacher. It's a rite of passage. Just don't do anything crazy. Baka ma-kick out ka sa UP." (You might get kicked out of UP.)
"I won't," Kryztal said, standing up as the bell for her next period rang. "I'll be professional. I'll just sit there, take my notes, and forget the dream ever happened."
But as she walked toward the Architecture building, she knew she was lying. The sensation of his ghost-tongue against her skin was still too fresh, and the wetness between her legs from the night before felt like a brand.
She wasn't just a student anymore. She was a woman who had been awakened by a man who didn't even know he had touched her.
Or so she thought.
As she entered the hall, she saw Professor Santillan already standing at the podium. He was dressed in a dark navy shirt today, the fabric straining against his broad chest. As she took her seat in the front row, his eyes snapped to hers. For a split second, the coldness vanished, replaced by a searing, golden heat that made her knees weak.
He knew.
He didn't know the details of her dream, but he saw the change in her. He saw the way she avoided his gaze, the way her breath hitched when he stepped near.
"Good morning, class," Alexander said, his voice like velvet over gravel. "Today, we will talk about the interior. What lies beneath the surface of a masterpiece."
Kryztal gripped her pen so hard her knuckles turned white. She could feel him watching her, a predator sensing a shift in the wind. The "safe" boundary she had promised herself was already crumbling, and the lecture hadn't even begun.