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 air in the lecture hall felt like it was being vacuumed out as the last of the students filed through the heavy oak doors. The silence that followed was not peaceful; it was heavy, pregnant with a tension that made the hair on Kryztal's arms stand up. She was moving with agonizing slowness, her hands shaking as she tucked her notebook into her bag, her mind a frantic loop of the dream she'd had and the jokes Ria had made.
"Ms. Sydrin."
The sound of her name, spoken in that low, authoritative rumble, made her spine snap straight. She looked up, her silver eyes wide and glassy, meeting the honey-gold gaze of Alexander. He was leaning against his desk, arms crossed over his broad chest, looking every bit the master of his domain.
"Professor?" she squeaked, her voice betraying her nerves.
"I have a stack of revised blueprints and thesis proposals that need to be filed in my office. My assistant, Jonathan, is currently indisposed," Alexander said, his face a mask of cool, academic professionalism. "Could you help me bring these papers to my office? It's on the fourth floor."
To any other student, it was a mundane request—a simple errand for a professor. But to Kryztal, whose body still felt the phantom echoes of his touch from her dreams, it felt like being asked to walk into a lion's den.
"Y-yes po," she stammered, using the traditional Filipino sign of respect, though her heart was hammering a rhythm that was anything but respectful.
"Good. Follow me."
Alexander picked up the heavier boxes, leaving Kryztal with a thick stack of manila folders. As they walked through the corridors of the Architecture building, Kryztal felt the weight of his presence like a physical heat. He moved with an eerie, predatory grace, his long strides forcing her to walk faster to keep up. Every time his arm brushed hers in the narrow hallway, a jolt of electricity shot through her, settling deep in her lower belly—the very spot that had been so wet and aching just hours before.
Behind his stoic facade, Alexander's mind was a storm of dark, illicit imagery. He could hear the frantic patter of her heart; he could smell the sweet, floral scent of her shampoo mixed with the pheromones of her fear. It drove him insane. He imagined dropping the boxes right there in the hallway, pinning her against the lockers, and lifting her skirt to see if she was as ready for him as he was for her.
Control yourself, Alexander, he hissed internally. Not in the hallway. Not where they can hear.
They reached his office at the end of a secluded corridor. It was a corner room with floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the lush greenery of the Diliman campus. The room smelled of expensive leather, old parchment, and him.
"Put them on the drafting table," he commanded, gesturing toward a large, slanted desk in the center of the room.
Kryztal complied, her breath hitching as she leaned over the table. Her pleated skirt rode up slightly, and the gap in her button-down shirt opened once more, offering Alexander a tantalizing view of the swell of her breasts.
Alexander set his boxes down and walked toward the door. The sound of the lock clicking shut echoed like a gavel in the silent room.
Kryztal spun around, her eyes wide. "Professor? Why did you lock the door?"
Alexander didn't answer immediately. He shed his navy blue shirt with a slow, deliberate movement, revealing a charcoal grey undershirt that clung to his rippling muscles like a second skin. He walked toward her, his eyes no longer warm honey, but a sharp, predatory amber.
"The lock is for privacy, Kryztal," he said, his voice dropping to a register that made her toes curl. "Something tells me you've been thinking about me as much as I've been thinking about you."
"I... I don't know what you mean," she lied, her back hitting the drafting table as he stepped into her personal space.
"Liar," he whispered. He reached out, his large hand cupping her jaw, his thumb dragging across her bottom lip. "I saw you in class. You couldn't even look at me. You were flushed, trembling. And your scent... It's different today. You're masking it, but you smell like a woman who's been dreaming of things she hasn't done yet."
Kryztal's breath came in ragged gasps. "Professor, this is wrong."
"Everything this good is wrong," Alexander growled. He didn't give her a chance to argue. He surged forward, his mouth crashing onto hers. It wasn't the kiss of a professor; it was the kiss of a man who had been starving for years and had finally found a feast. He tasted of coffee and raw, unbridled hunger. His tongue forced its way past her teeth, exploring her mouth with a dominance that left her weak.
Kryztal let out a muffled whimper, her hands instinctively clutching his biceps. They were like rocks under her palms. The reality was so much more intense than the dream. The way his stubble grazed her skin, the sheer weight of him pressing her against the table—it was overwhelming.
Alexander groaned into her mouth, his hand traveling down her throat, past her collarbone, until he reached the buttons of her shirt. With one violent tug, the buttons went flying, scattering across the hardwood floor like pearls.
"Alexander..." she gasped, the name finally breaking past her lips in the real world.
"Again," he commanded, his face buried in the crook of her neck. He bit the sensitive skin there, his teeth grazing her pulse point. "Say my name again while I ruin you."
"Alexander... please..."
He pulled back just enough to look at her. Her silver eyes were hazy with lust, her lips swollen from his kiss. He reached out and unclipped her bra, letting her heavy, pale breasts spill out. They were even more beautiful than he had imagined—perfectly round, with dark, budding nipples that ached for attention.
"Look at you," he rasped, his eyes devouring her. "You were built for this. For me."
He bent his head, taking one nipple into his mouth and sucking hard. Kryztal let out a loud, high-pitched moan, her back arching off the table. The sensation was like a lightning strike. She felt a sharp, throbbing heat bloom between her legs, the wetness returning with a vengeance.
"You like that, don't you?" Alexander mumbles against her skin, his hand sliding down to the waistband of her skirt. "Let's see how wet you are for your professor."
He shoved his hand inside her panties, his fingers immediately finding the drenched silk of her core. He let out a dark, triumphant laugh. "You're soaking, Kryztal. Were you thinking of me when you did this to yourself?"
"Yes," she confessed, her voice a broken whisper. "In my dream... You were... You were doing this."
"Then let's make the dream a nightmare you never want to wake up from," he growled.
He lifted her, sitting her on the edge of the high drafting table. He knelt between her legs, his hands gripping her thighs and spreading them wide. He didn't use his fingers first. Instead, he buried his face in her heat, his tongue lashing out to find her clitoris.
Kryztal's head hit the table, her eyes rolling back. "Oh god! Alexander! Tama na... huwag... sige pa!" (Alexander! Enough... don't... keep going!)
She was a mess of contradictions, her body screaming for more while her mind tried to process the sheer intensity of the pleasure. Alexander was relentless. He used his tongue like a weapon, teasing her, flicking her, until she was sobbing his name, her fingers tangled in his black hair.
Just as she reached the edge, he pulled away. Kryztal let out a cry of protest, her hips jerking forward in search of the friction.
"Not yet," Alexander panted, standing up.
He moved with a frantic energy now, his own need reaching a fever pitch. He unzipped his slacks, his cock springing free—massive, turgid, and pulsing with a life of its own. It was even larger than in her dream, a terrifyingly beautiful instrument of her undoing.
He grabbed a small foil packet from his desk drawer—the only sign of his remaining "professionalism"—and snapped it on with trembling hands.
"Look at me, Kryztal," he commanded.
She looked. Her silver eyes met his amber ones, and in that moment, the student-teacher bond was incinerated. There was only the predator and the prey, the architect and the stone.
He stepped between her legs, the head of his cock brushing against her wet entrance. He was so thick, so hot. Kryztal felt a moment of pure, virgin panic.
"It's going to hurt," he whispered, his voice surprisingly tender for a split second. "But then, I'm
going to make you forget your own name."
He didn't ease in. He lunged.
Kryztal's scream was swallowed by his mouth as he slammed into her, his full length burying itself in her tight, untrodden depths. The pain was sharp, a tearing sensation that made her vision blur, but it was immediately followed by a fullness so intense it felt like he was reaching her very heart.
Alexander froze, his muscles corded, his breath hitching as he felt her body clench around him like a vice. "Fuck... you're so tight... Kryztal..."
He stayed still for a moment, letting her body adjust to his size. Then, he began to move. Slowly at first, then with a rhythmic, punishing force. Every thrust made the drafting table groan, the sound of their bodies colliding—a wet, visceral thwack—filling the office.
Kryztal's pain faded into an agonizingly sharp pleasure. She felt her muscles stretching, molding to him. She wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, wanting to feel every inch of him.
"That's it," he groaned, his pace becoming feral. "Take it all. Akin ka lang, Kryztal. Akin ka lang." (You are mine, Kryztal. You are mine.)
He was hammering into her now, his hands gripping her waist so hard they would surely leave bruises. Kryztal was a choir of moans and screams, her voice breaking as she reached her peak. The office, the university, her future—it all disappeared. There was only the sensation of him filling her, the smell of his sweat, and the golden heat of his eyes.
She came with a violent shudder, her internal muscles pulsing around him in a frantic rhythm. Alexander let out a low, guttural roar as he followed her, his body stiffening as he released everything into her.
They stayed like that for a long time, the only sound their ragged breathing. Alexander buried his face in her neck, his chest heaving against her breasts.
He pulled back eventually, his eyes searching hers. There was no regret in his gaze. Only a dark, simmering possessiveness.
"Now," he whispered, smoothing a stray strand of black hair from her forehead. "Let's get you cleaned up. We have a lot more to cover before the semester ends."