In My Professor's Arms

(Lily's POV)

It's my first day at this prestigious university, and honestly i'm eager to know what this school has for me.

On the beautiful sunny Monday morning, I walked into the lecture hall. It was cold, almost clinical, but I wasn't bothered in any way. I’d always preferred sitting in the front row, close enough to catch every word the professor said and every detail of their expression. Today, however, the front row wasn’t just a strategic choice for academic success. Something inside me had been urging me forward since the moment I arrived, though I didn’t fully understand why. Maybe it's because I'm new here, but in contrast to my regular position, I actually wanted to sit anywhere else except the front row, but there is a pull taking me to my beloved front row.

When he walked in, everything seemed to make more sense.

Professor Victor Graham.

The name had been printed neatly on the syllabus I’d scanned over the weekend, but it hadn’t prepared me for this. He wasn’t the regular professor you'd meet in every school. I mean, professors were supposed to be dull—bookish men with crooked ties, graying hair, old-fashioned, and everything that could possibly distinguish them from being in vogue. But this man was nothing of the sort.

He strode into the room with confidence, a silent declaration of his authority that filled the entire space. He wore a tailored navy blue suit that emphasized his broad shoulders and lean frame, his crisp white shirt open just at the collar, sharp and clearly defined, possessing an utmost degree of firmness and freshness, and revealing a sliver of tanned skin. His dark eyes were piercing, scanning the room with a sharpness that made my breath hitch. He didn’t just look at the class; he assessed us, each and every one.

“Good morning,” he said, his voice deep and smooth. It rolled through the room, effortlessly commanding perfect silence. “Welcome to Philosophy 301. I’m Professor Victor Graham.”

Professor Graham's voice was calm and brave. The sound of his voice sent shivers down my spine. It was rich, warm, and devastatingly male, wrapping around me like a velvet cloak; it was like no other. My pulse quickened, and I crossed my legs tightly, hoping to steady the heat building between them.

When his gaze passed over me, I felt it like a physical touch. My stomach flipped, and a strange heat bloomed low in my belly. I ducked my head, pretending to adjust my notebook, but the sensation lingered.

It wasn't just his words; it's the way he carried himself. Confident, unshaken. My focus shouldn't be on the way his shirt rested on his chest when he leaned a little bit on the pulpit, or how his jawline looked sharper im the dim light of the lecture hall. But I couldn't help it, no matter how I tried to stop, I just couldn't.

I’d never felt this way before.

At twenty-one, I was still a virgin,