Lily, My Temptress

(Victor's POV)

The mornings felt colder lately, though it wasn’t the weather. The chill that had settled in my life had little to do with the seasons and everything to do with Emily.

Our marriage had always been built on shared goals, mutual ambition, and the sense that we were moving forward together. But somewhere along the way, we moved from that to not having a real conversation in months.

And the intimacy? That had disappeared when she left for the capital. Days turned to weeks, weeks to months, and it's been six months. That was how long it had been since we’d been together, in every sense of the word.

I could still remember the last time. The last time we shared as a couple. The mechanical rhythm, the absence of passion, the way she had rolled over and gone straight to sleep afterward. Even before that? It was seventeen weeks. I know she's not to be fully blamed for it. As a career-inclined person, the hustle and bustle of her job is completely overwhelming.

When she’d announced her promotion and transfer to the capital, I had hesitated. But I knew it was a fantastic opportunity. I also knew what my support would mean to her. Supporting her career was definitely the best thing I could have done, but I hadn’t been prepared for how empty the home would feel without her.

I wasn’t prepared for how empty I would feel.

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The lecture hall buzzed with noise as students shuffled to their seats. I stood at the podium, organizing my notes while my eyes scanned the room for her. I don't know how she had managed to successfully make me feel this way, and I hated how much I got excited, even ordinarily, by the anticipation of seeing her—how her presence seemed to light up the dreary monotony that lurks in me.

And then she walked in.

Lily Rivers.

She didn’t strut but glided; her steps were quiet, deliberate, but she still commanded my attention like no one else. Her golden hair shimmered under the fluorescent lights, and the soft sway of her hips was enough to make my breath hitch. She wore a fitted sweater that hugged her body perfectly, paired with a skirt that stopped just high enough to tease the wild imagination building up in me.

She took her usual seat in the front row, and I felt like she intentionally sat there to vet my attention. I felt the heat rise in my chest. The way she settled into her chair, crossing her legs casually, gave her an effortless confidence that set her apart.

God help me, I couldn’t stop staring.

I tried to focus on my lecture notes, forcing my gaze to the words in front of me. But all I could think about was her. The way she had leaned forward last week during office hours, her blouse just slightly undone, revealing the delicate curve of her collarbone. The faint scent of her perfume that had lingered in my office long after she left.

"What exactly is wrong with you, Victor?" I said in my mind.

I’d spent years crafting a reputation—an esteemed professor, an intellectual authority. I was the man students looked up to, the man other faculty respected. And now, one look from a twenty-one-year-old girl is the one posing a threat to all these?

I glanced up again and caught her adjusting her skirt, the fabric sliding an inch higher on her thigh, showcasing her beautiful skin. My mouth went dry. What would that skin feel like under my fingers? Soft, smooth, warm? Would she gasp if I traced my hand along the inside of her thigh, teasing her, making her squirm?

I felt my cock stir at the thought, and I gritted my teeth, turning my back to the class under the guise of writing on the board.

Get a grip, Victor.

This wasn’t just inappropriate—it was dangerous. But no matter how much I told myself that, the fantasies wouldn’t stop.

The lecture began. I managed to find my rhythm, letting the words flow as I explained moral relativism. Philosophy was my sanctuary, the place where I was in control. But even here, with my voice commanding the room, I felt the pull of her presence.

She wasn’t like anyone else.

The way she gave me full concentration, looking at me with those piercing blue eyes. It wasn't just admiration; it was something deeper, something that made my skin prickle. She didn’t just listen; she devoured every word, leaning in like she was hungry for more.

I didn't even know what exactly could be going on in her mind right now, but I knew she had always enjoyed my lectures. Her response, demeanor, questions, and even how she found it comfortable to come to my office whenever she needed assistance.

And here it was again.

Her hand shot up to ask a question. I almost welcomed the distraction.

“Yes, Lily?” I said, making sure my tone was steady.

Her lips parted slightly before she spoke, and for a second, all I could think about was how they would feel against mine. Soft, warm, pliant.

“You said moral relativism undermines universal truths,” she began, her voice smooth and confident, “but doesn’t that depend on the assumption that such truths exist independently of cultural constructs? Couldn’t it be argued that moral universality is a tool of power?”

Her question was sharp, challenging, but all I could focus on was the way her tongue flicked against her bottom lip as she spoke.

“An intriguing point,” I managed, my voice tighter than I intended. “But you’re conflating the mechanisms of enforcement with the existence of the truths themselves.”

Her smile was faint, almost teasing. “Or perhaps I’m questioning the existence altogether.”

The rest of the class chuckled softly, but my focus was entirely on her. The curve of her smile, the tilt of her head, the faint flush of color on her cheeks—it was intoxicating. I couldn't just get enough of her lips; maybe when my lips met them, it'd feel better.

“Well,” I said, leaning slightly against the podium, “then it seems we’ve reached an impasse, haven’t we?”

She held my gaze for a moment longer than necessary, and I felt something shift in the air between us.

The rest of the lecture passed in a blur. I answered questions, posed theories, and engaged with the class, but my attention kept circling back to her. Just her. She crossed and uncrossed her legs once, the motion so subtle no one else noticed. But I did. And the brief glimpse of her skin made my thoughts spiral into dangerous territory.

What would she sound like if I slid my hand higher, teasing her until she whimpered? What would her breath feel like against my neck as I pulled her closer, letting her feel just how badly I wanted her?

I was losing control.

When the class ended, I gathered my notes, determined to leave earlier, but I couldn't. I still felt my dick brushing against my trousers; I just couldn't leave immediately. As the students filed out, I noticed Lily lingering in her seat.

“Lily,” I said, my voice sharper than I intended. “Do you need something?”

She looked up, her blue eyes wide and disarming. “I just had a quick question about the lecture,” she said, rising from her seat and making her way to the front of the room.

I swallowed hard as she approached, the soft click of her heels on the floor echoing in the half-empty hall. She stopped just a few feet from me, and the faint scent of her perfume—floral and sweet—hit me like a drug.

“What’s your question?” I asked, my tone colder than necessary as I tried to create some distance.

She asked her question.

Her words barely registered. All I could think about was the way her chest rose and fell with each breath, the delicate curve of her neck, the faint blush that spread across her cheeks as she spoke.

“You raise an interesting point,” I said, my voice low and tight.

She smiled, and it made something snap inside me.

I shouldn’t have noticed the way her tongue darted out to wet her lips. I shouldn’t have let my gaze linger on the soft skin of her throat. And I definitely shouldn’t have wanted her to take another step closer, to bridge the small gap between us until I could feel the warmth of her body against mine.

But I did.

And when she shifted slightly, her arm brushing against mine, I felt the jolt like a live wire.

“Professor?” she said, her voice soft, questioning.

“Yes?”

The word came out rougher than I intended, and her lips parted slightly, her brows furrowing in confusion—or was it something else?

Just then, I could see someone standing at the door. It was Megan.

"Thank you for taking the time," Lily said, stepping back.

She moved closer to the door, and Megan gave way for her to pass. Megan just stood there, watching me pack my teaching materials together.

I let out a shaky breath, gripping the edge of the podium for support. My throbbing cock already back to its normal state.

I walked to Megan. She greeted me jokingly, like she always does, and teased me about being the best professor in the world.

She looked at me with a bit of skepticism, and I felt she was thinking about who she had just seen me with. She's a very sensitive person, even from high school; she's always been able to catch every clue, a very big overthinker, and just everything that can make someone a very great detective.

My mind was divided at this moment, more than half of it with Lily.

I wasn't sure how much longer I could resist.

And one thing for sure she always comes back to me.

Maybe she feels the same