My Professor's Obsession

Chapter One – The Masked Temptation Derek Hale had always been the definition of a straight man. Thirty-eight years old, married, steady. The kind of man who never missed a day at work, who paid bills on time, who stayed faithful to one woman since college. The kind of man people relied on because they knew he would never falter. But tonight, the rules of his life shattered. It started at the factory. For months, his boss, Frederick, had singled him out—shoving extra shifts onto him, piling tasks meant for juniors onto his desk, keeping him until midnight with work that wasn’t his to do. Derek couldn’t understand it. He was loyal. Efficient. Why punish him? That evening, exhausted to the bone, he dragged himself into the house and headed straight for the kitchen sink, gulping down water. He hadn’t even noticed how quiet the place was—how unnatural the silence felt—until he caught the low murmur of voices drifting down the hall. Voices. In his bedroom. His brows knit. At first he thought fatigue was messing with him. But then he heard it, clear as day: “Oh God, yesss… harder…” The glass nearly slipped from his hand. He froze, breath caught in his throat. That was his wife. Beverley. Pregnant Beverley. “No…” he whispered to himself. It had to be the TV. Or a dream. Something—anything—else. But the voice that followed broke every illusion: “You sure, baby?” It was Frederick. His boss. His goddamn boss. “Yes! Yes, Derek can’t f**k me like this anymore—he f***s like an old woman now. Oh God, don’t stop!” Derek’s world tilted. His stomach twisted, bile rising in his throat. His hands shook as he stumbled toward the bedroom door, praying it wasn’t real, praying his ears deceived him. But when he shoved it open— There they were. His wife, her swollen belly bouncing as she rode Frederick like an animal. Her head thrown back, her nails digging into his boss’s shoulders, moans spilling without shame. And Frederick—smirking, smug, thrusting into her like he had owned her all along. The sight hollowed Derek out. His chest caved in as though his ribs had collapsed around his heart. He wasn’t watching strangers. He was watching his life crumble. His wife. His unborn child. His dignity. And they didn’t even stop when they saw him. Frederick chuckled darkly, gripping Beverley’s hips harder. “See? He’s too soft. He’ll just stand there and watch.” “Shut up,” Derek rasped, but his voice was broken, fragile. Beverley met his eyes then—her lips curled not in shame, not in regret, but in something colder. “Go back to your paperwork, Derek. That’s all you’re good at.” The words sliced deeper than the betrayal itself. Something in him snapped. He didn’t remember how he got out of the room. Didn’t remember how his feet carried him out of the house. All he knew was the bitter taste of betrayal in his mouth, the echo of his wife’s moans, and the laughter of his boss chasing him into the night. --- The neon haze of Club Serpentine burned into his vision before he knew it. A place he had never dared step into before. Upright men like him didn’t drown themselves in liquor and neon lights, didn’t pay for cheap illusions. But tonight, Derek wasn’t upright. Tonight, Derek was broken. He sat slouched in the booth, whiskey burning his throat. Women came and went, trying to slide onto his lap, purr into his ear. He shoved them away. The very thought of another woman disgusted him. Until She appeared. The girl on stage wasn’t like the others. Masked, petite, her movements fluid and hypnotic. She wasn’t flaunting herself clumsily—she danced like sin itself had choreographed her, each sway and turn magnetic, her eyes catching him even from across the club. And then she was in front of him. Derek’s gut clenched. Too young. Too dangerous. Too beautiful. “Dance?” she asked softly, her voice nearly drowned by the bass. He almost refused. Almost. But his world had already ended—what was one more mistake? She moved against him, small body pressing, rolling, twerking in rhythm with the music. His jaw locked, his chest burning as he felt himself harden beneath her. He hadn’t reacted to anyone like this in years. His wife’s betrayal should’ve killed whatever was left of him. But this masked girl—this stranger—was undoing him with a single grind of her hips. “f**k…” he groaned under his breath, fists clenching against the booth. When her hair brushed his jaw, Derek lost reason. His hand slid to her top, tugging at the flimsy fabric, desperate for just one glimpse of her breasts, for something real in this nightmare of a night. Her hand shot to his wrist. “Don’t.” Her voice was sharp. Firm. Her eyes burned through the mask. “I don’t do that.” And just like that—she slipped away. Vanished backstage, leaving him panting, throbbing, ruined. But she had left him something. As she pulled back, her top had slipped just enough to reveal a small tattoo etched over her chest. A delicate mark right above her heart. It seared into his mind. Permanent. Dangerous. Derek knew two things as he staggered out of the club, drunk on whiskey and desire: He would never forget her. And if fate was cruel, he’d see her again