Tasting sin:a forbidden campus affair


The lecture hall smelled faintly of old paper and new beginnings. I hugged my notebook tighter against my chest, slipping into the only empty seat I could find. My heart was already beating too fast, but it wasn’t because of nerves about the semester; it was because of him.


Professor Adrian Blackwell.

I had heard the whispers before I ever stepped foot into his class. The youngest professor in the faculty. Brilliant, cold, ruthless. The kind of man who never smiled and never gave second chances. Girls said he was untouchable; guys said he was terrifying. Everyone agreed on one thing: he was unforgettable.

Immediately after my lecturer, Dr. Adrian, entered the lecture room, the atmosphere shifted. His presence always carried a weight that silenced chatter and drew every wandering eye.

And now, standing at the podium with his tailored black suit and sharp silver tie, he looked every bit as untouchable as they’d described. His hair was dark, a little longer than I expected, falling slightly over his forehead. His jawline looked like it could cut glass, and his eyes… God help me… His eyes were ice, gray and piercing, like they could see through skin, through bone, through every lie you ever told.

I shouldn’t have looked at him. I knew better. But the moment his gaze swept across the room, cold and assessing, it felt like the world shrank until there was only me, and him, and the suffocating silence in between.


“Welcome to Advanced Literature Theory,” he said, his voice deep and measured. No microphone needed. The weight of his tone carried to the very back row, commanding silence. “I expect punctuality. Discipline. And above all, excellence. If you’re not ready to give that, there’s the door.”

Chairs squeaked, and notebooks flipped open, but nobody dared to move.


I sank deeper into my chair, notebook open but pen still, pretending to be ready for the lesson.

He dropped his books on the desk, adjusted his glasses, and scanned the room with that piercing gaze that made me feel seen and exposed all at once.

The moment our eyes met, I was already dripping wet, aching to feel his big c**k pounding me in the craziest doggy, making me feel like the whole world was slamming into me from behind.”

The chalk tapped against the board as he started the lecture, his voice steady, deep, and maddeningly calm.

I caught myself staring too long, biting back a smile when his gaze flickered toward me.

I bit my lip, fighting the urge to roll my eyes. Intimidation was his thing, clearly. Still, something about him made it impossible to look away. Maybe it was the way he didn’t just lecture, he dissected every word like it carried a secret meaning. Or maybe it was the way my stomach twisted when he turned his head, scanning faces like he was cataloging our souls.

“Miss Moore,” he said suddenly.

My blood turned to ice.

He knew my name? I hadn’t even spoken yet.

“You’re late.” His voice was clipped and sharp. Not a question, a fact.

I swallowed hard. “I….no, sir, I came in before”

His eyebrow lifted, silencing me. The entire room turned to stare. My cheeks burned so hot I wanted to vanish into the floor.

“Next time,” he said coolly, “you won’t interrupt my lecture.”

Humiliation flooded me. I gripped my pen so tightly it nearly snapped in my hand. My pride screamed at me to talk back, to defend myself, but the weight of his stare pinned me down. It wasn’t just authority, it was something else. Something I couldn’t name.

When he finally looked away, I let out the breath I’d been holding.

The rest of the class dragged on, but I couldn’t focus. Not on his words, not on the theories he scribbled elegantly across the board. My mind kept circling back to that brief moment, that piercing look. It felt like he had seen me, really seen me, and for some dangerous, foolish reason, part of me wanted him to.

When the bell finally rang, the hall erupted in chatter. Students scrambled out, relieved. I stayed behind, fumbling with my bag, my hands still trembling from being called out.

That was when his voice came again. Lower. Closer.

“Miss Moore.”

I froze. Slowly, I turned. He was standing right behind me now, his tall frame casting a shadow across my desk. My heart skipped violently.

“Yes, Professor?”

His eyes narrowed, unreadable. “Don’t test me in my class. I don’t tolerate distractions.”

I nodded quickly, too quickly. “I….I understand.”

For a moment, he didn’t move. His gaze lingered, flicking from my eyes to my lips, then back again. 

My breath caught. Something unsaid, prohibited, and frightening weighed down the air between us.

Then he pivoted on his heel and left, just as abruptly.All that remained was the sound of his footsteps and the intense knowledge that this semester would destroy me.