My dark Professor

18

Lily

These last few weeks felt like dream. One I wish to never wake up from.

The bliss I was in right now was heaven on earth. I hope it will never end.

I wake up, and the first person I think about is him. I go to sleep with him on my mind. It's like a cage of emotions I hadn't known I had in me was suddenly unlocked. A cage of emotions for one man. My professor. My very handsome professor.

Though on some days, he wasn't my professor. He was my heart. My lover. My friend. My worst and best critic.
He could be mean on some days. So mean that I'll cry the night away in sorrow. He could also be so sweet that I'll cry the night away in joy.

What an enigma of a man.

I was way out of my league with him. I knew it. I'm sure he knew it too. Because how can a man who looked like him ever want someone like me? It wasn't just about his look. He was so otherworldly. The way he thinks is out of this world. The things he created were also out of this world. When he isn't stuck in his head, he creates magic. His words are magic. I thought mine were, but his are the real deal. The kind the powerful mages yielded.

One time we read a favorite book of mine together. Shocker, it wasn't one he had written. He got pretty jealous about that. He growled darkly when I told him who the writer was. Turns out it was one of his rivals.

But he swallowed down whatever animosity he had towards the author and read the book with me. He loved it. I knew he did, but he wouldn't admit it. It was hot. His jealousy. His possessiveness.

The next day he called me into the hidden room in his study. He pulled me onto his lap and opened up the book.

He read every chapter and word without glancing at the book once. He had memorized the entire book. I knew it was for me. It was because he knew I liked the book. He knew I cherished it. So he, in turn, cherished it for me.

That was when I knew for sure that he wasn't an ordinary man. He was a genius.

It scares me. The way he consumes every part of me. There's no escape. I don't want there to be one.

Right now, I am in my favorite place. I was sitting on him. On his muscled solid thighs. My favorite place. My absolute favorite.

I had my face in the crook of his neck. Right on the spot where I could get his scent. My favorite scent. My absolute favorite.

I was such a sucker for this man.

"Hmm," he grunts.

I shifted a little to place all my weight on him.

He responds with another grunt. Indicating that he liked it.

This was his way of talking. When he was busy creating magic. He wouldn't speak. He'd grunt and tell me with his eyes what he wanted.

Sometimes it was for me to sit next to or climb on him. He likes it when I climb on him like he was my personal tree.

He said I was his muse.  Me.

He said I got words out of him. Words he had never used. Words about beauty. About love.

He never writes about love. All his books were dark and sad. But now, he writes about light and joy.

Oh, another thing I've noticed is that he laughs a lot now. I love his laugh. I love how it made his whole face glow—making him look like a king. He was a king. My king.

He was the only man on earth I'd bow down to. I would go down on my knees for him. I would sacrifice myself for him. He deserved it. He deserved everything I would do for him and more.