I unlocked the front door to my apartment, exhausted, and threw my backpack on the floor. I quickly laid down in my unmade bed and sighed. I’d just gotten out of a three-hour lecture on the phases of mitosis. Ordinarily, the lecture would’ve bored me half to death, but my focus was glued to the attractive new professor. Easily six feet tall, with salt-and pepper curls and amber-colored eyes, his deep, sexy voice grabbed my attention on the first day of class. Rumors were he’d just gone through a messy divorce, and I often found myself fantasizing about him during class. Something about a man in a position of power drove me wild.
Turned on by the thought of my professor, I slid my hand up my dress and down the front of my lacy thong. Unsurprisingly, I was already wet. I was experiencing a bit of a dry spell after breaking up with my boyfriend, David, a month prior.
I slowly slipped a finger inside myself. I moaned, appreciating the feeling of having something inside of me. I was soon interrupted, however, by the vibration of a text message. Annoyed, I opened it. The text was from a number I didn’t recognize.