Chapter 3: The Stormy Night

The sky split open just as I hit send on my reply to her email. Thunder cracked like a whip and rain slammed the windows of my shitty apartment in sheets so thick the campus lights blurred into nothing. I’d spent the whole day replaying that Gmail—Rebecca, no title, just her name and a book attachment like we were equals. My cock had been hard since breakfast thinking about her typing it in bed, husband away again, lonely. Now the storm gave me the perfect excuse. Emergency help on the paper. Or the book. Or just her.

I grabbed my backpack, shoved the revised draft inside, and sprinted across the quad. Rain soaked me to the bone in thirty seconds flat. My shirt clung cold and heavy, jeans plastered to my thighs, but I didn’t care. The humanities building loomed dark except for one window on the third floor—her office. Everyone else had fled hours ago. My heart hammered louder than the thunder as I took the stairs two at a time, shoes squelching.

Her door was cracked open like always. I pushed it and stepped inside, dripping on the threshold.

She looked up from her desk, black-rimmed glasses sliding down her nose, and laughed—that low, warm sound that always hit me low in the gut. “Alex. You’re soaked. Everyone else left hours ago.”

The soft gray sweater dress she wore clung to every curve like it had been poured on. The fabric stretched tight across her 36DD chest, outlining the full, heavy swell of her breasts and the faint points of her nipples where the rain-chilled air had tightened them. It hugged the soft roundness of her belly, then flared over her wide hips and thick thighs, hem stopping just above her knees. Black heels still on, one foot tapping lightly. Her auburn hair was loose, a few damp strands from the humidity curling against her pale, freckled chest. The wedding ring glinted on her left hand when she set her pen down.