#a different world

[ilovenycee]

[meria1rngi]

For Liujiuweek2026 | Day 3 : Sparring

[the-blueprint]

On A Different World, the cast delivered a powerful performance of "Ego Tripping" by Nikki Giovanni. Nikki Giovanni wrote the poem in the early 70s celebrating Black Womanhood as cosmic, divine, and unstoppable.

[bexandicelia]

Dwayne and Whitley A Different World 2x14

[cocoaachanel]

binge watching A Different World & Whitley is exactly who she thought she was 😂🤏🏾

[biggaveli1994]

I'm a brother full of knowledge and I learned a lot from this episode

[notapradagurl]

Teacher’s Pet.

Black Fem!Reader!Professor x “Dorian Heywood” from A Different World.

Summary: Dorian was usually the overachiever, with his excellent grades, and intelligence. However, his infatuation with you, his English professor, leaves him speechless, blurs his focus, and, for once, affects his grades. One study session, and it turns something wild beyond your imagination.

Warnings: college student x professor trope, dirty talk, choking kink, cum play, age gap, forbidden, Dom!Dorian, Nerdy!Dorian, fighting for dominance, praise(m), infatuation, dominant!reader, head, protected sex, desk sex, masturbation, emotional intimacy.

Taglist: @megamindsecretlair @satoruya @planetblaque

@playgurlxoxo

@dabratzchronicles

@becauseimswagman1

@pocketsizedpanther @kinginwithbreezy-blog @brattyfics

@hxneyclouds

@yassbishimvintage

@nahimjustfeelingit-writes @ovohanna24 @writingsbytee @avoidthings @slippinninque @keyera-jackson @theblacklewinsky @midnightmemoirsofher

@euphorichappiness10 @life-in-the-slut-house @kumkaniudaku @ranikyani @mama-2001

@kaylalb @uzumaki-rebellion @blyffe @luckydaye777 @that-one-anxious-mango @kindofaintrovert

—————

Dorian shifted uncomfortably in his wooden desk chair, the brown hardwood littered with written notes, his composition book, and his pencil in hand, twirling it in between his fingers. His brown eyes swept over the cream-colored white tile floors, with their shapes of oranges, and midnight blues. Tuning out the quiet chatter of his classmates. He signed in hopeless agony.

The spacious lecture room features numerous rows of polished wooden desks, wooden chairs with bottom sage green cushions, all arranged facing the professor’s podium. The walls are adorned with small posters of impactful African American figures, added by encouraging quotes.

The white fluorescent lights buzzed slightly above the ceiling, and the sound of your voice echoing through the classroom.

“Now, an oxymoron is a figure of speech which, appears in a conjunction. The origin comes from the mid-17th century from the Greek.” You explained professionally, and your brown eyes swept over the students at their desks.

Some were engaged in the lesson, while others were dozing off, elbows pressed against the desks, palms against their cheeks, drool leaking from the corners of their mouths.

"Ugh…so much for my teaching career," you muttered with a dry tone, brushing it off.

Often, you wonder why you've become a teacher in the first place. When these young adults wouldn't listen, or pay attention.

Moments such as these didn't prick at you often, you would shrug them off and roll with the punches that life threw in your direction ruthlessly, especially your teaching career.

Well, at least Dorian was listening to you, right?

Dorian's gaze met yours, maintaining eye contact as though trying to hold himself together in your presence. Your lips were pressed together softly, withholding a smile. You nodded in a businesslike manner, silent gratitude for his attentive listening.

Heat flooded his face from your nod of acknowledgment. He could feel his sweatpants tightening more than jeans, his clothes growing warmer, and his breathing slowing. Without warning, his dick suddenly jumped.

“Shit..” Dorian grumbled raspily, biting his lip. Hoping to fight off his erection somehow. He despised himself for it; that subtle hint of praise excited him.

For the first time, he couldn't remain focused on his constant schoolwork, dating, his master’s degree, or basketball. Unaware of Lena’s crush on him, all he could think about was you. His last class of the semester for the winter.

His foolish, overwhelming infatuation with you, his English professor. It shouldn’t have occurred, and he shouldn’t be experiencing these feelings.

The infatuation was simply frivolous, right?

Your vast knowledge in economics, and various subjects that you would teach in the study hall, not only your beauty. But then it happened, the crush came from something natural, it was something about you that drew him in.

You were his professor. He was a college student. A recipe for disaster.

You were a brilliant English professor at Hillman College, teaching the subject to youths. The study of language, literature, and communication skills across reading, writing, speaking, and listening.

You've earned your master’s degree in Education, and a bachelor’s degree in finance at Howard University, hailing from a successful family of overachievers, lawyers, doctors, judges, teachers, and a few police officers here, and there.

You've chosen to teach at Hillman College, when the opportunity was offered to you through an email, and you humbly accepted it. The prestigious college is aligned with Howard, Morehouse, and Harvard.

As far as you know, everyone found the subject challenging, which was completely acceptable; there was always an opportunity for growth.

Except for your student, Dorian Heywood. He excelled in every subject, but recently, there has been a devastating decline in his grades in your class and other classes he attended.

Dorian's hand gathered the papers together, carefully slid them inside his folder, closing it quietly. The flat sole of his Jordans clicked against the tile, his leg bouncing frantically.

Lena’s lovesick gaze flickered toward Dorian, her pupils in her eyes forming in the shape of hearts. Lena gazed longingly at Dorian, her eyes filled with heart-shaped pupils. She sighed, utterly infatuated with the young man who wouldn’t glance her way.

You were well aware of Lena’s infatuation with Dorian, her overwhelming feelings didn't blur her focus on her schoolwork, her part-time job at Mr. Gaines diner.

Still, you understood the experience of being young and having a crush. You never found the bravery to act, but the guys typically took the initiative for you.

His fist pressed against his cheek, his eyes flickered toward the clock, ticking for an eternity. Mocking him. Baiting him for an escape. Torturing him for every second he was thinking about you.

“Yo, Dorian. Can you pass me those notes for the test?” Terrell whispered, his finger tapping his roommate’s shoulder.

Dorian’s head snapped in his direction, his brows furrowed. His eyes were darting between Terrell, and Lena. She waved happily, grinning at her crush. “Hi Dorian,” She sang playfully.

“Hey Lena. I'm failing the class. You're talking to the wrong person,” Dorian whispered, his voice aggressive.

Terrell’s face twisted up in confusion. Wasn't Dorian supposed to be the smart one?

“The fuck you mean you're failing in this class. Nigga, ain't you smart?” Terrell whispered yelled, his arms crossed.

Lena’s palm swatted at Terrell’s arm, and Terrell flinched, silently winced, and his palm rubbed the stinging heat away. Sighing in misery, it must love his company.

“You’re tryin’ to get Dorian in trouble?”

“No! I—”

“Excuse me!”

You cut your eyes at Dorian, Terrell, and Lena, exchanging conversation among themselves. Their gazes flickered toward you standing before the chalkboard. Your face turned sour, unforgiving.

“Terrell, I won't tolerate you cheating your way on this test. One more slip-up, and you’re out of here.” You warned mercilessly, narrowing your gaze at him.

Terrell fidgeted, and lowered himself in his seat, as if he could shrink himself down to size, a rush of heat flooded through his face. He wished that this didn't happen often.

“My bad, Professor. L/N. It ain't happenin’ again,” Terrell apologized softly, gathering his papers.

You weren't lenient with Terrell Walker, sort of a “problem child” and mischievous. Often, it was difficult to see potential in students like these.

The brass bell rang incessantly next to the brown clock, atop the threshold. Dorian exhaled softly in relief as he watched you wander over to your desk. The fabric hugged your body perfectly, and his head thumped against the hardwood school desk, whining like a helpless puppy.

“Help me, Lord.” He whispered a small prayer of mental strength to God beyond in the skies. A slow-burning passion simmered in his chest, his panting almost gradually.

“Class dismissed! Study for the test next week! It will make up for most of your grade, and if you’re lucky. You’ll receive extra credit!” You yelled professionally, steady and confident.

The college students rose from their seats, scurrying away like a line of ants with quickness, their voices echoing down the halls, and their sneakers squeaked against the tile floors.

However, Dorian hasn’t moved from his seat yet. He just sat there, still as if he were a statue. Unresponsive. Void of emotion.

Dorian was the only student left in the classroom, except for Lena. She intentionally remained with him, aiming to talk privately after class.

You picked up the pink plastic clipboard from your desk, and you caught Lena following behind Dorian discreetly. Lena stood next to him, smiling bashfully like a timid teenager gathering the nerve to talk to her crush, fluttering her eyelashes at Dorian.

“Hey, Dorian. Are you—“

“Mr. Heywood, may I have an urgent word with you?”

Lena and Dorian came to a sudden stop at the entrance of the large room. The classroom was vacant, quiet, with the sound of footsteps fading away in the hall, and the doors closing firmly as though the walls were eavesdropping.

“Ms. James, you may be excused from my class, and don't let Dorian take away your focus for the test,” You added, your tone strict, ice cold.

"Ms. James, you are dismissed from the classroom, and do not allow Dorian to distract you from the upcoming test," you declared, your voice strict, and ice-cold.

Lena’s jaw clenched, biting her tongue, before leaving the classroom quietly, cussing under her breath. She thought you deliberately meant that, humiliating her in front of Dorian.

Sometimes, she wished you weren't her teacher.

Dorian muttered a regretful ‘damn’ under his breath, as he spun around to face you forward. His gaze met yours again, exhaling softly as if it hurt to look at you.

“Yes, Professor L/N?” Dorian asked nervously, his hands behind his back as if to restrain himself, bottling his feelings.

Your lips fell into a small frown, holding the clipboard close to your chest, and your breasts bounced slightly. His gaze diverted to the floor, and he met your face again, focused. Don't look, man the hell up. Dorian said to himself mentally.

“Dorian, Dean Davenport had informed me that you've been stumbling on your grades in every class this semester. Is something wrong?” You asked softly, concern in your tone.

Dorian couldn't tell you about his crush, it would be inappropriate, unscrupulous for him, and you. Anxiety latches onto him, like a chokehold. Losing oxygen. His breath was almost erratic.

You would lose your job, and not teach English anymore. He would receive academic probation, or something much worse.

He would represent the nightmare, the explosive force ready to destroy everything for you. Losing you was not an option for him. Dorian would never be able to forgive himself. The concern on his face started to worry you.

“Dorian, are you alright?” You asked urgently, snapping your fingers in front of his face.

He blinked twice, nodding briefly with reassurance. “Uhh…I’ve been busy with my job at the car repair shop, and taking night shifts while coming here during the day, and night.” Dorian confessed softly.

He walked up to you, just inches away. He loomed above you, his cologne enveloping your senses. He smelled good, and the way he looked at you was different, as if he had developed a crush on you. Clearly, you had a gut feeling, but you weren't able to ask or say it openly.

Dorian had recently taken a job with his uncle, at an automobile repair shop, cleaning the floors, making morning coffee, and passing tools to the employees.

Your hand rested over your chest, your face softening at his confession. Your hand lay on his shoulder, as you could've sworn you felt his body twitch under your palm. He stood still.

“It's perfectly fine to have employment, and earn income, Mr. Heywood. But you have to apply yourself, not only at your job, but also in the classroom.” You explained strictly, gesturing toward the chalkboard.

Dorian nodded knowingly, but he remained silent. You looked up at him over your glasses, your lips slightly parted while he stood there, as if afraid to move or say anything.

“All I want is for you to apply yourself. As a matter of fact, meet me back here in the classroom, and we'll study together for the test. If you’re not able to meet me?" You asked professionally, your head tilted to the side.

Dorian answered immediately before you uttered another word, cutting you off. “Yes, I can! That would benefit my studies!” He exclaimed, bowing his head toward you as if you were a queen, and he was your loyal knight.

You almost flinched, before going wide-eyed at your student. “Okay, sounds great. There's no need to bow,” You say sheepishly, shrugging.

What a terrible way to lose his calm, speech, or clarity. Dorian needed to regain his focus to succeed in all his classes. First, it was English, and then the others, easy as pie, right?

"S-sorry, I'm pretty tired,” Dorian says, his hand resting over the nape of his neck.

"You're fine, and you're gonna be amazing in the study session,” You praised him, patting his shoulder.

His dick jumped unexpectedly through his boxers, and he bit his lip from the reaction. Dorian had an unknown praise kink, no wonder he was an overachiever. He stepped out, running off before you could get the chance to say goodbye to him.

"See you later, Professor!”

“O-okay! See you later!”

—————

Dorian gently plopped onto his bed, his head thrashing against the pillows below. His mind jumbled all together, the way you gave him praise, recognizing his attentiveness, and the suit hugging your frame, creating raw images of his hands over your waist, latching hold to the fabric tight, ripping it open.

Fortunately, he was by himself in his dorm room until his roommate Terrell arrived, spending countless hours on the basketball court attempting to impress women, both on and off campus.

He dismissed those thoughts by shaking his head. A relationship between you and him seemed unlikely. Perhaps it could be considered after he finishes Hillman, when you will be in your forties and he will be in his mid-twenties, if his memory serves him correctly.

He could rely on his fantasies of you, and him together.

His fingers clutched the linen tightly, tossing his head back into the pillows. His physical response was beyond his control, his dick stood at attention from the vivid fantasy of you straddling his thigh, your breasts pressed close to his chest, his hand latched around your throat, your pussy clenching tight, above him, cumming as many times as you desired.

Only a fantasy. His mind was merely playing tricks on him.

He imagined that you would scream his name, over and over again like a woman dying from pleasure, gasping as if losing oxygen. The raw image was engraved in his memory.

He imagined your voice. "Fuck…Dorian! Harder!” The echo of your voice in his mind taunts him seductively.

His eyes snapped shut, biting his bottom lip at the raw visual, playing in his head like a cinema. Swallowing hard. Dorian wanted to fuck you in every position, bend you over, and until you cried, catching the tears prickle down your face, ravish you. Dorian wanted you to see stars, because of him, only him.

Perhaps he could bent you over that desk, blowing your back out, the very one where you took a seat and positioned yourself behind.

The head of his dick thickens, spilling out beads of precum. He pulled off his sweats, inching his boxers down a bit below his thigh, completely shirtless. Dorian ran his hand down his stomach, and thighs, chiseled, glistening with sweat. He panted heavily, whimpering softly from his sudden reaction, squirming around for a bit until he was comfortable.

“Please…Y/n..I fucking need you right now..” Dorian whispered, his eyes still closed shut.

He was a shameless whore, pathetic, and crushing on his English professor. The pulsating ache between his legs, in desperate need of a release. The friction, some sort of comfort to ease it all away. Useless.

Until he imagined your voice again, taunting him. “You’re fucking me..so good..baby,”

The term of endearment, the praise from you teasing his mind. Dorian wanted to hear it, loud and clear.

His hand latched around his dick, sighing at the sheer size of it. The chill of his palm made him shudder, could almost fit around the width of his girth, heavy. Dorian pushed his hips against his closed fist roughly. “Fuckk…I-I..Y/n…Y/n…” he gritted, teeth sank in his tongue. Pleasure enveloped him, washing over him. He could see it now, you were on top of him, moaning his name.

He was almost there, and he couldn't wait anymore. His pace in his fist quickened, panting as if he was out of breath. Dorian made a mess over his own bed, over you. A tug in the pit of his stomach felt good, hissing through it. His dick twitching in his hand, jumping. He was in heat, desperately.

"Y/n...I—fuck!” Dorian groaned loudly, his voice echoing through the room.

His tip spurted a load of white across his sheets, gasping for air as his hand rested on the wall, balancing himself. Dorian panting lowly, heavily, caught short in bursts of air. “Fuckk..”

Relishing in the pleasure of the moment, you were running through his mind, long lasting.

Until he heard footsteps approaching the dorm room hallways. A sharp knock on the dorm room door, the jiggling of the lock broke his focus, and he locked it shut just in case.

“Dorian! Why the fuck did you lock the door!” Terrell called out from the other side.

“Shit!” Dorian whispered, fixing himself with quickness. Wiping off the mess before they could notice.

He moved swiftly, dashing to the dresser, rummaging for clean clothes, new boxers before darting into the bathroom, turning on the faucet as steam billowed from the door, the heat sinking in the room.

A plethora of knocks turned desperate, rapid, followed by a bang that quickened within his ear, each one a demand against the wooden door, while his voice echoed from the other side. “Dorian! Open up!” his brows rose, furrowing instantly.

“Give me another fucking minute!” Dorian yelled back, his voice came out sharply, and demanding.

Terrell injected, his voice came out sharply. “How many more fucking minutes do you need? What are you doing?! Fucking yourself or taking a shower?”

“Taking a shower, nigga!” Dorian yelled back, meaner.

A few minutes later, he quickly dashed out the shower and into the room, changed the bed linens, tossed the soiled ones and his dirty clothes into the hamper, and made his bed with fresh sheets and a new blanket.

The ceiling fan spun in lazy circles, keeping the stuffy smell of sex out, and the window open, closing it.

Dorian reached for the Disinfectant spray on the dresser, the smell of ocean breeze, and lilac wafting in the air.

Fortunately, Terrell kept his side of the dorm room clean, and pristine as Dorian did for a while. Despite, Dorian telling him that he wasn't his maid. He only cleaned up because of the possibility that a woman might come over.

The bed was arranged perfectly, and the smell of cinnamon, something spicy and vanilla filled the room. He changed into fresh new clothes and cologne, carefully wiped off the water from his curls over his head.

Finally, he swung the door open, revealing his roommate, Terrell. The young college student stepped through, Dorian exhaling shakingly in relief.

“It's about time, you opened the door, man! You took too long, and I almost Lena—-” Terrell spat, but his lips parted slightly.

Thank God. Forgive me later. He says in the depths of his mind, embarrassment still washing over him.

He began studying for the test, carefully writing down what was written in the English textbook, pencil in hand, scribbling the answers along the study guide, his eyes dragging along the words in the book. His mind boggled with you, and the answers to the test.

Glimpsing the alarm clock, he noticed it was almost 9:00 in the evening. Just in time for your scheduled study session. He stood up from the chair, eliciting the pencil holder to tip over and land on the carpet. "Shit!"

Terrell's brows rose in confusion, eyeing him, and down.

In a hurried manner, Dorian swiftly flees the room, hastening to collect his belongings and stow them neatly into his backpack, everything secured. Sealing it with a pull of a zipper, deftly slung over the shoulder.

Without saying another word, Dorian flees, leaving the door to slam shut behind him. His footsteps reverberated down the dormitory hallway, quick and anxious, his breath caught in rapid, panting gasps.

“If he wants to study so bad, then he might be hitting that,” Terrell grumbled, rolling his eyes.

Terrell’s arms crossed, his eyes darting between the door. A playfully curled along his face, as shooting a death glare at Dorian.

Frustration barely captured his feelings; he shook his head as his anger bubbled just beneath the surface.

—————

Dorian faced the door of the classroom, his hands hanging limply, his cheeks flushed with shame, immobile as if encased in ice, ensnared in his thoughts, releasing a gentle, shaky breath.

His knuckles tapped against light brown wood, the click of high heels across the hardwood floors echoing from the other side of the room. The gold hinges creaked eerily, and the door swung open, revealing you. That cordial smile, and warm brown eyes, drew him in.

“Hello, Dorian! Glad that you could make it. Come in!” You exclaimed, your tone remained professional, and strict. Your hand gestures him to come forth.

Dorian stepped through the spacious lecture room, and took a chair aligned facing the front of the professor.

He shut the door behind him, his heart thumping in his chest, warmth flooding his face, and nerves tingling throughout his body.

“P-Professor. I didn't complete the study guide for the English test tomorrow but I was almost done.” Dorian explained worryingly, his lips stuck in a tight line as if he was upset.

“Dorian, don't apologize. It's okay. I'm sure that you've had other priorities to attend to," You says warmly, nodding.

He didn't consider masturbation a priority to attend to. But hey, he had to get rid of that tense feeling in his body.

The three hours of the study session in the classroom, sitting at his usual spot in the middle row, with you standing behind your desk. You wrote on the chalkboard in cursive with fresh pink chalk, explaining the powerful poetry of Maya Angelou, and her well known poem, Still I Rise.

“What do you think the themes of her poem are?” You asked in curiosity, your head tilted slightly.

Dorian cleared his throat and swallowed with difficulty. He collected his thoughts, took a deep breath, gently closed his eyes, and then opened them again.

“Reclaiming identity, resilience, and encouraging the readers to transform pain into power!” Dorian explained smartly, his tone confident, and steady.

“As for Shakespeare’s best play back in their time?” You asked once more, your lips curled into a joyful grin.

“It was Hamlet, written in 1600 and praised for its depth, complexity. It’s one of his most longest and complicated plays.” Dorian explained, his pencil scribbling across the paper.

“And what are the core elements of text evaluation and analysis?” you asked again, your voice held a curiosity.

“Main idea, purpose, and audience,” Dorian says, his tone clear, controlled, and confident.

"See! You know this! Amazing job!” You exclaimed happily, your hand gesturing toward him.

Heat rushed through Dorian’s face for the umpteenth time, as his dick hardened through his pants, his bulge enlarging as if it was ripping through. He kept inhaling, and exhaling to relieve the tension inside.

Your praise and recognition excited him; Dorian was determined to excel on this test and maintain his high grades. Hearing it from you mattered to him because your words were sincere.

"Okay, now you've finished the study guide for the test, right?" You asked him, gathering the papers together in hands.

"Y-yes, I did." Dorian stammered lightly, his voice barely volume.

"Excellent. I'm certain that you can excel on this test, and your other classes for this semester.” You say encouragingly, clasping your hands together.

Dorian didn't react to your support, it didn't seem deserved or related to his current actions. He needed to share these feelings and find the bravery to voice them.

He couldn't worry about rejection, and or anything else. Dorian wouldn't persist. The age difference, and the rules of the campus spoke volumes.

No is a complete sentence, and he understood that. Dorian was respectful, and a gentleman.

You walked around your podium while Dorian rose from his chair and approached you. He paused a short distance away, close enough for a direct conversation.

Noticing the shift in his facial expression, softly, as if he was breaking from the inside. “Dorian, is everything okay?”

“Professor, there's something I need to tell you,” Dorian spoke gently, and seriously.

You blinked twice. “What is it?”

His teeth dug deep into the pigment of his lip, his breath slow, and steady. Potent emotions are grappling with him in every direction, his heart pounding so loud that he could hear it in his ears.

"I really like you, and your knowledge, your intelligence. I know it’s inappropriate to say this because I'm a student, and you’re a professor.” Dorian confessed softly, his hands resting atop each other.

At least he got those feelings out of the way, and the silence was deafening between the two of them. Your face softens at your student’s confession, as your lip lowers, humming lightly. His head turned away while you maintained eye contact, he was ashamed of speaking.

It was almost unbelievable that Dorian was confessing his feelings to you, as if an invisible line had been drawn between you and him, and it was incumbent on both of you to decide whether to cross it.

Would you be lying to yourself if you said the feeling wasn’t mutual? You've composed yourself, remained professional, and never shown favoritism. Those feelings bloomed inside, heart fluttering in your chest.

“I-I’m sorry! I shouldn't have said any—” Dorian apologized sincerely, his voice remorseful, softer.

You gesture to Dorian to calm down, resting a hand on his shoulder and giving it a gentle pat. Your face is captivating, transforming into something enchanting. Your hand quickly moved away from his shoulder, intentional, caring.

Adjusting your glasses before speaking, exhaling softly, like it hurts you from the inside, out as if your heart would burst from the overwhelming emotion, passion for him.

“Dorian…Dorian. Take a deep breath, and relax for me. It's okay to express them, yes it is inappropriate." You explained, your tone came out sharp, and neutral.

A tempest raged inside him, clashing with the tranquility he tried to maintain. His lips formed a frown, but Dorian swiftly adjusted his expression. You noticed the subtle changes on his face, revealing the heartbreak within him, even as he appeared broken.

Gracefully accepting rejection, he didn’t push back, instead, he stayed composed and calm. "It's okay, I understand completely."

“It would also be inappropriate for me to say that these feelings are mutual.” You crooned soothingly, the words hung in the air between you and Dorian.

Dorian glanced at you, his heart racing, his throat nearly parched as he gulped nervously, drawing in a shaky breath as if it pained him. He fought the urge to kiss you, hold you close.

“But, I am too old for you. I'm 37, and you're 26. Wouldn't you want to be with a woman of your own age? Lena James? Charmaine? Gina?” You explained knowingly, your brows rose at him.

You’re weren't that old for him. Dorian shrugged nonchalantly. “You’re not old, and you still look my age, professor.” He reassured softly, his smile curled along his face.

His hand reached out to you, beckoning for your touch. A flicker of affection across his face, as your hand hovering his, your body betraying you. Your fingers softly wrapping around his, your heart pounding.

"I don't want them. I only want you. Whenever you are near, my attention wavers. I become breathless. I knew this is bad, but I had to confess to you," Dorian says sentimentally, holding your hand tightly.

“Even if you said no to me, I wouldn’t mind it. I can respect it.” Dorian added, his tone controlled, and respectful.

“And I’m relived to hear that. Most men wouldn't do that. They become entitled, creepy, and weird when they think women owe them something." You explained annoyingly, rolling your eyes.

Dorian nodded understandingly, his face turned sour at the thought of those men. His gaze met yours, lovingly, and respectfully. “Well..I’m not most men.” He says, his lip curls into an inviting grin. And you chuckled softly, nodding.

"Please call me Y/n but when we’re on campus, it’s Professor.” You drawled, stepping a bit closer.

“Y-yes, ma'am.” Dorian says shyly, heat rushing through his face again.

“Meet me in my office,” You spoke seductviely.

Dorian was still taller than you, despite your high heels on your feet. Spinning around, and striding behind you through the halls with a steady pace.

Once inside the medium-sized office, Dorian shut the door behind himself. No windows. Only one door covered You perched on the front of your desk, grinning playfully.

His lips crashed into yours, hungrily, as his tongue slipped into your mouth, moaning softly, tongues battling for dominance. He slipped his hoodie off, until he helped unzipped your tailored skirt. Clothes slipped away, falling carelessly to the floor.

His hands slipped under your knees, lifting and resting them on his shoulders, panting across your clothed pussy. You shivered from the warmth, whimpering softly. Panties pooling into a big wet spot from his touch, you were that wet from him?

His fingers hooked around your panties, rolling them off your ankles. He peppered kisses along your brown skin, his teeth sank into the softness, adding rough suction. His tongue swirling around your clit, his tongue nudging your folds apart. Gasping for air. “Dorian...” You moaned, before biting down on your lips.

"You’re doing amazing, baby.." You moaned, your hands gripped his shoulders, pulling him down to kiss him deeply, sloppy. He worked for sweet praise. Dorian needed it so fucking bad. “You taste better than I imagined…” He groaned softly. You caved into him, essence spilling in his mouth, drenched his clothes. With a teasing pace, he pumped his digits in, and out.

Dorian had rekindled his love for you with each moan, kiss, touch, and caress. Just from the sight of you fucking yourself on his fingers, made his dick harder. "Beautiful..." he muttered, smirking. His head dove deep, as he flicked his tongue on your clit, mixing your arousal with his saliva.

Your thighs clenched around his temples, Dorian pried them open with one hand. “I make you feel that good?” he grinned, curling his fingers inside. Your fingers tangles through his curls, before tongue fucking, suction, biting roughly."Yess..so good!" fucking yourself into his face, your head fell back in pleasure.

Dorian unbuttoned your tailored shirt, and unhooked your bra, and flung them across the office like they didn't matter. Fingers still pumping long, and deep, his thumb flattening over your clit. “I plan to ruin you..” He pulled out, trailing a line of your essence around your nipples, and your mouth fell open at the cold chills down your spine.

You didn't know that Dorian was this nasty, and freaky. You were quite impressed with his A-game. He wrapped his mouth around your nipple, adding rough suction while tracing essence over your other nipple. “W-why are you so nasty?” What else could he show you? His fingers pinching your clit, you cried out, crying softly. Tears falling down your face, your lip poked out. “I don't kiss and tell…” he moaned, raspy-voiced. It fell on deaf ears, begging him for more. Your essence dampened his fingers entirely, white over brown skin.

He sucks your left nipple while his finger pinched the other, the warmth of his mouth sends tingling vibrations through you. "Please, Dorian! Stop teasing!" you whine, pathetically grinding your hips into his wet fingers.

“I haven't made you squirt yet..” Dorian teased, pumping his fingers lazily. You were beyond wet, still fucking yourself on his fingers. Your feeble cries ricochet off the walls, pussy clenching around his tongue, sucking him in. “Ahhh! Dorian!” Tears littered upon your lashes, your lip poked out, as your chest fell, and rose with each breath you took.

His tongue fucking made your body arch off the bed, aching, trembling, and crying from the pleasure. "Right here?" He went deeper into you, thrusting thoroughly your walls. Suddenly you felt the familiar knot in your stomach tighten, "I..Moree—" you choked, your voice breaking. His nose glides over your clit, his tongue savoring your essence before he draws his wet muscle back in, tasting every drop. "Not done with you..shitt" Dorian moaned, his breath warm against your pussy.

His fingers scissoring in, and out ruthlessly, thighs clenching near his temples. His pace fast, sloppy with quick, hard pumps. Your hands gripped his shoulders with everything in you, panting, drooling over his shoulder. He studies your face, softening in pleasure. Focused. “Your pussy loves me that much? She keeps sucking me in..” Dorian teased, his thumb spreading circles. His hand around your neck, pulling you in, he darkly chuckled. “Fuck, yes.” You managed to let out between pleas, and moans for him.

You were pushed to the brink of sheer bliss, teetering on the edge, as your hands clutched the desk, holding on for dear life while your orgasm ripped through you like a jolt of electricity. Squirting completely Dorian slurping, swallowing it all entirely. He cleaned the mess below quickly. “Just like that..”

You good? You're so beautiful when you come," he said simply, lovingly.

You were still catching your breath, chest heaving, rising, still buzzing through your body. Your lower half was sore, yet you smirked, "Y-Yeah, I'm good, boo," you rasped.

“Take your time. No need to be nervous.” You reassured, your hand cradled his face, planting a soft kiss on his lip.

Dorian lifted your chin, forcing your gaze up to his. His demeanor shifted, a grin curled across his face. “I don't plan to take my time with you,”

You moaned in response, despite testing the waters. He was planning to do more than just fuck you. He wanted you to know that he was the only one capable.

He reached for his pocket, taking out a condom and biting off the wrapper gently. His other hand held his dick, heavy while rolling the condom all the way down himself. He groaned softly from you simply watching him.

His hands gripped your waist tightly, aligning his dick toward your wet core, just before pushing himself in inch by inch. A feral moan rippling from your throat, raspy. Dorian gritting, biting a moan back, yet it spilled out. Your walls clenching tight as if it were muscle memory. “Fuckk..Y/n..” he says lowly, panting. Molding into the shape of his dick, sucking him in before he could try to push more.

His hips rolling in deep, and slow just to feel the clench of your pussy. “To be inside you like this? I wish I could be with you..fuckk..” Dorian rasped, crashing his lips into yours. Swallowing your wild moans through every lazy lip lock, while fucking you deep. Better than that fantasy. “Dorian! You’r—so..gooddd! To me!” Your pussy was swollen, wet, softer as he could slip and slide. Whimpering for dear life, the pleasure overwhelming.

Dorian was no longer a student of yours. He was engraved in your memory, and he wanted to make whenever he was around you, you would think about only him. His cologne, his name, his face would flicker the memory of Dorian fucking you hard on the desk. Only him, and him alone.

“But this way? Isn’t it better? You can feel me for days without me fucking you…” He says teasingly, his fingers curling around your throat. His fists closed around your ankles, pinning them near your head. “I’m yours..Y/n…” In the mating press position, his hips snapped, plunged deep unexpectedly. Your moans turned raspy, loud, panting heavily between. You spoke intelligible language. “D-Doriann!!!” you screamed, tears falling down your face. Blurring your vision, seeing stars behind your closed eyelids.

Dorian plunged again, and again, harder each time, every clench. His dick hits your G-spot, your grip tightens around the desk like a vice. Full of him. You screamed like a woman dying of pleasure. Your toes are curling. “You wouldn't be able to walk....” Dorian panted softly. You whined lowly, your head fell back. He rammed into you, his tip reaching so far inside, not stopping his thrusts.

You melted in front of him, whimpering, withering, calling out to him like a pleading prayer. Your voice trembled. Dorian buried himself balls-deep inside you, the fullest had you choking on a moan. “You'll only see me in class but you can't focus…” Dorian teases, his teeth sank into your neck. “N—no hickeys!” You warned him, swatting at his arm. He hummed in response, reassuring. His dick stretch you wide open, pulsating around him.

“I’ll be running through your mind every day like you’re running through mine….” He says through a strained groan. You almost bottomed out, your walls clenching, melting, aligning your hips to meet his thrusts. You moaned frantically, muttering his name. “Doriannn! Yess!!” Your legs linked around his waist, pulling him in deeper. Dorian peppered kisses along your collarbone, his fingers flicked your clit lazily, you creamed around his dick. His lovesick gaze upon yours, you were perfect to him. Beautiful.

His palm resting over your stomach, his fingers splayed poesseively. “You’re mine..for tonight..” You cooed, biting your lip. The feel of your stomach sinking, as he rammed in, and out desperately like he was losing you, the thought made Dorian frown. He imagines you, and him together, maybe a kid, or two if you want. Marriage, white picket fence, the house. If only he could give that to you. Instead, he plunged roughly, still holding your neck. “In another life, we would've been together? Right place, wrong time? Like this? baby—shit Y/n…” Dorian pants, hips rolling into you, thrusts hitting that spot eliciting wild moans, crying out to him.

It was like hearing a confession seated in the pews, admitting a sin that he wasn't ashamed of. He managed to spill out through strained groans of your name. “I want you so fucking bad..it hurts..” He moaned raspily, biting your lip. Dorian sounds truly unhappy that things had to be this way between you and him. “I want you too..shitt!” His hips pushed forth from slow to fast, as you blinked away tears, pulling him in for a kiss. You were utterly full. His arms locked tight around you, your arms linked his neck. Your moans broke free, desperate and raw.

“You don’t even know what you’re doing to me, but you feel it. Look at you, trembling, saying my name like that. Differently than how you used to say it. Perfect…” Dorian huffed, kissing your lips once more. He lifted his leg onto the desk, hands moving with deliberate slowness. His fingers curled gently around your throat, tender yet possessive. Dorian rutting into you, his hips driving you into the desk beneath. "So fucking tight. You were made for me, weren't you?" he growled, pounding relentlessly. His fingers bruised your melanated skin, tracing the stretch marks as if painting a masterpiece on your body.

"F-fuckk! Y-yes! So deep!" you cried out, nails digging into his back until they tore his skin, leaving thin streaks of blood. Your voice dissolved into broken moans, the wet, slapping sounds of skin meeting skin echoing like gunfire in the quiet cabin. You closed your eyes tightly, vibrant colors bursting behind your lids, your body trembling on the edge of fainting.

“I don't expect you to wait until I graduate. But will this be enough? Ruining you like this?” Dorian asked softly, nibbling on your ear. Slowly, he ulled out, savoring the frustrated whine that escaped your lips. He turned you on your stomach. You propped yourself up on your hands and knees in doggystyle, glancing back with a smirk. "Yess…baby..." you panted, arching your ass high. His smirk deepened. "Good," he murmured, fingers teasing your clit beneath, sending shivers through your body.

His dick twitched at your words, hands gripping your waist firmly to keep you still from behind. Dorian eased inside again, fast and deliberate, filling you inch by inch. You choked on broken moans with every push, beating your climax, and his. You pushed your hips back, fucking him roughly. “You feel that..baby?” you babbled, drooling over your desk. He nodded weakly, mumbling words you couldn't make out. Yet you were close, and so was he. “Yeah..i feel you..”

“D—Doriannnn! I'm gonna cumm!” You announced, your mind blank with white noise. Your nails clawing at his back, drawing trails of visible scratches. Bodies mushed together, sweaty, hot. He nodded, his hands latched around your waist. “M-me too..”Your hips rolling, feeling a new sensation, your body buzzing with warmth.

You climaxed, releasing everywhere on Dorian, creating a mess on the desk as the wetness cascaded onto the carpet, while he slowly thrust into you, fucking you through your orgasm, growling and grunting in your ear. Relasing his warm cum inside the condom. The wet, gushing sounds filled the room as he lifted your legs onto his shoulders, back muscles flexing.

Dorian collapsed gently atop you, lifting himself up. Leaning in, kissing you passionately, deeply. He took off the condom, tying the ends, throwing it away in the trashcan. You reached for trashcan, tying the ends of the bag, before throwing it in the garbage disposal with quickness.

You exhaled softly with caution, your eyes darting through the door. The hallways, quiet, and empty. Not a professor or student in sight.

He swiftly tidies up the mess everywhere using the cleaning supplies he discovered in the closet, organizes everything neatly, and takes a washcloth from his bag to clean you off quickly.

Both you, and Dorian get dressed, and gathering your belongings in your bag.

"Thanks, Dorian. I'll see you in class, okay?"

"Okay, Professor..” Dorian says kindly, smiling briefly.

You bidded a farewell to him with a kiss, just before flipping the light switch, the classroom sprawled with darkness.

Dorain parted ways with you, walking in different directions of the hallway, and you strode outside to the cool air. Your student, Dorian strode away to the confines of his dorm, maintaining his mind, and focusing on that degree.

You, and Dorian were nothing more a memory. A fling. Student, and college professor. Only that.

Yet you scrutinized every possible scenario in your mind, the anxious thoughts began to blur. In the end, you chose to silence the overthinking, letting, holding on to the belief that love, in its purest form, could weather any storm.

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