"Do you like that?"
A petite, ebony lady crouched between his legs asked as she kissed the tip of Jeremy's throbbing shaft while cupping his sac in her other hand.
She slapped the pipe across her left cheek playfully, all while maintaining eye contact. Her chest glistened with the saliva that escaped her mouth as she introduced his member to the inner lining of her cheeks, her tongue, and the ridges of her throat. Her eyes became watery as she strained, trying to fit all of him into that mouth of hers.
He reached out his hand to grab one of the beautiful, perky works of art on her chest, but she caught his wrist before he could do it.
Shaking her head from side to side, she said.
"Ah, ah, ah… No touching. Don't be a naughty boy." She had a sinister smile on her face.
"Damn." Jeremy whispered. "You are enjoying this a little too much."
He moved his head backwards on the chair on which he sat. As her head bobbed up and down, she spread her palm over his chest, slowly squeezing his neck. She let her fingers slide down his chest, her nails scraping his nipple while her other hand dug into his thigh.
His toes wiggled, and his knees locked up. He laced his fingers through her braids like she was some kind of lifeline in a storm he didn't want to survive.
"Just like that," he groaned. "Just like that, baby girl—yes, yes—damn…"
And then—
BEEEEP. BEEEEP. BEEEEP.
Jeremy sat bolt upright, chest heaving, sheets clinging to his body with an embarrassing wet patch staring up at him like guilt.
"Shit," he hissed, swiping the alarm off his phone.
Two months into freshman year at Westbridge, and this was still happening—wet dreams vivid enough to make him question reality, hormones riding shotgun like they owned his life. And this one? This one was cinematic.
He peeled the sheets off, groaning at the mess. Again. Laundry day was going to be awkward.
The time glared back at him. 8:17 AM.
"Fuck!"
His psych elective started at 8:00. Of all the days to oversleep, it had to be today—the one class where the professor actually took attendance and didn't play about tardiness.
Jeremy scrambled. No shower. Just deodorant, gum, and prayer. He threw on the least wrinkled tee and jeans combo, grabbed his laptop, and bolted across campus like his GPA depended on it—which it kinda did.
By the time he pushed open the door to PSY101: Introduction to Behavioural Theories, he was twenty-three minutes late, panting like he'd run a marathon.
Professor Griggs, a burly man with white tufts of Einstein hair and a voice that belonged on a PBS documentary, paused mid-slide and raised a brow.
"Ah, Mr… Jeremy, isn't it?" He drawled, adjusting his glasses. "Nice of you to wake up and join us."
The class chuckled. Jeremy managed a sheepish grin.
"Yes, sir. Sorry, sir."
"Well, since you're here, maybe you can tell us what Pavlov conditioned his dogs to do?"
Jeremy blinked. "Uh…"
"Never mind." Griggs waved him off with a smirk. "Take a seat. Try not to drool on your desk."
Laughter again. Jeremy found the nearest spot, head low. His ears were still warm when she walked in.
Her.
He didn't know her name. No one in class did yet. But the moment she stepped into the room, it felt like someone had hit mute on the world.
She wasn't tall—maybe five-five—but she carried herself like she owned the floor. Sleek braids framed her caramel face, and her glasses sat delicately on her nose, making her look both brilliant and untouchably cool. Black slacks. Cream blouse. Confident smile.
Professor Griggs gestured her way. "Everyone, this is Dr. Ava Morgan. She will be co-teaching this course with me and probably outsmarting me in the process."
She waved. "Don't worry. I'll keep him in line."
Even her voice sounded like slow jazz. Jeremy sat up straighter, suddenly wide awake. His gaze followed her every movement as she slid behind the desk at the front, unfurling a sleek black laptop and jotting something in a notebook.
He didn't hear another word Griggs said. Not really.
The lecture hall buzzed with a low, artificial hum—the kind of sound that burrowed into your skull if you sat with it long enough. Fluorescent lights flickered overhead, casting a sterile glow on the sea of heads before Jeremy as he slipped in through the back. Late. Again. His heart still thundered, not from rushing across campus, but from what he'd woken up to minutes earlier: tangled sheets, damp briefs, and the echo of a dream he wasn't ready to let go of.
"Since Dr. Morgan is already here, I will just go over the syllabus for the semester, you know, to put things into perspective. Where I come in, and where she does." He said. Jeremy's breath caught. Ava Morgan. Her name felt too soft for someone like her. But it rolled over his tongue in his mind, anyway.
He gave a tiny nod, more to himself than anyone else. Just enough to feel like he'd acknowledged her, even if she never looked his way.
Griggs launched into the course overview. History of psychology. Freud. Behaviourism. Jeremy tried to focus—he really did. But Ava's voice cut through the professor's in measured intervals, steady and cool, and with every word she spoke, the version of her in his head unravelled into something entirely inappropriate.
He remembered the dream, how it started soft and turned feral. A slow burn in his chest, a warm mouth at his throat, limbs locked around his waist. He remembered the dream, but this time the woman was her. Her face. Her scent. Her skin. Her voice, rasping in his ear. His thighs clenched involuntarily.
"…the foundation of behavioral theory…" Griggs droned on, oblivious. Jeremy's gaze kept sliding back to Ava. The rise of her chest beneath a structured blazer. The way her hands moved when she spoke—controlled, precise, unfailingly sure.
What would she look like without the restriction of clothing? The question slithered in, uninvited.
He imagined her leaning across a desk, lips slightly parted, whispering his name. not in that detached, clipped tone she used here, but with heat. With urgency. His palms were sweating. He shifted in his seat, trying to get comfortable, but the tightness in his jeans made that impossible.
Griggs was onto the biological basis of behaviour now. Dopamine, serotonin, neurotransmitters—none of it stuck. All Jeremy could think about was how her eyes would look darkened with need. How her breath might hitch. The way her hair might fall out of that neat twist if he pulled just hard enough.
"—cognitive processes like memory, attention, language…" Griggs was saying.
Jeremy's thoughts spiralled faster. He was losing grip on the present. The lines between the fantasy and the woman standing just meters away blurred. And suddenly, none of it felt academic anymore.
By the time Griggs mentioned social psychology and group dynamics, Jeremy was already gone. Not in any intellectual sense. In a physical, embarrassing, all-too-obvious way. The kind of spiral that made you wish for invisibility.
As the lecture came to its concluding minutes, Ava's eyes travelled around the crowd, scanning faces without really seeing them. Her eyes passed over him for half a second. No spark of recognition. No smile. Just clinical interest.
Still, Jeremy left the lecture hall with his pulse thudding and his thoughts crawling. She was more than just hot. She was magnetic. Dangerous. The kind of woman who could ruin a man without lifting a finger.
And God help him, he was already halfway there.
After class, Professor Griggs clapped his hands together. "Before we wrap, I'm looking for a student assistant. Someone to help organize notes, handle a few administrative things… And, you know, make coffee."
Jeremy's hand shot up before his brain caught up. Several heads turned.
Griggs looked surprised. "Mr. Jeremy. That was quick."
"I'm, uh… interested," Jeremy said, trying not to look at Dr. Morgan.
She turned toward him briefly, curious.
Griggs nodded. "Alright. Let's talk after class."
The moment the room began to clear, Jeremy sat frozen in his seat, heart hammering. What was he thinking?
Damn it, Jeremy. Seriously? Undressing her with your eyes in the middle of a lecture? She's a doctor, for Christ's sake, your teacher. You just met her! What is wrong with you? That dream was one thing, private and pathetic, but this… This is just creepy. You need to get it together. Mom's counting on you. Focus, learn, succeed. Make her proud, man. She's been through enough already.
He thought to himself. But it was too late now. Griggs was already walking towards him. He was in too deep to back off.
He didn't even like early mornings. But something about her—her presence, the dream, the loneliness—had pushed him forward.
A chance to be near her?
It was worth the gamble.