Mai gripped her phone, knuckles white with tension. She took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and let his voice guide her imagination.
Her free hand drifted uncertainly across her own body: the smooth line of her collarbone, the pulse fluttering there like a trapped bird beneath her skin. "My chest feels... tight,' she whispered. 'Like there's too much heat inside me, and nowhere for it to go.' Her breath shuddered. She hesitantly squeezed her breast through her fitted white tank top. "I can feel my nipples… they're hard," she whispered, her voice trembling. "God, it's like my whole body is sensitive right now. But… I feel like I'm… betraying something."
On the other end of the line, Noah made a quiet sound; not quite approval, not quite command, something in between.
"Describe it," he urged softly.
Mai heard his voice, but her gaze flickered around her room, desperate for grounding. One of her favorite books lay open at her side, a story about a girl who wanted too much. Above her desk hung a lacquer painting of a lotus pond from Hanoi, the pink blossoms glowing against dark water. Everything in her space reflected a girl who loved worlds, not one who lost herself in someone else's voice.
"It's like… my own body keeps insisting on something my brain says I should run from." Her thighs pressed together involuntarily, her breath becoming ragged. "Every time you talk to me like that… It's like the heat spreads. Downward. Everywhere." Her voice shrank to a hush. "And… I don't know if it's something I should be ashamed of."
"Mai," Noah's voice softened, but the authority beneath it never disappeared, "you're not doing anything wrong."
But she wasn't sure she believed him.
Noah's encouragement was steady, his voice a beacon in the darkness. "Focus on that sensitive feeling. Let your hands travel lower, Mai. Feel the heat building between your thighs."
Her fingertips trembled as she skimmed over her stomach, the soft curves of her hips, until they reached the waistband of her shorts. Her heart thudded violently, part fear, part anticipation. "I... I feel so exposed," she whispered, her voice trembling. The tension between her legs made her squirm, unable to sit still. Her breath caught on a sound that surprised her, a tiny, helpless whimper she didn't recognize as her own.
"If I keep going…" she whispered, tears stinging the corners of her eyes, not from sadness but from being overwhelmed. Mai squeezed her thighs together. The tension there was unbearable.
"My thoughts keep going back to our talk, the intense look in your eyes. It's…scary. Am I doing this wrong?" Her voice didn't sound like her own. Someone else was speaking through her mouth.
"Good girl. You're doing great. Describe more." Noah instructed, his voice laced with desire.
Mai didn't speak. She couldn't. The words good girl still echoed in her head: soft, intoxicating, and terrifyingly addictive.
She exhaled, her fingers ventured lower, brushing against the damp curls of her pubic hair and finding the slick folds of her sex.. "It's... It's sensitive," she admitted, her voice shaking as she spoke. "When I picture us together, talking about writing, I picture the way your voice drops when you read to me aloud. I imagine what it would be like if you were reading to me alone, if your words were meant only for me."
Mai's breath hitched. "I can feel something coming out of my body... it's… oh my god, I'm so wet."
Her toes curled as she brushed against the hard nub at the top of her clitoris. A moan escaped Mai's lips as she spoke. She could feel the tension building, her body responding to the situation. The pleasure felt like betrayal. Her own body, testifying against her. Her body responded even as her mind recoiled. She wanted it to stop. She wanted it to continue. She wanted both things with equal intensity. "I... I don't know if I can describe it... it's..."
"Don't worry if you can't describe it. Just remember to feel it, let your fingers slide inside," Noah instructed, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down her spine. "Feel the tightness, the heat. Imagine it's my hand, Mai. Imagine we're alone, and it's me touching you."
Mai's eyes fluttered closed as she complied, her fingers slipping inside her wetness. "Oh... It's intense," she gasped. Her hips began to move, rocking against her hand as she explored her own depths. "I want... I want more," she panted, her voice breathless. "I want to feel you."
Noah's voice was a low growl. "You feel me, Mai. I'm right here with you. Feel my hand on yours, guiding you, pushing you deeper. Let go of everything but my voice and this feeling."
Mai's body arched as her fingers moved faster, deeper, chasing something she couldn't name as anything but… release. "Something is, I don't know, growing? I feel warm, and it's spreading through me. I'm afraid of pushing too far."
"That's right. Go slowly. Gently rub your clit as well." Noah's instructions were precise, guiding her through the rising tide of her pleasure.
Mai's hand trembled, her breath catching as she followed his commands. She could feel the pressure building, her body aching. "I tried, but it's so sensitive, I had to pull away. Will that ruin it? I don't want to do it wrong. Is this what you meant by making it physical? Because I can barely breathe right now."
"Keep going. Let it consume you. Show me how beautiful you are when you let go. Tell me when you reach the edge." Noah commanded, his voice a fierce whisper.
Mai squeezed the phone in her hand while biting back an unexpected moan, her fingers still moving, her breath coming in quick gasps. What was she doing? What was she doing? Her body was on fire, every nerve ending screaming for release, but there was something else now, a creeping horror at her own actions, at where she'd let this go.
"Noah... I'm close," she gasped, her voice a mix of desperation and ecstasy. "I can feel it... I'm so close. God, my heart is beating so fast, and my body is on fire. Should I keep going? I don't know how to finish…Help me, Noah!" She was watching herself from somewhere far away, like she'd floated up to the water-stained ceiling and was looking down at a stranger in her bed.
Everything felt unreal, like this was happening to someone else. That girl down there in the narrow bed, that desperate girl begging her professor for guidance while her family worked downstairs. That couldn't be Mai Pham, who'd never even had a real boyfriend, who'd been too busy studying to go to parties, who was supposed to be the family's great hope.
But her entire body shook as she heard his next words, "Do you want to cum?" Noah's voice was low, deliberate, and the bluntness of the question that shattered whatever remained of the academic pretense between them.
Mai's chest rose and fell in quick, shallow breaths. Her body screamed yes while her mind screamed stop, stop, what are you doing, this is wrong, this is so wrong. But her fingers were still moving furiously inside her panties.
Mai's chest rose and fell in quick, shallow breaths as she spoke, her body trembling with need. "Yes…so badly. But I'm scared of what it will feel like. Please guide me."
As soon as she said the words, she wanted to take them back immediately. She sounded pathetic. Desperate.
"No. I forbid you to cum, at least, not by thinking of me." Noah's words were final, leaving no room for argument.
The line went dead.
Mai stared at her phone in shock, the dial tone buzzing in her ear like an accusation. Her body was still coiled tight, every muscle tense with unfulfilled need, but the sudden disconnection felt like being doused with ice water.
Mai's eyes flew open. For a moment, she couldn't move. Paralysis seized her limbs. The phone slipped from her grip, landing on the comforter with a soft thud. Her other hand remained frozen between her legs, fingertips still slick, still tingling.
Slowly, as if waking from a trance, she pulled her hand away. Stared at her glistening fingers in the dim candlelight. The evidence of her arousal made her stomach turn. She wiped her hand frantically on the comforter, then on her shorts, trying to erase the physical proof of what had just happened.
Confusion and frustration flooded her as she sat up straight, her voice cracking with emotion even though no one could hear. "What? I was so close… Why won't you let me finish? You're supposed to help me, not torture me!"
But even as the words formed, shame crashed over her in waves. She looked down at herself, at her hand, at her shorts pooled around her ankles, and her cotton panties that had been soaked through by her arousal. All was evidence of what she'd been doing, and she felt disgust curl in her stomach. She yanked the blanket over herself, suddenly desperate to cover up, to hide from her own actions.
Her phone buzzed with a text message.
========================================================================
Noah's fingers moved across the phone screen with practiced precision, the blue light cutting through the bathroom's steamy atmosphere like a blade. The water had cooled enough that he could feel the porcelain against his back, but he barely noticed. His focus was entirely on the girl fifteen miles away, on the power dynamic that crackled between them through fiber optic cables and cell towers.
Noah: Now, I want you to channel that raw frustration into your romance scene. Begin writing at once. Trust the process, you'll see the difference.
He hit send and leaned back against the tub, watching the steam rise toward the recessed lights. Through the fog on the windows, he could see the city spread out below, a maze of possibilities and consequences that stretched to the horizon.
========================================================================
Mai's hands shook as she read his message, phone screen casting harsh shadows across her face in the candlelit room. The vanilla candle had burned down to a stub, and the smell made her nauseous now. Wax pooled on the nightstand she'd salvaged from a sidewalk three blocks away. Her laptop hummed on the bed beside her, the cursor blinking accusingly in the empty document where she was supposed to be pouring her heart out.
Anger flared hot and bright in her chest. Anger at him for manipulating her, for leaving her hanging, for making this seem like some kind of academic exercise when it was clearly something else entirely. But underneath the anger was a sickening recognition: her body had responded. Despite knowing it was wrong, despite the shame and fear and confusion, she had liked it. Her body had betrayed her, had responded to his voice and his instructions like she was some kind of puppet on strings.
The smell of pho broth had faded. Downstairs, she heard her grandmother's voice calling out goodbyes in Vietnamese, the familiar sounds of the restaurant closing for the night. Any moment now, her family would come upstairs. Her father would check that she was studying. Her little brother might knock on the door, asking to borrow a highlighter. They couldn't see her like this. They couldn't know what she'd been doing.
The fear of consequences hit her all at once. What if they'd heard something? What if her father came to check on her and saw her face, flushed and guilty? What if this somehow got back to the university? What if Professor White, Noah, told someone? Or, what if she'd violated the school's rules by… by doing whatever the hell this was?
Her fingers moved across the phone screen before her brain could catch up, anger giving her a courage she didn't actually feel.
Mai: I trusted you with everything. My embarrassment, my longing. And now you cut me off? I feel manipulated.
The words felt dangerous as she sent them, like she was throwing a match into gasoline. You didn't talk to professors like that. You didn't accuse them of manipulation, especially not when you'd been a willing participant in whatever this was. What was wrong with her? Why did she keep making everything worse?
But part of her was tired of being careful, tired of second-guessing every interaction with him. That part that was still angry, still frustrated, still wanting him. She felt a grim satisfaction at having said it. She'd spent the last hour opening herself up, following his instructions, letting him guide her into territory she'd never explored before. And now he was pulling back, leaving her hanging in the middle of something that felt too important to abandon.
Her room suddenly felt claustrophobic, the walls closing in as she waited for his response. Through the window, she could see a homeless man setting up his sleeping bag in the doorway of the closed electronics store, arranging his possessions with careful precision.
Noah's response came after what felt like an eternity, his words cutting through her anger like a scalpel.
Noah: You're not sacrificing anything. You're using real emotions, anger, and arousal to fuel your craft. Those feelings are yours, untouched by me. Pour them onto the page.
Mai stared at the message. Her heart in her throat. He was right, and she hated him for it. The frustration burning in her chest, the way her skin felt too tight, the electric current that seemed to run just beneath her surface, it was all hers. He'd just shown her how to find it, how to tap into the raw material that good writing required. That's what good teachers did, right? They pushed you beyond your comfort zone. They challenged you to dig deeper, to find resources within yourself you didn't know existed.
But then why did it feel so much like a violation? Why did her body feel simultaneously alive and disgusting? Why was she aroused and horrified in equal measure?
Because you wanted it, a voice whispered in her head. You wanted his attention. You wanted him to see you as more than just another student. You practically begged for this.
This was her fault. She'd sent that first message. She'd confessed to thinking about him. She'd answered the phone when she could have let it go to voicemail. She'd let this happen. Maybe she'd even made it happen.
She took a deep breath, letting the anger settle into something more manageable. Her reflection stared back at her from the black window, pale and wide-eyed in the darkness. Her fingers moved across the keyboard, typing before she could second-guess herself:
Mai: Alright. Whatever, I'll write. Thank you for pushing me, even if it hurt.
She typed the words with steady fingers, feeling something shift inside her chest. This was what she'd come to college for, wasn't it? To be challenged, to be pushed, to discover what she was really capable of.
Her thoughts felt true and false at the same time. She was grateful; he'd shown her something about herself, about the intensity of emotion she was capable of feeling. But she also felt used
The fact that it was her first time touching herself like that. And it happened in her childhood bedroom, at midnight, guided by a professor who made her pulse race. It wasn't exactly what she'd imagined. But maybe that was the point?
The two realities existed simultaneously in her mind, refusing to resolve into a single truth.
========================================================================
Noah read her message in the cooling bathwater, feeling a mixture of satisfaction and something darker. The girl had backbone, more than he'd expected. She was angry with him, but she was also grateful, and that combination was intoxicating.
Noah: I'll see you in class tomorrow. If you'd rather forget tonight, that's fine.
He typed the words deliberately, giving her an out while simultaneously making it clear that forgetting wasn't really an option. You couldn't unknow things. You couldn't unfeel what had passed between them. The bathroom's golden light reflected off the water's surface, creating patterns that danced across the marble walls. He watched the shifting light and felt something stir within him that he'd kept carefully buried for years.
After Alexa's death, he had closed off parts of himself: the parts that she had shown him, the darkness within himself that only felt safe to explore with her standing by his side. For years, he had purposely turned away from that truth, shying away from relationships and connections. But his isolation had less to do with any fears of rejection or judgment from others. The truth was, his time with Alexa had exposed him to his inner monster and stripped him of such petty concerns and insecurities.
No, what really scared him was his own desires and the things he was capable of doing to others to achieve them. So instead of pursuing them and leaving untold levels of destruction in his wake, he had chosen to ignore them and keep his life small, contained, and predictable.
But the innocent girl on the other end of his phone represented something else: chaos, possibility, desire, the kind of risk that made his pulse quicken. The same intoxicating danger that Alexa had once encouraged.
Mai's response came after a long pause, and when it did, it made him smile.
Mai: I choose to remember. Goodnight, Professor. Talk to you tomorrow.
The formality of "Professor" at the end, after everything they'd shared, felt like a small rebellion. Noah smiled, typing back a simple response.
Noah: Goodnight.
He set his phone aside and sank deeper into the water. Tonight had cracked something open. Tonight had reminded him what it felt like to have power over someone, to watch them respond to his guidance, to shape their desires and fears into something he could control.
========================================================================
Fifteen miles away, Mai set her phone face down on the nightstand. She couldn't look at her family photo right now, couldn't face their smiling faces knowing what she'd just done. She pressed her palms against her eyes.
The candle had finally guttered out, leaving her in darkness except for the harsh white glow of her laptop screen. She forced herself to look at her reflection in the black window and immediately regretted it. The girl staring back looked guilty and flushed and desperate in ways that made her sick.
You did this, she thought. You wanted this. You can't even blame him when you were practically begging for his attention.
But even as she thought it, another part of her whispered: He's the one with the power. He's the one who should have said no. He's the professor. He's the adult.
The two thoughts warred in her head, neither one winning, leaving her fractured and confused.
Her body still hummed with unfulfilled arousal. She opened her laptop, then closed it. Opened it again. Her fingers hovered over the keyboard, trembling.
The most shameful part. Even now, after everything, after the disgust and the fear and the recognition of how wrong this all was, she still wanted him. Her body hadn't gotten the memo that this was manipulation or whatever the hell it was. Her body just knew that it had been promised release and then denied, and it was angry about that denial.
She wanted to stop, wanted to close the laptop and go to sleep and pretend tonight never happened. But she also wanted to continue, wanted to see where this would lead, wanted to know what it felt like to channel this raw, chaotic energy into her writing. The contradiction lived in her body like a physical ache.
Her fingers hovered over the keyboard, trembling. Then they began to move.
The cursor blinked. Mai typed a word, deleted it. Typed another. Her fingers found a rhythm, hesitant at first, then faster. She wrote about a girl in a tower, isolated, alone. The girl had a mentor who visited in dreams, whose voice guided her through the darkness. Mai's fingers flew across the keys now, pouring out in a torrent she couldn't control.
The words came in a rush, raw and unfiltered. The anger was still there, burning bright in her chest, but now it was mixed with something else: a fierce determination that felt like electricity in her veins.
She wrote about desire and power, about the way it felt to want something you knew was wrong. About the delicious agony of being pushed beyond your limits by someone who saw potential in you that you didn't know existed. She wrote about shame and arousal existing in the same body, about how your mind could scream no while your body whispered yes. About the confusion of not being able to trust your own responses.
She wrote about a girl who couldn't meet her own eyes in the mirror.
She wrote about a girl whose body betrayed her with every heartbeat.
She wrote about a girl who was angry at herself for wanting, and angry at him for making her want, and angry at the world for making wanting feel like such a crime.
The words weren't good; they were messy, repetitive, and probably way too revealing, but they were real. Her fingers ached. Her eyes burned. But she couldn't stop. The document filled with text, paragraph after paragraph, the cursor racing ahead as if it had a mind of its own.
Downstairs, she heard her father's heavy footsteps on the stairs. She quickly closed the document and pulled up a textbook, flipping it open to a random page. Her hands were still unsteady. Her face was still flushed. She arranged her features into what she hoped resembled studious concentration, but her breathing was too fast, too shallow.
The knock came. She called out, "Come in," and was horrified by how breathless she sounded.
Her father poked his head in. Mai forced herself to meet his eyes, to smile, even as guilt churned in her stomach. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear with fingers that still felt slick despite her frantic wiping. Her other hand gripped the textbook too tightly, knuckles white against the cover.
"Don't stay up too late, Mai-mai," he said in Vietnamese, using her childhood nickname. "You work too hard."
The kindness in his voice made her want to cry. If he knew what she'd been doing ten minutes ago, if he knew any of it, he wouldn't recognize her as his daughter anymore.
She ducked her head, unable to hold his gaze any longer, and gestured at the textbook as if she'd been absorbed in it all evening. "I won't, Ba," she lied. "Goodnight."
When he closed the door, she let out a breath she hadn't known she was holding. Her shoulders sagged. Her hands were still unsteady as she set the textbook aside and opened the laptop again. The words glowed on the screen, evidence of her shame, proof of her confusion. She should delete it. She should delete all of it, the document, the text messages, the memory of his voice in her ear telling her what to do with her body.
But she didn't delete it. Instead, she kept writing, pouring everything into the document like maybe if she got it all out onto the page, it would stop living in her body. Like maybe if she could transform this chaos into craft, it would somehow justify what had happened.
She wanted to make him proud. She wanted to prove she could do what he'd asked, that she could channel these raw emotions into something worthwhile.
But underneath all of it, buried beneath the shame and confusion and fear, was a kernel of something else: excitement. The thrill of being seen, of being wanted, of being special enough to command the attention of someone like Noah White. The intoxicating rush of breaking rules, of crossing boundaries, of exploring territory that had always been forbidden.
Mai wrote for another hour, the words flowing faster than they ever had before. When she finally stopped, her neck was stiff and her eyes burned, but she'd produced ten pages. More than she'd written in the previous month combined.
She saved the document and closed her laptop, then sat in the darkness of her room, listening to the city's nighttime symphony.
Mai knew she wouldn't sleep tonight. She'd lie in her narrow bed, staring at the water-stained ceiling, replaying every moment of that phone call. Trying to understand why her body had responded when her mind knew it was wrong. Trying to reconcile the girl she'd been this morning with the girl she'd become tonight.
And tomorrow she'd have to face him in class, knowing what they'd done, knowing what he'd heard, knowing that he'd guided her to places she'd never been before.
The thought terrified her.
The thought thrilled her.
She couldn't tell the difference anymore. And maybe that was the most terrifying part.