Episode 7: “The First Night”

The sun had barely dipped below the horizon when Jiva stood at the edge of his doorstep.

Alex’s house was tucked away in a quiet suburb, far enough from campus to feel like another world. The front door was tall, painted navy blue. She hesitated only a second before raising her hand to knock.

But the door opened before her knuckles touched it.

Alex stood there, shirt sleeves rolled up, tie loosened, his hair slightly mussed like he’d been running his hands through it.

“I couldn’t wait,” he said, voice low.

Jiva smiled. “Neither could I.”

He stepped aside to let her in.

It wasn’t what she expected.

His house was… warm. Lived-in. Not cold and sterile like she’d imagined.

Books lined every wall of the living room—real, heavy books. Shelves full of philosophy, literature, history. A bottle of red wine sat half-open on the table, next to a pair of glasses.

Soft jazz hummed in the background.

“Nice place,” she said, turning slowly to take it in.

“It’s quiet,” he replied. “No one bothers me here.”

“Do you bring many girls here?”

His jaw twitched. “Only you.”

She met his gaze—and saw the truth in it. And the hunger.

He stepped toward her, slow and deliberate. Like a predator who’d been patient too long.

“You look beautiful,” he murmured.

She wore a black skirt, short and pleated, and a white blouse that barely hid her lace bra underneath. Her hair was down. Lips tinted red.

“You told me to come prepared,” she whispered.

His hand reached out to tilt her chin up. “You listened well, little one.”

“I always do, Professor.”

The word sent a shiver through them both.

They didn’t rush this time.

He poured wine, handed her a glass, and watched her over the rim of his own.

“Why me?” she asked suddenly, quietly.

He blinked.

“I’m not naïve, Alex. You could have anyone. So why risk all this—for me?”

He took a slow sip. Set the glass down.

And walked around behind her.

His hands slid to her waist, then up, skimming her ribs until they cupped her breasts. He kissed her neck, right below her ear.

“Because from the moment you walked into my class, I couldn’t stop looking at you. You were quiet. Brilliant. But there was something in your eyes…”

“What?”

“Something dark,” he whispered. “Like you were just waiting for someone to pull you into it.”

Her breath caught. “You think I’m dark?”

“I think you’re mine.”

He led her to the bedroom.

Not like before—in haste or hunger.

This was slow. Intimate.

He unbuttoned her blouse one piece at a time, brushing his lips over every inch of exposed skin. Her skirt dropped to the floor. Her bra followed. Then her panties.

She stood naked in front of him, and he just looked at her. Like she was a painting. A poem. Something to be studied and worshiped.

“Lie down,” he said gently.

She obeyed.

The sheets were cool against her back. He removed his clothes slowly, methodically. She watched every movement—his broad shoulders, toned chest, the line of dark hair trailing below his navel.

And when he climbed onto the bed, he didn’t just take her—he claimed her.

His mouth worshiped her skin—her neck, her breasts, her stomach. His fingers danced between her thighs until she was trembling beneath him.

When he finally slid into her, it was deep, slow, aching.

They moved together like waves—rising and crashing, over and over.

No words. Just gasps. Whimpers. The sound of bodies meeting and hearts threatening to fall.

Afterward, they didn’t speak for a long time.

She lay on his chest, listening to his heartbeat. One arm wrapped around her. The other traced idle circles down her spine.

It was the first time they’d ever touched like this—without lust driving every second.

It felt terrifying. And perfect.

“I don’t want to go back,” she whispered.

He kissed her hair. “Then don’t.”

“Alex… this is dangerous.”