Morning hit me like a truck. The first real day of classes. Full schedule. No more dipping my toes—today, I was diving straight in.
I sat up in bed, rubbed my face, and took a deep breath. The events of yesterday still lingered in my mind. The awkwardness, the confusion, the… temptation. But today, I felt different. More prepared. More… in control.
By the time I pulled into the university parking lot, Aurelia Women's University looked just as intimidatingly elegant as before. Majestic architecture, lush green campus, and an overwhelming feminine aura that made me hyper-aware of my new position as the lone man in this kingdom.
I walked through the hallways, feeling less lost than yesterday. Muscle memory was kicking in. It guided me straight to my classroom. I arrived early this time, unlocking the door and settling in behind my desk. For the first time since I woke up in this body, I felt… normal.
At exactly 8:00 AM, the classroom door swung open.
The girls filed in, chatting, adjusting their skirts, twirling their pens between their fingers. I forced myself to keep my eyes strictly above waist level.
"Professional, William. Stay professional."
As I began the lecture, I realized something incredible. I could actually teach. Words flowed effortlessly. Concepts clicked. The numbers made sense. It was like some hidden part of Clarke's brain had finally unlocked.
Of course, Lilian Parker noticed.
She was staring at me the whole time. Not just looking—studying. Like she was waiting for me to slip up.
When I finished explaining an equation without so much as a stutter, she narrowed her eyes. Suspicion growing.
Then, the inevitable commentary from Victoria Stone came.
"Oh, wow. Professor didn't mess up a single name today. Progress."
A few girls chuckled. I felt something snap inside me. A reflex.
"Be glad the professor didn't mess up your neck."
Dead. Silence.
My eyes widened. Oh, shit.
My brain scrambled for a recovery. Damage control, damage control.
"Uh, I mean—that was a joke. A bad one. Slipped out. I, uh… really need to filter myself better."
More silence.
Then, Amelia Blackwell—of course—giggled. Loudly.
"That was hilarious, Professor. I didn't know you had it in you."
Her sultry eyes locked onto mine, completely ignoring the awkwardness in the room. The other girls exchanged glances, some rolling their eyes. But the tension broke.
I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding…
The class ran its course, time passed, and it ended. The students packed their things, chatting as they headed for the door. But one girl remained seated.
Amelia Blackwell.
She rested her chin on her hand, watching me with an amused smirk.
"I don't think we need a break, do we, Professor? Let's start our consultation right away."
I hesitated. Was it hot in here, or was that just me?
"Uh—yeah. Sure."
She sauntered toward me, hips swaying slightly, and placed her research paper on my desk.
"Mechanical fluid dynamics and high-energy physics."
A complex topic, but as I skimmed through the pages, everything fell into place—just like during my lectures earlier. My mind slipped into Clarke's rhythm effortlessly. The numbers, the equations—they weren't foreign. They simply made sense.
I tapped my finger against the page, maintaining a calm, assessing demeanor.
"Your progress is actually impressive," I said smoothly, as if this wasn't the first time I was reviewing her work.
Amelia leaned in closer, resting an arm on my desk. Too close.
"You really think so, Professor? Or are you just saying that to flatter me?"
Her voice was like honey, dripping with mischief.
I swallowed. Professionalism, William. Keep it together.
Then, an idea popped into my head. A test.
I "accidentally" dropped my pen.
It rolled off the desk and landed—conveniently—by Amelia's chair.
A moment of silence.
Then, her eyes sparkled.
A slow smile curled onto her lips.
"Oh my," she murmured, voice dripping with amusement. "Clumsy, aren't we?"
She stood up gracefully, taking her time as she bent down—exaggeratedly, deliberately.
Her skirt clung tight to her hips as she leaned forward, the fabric pulling taut over the full, round swell of her ass.
She arched her back just so, slow and teasing, and the hem of her skirt rode up—high enough to show a glimpse of her bare, curved backside peeking out, smooth and shamelessly bold.
Her thighs flexed slightly, soft skin catching the light, while her hair spilled forward, brushing the floor for a fleeting second.
The sway of her hips was subtle but electric, like a quiet dare hanging in the air, thick with heat.
By the time she straightened, her smirk was triumphant.
"Here you go, Professor." She placed the pen in my hand, fingers brushing mine just a little too long.
I cleared my throat. Professionalism, William. Professionalism.
"Right. Uh—let's move on."
Her giggle told me she saw right through me.
Luckily, we were almost done reviewing her work, and after a few more minutes of suggestions, she started packing her things.
After Amelia finally left, I let out a long exhale. That… was a lot.
I needed to ground myself. Do something normal. Blend in.
My mind nudged me toward something. A habit. Clarke's habit.
"You should go check in with the faculty."
So I did.
The faculty lounge was a cozy, well-lit room with bookshelves, a coffee station, and a few cushy chairs. I stepped inside, and immediately, several female professors turned to look at me.
Not like the students. No adoring eyes or giddy whispers. But still… an air of interest.
Dr. Zoe Callahan was the first to speak.
"Oh, Professor Clarke! You made it. I was wondering when you'd show up."
I recognized her from yesterday—the one who had escorted me to my class.
"Yeah, I figured it was about time," I said, moving toward the coffee station.
She chuckled. "I was beginning to think you were avoiding us."
"Wouldn't dream of it," I replied, pouring myself a cup. Anything to keep my hands occupied.
She started making small talk—something about how hectic the first week of classes always was. I nodded along, half-listening, half-processing what just happened with Amelia.
Then, another professor—someone I didn't recognize—spoke up.
"So, Clarke. How's your group this year?"
I took a sip of coffee, thinking about my students. The suspicious Lilian. The sharp-tongued Victoria. The sweet and intriguing Olivia. And, of course, the walking temptation named Amelia.
A slow smile crept onto my face.
"I couldn't ask for a better one."