I told myself it was just late-night revisions.
That the glow from his desk lamp was academic fuel, not the spark I'd been chasing through dusty footnotes and endless seminars.
But truth? I lingered because his voice-gravel wrapped in velvet-unraveled something feral in me, a hunger dressed up as ambition, begging for the crush of real authority.
The door stayed ajar that first night, a sliver of hallway light slicing the shadows like an accusation.
Our breaths tangled there, close enough to taste the whiskey on his exhale, far enough to pretend it was oversight.
He leaned in to critique my thesis, fingers brushing mine over faded pages, and I felt it: the mentor's steel bending toward devourer, his restraint cracking under my defiant stare.
I pushed back, sarcastic quip ready, but my body betrayed me first-thighs clenching at the promise in his pause.
Dusty archives became our secret altar next, shelves groaning as he pinned me against forgotten volumes, his mouth claiming what lectures never could.
Then the locked computer lab, screens flickering like guilty witnesses to my sweat-slicked collapse across the desk, his hands mapping every inch of surrender I swore I'd never give.
He's the pillar I worship and the blade at my throat-ten years my senior, holder of my recommendations, architect of my ruin.
Every thrust, every bitten command, poisons the dream I've clawed for: tenure track, respect, a name that doesn't whisper scandal.
It's wrong.
Career-ending, integrity-shredding wrong.
Yet here I am, craving the next after-hours summons, the way he turns validation into velvet chains.
One departmental whisper, one jealous colleague's tip, and it all crumbles-my future, his legacy, us.
But walking away? That might break me worse.
A full-length age gap taboo dark erotic romance featuring a defiant graduate student haunted by forbidden surrender and the unraveling professor who devours her.
