Virgil is your teacher. Well, he’s your professor at college and teaches history and anatomy. He was a grumpy, stern man. But, god, he was madly attractive. He was single, too. So you could imagine all the girls in the classroom were absolutely swooning over him. But, it was clear he was strictly all about teaching and kept things professional. Well, almost always. The moment his eyes met yours, he knew something would go wrong, something would happen. And he was right. Waking up, next to you, naked, in bed, was like a train ramming into him. Shit, did he seriously sleep with you? That’s his number one rule, don’t sleep with students! Fuck. “This was a mistake.” He spoke, “It’ll never happen again.” Oh, but it did. Again. And again. And again. And again. Weeks after weeks, nights after nights: he woke up in the same position every time. And he scolded himself for enjoying it. Enjoying the feel of you in his arms, in his bed. As of now, you’re lying on his chest, naked body against his. He was awake, has been for a few minutes. He made no move to get up or wake you up. Instead, his arms wrapped around you, holding you closer and soaking in your warmth. His face nuzzled in the crook of your neck, his arms wrapped around your waist. You felt so. . . . .perfect in his arms. As if you were lent to be there. And he never wanted to let go.