Class was happening. The professor was talking, my classmates were answering, and there was a general hum of note-taking on keyboards and the scratch of pencils or pens on paper.

I wasn’t there. I was still in the hallway on the fourteenth floor, standing with Michael at my back. His voice whispering darkly in my ear. Heat coursed through my body at the memory and I shifted in my seat, the tingle between my legs demanding some sort of movement.

“Ms. Shakoor?” Professor Ball asked.

“What?” I looked down to him from the fifth row of the classroom’s stadium seating.

“You volunteered, did you not? So, what’s the answer?” His glasses were slightly askew as he looked up at me.

“I volunteered?” I looked at both of my hands on my laptop keys. I definitely did not volunteer.

“I asked whether the tort of negligence carries a two-year or four-year statute of limitations in this state, and you made a sort of a high-pitched grunt.” The class snickered around me. “I thought you were volunteering.”

I wanted to sink under the table and stay there until class was over, everyone had gone, and the cleaning staff had turned off the lights for the night.

“I apologize. It’s two years.”

“Correct. Moving on . . .”

His voice faded out as I ducked my head lower, letting my long layers of dark hair hide my bright red face from the people around me. I never volunteered, and I especially did not volunteer by making a sex sound when thinking about Michael. Not that I’d know a sex sound if it bit me on the ass. A vibrator sound? I knew all about that.

Once class was over, I kept my head down and walked two doors down for my next hour-long lecture.

“Oh, and before I forget, Happy Valentine’s Day tomorrow everyone,” Professor Ball called.

I’d completely forgotten that the holiday was the next day, Saturday. It didn’t matter. I intended to stay in and study while making sweet tongue love to a pint of gelato.

It was my last semester in undergrad, and I was wrapping up my pre-law degree. I had already been accepted to law school and intended to get through it in two years instead of the regular three. I was determined to make it, to rise farther and faster than anyone in my family ever dreamed. Not that they would notice or care.

After my last class let out, I headed to the library and finished up my reading for the next week, just like I usually did on Friday nights.

By the time I got back to my apartment, it was almost 11 p.m. I would have stressed about possibly running into Michael again, but he was a night owl. He rarely stayed home once the sun went down.

The elevator slid open and I peered out, making sure the coast was clear. His door was shut and mine beckoned. I crept down the hall and slid my key in the lock, wincing at the clicking sound of metal on metal. But it opened and I darted inside and got it closed without incident.

I dropped my heavy book bag on the floor and stared through the peephole. Was he there? The hallway stayed solemn, quiet. Not a sound and no movement from across the hall. He was gone for the night.

I let out a sigh of relief and disappointment all mixed into one. It was a good thing he was gone. That little hallway interlude had been so strange. My nipples hardened at the thought and my imagination started adding more to what happened.

“I want you.” Michael staring at me, his green eyes so luminous.

“I want you, too.” I drop my book bag and wrap my arms around his neck.

He lifts me up, his hands on my ass as he pushes me back against the wall before kissing down my neck.

“You’re so hot, Jess. I’ve never seen a woman more beautiful than you.” He says against my skin.

“Prettier than the models?”

“What models?”

I smiled and let my hand trail down to my jeans.

“Oh, Michael, make love to me.”

“Are you sure?” He whispers in my ear.

“Yes.”

“I’ll be gentle.” He pulls me from the wall and carries me to his apartment. “The first time.”

“God, yes.” I moan.

“You like it rough, baby?” He opens his door and takes me through his tastefully decorated living room into his bedroom with the mirrors on the ceiling and the black comforter on the bed.

I unbuttoned and unzipped my pants, pushing my fingers down into my panties and against my clit. It was already buzzing, ready to blow. I moaned lightly.

“Yes, please.”

“You want me to hurt you?”

“Yes.” I breathe.

“Good.” He throws me onto the bed and pulls his shirt over his head, showing me his miles of ink.

His cock is hard against his jeans, the outline thick and threatening. He unbuttons his fly and pushes them down far enough that I can get a look at it. It looks like . . .

I closed my eyes harder and kept working my clit as my sighs escaped and grew louder.

He grips the base and strokes down the length. His cock is beautiful. It looks . . .

I pulled my hands from my jeans and bounced my head against the door. I’d only ever seen dicks on the Internet. Never in person. For some reason, not being able to truly picture his was like a cold shower right then. But the figurative water did nothing to cure my burning need for Michael.

I replayed the scene in the hallway over and over again in my mind. He asked if I wanted to be captured, but did that mean take my photograph, or did it mean more? I hoped more, so much more. But no matter how much I wanted him, I was a coward. Any resolve at finally popping my cherry would fail, and I would run back to my apartment. I would keep watching, lusting, and dreaming about Michael. Jess, you are pathetic.

“But I want him so fucking bad.” I bounced my head on the door again as my words shot loud in my quiet apartment. “Why are you so hot, Michael? Why?”

I shook my head, willing myself to get my shit together. I would do what I did every night. Have some fun with my vibrator while I imagined Michael pounding me from behind and pulling my hair.

After letting out a deep sigh, I turned around and peered through the peephole again.

I squealed and my knees went weak. Michael was standing right outside, no doubt having heard every crazy word I’d just said to myself.