The First Book from the Unwritten Passions Saga...
Lessons in Desire
When Professor Lorenzo DeLuca first laid eyes on Sophia Bennett, he saw what everyone else did-an innocent, studious young woman with a passion for poetry. But as weeks go by, thei...
It had been three weeks since I last saw Sophia. Three weeks since I'd felt the heat of her skin beneath my hands, since her voice—sultry, teasing—had wrapped itself around my mind like a vice.
Three weeks since I'd run off after that awkward encounter with her mother. Vivian. The name left a bitter taste in my mouth. I'd thought I'd gotten past her, but seeing her with Sophia had opened old wounds, ones I didn't even know were still festering, and created new ones.
As I buttoned up my shirt in front of the mirror, I shook off the memory of that day. This semester was going to be different. I had to make it different. No more clandestine affairs with students, no more risking everything for a fleeting taste of ecstasy.
No more Sophia.
I ran a hand through my hair, feeling the familiar weight of guilt settling on my shoulders. But God, I missed her. Her laugh, her eyes, the way she looked at me when she thought no one was watching. It was more than physical; it was something deeper, something I couldn't put into words. But that was exactly why it had to stop. I wasn't just risking my career—I was risking losing control. And control was something I couldn't afford to lose.
The brisk walk to campus helped clear my head a little, the cool air biting at my skin. The beginning of a new semester always brought a certain level of excitement, a fresh start. I just had to keep reminding myself of that.
Today, I'd be meeting the new faculty members, one of whom I'd heard quite a bit about. Dr. James Montgomery. The name had floated around in conversations, always followed by a sense of awe. At 24, he was already a child prodigy in the world of literature, a rising star with a reputation for brilliance.
What had I been doing at 24? Not making headlines, that was for sure.
I pushed open the door to the faculty lounge, scanning the room. There, standing by the window, was Montgomery. He looked exactly like I had imagined—handsome, with a chiseled jawline, short honey-blonde hair, and sharp green eyes. He seemed to exude confidence effortlessly, like he belonged in the spotlight.
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I crossed the room, extending a hand. "You must be Dr. Montgomery. Lorenzo DeLuca."
"Please, call me James," he said, shaking my hand with a firm grip and an easy smile. "I've heard a lot about you, Professor DeLuca."
"Likewise," I replied, trying to hide the pang of envy that tugged at me. "And it's just Lorenzo. How's your first semester shaping up?"
He chuckled, a nervous edge to the sound. "It's... overwhelming, to be honest. It's my first year as a professor, and I'm still trying to get my bearings. I've been lecturing before, but nothing like this."
I nodded, understanding the weight of that pressure all too well. "You'll do great. The students will love you. And if you ever need advice or help navigating the faculty politics, I'm around."
"Thanks, I appreciate that," James said, his shoulders relaxing slightly. "I'm still trying to figure out a few things, like finding a good TA. The Dean mentioned someone, but I haven't met them yet."
"A good TA can make all the difference," I said, feeling a small twist in my gut at the thought of Sophia. I quickly pushed the thought away. "I'm sure they'll be a great help."
James smiled, but I could tell there was still some apprehension behind his eyes. "I hope so. Anyway, I'll let you know how it goes once I meet them."
We exchanged a few more pleasantries, and as I walked away, I couldn't help but feel that James and I could easily become friends. We had a lot in common—a passion for literature, a shared understanding of the pressures of academia. But my mind began to drift, the nagging thought of Sophia never left my mind.
As the day wore on, I tried to focus on the tasks at hand—finalizing syllabi, preparing for lectures—but my mind kept wandering back to her. It had been weeks since that day in the café, and yet, she hadn't called after I ignored her calls that afternoon. Not once since then. Part of me had expected her to reach out, to confront me about why I'd disappeared, but the silence from her end was deafening.
Why hadn't she reached out?
The rational part of me was relieved. It meant I could move on, and that was exactly what I needed. But the other part of me—the part that had been consumed by her—missed her. I missed her touch, her laugh, her voice, the feel of her warm skin on mine.
I couldn't deny that there was a small, twisted part of me that wanted to see her again. To run into her on campus, to lock eyes and feel that spark again. But I knew better. That spark was dangerous.
Still, her absence gnawed at me. The cold turkey approach had seemed like the best decision at the time, but now, it was harder than I thought. I wasn't sure how long I could go without speaking to her. Every day that passed, the urge to reach out grew stronger, but I resisted. For now.
But as I sat at my desk, staring blankly at the emails on my screen, one thought kept nagging at the back of my mind.
Why didn't she call?
Was she hurt? Angry? Or... had she already moved on?
The thought unsettled me more than I cared to admit. Sophia wasn't the type to just let things go. She had a fire in her, a streak of unpredictability that had always intrigued—and worried—me. I didn't know what she was capable of when pushed.
And the idea that she might have found someone else to entertain her every waking thought, while she occupied mine, left a bitter taste in my mouth. I knew I should stay away, but the more I tried, the more I realized how much I didn't want to. I was trapped in a web of my own making, and no matter how hard I tried to pull away, I only seemed to get more tangled.
