Dear Professor

Chapter 1

She watched her.

She knew that it was wrong, but she couldn't stop. It was becoming an addiction, one that was starting to cost her a lot of money. She'd tried to stop—by God, she had. But, after the slog of grading papers and marking tests, she lived for the thirty-to-forty minutes when she'd be on her screen.

Her cock strained against her pants as she bit her lip and removed her bra. Her delicate hands cupped her sizable breasts and massaged slowly. She teased her nipples, saying words she could barely register. She was mesmerized by her every movement, from the way her finger and her thumb pinched her pink, pebbled nipple to the way her raven hair fell around her shoulders.

I want you to touch yourself, she typed.

She knew the exact moment the message appeared on her screen because she paused. It was only momentarily, and she doubted that anyone else watching would have noticed. Not that anyone was watching. Oh, no. This show was for her and her alone.

She liked it that way. Loved it, even. Every movement was for her.

She lay back and raised her hips. She slid her tiny, black thong over her toned ass and down her long legs until she threw the scrap of material onto the floor. As she grabbed her pillow and got comfortable, she stood and unzipped her jeans. They fell to the ground, swiftly followed by her underwear.

Her cock sprang free, and she sat back down, grasping the hardness with his hand.

On the screen, Lauren Jauregui eased her hand down her body and between her legs. There, she watched raptly as her middle finger zoned in on her little, pink clit. She watched her as her body jerked in pleasure at that one single touch.

Desire flooded her body. Fuck, how she wanted to be the one to do that. How she wanted it to be her fingers exploring her wet pussy, pumping in and out of it. How she wished her fingers were her cock.

Soon, a voice whispered in her mind as she stroked herself. Soon, she will be mine.

The thought made Professor Camila Cabello smile.