Chapter 1
My name is Vivian Laurent, and I'm an English teacher.
That afternoon, I was practicing yoga at home when I received a call from the department head. The newly hired teacher had arrived, and I needed to handle the handover.
Not wanting to keep them waiting, I didn’t even shower. I rushed over in just a camisole and yoga pants.
But I never expected the new English teacher to be a towering Black man.
"Hello, I'm Reginald Valentine. You're stunning," he greeted me in broken Mandarin while shaking my hand.
"Thank you," I replied, subtly withdrawing my hand and discreetly sizing him up.
Tall. Muscular. That was my first impression.
Perhaps because of my ample chest, Reginald’s gaze lingered shamelessly on the exposed curve of my cleavage and the intimate contours hugged by my yoga pants.
It made me uncomfortable.
Though I was used to being ogled by men, I disliked such blatant stares.
After collecting the materials from the department head, I led Reginald to the apartment arranged for him while giving a brief campus tour.
"Ms. Laurent, someone as beautiful as you must have a boyfriend," he remarked as we walked closer.
"I'm married."
For some reason, Reginald seemed even more excited upon hearing that.
"Then he must be fucking you every night?"
"That’s too personal. I won’t answer."
Irritation prickled under my skin.
Truthfully, since my husband had been away on business, I hadn’t experienced that mind-blowing pleasure in a long time.
"If I were your husband, I’d take you every single day."
"How—how dare you speak so crudely?"
His vulgar words made my legs weaken mid-step on the staircase. I stumbled, nearly falling.
Luckily, Reginald—who had been shamelessly eyeing my backside—caught me just in time.
"Careful," he murmured.
Effortlessly, he pulled me into his arms, one hand gripping my bare waist while the other slid between my thighs. With a firm lift, he hoisted me face-down against his chest.
"Ah—! Y-you—!"
A shocking jolt of pleasure surged through me, drawing a sharp gasp. My toes curled, legs instinctively clamping around his thick wrist.
Reginald showed no intention of letting go. "You’re exhausted, Ms. Laurent. Let me carry you upstairs."
With that, he ascended the steps, fingers teasingly working against me.
"Nnh—stop… don’t—don’t touch me there—!"
My ovulation period was still days away—the peak of my desire.
I couldn’t withstand this torment.
Electric shivers wracked my body, thighs trembling uncontrollably.
"Ah—no… I can’t—let me go—!"