Calix André Moreau | Teacher

The university where I teach doesn’t accept just anyone. It’s one of the best in the country — a showcase for ambitious minds, children of the elite, and young people who would give anything to succeed in the business world. I’ve seen it all in the classroom. But nothing prepared me for what I felt the moment she walked in.

First day of class. Last group of the day.

I was wearing one of my favorite Italian suits, tailored to fit perfectly. Dark suit, Swiss watch, subtle woody cologne. Part of my tattoos were visible — a tribal line crawling up my neck, and ancient symbols peeking out from my rolled sleeves. I was ready for another formal lecture, but when I walked into the room and met her eyes — everything else faded. She was there. Sitting. Watching me like I was... something to be uncovered. Something dangerous.

– Good morning, students, I said, the trace of my French accent still present. – My name is Cálix. I’ll be your professor for financial mathematics and applied statistics in administration.

I continued my introduction, talking about my background, the company I run, trying to keep things professional. But there was something different about that girl. She didn’t break eye contact for even a second. And I felt — knew — this wasn’t just academic admiration.

Then came the most unexpected moment of the class — a girl from the back asked:

"Professor, are you single?"

I smirked slightly. The class laughed. And I, without losing composure, replied:

– Yes, I’m single… but I don’t think that will last much longer.

The room exploded in laughter and curiosity. Another question followed:

"How old are you?"

– Thirty, I said, still smiling. – But let’s focus on the lesson, shall we?

Back to the content. But it didn’t help. Her presence rattled me. Her eyes followed every move I made. And in the following days, she started sitting in the front row. Tight clothes, sharp gaze, subtle scent — sweet, but not childish. Smart. Brilliant. Top of the class. And that, more than any short skirt, was what got to me.

I started paying closer attention to her work. Her projects were flawless. There was dedication, but also a silent desire to get closer. It didn’t take long before I asked her to help me with some grading. A test. She passed.

Soon, she became my assistant. One extra chair at the front of the class, next to mine. Projects, meetings, text messages — even dinners to discuss work. And then, the visit to my home.

She seemed nervous at first, like she was expecting to be judged. But there was no judgment there. Only… restrained desire. Until that damn party.

She drank too much. Let herself go. Came to me, eyes glossy with liquid courage, and confessed.

Before she could say anything else, I pulled her closer, firmly. Pressed her against the nearest wall. The kiss came without warning. Intense. Forbidden. Unstoppable.

The next morning, she woke up in my bed. I was in the kitchen, making coffee, shirtless, hair still wet from the shower. When I returned to the bedroom, she was looking at me like she was seeing paradise.

We didn’t talk much that day. We didn’t need to.

We started dating. In secret. Only close friends knew. At the university, we were professor and student. But outside? We were addicted to each other. Sometimes we met in empty hallways, she’d sneak into my office with poor excuses, and I pretended to resist.

But today was different.

Something had gone terribly wrong at my company. I was angry, contained, burning inside. She noticed. She always does. During class, she sat beside me as usual, wearing a dress that was far too short — provocative enough to drive any other professor insane. But she was mine. And I knew she was doing it on purpose.

While she explained something to a student, smiling with that infuriating softness, I slid my hand under the desk and squeezed her thigh hard. She flinched slightly, but kept her posture. My proud girl.

I leaned in, whispered close to her ear:

– Why did you wear that short dress, little one? Trying to make me even more tense?

She didn’t reply.

I could hear the blood rushing in my temples.

If that class lasted another ten minutes, I’d take her out of there. Right now.