Chapter 2
TAJ
—Sexxx Dreams by Lady Gaga
Alarms should be classified as illegal and banned.
I force my eyes open and roll across the bed to silence the offending noise blaring from my phone.
My room is still dim, the greyish light of the early morning slipping through the curtains.
My body protests the injustice of being awake.
I jab at the screen and stop the alarm, then I collapse back into the pillows with a groan, throwing one arm over my face.
I try to claw my way back to the dream I was just having.
It was hot, that much I remember. The man from the club was riding my cock like it was made for him.
I was holding a fistful of his dreads to slow him down, speed him up, do whatever the fuck I wanted.
His skin was glossy under my hands, his tobacco scent curling into my nose, and the look on his face when he came undone had me hurtling over the edge.
It’s the same dream I’ve been having since I got back from the club two days ago.
Maybe it’s because I can’t get him out of my head, or maybe it’s my brain trying to tell me I’ve been missing out on an entire category of experience .
. . but whatever the reason is, I’ve been waking up every morning harder than usual for it to just be morning wood, fully irritated, and one hundred percent ready to find him.
It’s not like I haven’t tried. I’ve already gone back to the club twice, hoping to run into him, but there hasn’t been a sign of him at all.
Fuck! I’ve never come hands-free before, and I might die if I don’t experience it again soon. Unfortunately, my mystery man remains committed to being elusive.
I slide a hand under the duvet and palm my dick, giving it a slow stroke that pulls a shudder straight out of me. I’m already wound tight, my body on edge before I’ve properly opened my eyes. This needs to be quick because I still have to get up and drag myself to campus for classes.
I close my eyes and summon my mystery man’s face.
He comes to me in detail—I was hooked the moment he stepped into the club—the way his dreadlocks framed his face like a halo, that slight upward curve of his mouth like he’s always smiling, or like he’s permanently amused by life.
What was I supposed to do after he aimed that smile at me?
I folded immediately. I wasn’t the only one who noticed him either.
Other men watched him as he moved through the room, sizing him up and looking for an opening.
But something possessive and unreasonable rose in me when their eyes kept checking him out, some caveman instinct I didn’t know I possessed.
It decided, quite irrationally, that he was mine, which is a completely loser behaviour.
I tighten my grip and pick up my pace, using the precum gathering at the tip to slick my strokes as I work my fist over my cock.
My mind plays the night back in flashes.
His cock in my mouth, my hands on his thighs, the dark focus in his eyes.
My body tenses all at once—breath shortening, thighs tightening, and stomach pulling in.
Then pleasure crashes through me in a shuddering wave that leaves me gasping.
I keep stroking through it, my hand trembling as I milk every aftershock until my second alarm starts blasting from the bedside drawer.
Whew. Now I can start my day.
I push myself out of the bed on shaky legs and head for the bathroom, still wrapped in that floaty post-orgasm haze. I drag a hand through my hair and wince when my fingers snag in the overgrown curls. It’s getting too long again; I make a mental note to hit the barbershop after lectures.
The bathroom is still warm from my shower when I step out and grab my phone.
Shit. I’m late.
I dry off fast, tug on the first clean clothes I can find, and nearly fall over trying to get one sock on.
I hop across the room looking for the other.
My car keys are buried under some textbooks and a hoodie, and by the time I finally snatch them up and slam the front door behind me, my pulse is already racing.
The drive to Staré Město, where the Faculty of Law of St. Wenceslas University is located, feels longer because I’m in a hurry.
Every red light seems personal. I drum my fingers on the steering as I wait, watching trams rattle past and people spilling onto the sidewalks.
After what seems like forever, I swing into the university car park, spot an empty space, and I shove the car into it.
I’m out before the engine fully dies, cold air hitting my damp hair as I jog to class, backpack bouncing against my shoulder.
I weave around other students that are walking too slowly for my liking, taking the steps two at a time, and pushing through the doors of the faculty building.
By the time I reach the lecture hall, I’m breathing a little too hard and my shirt is starting to stick to my back.
As expected, Luká? is already there. He’s sitting halfway up the room, with an empty seat beside him, one hand resting on the desk as he scrolls through his phone.
He’s my only friend on campus, and the reason I never have to search for a place to sit.
When he notices me, he lifts his chin to the chair beside him.
I drop my bag as I sit down. The room fills with low conversation, chairs scraping against the floor, notebooks opening, and coffee cups being set down on desks.
Luká? takes one look at me, then slowly shakes his head. “Why are you late?” he asks.
“I’m not that late,” I counter, turning my attention to the stage. “The lecturer isn’t even here yet.”
“He is, but he forgot something in his office and had to go pick it up,” he answers. Then he smirks and leans back in his chair. “You’ll like him.”
I’m about to ask why he’d think that when I’ve only ever tolerated the professors we’ve had in the past, but the words die in my throat. My mystery man, the same one who’s been running in my thoughts and haunting my dreams, just walked into the room.
Fuck!
The professor, my mystery man, moves with so much confidence, crossing the front of the lecture hall as if a room full of students watching him is nothing new.
His white shirt is rolled neatly around his forearms and tucked into a pair of tailored blue trousers that fit him far too well; a matching waistcoat sits over his broad shoulders and solid chest, drawing in at his waist and making it impossible not to notice the shape of him.
He looks unfairly attractive, with the same deep brown skin as me, but it looks ten times better than mine will ever be in the morning light coming through the tall windows.
My eyes move to his face and stay there as I take in his strong jaw, straight nose; his eyes are so dark they almost look black from where I am sitting.
His beard is neatly trimmed, framing a mouth I’ve already spent too much time thinking about.
His long dreadlocks are pulled back from his face, neat, and gathered at the nape of his neck.
It makes him look polished and dangerous at the same time.
It’s so unlike the way he let them loose at the club, and I can’t decide which style I love more.
He sets a leather folder on the desk at the stage, and even the simple act of rolling back his sleeves another inch has my eyes following the movement. I wish I were the one rolling them for him.
This is ridiculous.
He’s ridiculous.
I don’t know why my head turns, but it does, and I catch a guy a few seats away looking at him with unapologetic appreciation in his eyes, like he wants to eat him up.
Something tight pulls in my chest, and if we weren’t in a lecture hall full of people, I would have shoved him to his arse or gouged his eyes out.
But I may have to do that to almost half the class, because when I look around, a couple of ladies near the front are doing the same thing.
One of them is resting her chin on her hand, watching him like she’s already planning their wedding. My grip tightens around my pen.
“Stop scowling,” Luká? whispers beside me, barely moving his lips.
“They should stop ogling him.”
He lets out a soft sigh like I’m the problem here. “You are already unapproachable to our classmates, don’t make it worse.”
I don’t look at him. I can’t stop looking at the front of the room.
There’s this annoying, unfamiliar energy running under my skin, like I’m sitting too still in a body that wants to move.
My foot taps against the floor before I can stop myself.
Because this is stupid, I shouldn’t be this affected.
There is something about the way he stands there on the stage that keeps me mesmerised, and I find my mood shifting fast, from irritation to something almost like excitement.
For a second, I actually consider getting up just to go introduce myself properly.
His eyes start moving across the room, passing over everyone, probably trying to count the number of students or maybe to get a feel for us.
When they land on me, I expect something like recognition, or just a return of my smile.
Instead, his expression changes and I watch as the slight tightening around his lips shifts fully into shock, and then something that looks a lot like discomfort.
I’m not that slow, but it takes a few seconds to get it. Shit! He’s mortified because I’m his student.
He blinks and rubs at his forehead before averting his eyes, then clears his throat.
“Hi, everyone,” he says. His voice is steady, but there is a slight edge to it.
“I’m Michael Sawyer, a visiting lecturer from Solace University in Abuja, Nigeria.
I’ll start by sharing a little about myself.
I was born and raised in the UK, but I completed my undergraduate degree in Nigeria.
After graduating from law school and being called to the Nigerian Bar, I went back to England for my master’s and PhD.
Alongside my academic work, I also work with my father in his private legal practice, although I have only a few clients of my own.
This semester, I’ll be teaching you ‘Ethics and Responsibility in Private Individuals,’ and then ‘in Public Officials’ next semester.
” He pauses briefly, scanning the room without really settling on anyone.
“This course is about ethical foundations within democratic legal systems.” His eyes flicker to me before looking away immediately.
“N-now, before we,” he stutters, then clears his throat, gripping the marker in his hand tighter.
He continues, “Uhm. Before we get into it, I have a question.”
He writes the course code, KTP343, on the whiteboard and then writes Can something be legal but still unacceptable? underneath it.
He turns back to us. I’m so attuned to him I can see how hard he’s trying not to look at me. When Luká? raises up his hand beside me, he has no choice but to direct his attention here.
He motions to Luká?. “Please state your name and your answer.”
“Luká? Novák,” he replies easily. “I think the answer is yes. Because the law sets minimum standards, but it cannot cover every situation. Sometimes an action can follow the rules technically, but still feels like an abuse of power.”
Professor Sawyer is still looking at the room, and it’s so obvious he’s trying not to let his eyes drift back in my direction again. I’m suddenly very aware of the fact that this will be a long semester. He looks like he’s about to speak when my mouth moves before I can stop it.
“But if it’s legal, then it cannot be wrong,” I blurt out.
Luká? turns his head so fast, and I catch the disbelief on his face. I never speak in class unprompted. The only time I ever contribute is when I’m forced into presentation, and even then I keep it short.
I keep going anyway, ignoring Luká?. “Is that not the point of the law? To define what is acceptable and what is not.”
Professor Sawyer does not respond right away. He just looks at me, the pained expression of earlier is gone now, replaced by something else. In fact, he looks almost impressed.
“That’s an interesting take,” he concedes after a moment. “So, legality equals morality in your view, mister . . .?”
“Taj Badmus,” I say. Then I shrug. “And yeah. Pretty much. If society made it legal, then it must be okay and criticising it feels unfair.”
A classmate whose name I don’t know raises her hand and Professor Sawyer nods at her.
“Angelika Mendová here,” she introduces.
“And I agree with Luká?. I don’t think legality should automatically make something morally acceptable.
At the end of the day, laws are created by people, and people can make flawed or biased decisions.
And these laws even set minimum standards for behaviour, not ideals. ”
I hear Luká? let out a small breath beside me. When I glance at him, he’s smiling sheepishly at her. “Good point, Angelika,” he agrees, still looking at her like she just solved something important.
Professor Sawyer nods at the both of them, but his eyes stay on mine for a beat too long before he finally looks away.
“So, what you’re both saying is that legality answers if something is allowed and morality questions if it is right.
Excellent insights from everyone who participated.
” He moves back to his laptop and taps its keyboard, the projector flickering to life on the screen behind him.
“Throughout this course, we will look at the gap between what is legal and what is right by using private citizens and politicians as examples. We’ll talk about corruption, conflicts of interests, misuse of discretion, and also personal conduct. ”
He starts moving through the slides, fully in teaching mode now.
I know I should be listening. This is a critical year for me and I can’t afford distractions, not even small ones.
Not even when the distraction is standing at the front of the room looking like that.
But my brain is not cooperating, every time I try to focus on the screen, it unhelpfully takes me back to the club.
Back to him with his pants down and his cock in my mouth, those deep, uncontrolled moans as I sucked him off, and especially that low growl when he blessed my throat with his cum. I can still taste him on my tongue.
Yeah, I’m in trouble.