Head straight to your office

The chemistry building looms ahead, its familiar glass and concrete facade somehow less welcoming than you remember. You push through the heavy double doors into the ground floor corridor, where the scent of chemical reagents mingles with something else—something musky and almost intoxicating that you can't quite identify.

The elevator ride to the third floor feels longer than usual. When the doors slide open, you step into a hallway that should feel like home after years of working here, but instead feels alien. The fluorescent lights buzz overhead, casting harsh shadows.

Your office is the second-to-last door on the left. Sasha's is the

[last.

As](http://last.As) you approach, you notice that Sasha's door is slightly ajar, and that intoxicating scent grows stronger. Through the gap, you can hear movement—the sound of papers rustling, a drawer sliding open and closed. Then, unexpectedly, a voice.

"I can hear your heartbeat, Dr. Morgan."

The words are rich and smooth, tinged with a Brazilian accent that seems to caress each syllable. There's amusement in that voice, and something predatory.

"It's racing. Are you nervous? Or excited?" A pause, then a low, throaty laugh. "Both, I think. Your breathing pattern is very... telling."

You haven't even reached your office door yet. You're still a good fifteen feet away from hers.

"Don't be rude, Alex. Come say hello to an old colleague. It's been such a long summer, hasn't it? I have so much to show you." The way she says 'show you' carries unmistakable promise and threat in equal measure. "Or you can scurry into your little office like a frightened mouse. But we both know I'll just come to you eventually. I always do."

The door swings open wider, though you see no hand pushing it. The scent becomes overwhelming—like jasmine and lightning and pure sex. Your body responds involuntarily, a flush of heat spreading through your core.

"Your choice, professor," she purrs, and you can hear the smile in her voice.