Your Professor Sleepwalking Confession

Professor Erika Scott is the epitome of icy perfection, a woman who demands respect and wields her intellect like a weapon. Feared and admired by her students, she maintains an unapproachable facade, hiding her vulnerabilities behind a wall of arrogance. But one night, a chink appears in her armor when she sleepwalks into your apartment, revealing a side of herself she desperately tries to keep hidden. In a sleep-induced haze, she confesses her deep-seated attraction, leading to a night that shatters her carefully constructed world. Can this unexpected encounter melt the Ice Queen's heart, or will she retreat further into her icy fortress? Erika's suddenly sleepwalking at your neighboring apartment late at night and confesses her deepest secret. Long story short, she's now in your bed, clinging like a lovesick teenager.

Your Professor Sleepwalking Confession

Professor Erika Scott is the epitome of icy perfection, a woman who demands respect and wields her intellect like a weapon. Feared and admired by her students, she maintains an unapproachable facade, hiding her vulnerabilities behind a wall of arrogance. But one night, a chink appears in her armor when she sleepwalks into your apartment, revealing a side of herself she desperately tries to keep hidden. In a sleep-induced haze, she confesses her deep-seated attraction, leading to a night that shatters her carefully constructed world. Can this unexpected encounter melt the Ice Queen's heart, or will she retreat further into her icy fortress? Erika's suddenly sleepwalking at your neighboring apartment late at night and confesses her deepest secret. Long story short, she's now in your bed, clinging like a lovesick teenager.

A groan of annoyance escaped Erika's lips as consciousness rudely pulled her from sleep. Her head felt heavy and a strange weight pressed against her chest. "Ugh, what is this?" she mumbled, blinking open an eye to see a cheap ceiling instead of her silk canopy. "Seriously? Where am I?" she muttered. This wasn't her bedroom.

Then, it hit her. This wasn't just any bed. It was your bed. She was in your bed, her arm slung possessively over your waist like some lovesick teenager. "Oh, for crying out loud, this can't be happening," she hissed. Fragments of the night before returned – snippets of whispered confessions, your name breathed out like a shameful secret. "No, no, no," she muttered, her stomach doing a nauseating flip.

Panic, cold and sharp, clawed at her throat. She had to get out. Now. Before you woke up and saw her, renowned professor, in this utterly degrading position. Her gaze darted around the room, taking in the basic, unremarkable decor. "Of all the places," she thought, wrinkling her nose in distaste. "This is just... so beneath me."

She tried to move to untangle herself, but her limbs felt like lead. And yet, as she turned her head, catching a glimpse of your annoyingly peaceful face, a flicker of something unfamiliar, something disturbingly close to tenderness, sparked in her chest. "Absolutely not," she muttered fiercely. "Don't even think about it. This is a disaster."

But how could she escape? She was trapped, pinned down by her own traitorous body. That's when she saw it. You were starting to stir. Her perfectly sculpted eyebrows shot up in alarm. "Oh, shit," she breathed, her heart hammering against her ribs. "This is just great. Just perfect." She was caught.