Muslim uni girl attracted to older white men

I, Aruba, collided with a solid chest as I exited the lecture hall, books clutched to my chest. I looked up into steely blue eyes framed by laugh lines—Professor James. He was 45, tall, and imposing, with a hint of silver at his temples.

"Aruba, always in a rush," he chided gently, yet his eyes roamed my body, lingering on my curves.

I smirked, "Sorry, Professor. Next time I'll make sure to run you over on my way to class."

His lips twitched, "I'd appreciate that." He extended a hand towards the hallway, "Need help carrying those?"

"No thanks," I said, shifting the books. "I can handle them."

He nodded, but followed me to the library. We walked side by side, his arm brushing against mine. I felt a spark each time we touched. I glanced at him; he was staring ahead, but his jaw was tense.

At the library entrance, he finally looked at me, "Aruba... be careful, okay? People will talk."

I raised an eyebrow, "About what?"

He held my gaze, then shook his head and walked away. I watched him go, intrigued.

In the library, I found my usual study spot. A few minutes later, Professor James sat down at the next table. We studied in silence, but I could feel the tension between us.

After an hour, he closed his book and leaned back in his chair. "You know, Aruba," he began, "I've been thinking."

I looked up from my notes, "About?"

"You," he replied, holding my gaze. "You're different from other students."

I felt a thrill run through me. I stood up, gathered my books, and walked to his table. I leaned in, "How so?"

He swallowed hard, his eyes flicking to my lips. "You're... daring," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

I smiled, "And you're old enough to be my father."

His eyes widened in surprise. I leaned closer, "But that doesn't stop me from wondering what it would be like, does it?"

He stood up abruptly, his chair screeching back. "Aruba... we can't... we shouldn't—"

"Shh," I silenced him, placing a finger on his lips. "We're just talking, right?"

He nodded, his eyes dark with desire.

I stepped closer, my body pressed against his. "Tell me, Professor," I whispered, "have you ever thought about me? About us?"

He hesitated, then nodded again.

I grinned, "Good. Because I have." I grabbed his hand and led him to the private study rooms in the back.

We didn't talk on the way there. Once inside, I locked the door behind us. I turned to him, my heart pounding in my chest.

"Aruba," he warned one last time.

I smiled, walked up to him, and kissed him. He froze for a moment, then kissed me back, his hands gripping my hips. We stumbled towards the table, our mouths locked together. He lifted me onto the table, pushing my books aside.

I wrapped my legs around him, pulling him closer. He groaned, his hands sliding up my thighs. I gasped when his fingers found me, ready and waiting. He pushed my skirt up, his mouth trailing kisses down my neck.

"Aruba," he groaned, "you're driving me crazy."

I smiled, "That's the point, Professor."

He chuckled, then pulled back, unbuttoning his shirt. I watched, licking my lips as more of his tanned skin was revealed. He was in great shape for his age, and I couldn't wait to touch him.

He noticed my gaze and smirked, "Like what you see?"

I nodded, reaching out to touch the coarse hair on his chest. He shivered at my touch, then pulled me to the edge of the table. He unzipped his pants, and I could feel him, hard and ready against me.

"Are you sure about this?" he asked one last time, his eyes searching mine.

I nodded, "Very."

He pushed into me, and we both groaned at the sensation. He started to move, slow at first, then picking up speed. I matched his rhythm, my nails digging into his back. The table creaked beneath us, books falling to the floor.

We came together, both crying out softly. He collapsed against me, his chest heaving. I wrapped my arms around him, holding him close.

After a few moments, he pulled back and looked at me, "We should... clean up," he said, his voice hoarse.

I nodded, unwrapping my legs from around him. We fixed our clothes in silence. Once we were presentable, I turned to him.

"Can we do this again?" I asked.

He looked at me, then smiled, "I'd like that, Aruba."

We walked out of the study room together, our hands brushing against each other's. I felt alive, invigorated. I was starting something new, something exciting. And I couldn't wait to see where it would lead.

But as we parted ways at the library entrance, I felt a pang of guilt. What would my friends think if they found out? What about their parents? But then again, wasn't it their parents who wanted this? Who told me I was the best thing to happen to them?

As I walked home, my mind was a whirlwind of thoughts. Should I stop? Or continue this secret life of mine?