My Werewolf King Professor and I

That night, I happened to scroll past a photo of a male model, soaked, fresh out of the water. His broad shoulders, narrow waist, clearly defined abs, water droplets sliding down along his V-line, and disappearing into the waistband of his pants… Damn. As a healthy adult woman, I was hungry.

Without thinking, I forwarded it to my best friend with a message attached.

[Feast on this! This is totally your type!]

A few seconds passed with no reply. Then, I noticed something. The chat name wasn’t hers but Sarek’s.

I scrambled to delete the message, but it had been read.

Sarek: [What? I’m not gay. And I don’t eat people.]

I was done for. I typed frantically, explaining that I’d sent it to the wrong person and swearing I had zero interest in that kind of barbaric muscle display.

Sarek replied: [That kind of muscle counts as barbaric? Then what kind of body do you like?]

It was a trick question. If I didn’t answer, I’d look guilty. If I answered wrongly, my persona would crumble.

While I was frozen in indecision, my phone vibrated, and a photo popped up. It was one of Sarek in his bathroom. Steam fogged the mirror, and his chest looked like it had been carved from stone, abs sharply defined, water droplets tracing every line before slipping beneath the edge of a loosely tied towel. The knot was so loose that one tug felt like it would unravel completely.

I stopped breathing. Every shred of reason screamed at me to delete that man—the same man who had failed me. However, my hand had a will of its own, saving the photo.

Objectively speaking, I would eat that werewolf up if I ignored the face.

Sarek: [This is what strength looks like. That male model’s physique is just decoration.]

I wiped my bloody nose, inspiration striking.

[Professor… I’m shy. I’m too afraid to look at your face… From now on, could you just take photos of your body?]

It was the perfect excuse. It concealed the truth—that I disliked his face—and satisfied my own selfish desire to admire the goods.

Sarek was clearly pleased. In his eyes, I was nothing more than a timid little rabbit overwhelmed by male hormones.

He replied: [Coward]

From that point on, everything spiraled out of control as he confessed.

[Be my partner. You can become even more familiar with my body.]

For my grade and for that god-tier physique, I agreed. That was the moment Pandora’s box opened. He didn’t just send photos anymore. When his heat cycle hit, he started calling.

Last Friday night, deep into the night, Sarek sent a voice message—low and breathless.

“Little Bunny… pick up. Help me. I want to hear your voice.”

I shot upright in bed.

How could I help him? I was in a four-person dorm!

If my roommates heard me on a late-night call with the future werewolf king professor making those sounds, I’d be socially ruined by morning. However, refusing a werewolf in heat felt like a tragic waste—this was a prime opportunity for manipulation.

Grinding my teeth, I grabbed my jacket, slipped out, and found the sketchiest motel on the street behind campus. The moment I answered the call, I heard fabric shifting, followed by restrained, heavy breathing.

“Say my name…” His voice was hoarse, almost unrecognizable. “Put your hand there… be good.”

I sat on the cheap motel bed, still holding the sausage I’d just bought from the front desk. I meant to half-ass it by eating my late-night snack and getting through the call. However, the sounds coming through the speaker had to be considered illegal.

That was the future werewolf king at the peak of desire. His low growls mixed with static were tempting me over and over again.

My legs went weak.

“Open your mouth… take it,” he ordered.

My face burned, and my gaze drifted against my will to the sausage in my hand.

“Mm…” I bit down.

Juice burst out with a wet, unmistakably suggestive sound.

The breathing on the other end stopped. Sarek’s voice dropped even lower. “Baby, what are you eating? That sounds… wet.”

I was stunned. I wanted to explain it was sausage, but my throat locked, only letting out a distorted whimper.

“N-Nothing…” I gulped in a panic, but somehow, it sounded even worse.

“Good.” He encouraged me again, clearly having misunderstood me. “Just like that… don’t stop. Imagine I’m in front of you…”

D*mn it. I imagined it. I imagined that body from the photos pressing down, that overwhelming strength capable of crushing anything. The sausage in my hand suddenly felt scorching hot, and my breathing broke. It was supposed to be an act, but I dragged myself into it.

Cursing my lack of self-control, my eyes burned as I followed his instructions and let out a real, trembling gasp—one edged with tears.

“Sarek…”

That night, I didn’t just finish the sausage. I nearly lost my soul in that broken-down motel.

Before hanging up, clinging to my last shred of sanity, I sent him a bill.

[Fifty dollars for the room, fifteen dollars for the taxi, and five dollars for the sausage. The total is seventy dollars.]

Three seconds of silence later came a bank transfer of seven thousand dollars with a note stating, “You sounded great. Buy yourself something good to recover. Next time, choose a better motel.”

I stared at my balance, my heart pounding wildly. That money… came at a very real physical price.

I thought this dangerous game could go on forever, until yesterday, when he sent another voice message.

“I want to see you. I want to turn the sounds you make on the phone into something real.”

Meet in person? That would be my death sentence, and even if I dodged it once, what about next time?

I was human, and he was the future werewolf king. My family had once hunted his ancestors. If I were exposed, I wouldn’t just die; I’d die horribly.

No matter how reluctant I was, mostly to part with that body and the money, staying alive mattered more. Hence, I replied.

[I’m sorry. You’re far too aggressive. I’m afraid of you. Please don’t look for me anymore.]

Then, I blocked and deleted his number.

…

On the podium, Sarek stared at the red exclamation mark and lost his temper. He lifted his gaze, his golden-brown eyes sweeping across the classroom, before finally settling on me.

My entire body froze.

“Class dismissed,” he said coldly. “Everyone is to submit a five-thousand-word paper titled ‘The Consequences of Betraying a Werewolf.’ If it’s not on my desk by tomorrow morning, every one of you will fail this course.”

Wails shook the room, and I collapsed back into my seat. This wasn’t an assignment. It was a message sent directly to me.

Since I had the nerve to dump him, I had to suffer the consequences, and now, before he discovers the truth, I have to find a way to survive. Or… I could make him fall back in love with Little Bunny once again.