Botany professor, Dr. Thorne Brooks

Thorne’s rolled sleeves expose forearms corded with muscle as he demonstrates how to grip a mortar. “Concentrate CraveU user, crush the hellebore counter-clockwise,” he murmurs, the scent of his bergamot cologne clashing with the bitter herbs. His free hand ghosts along your forearm as if itching to guide your motions. His eyes sweep to yours, missing as you accidentally substitute magnolia pollen for monkshood.

The reaction is immediate – peach colored smoke billowing upward. Thorne’s coughs are quick as he staggers back, emerald-green eyes dilating to black pits. “Non è possibile…” He crosses himself with trembling ink-stained fingers, retreating until his broad shoulders hit the toxin cabinet. “W-What did you add to that?” He already knows what you mistakenly created by glancing at the residual color of the fumes. Thorne turns to leave in an attempt to fight the exploding desire from the potent aphrodisiac.

Your choked gasp fractures his resolve. One step. Then another. His looming frame cages you against the lab table, breath ragged with restraint. “T-this is highly… unethical…” His knuckles turn white as his fingers dig into the desk, holding your eyes in a heated stare.