A/N: Please review! Constructive criticism is more than welcome, in fact, I yearn for it. New to fan fiction. I have published only poems and prose. I want to know I can write more than a decent paragraph before I waste time with a publisher. Here is a good place to get feedback on my writing style. Please enjoy!

Chapter 1: Deja Fuck You

Her eyes opened to the brightness of a new dawn. Sitting up, she examined her surroundings to discover that she had done the unimaginable. She had made the same mistake twice. Dammit. She had let down her guard, that and the combination of a failed attempt to drown her sorrows in a sea of bourbon, and went to bed with him. Again. The sound of his heavy, shallow breathing masked her tumultuous journey to the door. Desperate to escape prior to his awakening, she had decided to dress herself while advancing towards the exit. 'I can't believe he is sleeping through this…', she pondered, gratefully. Once she made her way out the door she leaned against it and let out a heavy sigh. She was sore. It was a long way home and she had abandoned her ride at the night club. "Never should've let them talk me into this.", she mumbled under her breath. She made her way to the street, hoping to hail a cab. There weren't many this far from London, but the airport was nearby, thankfully, so she just kept walking towards it until she saw one. Only fifteen minutes. What a long fifteen minutes. She couldn't stop thinking about him as she trudged along the road. Flashes of the night before overwhelmed her consciousness and she bit her lip in a sordid attempt to bring her thoughts back to the present. She had forgotten her mobile at Sarah's flat, but luckily stuffed a few bills in her bra just in case she had to buy her own drinks, which she rarely did. The cab ride home was fairly short. She paid the cabby with a generous tip, not wanting to wait for change, and carefully got out of the car. 'Shit. I'm cabbaged. Shitfaced. Drunk. And I smell like him.' She paused at this thought. It wasn't necessarily a bad thing. Now the headache and nausea that came from her over-imbibing of spirits, that was a definite negative. But his smell. His scent was intoxicating. And his eyes. They were dark and inviting. His presence was magnetic. It was as if he had his own gravitational pull. He was a black hole in her universe that anytime she came anywhere near she got sucked in, consumed, ripped to shreds and spit back out again. For as much as she craved him when he was near, in hindsight, she saw him as a right chuffer. 'I'm glad I made it out the door before he awoke. This time.', she thought to herself. At least she learned that much from their previous encounter.

She turned off the shower and threw on a pair of her favorite jeans and a light sweater that, as Sarah had said, "rubbed her in all the right places." Lesbian. The girl was hilarious and a good friend, but she was secretly relieved that she had gotten her own flat last year.

He creeped back into her mind as she climbed the stone steps leading up to the university. His voice. His deep, throaty, soft as silk and harsh as sandpaper. It eased her into a false sense of security, while gritting at her skin, raking her flesh layer by layer. She could look into his eyes, or listen to his voice, but the moment she was exposed to both she lost herself. She would fall into darkness, memories of events fuzzied by tunnel vision and poor contrast. Lost in thought, she felt herself falling. Crack!

"Fuck!" She cried out in what was something between a yelp and a moan.

"I'm so sorry!" She looked up to see a rather attractive young man reaching his hand to assist her in regaining her stance. She took his hand and rose, wincing as she put pressure on her tailbone.

"I'm sorry, I didn't see you and I was reading this map, and I can't find the library!", the boy blurted out at a fast-than-light pace.

"It's alright, I wasn't paying attention, either. And…the library is behind you.". She watched as the disheveled-looking boy turned and his jaw dropped.

"I've been looking for it for over half an hour!", he exclaimed. She smirked, still wincing slightly from the discomfort radiating from her bottom.

"Hi, I'm Delia. I'm an Anthropology major. What's your area of study?", she asked, holding out a welcoming hand, palms still sweaty from the thoughts which led up to their encounter. The young man hesitated momentarily before conceding to the gesture.

"Harry. I, um, actually I plan on studying the Classics." The touch of her hand was exquisite. Her olive skin was unbelievably soft and though her eyes were darkened by a lack of sleep, they were beautiful. With her eyes to the light, he could see a kaleidoscope of gold and a deep blue. Her hair was thick and had reds and blonde hairs threaded into the auburn. He held onto her hand for a little longer than she was comfortable with, and when she went to withdraw her hand her fumbled an apology, placing the offending hand back with the other, balancing the heavy load he was carrying while simultaneously adjusting his spectacles. "Undergraduate?", she asked. He simply nodded.

"Well, I best be on my way. I'm late as it is. Horrid luck I'm having today." She smirked half-heartedly and dusted herself off as he left. She had to snap out of it.

She carefully treaded up the remainder of the steps and continued on to her favorite professor's lecture.

A/N: I'll give you a hint. You would have failed any class this man taught. He likely would be fired for bedding his students. Then again, he may have gotten away with it…