CHAPTER 4

Zara’s POV

By the time the lecture ended I had maybe eleven lines of actual notes and no memory of the hour that had passed. Students started packing up. The girl beside me was still whispering about how hot he was. I closed my notebook with shaking fingers, slid it into my bag, and told myself to stand up and walk out like a normal person.

I stood. Swung the bag over my shoulder.

“Miss.”

One word. That was all it took.

My entire body locked up before my brain even caught up. My hand froze on the strap. My weight was already half-turned toward the door, but I couldn’t move. Heat rushed over my skin. My pussy clenched again, fresh slick coating my thighs.

I turned around slowly, heart hammering, cheeks burning, nipples still visibly hard against my shirt, and met his eyes across the now-emptying room.

Most of the class had already drifted out, coats rustling, backpacks zipping, voices fading into the hallway like they had no idea the air in here had turned thick and electric. A few stragglers still trickled through the door behind me, scrolling phones, laughing about nothing. Dom stood at the front of the room with both hands tucked casually into the pockets of those dark fitted pants, shoulders relaxed, but his eyes were locked on me—dark, steady, unrelenting.

He wasn’t smiling. He wasn’t frowning. He was simply looking, full attention fixed on me in a way that made my skin feel too tight and my pulse drop straight between my legs. My heavy breasts rose and fell faster under the thin white shirt, nipples already stiff and aching, rubbing against the lace with every breath.

I walked toward him anyway.

My footsteps sounded too loud on the tile, the soft click of my heels echoing like a heartbeat. The last students slipped out and the door shut with a quiet finality that left just the two of us. The silence felt alive, humming. I stopped a few feet from his desk and lifted my chin, meeting his gaze head-on because looking anywhere else would have meant admitting something I wasn’t ready to name.

He was even taller up close. God, I’d forgotten how much space he took up. Broad shoulders stretching the white dress shirt, the faint outline of muscle beneath the fabric, that sharp jaw shadowed with stubble I suddenly wanted to feel scraping across the soft inside of my thighs. He looked down at me and said nothing for a long, heavy moment. The weight of his stare pressed against my skin like warm hands.

“Yes, sir,” I said.

The words slipped out before I could stop them, low and breathy. I’d never called a professor sir in my life. But standing here in front of him, pussy throbbing, nipples tight, it just… happened. Heat flooded my cheeks and my cunt at the same time.

Something flickered across his face—his jaw tightened, a small muscle jumping. His eyes darkened another shade. Then they dragged over me again, slower this time, openly. From my face down my neck, across my shoulders, and then they settled on my breasts. His gaze lingered there, heavy and unhurried, tracing the way the thin white shirt stretched tight across their full, heavy swell, the way the buttons pulled just enough to show the soft inner curves and the faint outline of my lace bra beneath.

“You’ve grown,” he said quietly, voice low and even, the words landing like a slow caress.

My breath caught hard. A fresh rush of wetness flooded between my thighs, soaking my panties even more as my nipples tightened into painful little peaks, visibly stiff against the fabric. Heat bloomed across my chest and up my neck. I stood there frozen, letting him look, feeling every second of it like a physical touch—my heavy tits rising and falling faster, the cool air of the classroom teasing my sensitive nipples through the thin shirt.

Even when I was sixteen, even when he was still married to my mum, I had thought he was sexy. The kind of quiet, commanding sexy that made my stomach flutter and my thighs press together under the dinner table while I pretended to be bored. I’d hated how much I noticed him back then—the way his voice could fill a room, the way he carried himself like he didn’t need to try. And now, four years later, that old, secret pull was back stronger than ever, twisting low in my belly while my body reacted exactly the way it always had to him.

His eyes finally lifted back to my face. There was something new in them—something dark and quiet that he didn’t hide immediately the way he had hidden the surprise earlier.

“Zara,” he said. My name in his mouth sounded different. Lower. More deliberate. Like he was placing it somewhere specific. “It has been a while.”

“It has,” I answered. My voice came out steadier than I expected. I was proud of that.

“I did not expect to see you here,” he continued, still watching me closely.

“I didn’t know you were the professor for this class,” I told him. “If I had known I would have—” I stopped.

His eyebrow lifted, just slightly. “You would have what?”

I closed my mouth. The unfinished sentence hung between us. I would have prepared myself better. I wasn’t going to say that.

“I would have been less surprised,” I said instead.

He studied me for a long moment. “And now that you are no longer surprised,” he said slowly, voice low and even, “is there a problem?”

“No,” I said quickly.

“Good.” He held my gaze for one more beat, the silence stretching until it felt almost unbearable. “You are one of my students now, Zara. Whatever history exists between us stays outside this classroom. Can you do that?”

I looked straight back at him and said yes without hesitating, even though my body was screaming the opposite—my pussy clenching hard, fresh slick soaking my thighs, my heavy tits still tingling from the weight of his stare and the memory of how long I’d wanted him like this.

He nodded once. He pulled one hand from his pocket, picked up a sheet of paper from his desk, and looked down at it. Just like that the conversation was over. Dismissed. Clean and efficient, as if we’d only discussed something ordinary.

I stood there one second too long. I don’t know what I was waiting for. He didn’t look up again.

I turned around and walked toward the door.

I was almost through it when his voice followed me, low and commanding, without him even glancing up from the paper.

“See you in my next class,” he said. “Don’t be late.”

A fresh pulse of heat shot straight to my core. I didn’t turn around. “I won’t,” I answered, voice a little shaky, and pushed through the door.