4. BEHIND CLOSE DOORS

SKYLAR POV 

Three days into the semester, and I still hadn't figured out how to breathe normally whenever I was in the same room as him. Physics was the only class on my schedule that made my hands shake before I even walked through the door.

Emma thought it was hilarious. Kyle thought it was a disaster waiting to happen. I thought both of them needed to mind their business, but neither of them listened, which was exactly why I was standing outside Professor Cross's office on a Thursday afternoon instead of heading home like a normal person.

I told myself it was about the syllabus. There was a lab report due next week, and I genuinely had questions about the formatting requirements. That was the only reason I was here. Definitely not because some reckless part of me wanted an excuse to see him outside of a lecture hall full of witnesses.

I knocked before I could talk myself out of it.

"Come in."

His voice did something unfair to my stomach, same as it had that first night, same as it did every single time he called on someone in class and I had to pretend I wasn't hanging on every word. I pushed the door open and stepped inside, and the second his eyes landed on me, something in his expression shifted, quick and controlled, like he was slamming a door shut on whatever he'd actually felt.

"Miss Bale." His voice was flat, professional, nothing like the man who'd had his hands on me less than a week ago. "What can I do for you?"

I hated how formal it sounded. Hated it more that some small, stupid part of me wanted him to drop the act completely.

"I had questions about the lab report format," I said, holding up my notebook like it was proof I actually belonged here for academic reasons.

"Sit," he said, gesturing to the chair across from his desk.

I sat, setting my notebook down, very aware of how small his office felt with just the two of us in it. He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, studying me in a way that made it impossible to focus on anything else.

"The format is in the syllabus," he said after a moment, voice low.

"I know. I read it. I just wanted to make sure I understood the citation requirements correctly."

"You could have emailed me that question."

My face went hot. He wasn't wrong. I absolutely could have emailed him, and some embarrassing, reckless part of me had chosen not to, had wanted an excuse to see him alone instead. Judging by the look on his face, he knew exactly what I'd done, and he wasn't going to let me pretend otherwise.

"Fine," I said, grabbing my notebook back. "Forget it. I'll figure it out myself."

"Sit down."

I froze halfway out of the chair, startled by the authority in his voice.

"I didn't say leave," he said, quieter now. "I said you could have emailed me. I didn't say I wanted you to."

My heart slammed against my ribs. I sank back into the chair slowly, watching him, waiting for him to say something else, anything else, that would explain what exactly was happening right now.

"This is a bad idea," he said finally, dragging a hand down his face. "You being here. Me letting you stay."

"I know."

"You're my student."

"I know that too."

"I could lose everything if anyone finds out what happened between us." His voice was rough now, like he was working through this out loud more than actually talking to me. "My job. My reputation. My father would have exactly the excuse he's been waiting for."

I didn't know what to say to that, so I said nothing, just watched him across the desk, trying to memorize every detail of his face like I wasn't entirely sure I'd get another chance to.

"I don't even know your name," he said suddenly, almost accusingly, like it had been bothering him for days.

"Skylar."

"Skylar," he repeated, like he was testing the weight of it. "Skylar Bale.

"You know my last name?"

"It's on the attendance roster." A faint, humorless smile tugged at his mouth. "Bale. As in, Bale Industries."

My stomach dropped. Of course he'd put it together. Everyone eventually did. "My family, yeah."

"Great," he muttered, leaning back further in his chair, looking at the ceiling like he was praying for patience. "So not only are you my student, you're also the daughter of one of the most powerful families in this city."

"Does that change anything?"

"It changes everything." He looked back at me, something dark and conflicted flickering behind his eyes. "This can't happen again, Skylar."

My name in his mouth felt like a small victory and a warning at the same time.

"I know," I said, even though some reckless, stubborn part of me didn't believe either of us meant it.

He stood up, walking around the desk, stopping close enough that I had to tilt my head back to look at him. My pulse was pounding so loud I was sure he could hear it.

"You should go," he said, voice low, but he didn't move out of my way.

"Yeah," I agreed, not moving either.

For a long moment, neither of us said anything, the air between us thick with everything we both knew we shouldn't want. His eyes dropped briefly to my mouth before he caught himself, jaw tightening like he was fighting some internal battle I couldn't see.

"Skylar." My name again, quieter this time, almost a warning.

"I'm going," I said, forcing myself to grab my notebook and stand, putting distance between us before I did something incredibly stupid, like finding out if he still tasted the same.

I made it to the door before his voice stopped me.

"For what it's worth," he said, and I turned to find him watching me with an expression I couldn't quite name, "I'm glad it was you. That night. Before I knew who you were."

I didn't trust myself to respond, so I just nodded and slipped out of his office, closing the door behind me with hands that were definitely shaking for reasons that had nothing to do with fear.

The hallway outside was mostly empty, just a couple of students hurrying toward their next class, completely unaware of what had just happened a few feet away from them. I pressed my back against the wall for a second, trying to steady my breathing, trying to convince myself that what just happened hadn't actually happened the way I remembered it.

He said he was glad it was me.

Adrenaline shot straight through me, hot and reckless, drowning out every single rational thought in my head. Before I could talk myself out of it, I turned around and pushed his office door back open.

He looked up, startled, halfway out of his chair. "Skylar, what-"

I didn't let him finish. I crossed the room in three steps and crashed my mouth against his, fisting my hands into his shirt like I needed something to hold onto. For half a second he went rigid, like his brain hadn't caught up with what was happening, and then he was kissing me back, hard and certain, like he'd been waiting for exactly this.

"You're going to get me in trouble," he muttered against my lips, even as his hands found my waist and pulled me flush against him.

"Then stop," I breathed, not meaning it at all.

"Can't," he said, voice rough, lifting me effortlessly onto the edge of his desk, papers sliding and scattering beneath me. "Not anymore."

His mouth found my neck, slow and deliberate, and I tilted my head back to give him better access, a soft moan slipping out before I could stop it.

"You have no idea what you do to me," he said against my skin, his voice low and wrecked. "Sitting in my class, acting like you don't know exactly what I'm thinking every time I look at you."

"Tell me," I whispered.

"I think about how you tasted that night. How badly I wanted to finish what we started." His hands slid down to grip my hips, pulling me closer until there was no space left between us. "I think about it more than I should, Skylar."

My fingers tangled in his hair as his mouth moved back to mine, deeper this time, his tongue sliding against mine in a way that made my whole body feel like it was on fire. His hands dropped lower, squeezing my ass firmly enough to pull another moan out of me, and he swallowed the sound like he wanted to keep it for himself.

"Say you fucking want this," he murmured against my lips, breathless. "Say it, and I'll stop pretending I don't."

"I want this," I said, barely recognizing my own voice. "I want you."

Something in him seemed to break loose at that, his mouth claiming mine again, hungrier now, like all the restraint he'd been holding onto for the last three days had finally snapped completely.

His hands slid up my thighs, pushing my skirt higher, and for a moment the whole world narrowed down to his mouth on mine, his weight pressing me back against the desk, every rational thought I owned completely gone.

Then a sharp knock rattled the door.

We both froze.

"Professor Cross?" A voice called from the other side, muffled but unmistakably familiar. "It's Dean Whitfield. Do you have a minute?"

Lucian's whole body went rigid against me. For a second neither of us moved, both of us staring at each other, chests heaving, lips swollen, clothes rumpled in ways that would be impossible to explain away.

"One second," he called out, voice strained but somehow steady. He pulled back, dragging a hand through his hair, eyes wild as they swept over me. "You need to go. Now."

"There's no other door," I whispered, panic flooding in fast.

His eyes darted around the office before landing on the small supply closet tucked in the corner. "In there. Don't make a sound."

I slid off the desk on shaky legs, grabbing my notebook and shoving it under my arm, and practically dove into the closet, pulling the door shut just as I heard his office door open.

"Dean Whitfield," Lucian said, voice smooth now, frighteningly composed considering what had been happening thirty seconds earlier. "Come in."

I pressed myself against the shelves in the dark, heart hammering so loud I was sure it would give me away, straining to hear every word of the conversation happening just feet away. Whatever this visit was about, I had a horrible feeling my night wasn't ending anytime soon.

I stood frozen in the dark, surrounded by boxes of chalk and spare textbooks, barely daring to breathe as Dean Whitfield's voice carried through the thin door.

"Settling in alright?" Mr Dean asked, his tone pleasant enough, though there was something probing underneath it, like he was looking for cracks.

"As well as can be expected," Lucian said, and I could hear the forced calm in his voice, the kind only someone who'd just been caught halfway to losing his job could manage.

"Your father mentioned you might need some adjusting time. I told him not to worry. You're a Cross. Adjusting isn't really in your family's vocabulary."

"No," Lucian said dryly. "It isn't."

"I just wanted to check in before the semester gets too far along. Office hours posted, grading schedule set, no complaints from students so far?"

There was a pause just a fraction too long before Lucian answered. "None that I'm aware of."

My pulse spiked at that. I pressed my hand flat against my mouth, terrified even the sound of my own breathing might somehow carry through the door.

"Good. Good." Papers shuffled, a chair creaked. "Your father wants a report at the end of the month. Attendance, performance, that sort of thing. Just so you're aware."

"Understood."

"And Lucian." Mr Dean's voice shifted, quieter now, almost fatherly in a way that made my stomach twist. "I know this situation isn't what you wanted. But do try to make the most of it. For your own sake, if nothing else."

"I'll keep that in mind."

A few more exchanged pleasantries, something about departmental meetings and a faculty mixer at the end of the week, and then finally, mercifully, footsteps retreated and the office door clicked shut.

I didn't move. Not yet. My legs felt like they belonged to someone else, numb and shaking, and it took Lucian pulling the closet door open before I even registered he'd crossed the room.

"You can breathe now," he said, though he didn't look much calmer than I felt, his jaw tight, a muscle ticking there like he was still running the last five minutes back through his head.

"That was too close," I whispered, stepping out, smoothing my skirt down with hands that wouldn't quite stop trembling.

"Too close doesn't even cover it." He raked a hand through his hair, pacing a tight line in front of his desk. "If he'd walked in two minutes earlier-"

"He didn't."

"This time." He stopped pacing, turning to look at me, and whatever composure he'd managed to pull together while talking to Mr Dean cracked slightly at the edges. "Skylar, this cannot happen in my office again. Do you understand me? Not here. Not where anyone could walk in."

"Here," I repeated slowly, catching the implication before he even seemed to realize what he'd said. "Not here. Meaning somewhere else is fine?"

Something flickered across his face, somewhere between frustration and something far less innocent, and for a second I thought he might actually deny it. He didn't.

"I didn't say that," he muttered, though he didn't sound convinced of it either.

"You basically did."

"Skylar."

"

I should go," I said, cutting him off before either of us said something we couldn't take back, grabbing my bag from where I'd dropped it earlier. My lips still felt swollen, my neck still warm from his mouth, and I was fairly certain if I looked in a mirror right now I'd see exactly what had almost happened written all over my face.

"Wait." He caught my wrist gently before I reached the door, and I turned to find him closer than I expected, his expression unreadable in a way that made my chest ache. "Are you alright? That was... a lot. Dean Whitfield doesn't usually check in like that."

"I'm fine," I said, though my voice came out smaller than I intended.

"Skylar."

"I said I'm fine." I pulled my wrist free, gentler than I meant to, and offered him a small, unconvincing smile. "I'll see you in class."

I slipped out of his office before he could say anything else, my legs carrying me down the hallway on autopilot, my mind racing through everything that had just happened. The kiss. His hands. The dean's voice through the door. The report he was apparently being graded on like some kind of experiment his father was monitoring from a distance.

This wasn't just reckless anymore. This was dangerous, for both of us, in ways I was only beginning to understand.

And somehow, that still wasn't enough to make me want to stop.