Chapter 3 ALEXIS’S POV

I ignored the message and went to bed. Yet as I lay down my heart could not stop pounding.

It was only after a few hours that I was able to fall asleep and even when I did, I dreamt of Dorian. He was shirtless in the dream, his toned body glistening as he stood there and looked at me intensely. He drew closer to me, his huge arms reaching for my waist and grabbing me and pulling me to him. My body pressed against his chest, his cologne filling my nose and making me dizzy. I stared into his eyes and he did mine. Hus lips were so close and he looked so dangerously handsome at the moment.

“What do you want from me?” I whisper.

“Anything you want,” he purred and brought his lips to mine. Just as we were about to kiss the loud ringing of my alarm clock dragged me out of my slumber and I woke up with a start.

Embarrassing. At my age I’m having that kind of dream.

I sighed. Today was a Thursday and I had a lot to do.

Teach the class. Stick to the material. Don't engage with Dorian beyond what's necessary. I was a professional. I'd been teaching for almost ten years. I could handle one cocky student.

I picked out my most boring tie ,the navy one Julie bought me forever ago. Put on my good professor face. Wrote Wilde's quote about temptation on the board and tried not to think about how it basically summed up my entire life right now.

Class started. Dorian wasn't there.

Good. Fine. Better this way, actually.

I started talking about Wilde and aestheticism and moral philosophy. Half the class was listening. The other half was on their phones. Normal Thursday morning.

Then the door opened.

Dorian walked in fifteen minutes late. Hair a complete mess, like he'd literally just woken up. T-shirt with some band on it. He looked like he'd rolled out of bed and decided at the last second to show up.

Everyone turned to look at him. Of course they did. He had that thing ,that presence that made people pay attention whether they wanted to or not.

He saw me looking and smiled. Not the smirk. An actual smile.

I turned back to the board too fast. Almost dropped my marker.

"So, um, Wilde believed we cage ourselves with all these rules about what's acceptable," I said, too loud. "That we're so worried about what people think we forget to actually live."

"But isn't that kind of necessary?" Sarah asked. She always asked questions. "Like, without rules, wouldn't everything fall apart?"

"Maybe. Or maybe we'd just be more honest about what we actually want."

"That's the whole point of the book though, right?" Marcus jumped in. He loved this stuff. "Dorian thinks he can do whatever and the painting takes the hit. But it doesn't work. The consequences catch up anyway."

"Right. You can't actually run from yourself. Eventually , "

"Eventually you have to look in the mirror," Dorian cut in.

I made the mistake of looking at him. He was leaning back in his chair, arms crossed, staring right at me.

"What I mean is," he continued, "that's the scary part. Not the stuff he does. It's that he can't hide from it forever. At some point you have to deal with who you really are."

Half the class was nodding. Even the phone people were paying attention.

"That's one way to read it," I managed. My mouth felt dry. "Though Wilde might say it's more about Victorian hypocrisy than personal responsibility."

"Aren't those the same thing?" Dorian sat forward. "Victorian people pretended to be moral while doing whatever they wanted in secret. The problem wasn't just the hypocrisy. It was that they couldn't admit what they really wanted."

He was right. Damn it, he was completely right, and now everyone was looking at me to respond.

"Language, Mr. Vega."

"Sorry, Professor." He didn't sound sorry at all.

I pushed through the rest of class somehow. Everything I said felt like it meant two things. Every example felt personal. When I talked about forbidden desire, someone giggled. When I mentioned secrets, Dorian stretched and his shirt rode up and I completely lost my train of thought.

I let them out ten minutes early. I couldn't do it anymore.

They left in the usual mess of backpacks and talking. Dorian took his time packing up. Waiting. Obviously waiting.

When everyone was gone, he walked down to the front. Sat on the edge of a desk close to mine.

"That was subtle," I said.

"I was participating. Isn't that what good students do?"

"Good students don't try to mess with their professors."

"Mess with?" He tilted his head. "I answered your questions. Not my fault if you're reading into things."

I should have left. Grabbed my stuff and walked out. Instead I moved closer. Close enough to smell whatever he was wearing , something that probably cost more than my monthly car payment.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

"Learning about Oscar Wilde."

"Cut the shit."

His eyebrows went up. I never swore in front of students. "There it is. The real you."

"You don't know anything about me."

"I know you wear your wedding ring but you and your wife don't text during the day. I know you talk about desire like you've been running from it your whole life. I know when I touched your leg last week, you didn't stop me."

My heart was pounding so hard I thought he could probably hear it. "That was a mistake."

"Was it?" He slid off the desk, moved closer. "Because I don't think you make a lot of mistakes, Professor. I think you're really, really careful. And I think I scare the shit out of you because you can't be careful with me."

"You're my student."

"I'm twenty-two."

"I'm married."

"I know. How's that going?" He was close enough now that I had to tilt my head up slightly to look at him. When had he gotten so close? "When's the last time you touched her? Really touched her?"

My heart skipped a beat at his words. What did he mean? How did he know that I hadn't touched her in a while? It was unbelievable, that information wasn't available to him and now I knew there was more - he was more.

Still I didn't want to show him vulnerability, "That's none of your business."

"You're right." He put his hands on the desk, one on each side of me. Not touching me, but trapping me there. "But I bet you lie awake thinking about all the things you can't have. I bet you're lying awake thinking about me."

"Stop."

"Make me."

We stared at each other. I could feel the heat coming off him. Could see the way his chest moved when he breathed. Could smell that cologne and something underneath it that was just him.

I should have pushed him away. Should have told him this was inappropriate and walked out. Instead I heard myself say, "Office hours. Tomorrow. Three o'clock."

His whole face lit up. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. To discuss your coursework. That's it."

"Sure." He stepped back, grabbed his bag. "Just coursework."

He was almost out the door when he turned around. "Professor?"

"What?"

"Wear the blue tie tomorrow. The one from Tuesday." That smile again. "I like that one."

Then he was gone, and I was alone in the empty classroom, knowing I'd just crossed a line I couldn't uncross.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​