He Lives Next To Me? Wtf!

I couldn’t stop thinking about him.

Not Ethan. Not the half-hearted texts from guys I’ve already broken.

Professor Dean.

His voice still echoed in my head, calm, clipped, like he didn’t need to raise it to control the room. That annoyed me. And turned me on.

Most men tried to impress me. This one? He dismissed me like a footnote. Like I didn’t matter.

That was mistake number one.

I wore a tighter blouse the next day. White, crisp, just slightly see-through. My lips were glossed red, my eyes lined sharp enough to slice through silence.

When he walked in, he didn’t look at anyone. The whole room tensed like someone had just pulled the pin on a grenade.

He placed his tablet on the desk, adjusted his sleeves, and finally lifted his gaze. 

For a second, his eyes locked on mine. Nothing flickered. No reaction. No trace of yesterday.

And that made me smile.

He was better than most.

“Open your textbooks to chapter one,” he said, already walking the rows. “Let’s see how well your last tutor taught you.”

My book stayed closed.

He stopped beside my desk. That cologne hit me again, woodsy, sharp, expensive. Like discipline in a bottle.

“Miss... Lucy, is it?” he asked, glancing at my closed book.

I looked up at him, lazy and unbothered. “That’s me.”

“You’re not following instructions.”

“And you’re not the kind of man who likes being ignored, are you?” I said, voice velvet-soft. Just enough to test him.

A pause.

Then his eyes narrowed just slightly. He didn’t smile. Didn’t blink.

But he knew.

He leaned down just a little, not enough for anyone else to notice, but enough for me to catch his whisper.

“You have no idea what kind of man I am.”

My breath caught.

He walked away back to the board.

And I sat there, pulse racing, grinning like a sinner in church.

Oh, Professor Dean… you’re not going to make this easy.

Good.

I like a challenge.

He didn’t look at me again for the rest of the hour. Not once.

Not when I crossed my legs in slow motion. Not when I arched my back just enough to press against the fabric of my blouse.

Not even when I purposely dropped my pen and bent to pick it up without bending my knees.

But I knew he felt me.

There’s a difference between ignoring and resisting. One is boredom.

The other? Tension waiting to snap.

I could feel it in the silence between his words. See it in the way his jaw flexed just a little too tightly when I exhaled a soft sigh at the end of class.

So when the bell rang, I didn’t move.

Everyone filed out around me. Books shut, chairs scraped, someone laughed. 

But I stayed seated, fingers tracing the spine of my unopened textbook like it might catch fire from the heat still curling low in my belly.

He packed slowly. Still refusing to look at me.

So I stood.

Deliberate. Quiet.

Walked right to his desk.

“Professor Dean,” I said sweetly, like I hadn’t just spent the last hour fantasizing about ruining him.

He glanced up. “Class is over, Lucy.”

I leaned a little closer across the desk. “Thought I’d stay behind. Catch up. Since I didn’t open my book.”

His gaze flicked down once, barely. But it was enough.

My blouse dipped just enough for him to see the black lace of my bra, taut over skin flushed from anticipation.

“Careful,” he said, tone colder than ever. “You’re playing a game you don’t understand.”

“But I like games,” I murmured, taking another step forward, now on his side of the desk. “Especially with men who pretend they’re not curious.”

“I’m not curious,” he said flatly. “I’m furious with what you're trying to do.”

I smirked. “Same difference.”

That earned me something, just the smallest twitch at the corner of his mouth. Not a smile. But not nothing.

Progress.

He grabbed his tablet. I didn’t move.

“I said class is over.”

I tilted my head, voice dropping lower. “Maybe you need a private lesson. A reminder that ignoring me doesn’t make me go away.”

He stared at me.

Still unreadable. Still silent. Still frustrating.

But this time... he stepped closer.

So close I could feel the heat off his body.

His voice came quiet and sharp, like the edge of a blade:

“Next time you try something like this, Lucy… make sure no one else is watching.”

Then he walked past me, cool, collected, and perfectly in control.

And left me standing there breathless.

Holy. Fuck.

He wanted me. I felt it.

But he wouldn’t give in easy.

Fine.

Let him act like he’s the one in charge.

Because when I finally break him, when that voice growls my name, and that mouth begs for more, he’ll wish he never looked away.

_____

_____

I couldn’t stop thinking about him.

Even hours later, curled on the couch at home, my mind was spinning around Professor Dean like he’d cast a spell. 

Every little detail looped in my head, he way he didn’t flinch when I pushed, how his eyes barely moved but saw everything, how his voice held weight without ever rising.

So much that I didn’t even hear my name the first six times.

“Hey! Lucy!”

I blinked hard.

My mom stood in front of me with her arms crossed and a frown on her face. “This is the seventh time I’m calling you. You okay?”

I nodded quickly, brushing my hair back. “Yeah, yeah. Sorry. Just… tired.”

She eyed me like she didn’t buy it, but moved on anyway.

“You remember our new tenant?” she asked.

“We have a new tenant?”

“He moved in two days ago and left one of his baskets at the gate. I picked it up, but I’m busy now. Will you take it to him?”

I groaned faintly but got up. “Sure.”

It wasn’t like I had anything better to do except spiral deeper into my Professor Dean obsession. 

I grabbed the basket and walked across the driveway to the guest flat we’d converted last year. Nice, quiet place. I hadn't met the tenant yet.

I knocked once.

“Come in!” came a muffled voice from inside.

It was hard to hear, the tap in the bathroom must’ve been running.

I hesitated, then turned the handle.

“I brought a basket you forgot... ” I started, stepping inside.

No reply.

Then the bathroom door creaked open.

And he stepped out.

Wet hair. Bare chest. Grey sweatshorts that clung to all the right places.

My throat dried up instantly.

“Lucy?” His brows lifted slightly in surprise.

I froze. My eyes dropped to his abs and just stayed there. Water glistened along the ridges of his torso, sliding slowly down until it disappeared beneath the waistband of his shorts. 

My mind blanked. Just completely blue screened.

Because standing right in front of me, dripping and shirtless…

Was Professor Dean.

What. The. Actual. Fuck.