Chapter 15: Just One Bite

I feel a dull pounding in my skull as I make my way to the faculty building. As I approach my office, I stop. A figure is already waiting by the door.

Sofia.

Of course.

Thankfully, I remembered her phone.

I expect anger. Humiliation. Maybe even tears. I had snapped at her yesterday—intentionally, cruelly.

She smiles instead.

Not innocently. No. There's something else in it. Something knowing.

"Good morning, Professor Lucien," she says—voice soft. Too soft

Her eyes twinkle—like she knows something I don’t. That look unsettles me.

I pull her phone from my coat pocket and hand it over. “Here.”

She reaches, pauses. Her fingers brush mine.

Deliberate, I think.

"Thank you," she murmurs, gaze steady.

There’s a box in her other hand. Neatly wrapped. With a red ribbon.

Cookies.

“What’s this?" I ask, regretting it immediately.

"A peace offering," she says simply.

I stare at the box.

Peace?

After yesterday, she should hate me.

But she’s smiling—soft, sweet.

Dangerous.

I say nothing. My grip tightens before I finally let go.

She holds the cookies out.

“I made them myself.”

I look at her then—really look. Her cheeks are flushed. But she doesn't flinch. Doesn’t back down.

I don’t take it.

My eyes drift—against my better judgment.

Her dress is flimsy. Pale. Soft fabric that clings when the morning light hits just right.

Her hair’s tied up in a high ponytail, strands falling loose like she rushed to put it up. It exposes the curve of her neck. The slope of her collarbone.

My jaw tightens.

My jaw tightens.

She wears makeup—but barely. A little gloss. Barely-there blush. Enough to make you think she rolled out of bed looking like this.

I drag my eyes back to the box between us. Cookies.

A peace offering, she said.

After everything I told her yesterday—she stands here, smiling like we’re friends. Like I didn’t call her worthless. Like I didn’t tell her she meant nothing.

It should bother me. The nerve.

But what bothers me more is that she’s not shaking.

She’s not scared.

She’s composed, chin high, a faint smirk hidden behind big brown eyes.

She wants something.

The arrogance of it should disgust me.

Instead, it coils low in my gut—something hot, unwelcome. Something primal.

I take the box from her fingers, slower than I should. Our hands brush again.

This time, neither of us moves

“Just try one,’ she says, smile softening. "If you hate them, I’ll never bother you again.”

I study her face, then step past and unlock the door. "Go back to class."

Taking off my coat, I settle in behind the desk, needing exactly thirty seconds of silence before I have to face a lecture hall full of half-asleep students.

But of course, she follows me in.

“Professor Lucien."

Too sweet.

I don’t look up. “Sofia. Leave. Please.”

She doesn’t move.

Instead, the door shuts softly behind her. A breath of silence—

Then the sharp click of the lock.

My head jerks up.

She’s still there—fingers resting on the knob.

Like she didn’t just cross a line.

Like she owns the space.

Her gaze shifts—to the desk. The untouched box of cookies.

“Unlock it.”

“Scared to be alone with me, Professor?”

She says it light, too casual.

Teasing? Testing the limit before I snap?

Or is this just… Sofia?

I used to think she was innocent.

I shove back from the desk. Stand too fast—too hard.

The chair screeches.

Her eyes widen—a flicker.

But she doesn’t move.

Still unreadable.

“Last warning.” My voice drops. “Unlock the door. Go to class. Stop this.”

She tilts her head, all feigned innocence. “Stop what?”

She says it like she’s clueless. Like she doesn’t know exactly what she’s doing.

Maybe she doesn’t.

Maybe that’s worse.

“I just want to know if you’ll change your mind. About tutoring me.”

“Sofia…” I scoff—weakly.

Then she steps forward. Measured. Slow.Like she’s choreographing this.

“Professor Lucien… please.”

Her voice trembles. Eyes down. Lashes brush her cheekbones.

I follow her gaze—heel wobbling slightly, knees pressing inward like she’s off-balance.

“I don’t want to fail.” Barely a whisper.

Another step.

Closer.

“Sofia.” Her name scrapes out of my throat like a warning, but I can already feel it unraveling. My resolve.

I want to resist. God, I need to.

But I can’t. Not when her eyes flick back up to mine—and they’re glassy now. Like she’s about to cry.

“My grandma would be so disappointed,” she murmurs.

Then it hits—tight in my chest. Guilt, maybe. Or fury. Because she knows exactly which strings to pull.

“Why should I care?” I snap—lashing out just to shove her back. To save what’s left of my sanity.

She doesn’t even blink.

“Why shouldn’t you care, Professor?” she says softly. “You’re my teacher. And good teachers don’t let their students fail.”

I let out a bitter laugh. “I’m not a good teacher, Sofia.”

No.

I’m not.

Hell—I’m anything but good.

A decent man wouldn’t fantasize about punishing her. Wouldn’t teeter so close to coercion— To using his power to drag a blowjob from her in this office.

I’m not good.

Her hand slides past me. Eyes locked on mine.

“Are you not?” she murmurs, lifting the cookie box. She peels back the lid, fingers brushing its edge like it’s silk.

Her gaze drops—to the cookies. The scent hits. Warm, spiced, maddening. My fantasy. Feeding me.

Then she lifts her gaze, a cookie pinched delicately in-between her fingers.

“What makes you so sure you’re not good, Professor Lucien?”

"Sofia. Don’t push me."

Her lips curve. Just a little.

“Let me feed you,” she whispers. “Just one bite.”

My stomach coils.

It takes a lot of willpower to stop myself from pulling her in and kissing her till she runs off. Making her understand the fire she is playing with. But I step back.

“What are you doing, Sofia?” I mutter, catching her wrist.

Her disgust wouldn’t rattle me. But this flirtation? This game? It does.doesn't rattle me like her being this flirty.

“Just one bite,” she adds.

I exhale slowly, the sound harsh in the silence. “Sofia…”

She tilts her head, smiling just a little. “If I fail… it’s your fault.”

My jaw tenses.

She lifts the cookie to my mouth—eyes gleaming.Challenge. Seduction. A dare.

“If you bite…” she murmurs, “you accept.”

I tighten my grip.Her pulse flutters beneath my touch.

Accept what?

The tutoring?

I should pull back. I should let go.

Instead, I lean in. Close. Too close. My breath tangles with hers. Neither of us moves.

The cookie waits between us, suspended.

“Just one bite,” she whispers

I hover, inches away, lips parted—not sure if I’m going to take the cookie or take her hand and pull her into my lap.

Then, I do the worst possible thing.

I bite.

A soft crunch breaks the silence.

Her smile unfurls, slow and victorious, like she’s just won something she’s been betting on from the start.

And maybe she has.