CROSSED THE LINE part 1

It was nearly dark when Sophie lingered outside the lecture hall, pretending to shuffle her books while her pulse quickened. Professor Adrian Hale—new, impossibly handsome, his fitted shirt clinging to a broad chest that seemed out of place in a literature department—was gathering his notes.

She’d been watching him for two weeks now. Two weeks of stolen glances, biting her lip while his deep voice filled the room, scribbling nonsense in her notebook just to hide the ache between her thighs. Tonight, she couldn’t walk away.

“Professor Hale?” her voice came out softer than she intended. “I’m… still struggling with the symbolism in The Scarlet Letter. Could you maybe… explain it a little more?”

He looked up, those piercing grey eyes pinning her. He should have dismissed her. But instead, he gave a slow nod. “My office. Bring your copy. I don’t mind staying a while.”

Her stomach flipped. She followed him down the hall, her heels clicking against the floor like a countdown.

Inside his office, the air was warmer, the blinds half-drawn. Stacks of books lined the shelves, but the scent was all him—clean, masculine, with a hint of spice. He motioned to the chair opposite his desk.

“Sit.”

She did, smoothing her skirt, acutely aware of how short it was

“You take neat notes,” he murmured. “But you don’t understand the weight of Hester’s shame. You read the words, Sophie, but do you feel them?”

The way he said her name made her thighs press together. She nodded quickly, unable to meet his gaze. “I… I think so.”

“Look at me when you answer.”

Her eyes darted up, locking with his. Her breath caught. He didn’t look away. The silence stretched, charged, until he finally leaned back, opening the top drawer of his desk to pull out a small leather-bound jotter.

But that’s when she saw them.

Her eyes flicked past the notebook to the shadows inside the drawer. Shiny black straps. Silver clasps. A sleek handle, curved, unmistakable. Her pulse spiked.

Her mouth went dry. “What… is that?”

He froze, following her gaze. For a beat, his jaw clenched. Then, instead of slamming the drawer shut, he left it open. Deliberately.

“You shouldn’t be looking through your professor’s belongings,” he said evenly, voice low, dangerous.

She swallowed hard. “I wasn’t… I didn’t mean—”

“Didn’t mean to?” His lips curved faintly. “Or wanted to?”

Her face flushed crimson. She couldn’t answer. She didn’t have to—her silence betrayed her.

Adrian leaned back in his chair, watching her squirm, his thumb brushing idly against the corner of the jotter he still held. “You’ve been sending me signals, Sophie. You think I don’t notice? The way you linger after class. The way you stare when you think I’m not looking. The way you… dress.”

Her breath hitched. “I wasn’t—”

“Don’t lie.” His tone cut like steel. “You wanted me to see you.”

Her thighs pressed tighter together. The heat between them was unbearable now, throbbing with each word he spoke.

“I…” she stammered, her voice trembling. “Maybe.”

A dangerous silence stretched between them. He stood suddenly, moving around the desk, his height towering over her. She looked up, frozen, every nerve alight with forbidden anticipation.

He braced one hand on the arm of her chair, leaning close enough that she could feel the heat radiating off his body. His other hand—steady, deliberate—closed the drawer with a snap.

“You shouldn’t tempt me, Sophie.” His breath brushed her lips. “Because if you cross that line, there’s no going back.”

Her chest heaved. Her lips parted. She whispered, “What if I already have?”

His eyes darkened. He straightened slowly, tension radiating off him like fire contained in glass. For a long, charged moment, he said nothing. Then, his voice came out rough, commanding, final:

“Go home, Sophie. And tomorrow, you’ll come back to me—and you’ll knock on this door knowing exactly what you’re asking for.”