The Hockey player's submissive professor

JUNO HAYES

“Let me go, Drake.”

I backed into the cold wall. He followed, closing the gap.

My eyes flicked toward the now-empty lecture hall, the doors half-shut. No witnesses. No help.

This is Drake Mayas—my annoying ex-boyfriend who doesn’t seem to understand the meaning of ex. Meaning he's in the past. No one returns to their vomit. But Drake? Drake never listens. And now, the guy has the nerve to show up at the university where I work as a Sports Rehabilitation and Wellness lecturer.

The moment my students left and I began packing up, I felt a hand grab my ass. I turned, ready to tear into some cocky student—only to find him.

“How can I let you go,” he said with that slick grin, “when I know we’re perfect for each other? A match made in heaven.”

It was moments like this I really regretted not filing that restraining order.

“That’s not going to happen, Drake. So please, stop. I have somewhere I need to be—”

I didn’t even finish before he stepped closer and grabbed my shoulder.

“Who?” he snapped, eyes wild and dilated. “Who are you going to see?”

His breath hit me—sharp and chemical. Drugs. Again.

His pupils were blown wide, his grip twitchy and tight. Not just desperate. Dangerous.

“You’re not well, Drake,” I said gently, trying to reach the tiny fragment of sanity he might still have. “You need help. You shouldn’t be following me around. I can’t keep tolerating—”

“SHUT UP!”

The slap came fast—sharp, loud, humiliating. My head snapped to the side. My cheek burned.

For a second, everything tilted.

Then I blinked, straightened, and stared him down. My eyes burned—not from pain, but shame. Shame that I had let it come to this again.

“You’re sick,” I whispered, touching the throbbing skin of my cheek.

But before he could open his mouth, a voice cut the air like a blade.

“Hey!”

Deep. Commanding.

I turned slowly, heart pounding.

Rhett Voss.

Standing in the doorway, team hoodie on, jaw tight, eyes locked on Drake.

I blinked. That voice… why did it sound familiar?

He moved fast. 

Drake’s hand fell from my shoulder instantly.

Just great.

Exactly what I didn’t need—Rhett Voss, the athlete I was assigned to for post-injury rehab, walking in on my personal disaster.

I hated this.

Rhett reached us in seconds. “What the fuck are you doing?”

Drake blinked, stumbling back like Rhett’s voice had physically shoved him. “Who the hell are you?” he spat, puffing up like a dog looking for a fight.

Rhett didn’t answer. His gaze flicked to me—clearly seeing the red mark on my cheek—and something in him snapped. His fists clenched at his sides, jaw grinding like stone.

He took a step closer. “I asked you a question. I won’t ask again.”

Drake glanced at me, still pressed to the wall, then back at Rhett with a sneer.

“Oh, I get it. You’re the new boy toy. The one she left me for?”

Then he turned back to me. His voice twisted with poison.

“This what you left me for, Juno? Some fresh young dick to ram your greedy hole? Mine wasn’t enough for you?”

My eyes shut tight.

I hate you, Drake. I hate you.

Saying all this in front of a kid—because yes, that’s what Rhett still was in some ways—was humiliating. I opened my mouth, desperate to say something, anything, that didn’t sound weak.

“...Do you know she likes kinky shit? Tied up, fucked like a bitch in —”

He never finished. Rhett’s fist slammed into his jaw, and Drake dropped like dead weight.

I didn’t breathe. Couldn’t.

Rhett stepped forward, fists still clenched, jaw locked.

“Don’t,” I said quickly, grabbing his arm. “Please. He’s not worth it.”

Rhett didn’t move, but I felt the tension in his body like coiled wire. I turned to Drake, still curled on the floor, clutching his jaw in disbelief.

“Get out,” I said coldly. “Before I do worse.”

He glared at me with hate in his eyes—but he left. Stumbled through the doors without another word.

Silence fell.

I looked up at Rhett—tall, quiet, eyes unreadable.

“Thank you,” I whispered.

His gaze dropped to my cheek. “Are you okay?”

I nodded. “I’m fine.”

His hand brushed my skin—just once. Warm. Careful.

And I felt it: something electric under my skin.

His voice.

Familiar.

Too familiar.

I stepped back, clearing my throat. “Let’s reschedule our session. I need some time.”

Rhett didn’t argue. Just nodded once.

As I turned to leave, I could still feel his eyes on my back.

And somehow… that scared me more than Drake ever did.