All Chapters of Teach me to desire : Chapter 31 - Chapter 40

The Confession to LeoThe air in Leo’s apartment was thick with the smell of old pizza and burnt popcorn, a comforting, familiar disaster. We were sitting at his rickety kitchen table—a chipped formica nightmare that probably hadn’t been level since 1985—nursing two beers. Or rather, Leo was nursing his; I was barely touching mine, the cold aluminum feeling foreign in my hand.It was a Tuesday night, late enough that the noise from the other apartments had settled down. We hadn’t hung out like this, just the two of us, without me having to frantically check the time or invent an imaginary research paper, in weeks.Leo had been trying to keep the conversation light, mostly running down the latest campus gossip and complaining about his ridiculously easy English professor. I was responding in monosyllables, my gaze fixed somewhere on the condensation rings on the table.I feel like a massive, lead weight sitting in my chest. Every word he says, every time he smiles at me like nothing is

The Final Exam MeetingThe university building felt normal—too normal—as I walked toward Professor Thorne’s office. Students bustled past, laughing about weekend plans. The halls smelled of coffee and old textbooks. It was a lie. The whole place was a beautifully constructed lie, and I was the biggest liar of them all. This was my last scheduled review session before the final exam, the last time I could officially justify being alone with him here.My heart hammered against my ribs, a nervous, desperate rhythm. It wasn't about the final, which I knew I’d ace; it was about the control. We had spent the last week managing our public distance, forcing ourselves back into the cold, professional roles after the emotional devastation of our talk about my father. Now, we had to perform that distance while being trapped together in his small, private space.I stopped in front of the dark, polished wood door. I took three deep, steady breaths, putting on the mask of the ambitious, slightly an

The LocketI burst through the penthouse door, completely ignoring the silent security procedure I usually followed. The air conditioning in the foyer felt like an electric shock against my skin, which was still hot from the frantic drive and the simmering fear.Igor was standing near the expansive window that overlooked the glowing grid of the city, holding a heavy glass of amber liquid. He didn't turn around immediately, but the moment the heavy door shut behind me, I felt his attention lock onto me.“Six weeks, Igor,” I gasped out, leaning against the cold wall, trying to drag breath into my shaking lungs. “My father just announced it. Six weeks until the engagement party. He moved the timeline up. He’s trying to corner me.”Igor finally turned. His face was calm, perhaps too calm, a perfect marble mask of control. He looked like he was managing an unexpected market dip, not the detonation of my carefully contained life.“Breathe, Killian,” he said, his voice low and steady. He set

The Stolen MorningThe moment the security door of the penthouse hissed shut behind us, the outside world dissolved. It was just after 6:00 AM, the last precious hour before Igor had to assume his corporate persona and I had to race back to the Hayes mansion to pretend I'd been jogging since dawn. This was our rarest luxury: a stolen morning, a few hours where the clock didn't exist.We didn't waste the time on pretense. The urgency of the six-week deadline, the tightening net of my father's control, and the growing, icy threat of Serena—all of it translated into a desperate, raw physical release.The intensity of our connection now wasn't just desire; it was an act of rebellion, a physical staking of a claim against a world determined to separate us. We moved with a frantic need for confirmation, seeking proof in each other's touch that we were still real, still connected, and still fighting.Later, the silence settled in, warm and heavy around us. We were still in the bedroom, bathe

Igor's JealousyIgor stood in the center of his penthouse living room, which felt vast and unnaturally quiet. His tie was loosened, the collar of his custom shirt slightly undone—a sign of the simmering tension he rarely allowed to surface. The vast, high-resolution screen on the wall wasn't displaying market data; it was quietly streaming a live feed from the annual Metropolitan Arts Gala, a society event where the powerful posed and cemented their control.And there he was. Killian.He looked flawless. Dressed in a sharply tailored tuxedo, he stood next to Serena, who was radiant and perfectly composed. Her hand rested on his arm with a natural ease that suggested years of comfortable intimacy, not calculated ownership. They were surrounded by the city’s most influential faces, all smiling, all nodding, all confirming the narrative: Killian Hayes and Serena Vance are the golden couple. The future is secure.Igor had seen Killian’s face countless times: defiant, tender, vulnerable, e