All Chapters of Sex With The Ruthless Alpha Professor : Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

Rose's POV Classes dragged like chains wrapped around my ankles, each period an eternity of torment. Lore—his class—was first period, and I slipped into the vast lecture hall early, claiming a seat in the very back row where the shadows pooled deepest and the air smelled faintly of dust and old parchment. Notebook open but pen idle in my numb fingers, I stared at the blank page as the room filled with the usual pre-class bustle—students chatting in low voices, papers rustling, scents mingling in a chaotic cloud that made my head spin worse. But when the heavy door opened precisely on time and Jason stepped through, the room stilled as always—conversations dying mid-sentence, spines straightening instinctively under the invisible weight of his alpha presence, air thickening until breathing felt deliberate. He moved with lethal, economical grace to the front podium—black shirt fitted perfectly to his broad, powerful frame, sleeves rolled high to his elbows revealing strong, scarred

Rose’s POVThe corridor swallowed me again.Cold stone, moonlight in pale bars across the floor, my boots striking too loud—like every echo was a confession shouted to the empty halls. I walked faster, arms wrapped tight around my ribs, but the trembling wouldn’t stop. Not the chill seeping through my jacket. Not the frantic loop in my head: *control yourself, control yourself, control yourself*.My wolf refused to listen. It was wide awake now—restless, eager, tail thumping hard against my ribs, nose lifted to drink in the lingering trace of him on my skin. Pine from ancient forests. Woodsmoke from a dying hearth. Cold winter steel. Jason.I pressed a shaking hand to the hollow of my throat where his thumb had rested, feeling the ghost of pressure, the memory of his deliberate count of my pulse. My skin burned there. Everywhere burned—between my breasts where his palm had hovered, just above the first button; along the upper curve where his thumb had brushed so close to claiming more

Rose’s POV “Describe your body right now. Every sensation. Truthfully.” The words settled over me like a weighted blanket—soft, inescapable, designed to hold me exactly where he wanted me. His voice was low, steady, almost conversational, but it carried the full force of his alpha presence, pressing against my skin, my mind, my wolf. I was already shaking—small, uncontrollable tremors in my thighs, my arms, my breath—and his silver gaze made every inch of me feel stripped bare, exposed to the flickering candlelight and to him. My throat worked around a swallow. Speaking felt impossible, obscene, but I knew the cost of silence. He would wait. He always waited, patient as winter, merciless as steel, until I gave him what he demanded. “My skin is burning,” I whispered, voice hoarse from the strain of holding posture, from unshed tears, from the endless ache he’d built in me. “Too hot, like it’s too tight for my body. Sweat is trickling down my spine, pooling at the small of my back,

Rose’s POV The door clicked Shut behind me with a finality that echoed in my bones—like a lock sliding home on a cage I had long since stopped wanting to escape. The sound was soft, deliberate, final. No going back now. Not that I wanted to. Not anymore. The room enveloped me instantly, heavier and richer than any night before, thick with heat and promise. The single brass desk lamp spilled low amber light across towering bookshelves crammed with ancient tomes on pack wars, blood rites, and omega submission rituals that now felt written about me—every page a prophecy of my unraveling. Candles in iron sconces flickered restlessly, throwing golden light over ritual objects laid out with deliberate care: coiled silver chains glinting like sleeping serpents, a bone-handled dagger beside an open grimoire, and across one corner of the massive oak desk, the thick black pelt of a defeated wolf—its empty eye sockets seeming to watch me with the same patient, predatory hunger Jason did. Th

Rose’s POV The corridor swallowed me again, cold stone walls pressing in like judgmental fingers tracing every filthy secret I carried on my skin. Moonlight sliced through the narrow arrow-slit windows in pale, accusing bars that painted silver stripes across the flagstones—each one spotlighting the dark, glistening wet patch soaking through the crotch of my jeans like a brand of shame and triumph I couldn’t scrub away even if I tried. My boots struck too loud against the stone, every echoing step a filthy confession that bounced back at me in the empty hall: *I came without him ever touching my pussy. I begged like a desperate, dripping whore. I tasted his thick, salty alpha come straight from his thumb while blindfolded and chained like his personal fucktoy.* The trembling wouldn’t stop. My thighs rubbed together with every frantic stride, slick and sticky, the denim clinging obscenely to my swollen, puffy folds like a second skin. My clit still throbbed in angry, needy aftershoc