All Chapters of My Off-limits Professor... But He's Mine (MM Romance): Chapter 31 - Chapter 40

RYDER'S POV The fluorescent lights of the lecture hall hum with a low, headache-inducing buzz, but Adrian ignores it, his focus entirely on the whiteboard behind him. He writes a passage from The Picture of Dorian Gray, the squeak of the marker against the board the only sound in the room for a moment. He keeps his eyes strictly on the text, refusing to scan the rows of seats, refusing to let his gaze drift to the back corner where he knows Ryder sits. The air in the room feels heavy, thick with the scent of old paper and the faint, lingering smell of Ryder’s cologne that Adrian swears he can still detect from across the room. He turns to face the class, smoothing down the front of his tweed jacket. His posture is rigid, a forced composure that disguises the sharp, throbbing ache radiating from his ass. Every slight shift of his weight sends a jolt of sensation through him—a raw reminder of the night before. He can still feel the phantom stretch of Ryder’s thick cock, the relentl

RYDER'S POV The scent of cinnamon and burnt sugar clings to the air, a cloying, sweet perfume that signals his mother’s presence long before he sees her. Ryder steps into the foyer, the heavy oak door clicking shut behind him, and immediately the aroma wraps around his throat like a chokehold. He doesn’t call out a greeting. He doesn’t pause to kick off his sneakers by the mat. Instead, he grips the strap of his backpack until his knuckles turn white and marches up the stairs, each step a dull thud against the carpet. He reaches his room and twists the lock, the metal latch sliding into place with a sharp snick. Only then does he let the bag slide off his shoulder, hitting the floor with a heavy thud. He toes off his shoes, not bothering to untie the laces, and kicks them into the corner. The silence of his room does nothing to quiet the storm raging in his skull. Bankruptcy. The word tastes like ash. His parents had lost everything, decided to hide the crumbling foundation o

ADRIAN'S POV For three weeks, the silence between Adrian and Ryder has been a physical thing, a dense, invisible wall erected in the lecture hall and across the campus. They don't avoid each other with obvious drama; there are no slammed doors or pointed glares. Instead, there is a rigorous, professional politeness that feels colder than ice. Ryder doesn’t look at Adrian with that hungry, heat-heavy gaze that used to strip the professor bare from across the room, and Adrian ensures his eyes slide past the hockey player as if he were just another face in the crowd. It is an unspoken truce, a mutual agreement to pretend the sweat-slicked, frantic encounters never happened. Adrian throws himself into the rhythm of the semester, burying his confusion under piles of grading and faculty meetings. But the campus rumor mill is a relentless beast. Whispers follow Ryder in the hallways—tales of a pregnant girl, a shotgun wedding, a star athlete settling down into domestic life. Adrian he

RYDER'S POV The paper lies on the ice, stark white against the scarred, gray surface, soaking up the cold. It’s a formal notice, heavy with official letterhead, but right now it’s just trash on the ice. "You’re done," Miller says, his voice low and dangerous, cutting through the hum of the cooling system. "You are not worthy of being captain of this team. Effective immediately, you are stripped of your title. Get off my ice. Now." The shock ripples through the rink, a collective gasp that sucks the air right out of the massive space. Twenty pairs of skates stop scraping. The silence is heavier than the pads Ryder wears. He stands there, his chest heaving, staring at the letter lying near his skates. His heart hammers against his ribs like a trapped bird, the pulse throbbing in his ears so loud it drowns out the distant Zamboni engine. He drags his eyes away from the paper to Kai. Kai is wiping a smear of bright red blood from his mouth with the back of a gloved hand, his to

ADRIAN'S POV The morning light filters through the blinds in sharp, slanted beams, cutting across the bedroom floor, but Adrian doesn’t feel the warmth. He is curled beneath a heavy duvet, shivering violently despite the sweat beading on his forehead. The cold he caught yesterday has settled deep in his chest, a heavy, rattling weight that makes every breath a chore. He sneezes, a harsh, wet sound that tears through the silence, followed immediately by a groan as his body aches in sympathy. William was here earlier to drop a bottle of drugs he got from a pharmacy drop it on the nightstand before heading out to work, a silent routine of care that Adrian usually appreciates but today barely registers through the fog of his fever. Adrian forces himself up, the room spinning slightly as he swings his legs over the edge of the bed. He grabs the pills, dry-swallowing two with a grimace, and chases them with the lukewarm juice. The taste is acidic and sharp on his tongue, shocking him