All Chapters of Secretly Married To Her Professor : Chapter 51 - Chapter 60

YUKIAphrodite was not in class on Monday.I noticed it the second I sat down and found the seat beside me empty, which it had never been since the first week of the semester when we had silently, mutually decided that we sat next to each other and that was simply the arrangement now. I checked my phone. No message. I sent one during the break between classes. A simple hey, you good? and got back a yeah just not feeling well, sorry with a small face at the end that told me absolutely nothing useful.I tried to remind myself not to go all crazy on her just because of one day of distance without proper explanation. She wasn't my mother, nor was she obligated to not have life issues because of me.She wasn't in class Tuesday either.Now that was when my brain began over calculating, bringing up scenarios that I knew were impossible but still bothered me anyway.I called this time, leaning against the wall outside the art building with my coffee going cold in my hand. She picked up after

MOONI ran back into our bedroom with my cheeks feeling like individual volcanoes ready to rain down a whole lot of death...probably on my life because it felt like I would die of shame at any given moment.I nearly tripped over the rug at the center of the room as I stumbled in and went straight for the bed. I wrapped myself in the sheets until I was certain my burrito cover was enough to protect me from whatever consequences my foolish actions were going to bring on.I screamed into the pillows, that seemed to have become my M.O every single time I was in here. I lay there in the sheets, sweating, seething and burning with embarrassment and shame that stuck like a second skin.I shouldn't have gone out there, shouldn't have let my intrusive thoughts dictate my every move.Cillian hadn't reacted like I'd figured he would, but that only mortified me more. He was laughing at me, exhausted eyes lit up with mirth as he watched me fumble through my words. I literally soaked his shirt with

MOONCillian was a messy painter. I had never witnessed anything so fucking perfect before.He painted like he intentionally wanted flows, predicting strangely how a part would look if he splashed paint on one side and used his brush on the other. His hair was pulled back into a bun and a few brushes he alternated between using were stuck in it.I couldn't see what he was doing but I could see his eyes, his auburn brows pulled together in concentration, the smolder in those green eyes when they looked straight at me for more details.My breath caught every time. I couldn't look away and his fingers never slowed, as though he was in a trance.Watching my husband paint was a mesmerizing experience I knew I would most definitely remember for the rest of my life.It took two hours, or maybe three. Every second passed with my bones tense and warm air blowing softly against my pussy.Once he emptied his glass of whiskey, his fingers finally stopped and he let out a low, shaky breath. Green,

CILLIAN I sat in the car for a long time before I started the engine. The woods at the edge of the road were dark and still and I stared at them and breathed and tried to locate the version of myself that had existed before I walked into that studio tonight. I couldn't find him. Leaving her had taken everything. Not in the way things usually took something from me, not the clean disciplined cost of a decision made and executed. This was different. This was me standing in that studio looking at her wrapped in the blanket, hair disheveled, eyes still dark, and physically removing myself from the room because if I stayed another thirty seconds I was going to have her again and again and I was going to lose what little was left of my mind in the process. She had been sitting on that sofa with my come dripping down her thighs and she had looked at me and I had felt something crack open in my chest. I had been rough with her. Rougher than I intended. She had taken it, had asked for it

APHRODITECillian O'Brien was, without question, the most beautiful man I had ever seen in my life and I had seen a lot of beautiful men.I had his name typed into four different search engines on four different tabs on my laptop and I was rotating between them like a woman possessed, which I was, completely and without shame. There were barely any results. A few academic citations, a faculty listing on the Elysium Elite website that had a photo so criminally understated it should have been illegal, and one society page mention from three years ago that showed him at some Dublin gala looking like he had personally invented the concept of a well fitting suit.That was it. That was all the internet had for me.The man was a ghost. A devastatingly beautiful, clearly wealthy, extremely well connected ghost who apparently had no social media presence whatsoever, no interviews, no profiles, nothing. People that rich and that connected had publicists and brand deals and carefully managed dig