Professor Black Novels & Stories

I turned and there he was. Professor Adrian Black stepped out like the entire building was his domain. Tall and broad-shouldered, his charcoal blazer hugged his powerful frame perfectly. The sleeves of his white shirt were rolled once, revealing those strong forearms I had fantasized about holding me down. His dark hair was artfully messy, and those storm-gray eyes swept the corridor before locking directly onto me. Heat flooded my core instantly and my nipples hardened against my sweater, and a fresh rush of wetness slicked my thighs. This was the man I had transferred across states for staring at me.

_Aurora’s POV_ My fake boyfriend… …was my professor. There had to be some kind of mistake here. I blinked once. Then twice. Surely if I blinked enough times, Professor Nikolai Volkov would disappear from the front of the lecture theatre and be replaced by whoever was actually supposed to teach this class. Instead, he calmly set his laptop on the lectern, connected it to the projector, and adjusted the microphone clipped to the collar of his shirt. He looked as though he had done this hundreds of times before.

I kissed him back like a drowning man, desperate for an anchor. Jax made a low, pained sound and looked away. Marcus laughed again. “Touching. But the clock’s ticking, Professor. 89%.” Elliott broke the kiss, stood, and turned to Marcus. The shift was instant predator mode. “You want to play blackmail?” he said softly. “Fine.” He pulled a small black device from his inner jacket pocket looked like a key fob with a red button. He pressed it. Somewhere deep in the building, alarms began to wail. Not fire something sharper, electronic.

"What do you mean?" "I don't know exactly," Leyla shrugged, looking toward the street. "But at the university they say Professor Blackwood is just the mask. That the man who lives in that mansion is someone no one would want to truly know. They say he’s a predator who doesn't just hunt in business, but has a debt pending with blood." I remained in silence, remembering Killian's bloody knuckles and the golden weapon at his waist. "He's into something dark, Ivy," Leyla insisted. "Be careful. A man like that doesn't keep assistants out of charity."

Professor Black was 38, tall, broad-shouldered, and devastatingly handsome in that strict, intellectual way. Dark hair with a hint of silver at the temples, sharp jaw, and piercing grey eyes that always seemed to see right through me. He was known for being brilliant, demanding, and completely off-limits. I knocked softly. “Come in.” I stepped inside. The office was dimly lit, bookshelves lining the walls, a large oak desk in the center. Professor Black sat behind it, sleeves rolled up, looking every bit the authoritative professor. “Miss Elara,” he said, voice deep and smooth. “You’re here for feedback on your paper?”

a voice boomed from the front. I froze. That voice. All eyes turned to me, I hate when I'm the center of attention. I looked up. Standing at the podium, wearing a crisp white shirt and glasses that made him look terrifyingly intelligent, was the man from the bar. "I am Professor Alaric Blackwood," he said, his eyes locking onto mine with zero recognition, only cold authority. "And in this classroom, there are no excuses for being late. See me after class." My heart hammered against my ribs. It was him. He still looked as handsome as that night, but he looked at me like I was nothing but a smudge on his shoe. I am doomed