Professor Black 소설 & 이야기

I don't know what's on that woman that she was able to captivate Black. *** Daze POV "What was that Daze?" Daryl asked me. "She's the girl I'm talking about," I told him. I can't stop myself from smiling. "Damn! Coincidence, huh? She's the great Black. She is known in Different bars and clubs, if she looks easy to get, you're mistaken, that girl is really scary!" "I heard about the great Black being the hottest girl in this area, kissing guys then afterward dumping them but I didn't realize that she's just an ordinary girl, nothing special! She’s just basic, " I said and drank the beer.

“Professor, let’s stop here. My brain can’t take it anymore.” I complain to Professor Fortez. My temple is pulsing painfully. I reached my limit already. This Professor of mine is a monster. He is very strict while teaching me. He doesn’t like so many red marks on my paper. He wants everything to be perfect.

I raised my head to look at what happened. And as my eyes fell on the tall, well dressed up, an attractive man standing in the centre of the room, I felt like my heart stopped beating for a moment. He's a damn hot and very very attractive man. Is he our new English professor? I doubt it because he is so young and charming. He's very tall, dressed in a black blazer, white t-shirt and black jeans. The sleeves of his blazer are rolled up to his elbow. He has dark black eyes and a powerful, muscular physique.

“Don’t.” I wish she could talk to me about it, but we’re in the classroom, and the professor might arrive at any time. But, just as I anticipated, a loud, clearing throat resounds across the classroom. Everyone shuts their mouths, followed by a deadly silence. Our attention gets drawn to the front, where a sophisticated, sexy, and attractive young professor in a black shirt and pants stands by the grand piano. He now has a pair of black-framed glasses on. The most awaited man has finally arrived. “Good morning. I’m Professor Julian Sebastian...”

“Mr. Cole, Miss Lessie. The Vice Chancellor is expecting you.” She gestured toward the double doors. I took a deep breath. “This is it,” I muttered under my breath. Taide pushed the door open, and we stepped inside. Three professors were already seated: Professor Clive from Political Science, Dr. Alara from Media Studies, and of course Professor Dante. My heart nearly stopped at the sight of him. He was sitting calmly beside the others, dressed in his usual black, one leg crossed over the other, hands folded loosely in his lap.

And it all revolves around him: Professor Adrian Black. He started teaching my Advanced Literary Theory class this semester, and from the first day, I was hooked. Tall, broad-shouldered, with salt-and-pepper hair that begged to be tugged, and piercing blue eyes that seemed to strip you bare when he looked your way. His voice was deep, commanding, like velvet wrapped around steel. He paced the lecture hall like he owned it, quoting Foucault and Derrida with an intensity that made my thighs clench under my desk. I’d sit in the front row, notebook open, pretending to take notes while imagining those strong hands pinning me down, his mouth devouring me until I screamed.

Marcus. Oh, God! Nate froze for a moment, staring at Professor Marcus. The professor himself said not a single word. He kept staring at Nate with the same blank, nondescript look on his face. Knowing the professor's ruthlessness, I was beginning to get scared. A muscle twitched in the professor's jaw. And before I knew it, the professor reached out, his hand clamping over Nate’s wrist. The casual gesture didn't hide the force behind it. Nate’s face contorted in pain, and a choked gasp escaped him.

He’s dressed in all black: fitted slacks, a rolled sleeve button down, boots that look like they’ve seen more than just a classroom. But it’s his eyes that catch me. Pale, piercing. Almost gold in the dim studio light. They sweep over the class, assessing, predatory, like he’s not just looking at us he’s hunting for something. Then, for the briefest second, those eyes lock onto mine. My breath stutters. A beat. A flicker of something curiosity? before he looks away. The dean prattles on about professionalism and expectations, but I don’t hear a word. My skin feels too tight. My fingers twitch against my sketchbook.

Beside him sat a man I had never met before. “This is Professor Daniel Reed from Northlake University,” Dr. Ford said. “He’s the external reviewer for the joint project. Maya, walk him through your research design.” I looked at the man across the table and lost half a second. Daniel Reed was nothing like Ford. Ford was sharp, severe, and impossible to relax around. Reed was quieter, but his presence was harder to ignore. He wore a dark shirt beneath a clean-cut jacket, his sleeves turned back just enough to reveal long fingers and a spare silver watch. He looked composed in the way some people looked dangerous without trying.

“Nude.” My entire body went rigid. “What the hell?” His expression remained frustratingly composed. “You heard me.” “You cannot be serious.” “I’m perfectly serious.” I let out a sharp, incredulous laugh, stepping backward and putting space between us before I did something stupid, like forget this man was my professor and throw the nearest object at his head. “You told me to follow you to your office, blackmail me with my scholarship, and now you’re asking me to take my clothes off for you?”