Professor Off Limits 소설 & 이야기

The intricate designs, the towering walls, the sheer weight of history in the air—it was nothing like I had ever seen before. We were guided by a few royal guards and maids, but none of them were introduced by name. Just another layer of secrecy in this place. At one point, a student pulled out their phone to take a picture, but the professor stopped them with a knowing smile. “Pictures are not allowed, Daren,” she said lightly, but there was no room for argument. No one tried again. Instead, we walked in silence, absorbing every detail, committing everything to memory since we wouldn’t get another chance.

But this is where their story needed to end. Off Limits was never about perfection. It was about crossing lines, paying the price, and choosing love anyway. It was about two people who weren’t supposed to want each other—and did. Who weren’t supposed to heal each other—and did. Who weren’t supposed to become home—and somehow became exactly that. Callie and Grayson don’t need more chapters to prove their love. They fought for it. They bled for it. They claimed it in the light, not the shadows. Letting them live quietly, fiercely, and fully after the final page is the greatest mercy I could give them.

"Be careful. My dad is meeting with the Dean this afternoon. They’re going to talk about 'moral conduct' and the scholarship fund." "You can't do that," I said. "The Professor wouldn't let you." "The Professor is just one man," Dominic said. "And the Board is twelve people who hate bad press. You're a leak, Sera. And leaks get plugged." They walked away, leaving me alone with my cold coffee. I felt like I was being watched from every corner of the room. I grabbed my bag and headed for the North Tower. I needed to see Caspian. I burst into his office without knocking. He was sitting at his desk, looking at a series of Polaroids.

She tilted her head, lips twitching, and whispered, “I’m counting on it, Professor.” The words hung between us like a live wire. My hand itched to move, my chest felt tight, my mind screamed at me to take her here and now. “You really want to see what happens when you push me too far?” I said, voice barely above a whisper, but sharp enough to slice through the quiet office. “I’ll show you real punishment.” The door was locked, the office still. And in that suspended moment, I knew neither of us would leave unchanged

And yet I nearly dropped dead on the floor. I just stood there, back to the door, fingers clenched at my sides, legs pressed together like I was physically trying to contain myself, like if I didn’t keep my thighs locked I’d embarrass myself right there on his office rug. And then he turned. Veins up his arms. And I realized something I wish I hadn’t: He wasn’t wearing a scent blocker. Professors are supposed to wear them. Around Omegas. Especially during heat season. It’s policy. It’s safety.

I looked over to the side and I saw most of my coursemates whispered something amongst themselves as most of the girls giggled. My eyes returned to the podium and when I did our eyes ran into the other. Killian wore a dark pants and a lilac top, the shirt covered the tatoos but from the way he was built and his look he was the perfect definition of an hot professor. My own step brother is the professor of the one class that I needed more than anything, how could this even be. Class ended with Killian paying little or no attention to me and right now I was standing just beside my hall as I rang my mom's phone for the fifth time.

He removes his glasses and sets them aside like they’re fragile. He nods toward the empty chair. “Sit.” I stay standing. I need the distance. Even if distance feels impossible. “This is inappropriate. You’re my professor. What happened was a mistake…” “Agreed.” His interruption was quick and cold. He stands, moves around the desk. His steps are steady, quiet, controlled. Too controlled. Like if he shows even a little softness, something will break open between us. He stops a little too close. “It was a mistake. It won’t happen again. You’ll stay in my class, complete the coursework, and we’ll both pretend Friday night didn’t exist.”

I strode through the minimalist, white-on-white reception area, my heavy leather boots leaving tracking smears of wet gravel and dark harbor mud across the pristine, hand-woven silk carpet. Peter’s executive secretary, a flawless, severe woman named Cynthia who had been trained to screen out senators and tech billionaires without blinking, stood up so fast her ergonomic chair rolled violently back into the mahogany paneling. "Mr. Lawrence, you can't be back here," she stammered, her hand hovering over the silent panic button beneath her desk. "Mr. Ambrose is in a restricted operational review. The network is locked down. No one is permitted on the floor—" "He's permitted for me," I said, my

“Thank you for your sincerity, Dr. Cole. Now this matter will not reach my superiors. I’ll give my judgment here. You both are adults, and I cannot tell you what to do concerning your relationship. But it is also unlawful for a student and a lecturer to be in an intimate relationship in this school. Therefore, it’s best that you either quit your relationship and render a formal apology to the school or one of you leave the school if you want to continue with what you’re doing.” Cole shifts in his position. “I will present my resignation letter to you promptly, sir.” “What? No!” I shriek. “Cole, we have to talk about this.” “There’s nothing to talk about, Ms. Stone.” Ms. Stone? Is that how it

A rare chase figure popped out of my blind box and somehow bound itself to me through an empathy link. Two days later, the doll vanished. During class, I suddenly felt two warm hands stroking my neck. A shiver ran through me. Damn it! Whoever has my empathy doll is putting their hands all over it. Before I could react, those hands slid lower and squeezed my breasts. A rush of tingling pleasure flooded my body. I reached out to stop them without thinking. The sudden movement made the cold, serious young professor at the front of the room turn to look at me. With one hand in his pocket, he pointed at the formula on the board. "Dalia, come and solve it." I had barely taken two steps when a fing