The Professor And The Madman Mga Nobela at Kwento

"You coming? We're grabbing food." Jessica twirls a strand of hair around her finger, her eyes darting to Jerome. "Professor Laurent," she purrs, "are we free to go?" Jerome doesn't even look at her. His gaze lands on me. "Almost." The room goes quiet. Then he pushes off the desk and walks slow, deliberate until he's standing over my ruined sketch. His shadow swallows the paper. "Care to explain this, Miss Veldt?" I swallow. "It's... abstract."

Not moving. Just burning a hole through me with those eyes. “Shit,” I whispered. Mike noticed. “Who’s that?” “No one.” Mike grinned. “The kind of no one that looks like he wants to murder me for touching you?” “He’s… complicated.” Mike raised a brow. “Does complicated have a name? Or do I keep dancing with you and risk catching a drink to the face?” “His name’s Adrian. He's our professor.” Mike’s grin widened. “What? I didn't know we had a hottie as our professor.”

I'm no stranger to grief and I know how badly it can affect a human. It took me about an hour to fully get ready, and when I got to the college, part of the class was already filled up with students waiting to be taught. “Good morning miss Elara,” they all echoed and I smiled. It was always a pleasure teaching fresh men. That's until they get to higher levels and decide to be possessed by college madness. Speaking of madness — Not now, Elara. I shook my head and turned to my table to bring out the new biology textbook Keisha had gifted me a while back.

"Come, anchor your frame here for a moment. Mbok shall procure a glass of water to stabilize you." I desperately regulated my erratic breathing while awaiting Mbok Parti’s return. My internal network was practically vibrating with an unbearable impatience to decode the solution. Yet conversely, a parallel wave of acute horror paralyzed my system. What catastrophic wreckage would manifest if my dark hypotheses proved to be entirely valid? I possessed zero psychological capacity to visualize a scenario where the ruthless professor who had repeatedly violated the sanctity of my flesh sat enthroned upon a matrimonial stage alongside my own closest companion. "Here you are, Non. Consume this imme

That must be her dominant side. The door opened, revealing our Professor. He was not what I expected. His thin lips, long hair tied in a band, hard eyes, chiseled jaw, thick muscles, and a scar directly beneath his left eyebrow. He was jaggedly handsome, but I couldn't help but think of a certain man with raven hair when I looked at him. A smile played on my lips as I thought about my mate Alpha Lorenzo. Just then the Professor blew his whistle, “Gather around everyone let’s get to work,” his voice boomed which had everyone moving quickly. I scrambled to the front to get a good look at him and hear what he had to say.

“Oh, that? Didn’t you get the mail? Professor Brown retired to his hometown. Professor Sebastian got transferred as his replacement. He’s hot isn’t he? That’s the reason why you were so distracted…” I zoned out of what she was saying. My mind raced to the night before. The bar, the intense gazes, the reckless comfort of a stranger who wasn’t supposed to matter beyond dawn. A one-night mistake I had decided to get rid of my mind completely except he was here right now and he was my professor. Was the universe playing a cruel joke on me? Why wasn’t anything going my way?

"I wasn't planning to go to the newspapers with news about your disastrous one night stand anyways. But just so you know, you and the big, bad professor are definitely going to get horizontal again." "Eww." "He's hot. You could do much worse." She waggled her eyebrows. Professor Buford wasn't just hot, he was a work of art. Tall, lithe, with high cheekbones, perpetually messy hair, those intense grey eyes and the expensive looking clothes that tapered to his body. It was unfortunate that he was a grade A asshole. I understood that his career could be hurt if what we had done came out, but he didn't need to keep me quiet with threats.

He reached over and grabbed the stack of papers. Her heart skipped a beat and she got a good whiff of his cologne. The both of them stared at each other, a form of heat expanding around them. It wasn't until the door opened that professor Thompson finally pulled away. "Well, Ms.Moore, thank you for lending a hand. I will see you next class and hopefully you're early next time." The man held out his hand and glanced at the person that stepped in. It's Mrs.Laime, she's a Spanish professor. "Oi dios mio. I'm sorry, I didn't know anyone was inside." She chuckles nervously.

I was in a cage with no key, and the man holding the bars was the only one who could keep my brother alive. "Problem, Miss St. Claire?" he asked, his voice smooth and dangerous. "No," I whispered, clutching the phone until my knuckles turned white. "No problem, Professor." "Good," he said, stepping into the light to adjust his cufflinks. "See you in class. Try to look like you haven't been banged into submission. It’s bad for my reputation."

I roll my eyes as I quickly follow after my professor who seemed to want to run away from them. I reach him as he unlocked the doors to his office, “After you.” He says with a sweep of hand. I giggle, glad to be alone with him again. “I do like a gentleman.” “Too bad what you got was a gentle professor right?” he says as he locks the door behind him. “Did I get a gentle professor or a naughty professor?” He slides up to me, our bodies barely touching, our eyes drinking each other up. “Which do you want now? I can be your gentle professor, or your naughty professor.” He says as he locks me up effortlessly and plops me down on his mahogany table.