The Professor, My Mate
His eyes, those damn eyes remained locked on me, drinking me in like he couldn’t stop, like he wouldn’t stop even if the world fell apart.
It was intimate. It was strong. It was forbidden.
Every law, every oath, screamed at me: Stop looking at him. Stop feeling this. He’s your professor. This is forbidden.
But instinct roared louder.
My lips parted, trembling, as I clutched my arms around myself.
My breath hitched, my entire body trembling with the unbearable pull toward him. I couldn’t look away, even as shame scorched me from the inside.
“Dante,” Professor Cross snapped, clearing his throat, the sharp sound easing the tension.
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