My Professor is A Mafia

Chapter 5

The morning air felt electric as I stepped onto campus. After yesterday’s emotional rollercoaster in his office, I’d chosen my outfit with purpose a fitted white blouse tucked into a very short black pleated skirt that barely reached mid-thigh. It was bold and risky. Definitely pushing the boundaries of the dress code. But after the way Professor Damien Vale had looked at me yesterday, I wanted to feel seen. Desired. Even if only in my own fantasies.

My heart was already racing when I heard the low, throaty growl of an engine. A sleek matte-black sports car far too luxurious and flashy for any ordinary professor slid into the faculty parking spot. The door opened, and there he was.

Professor Damien Vale. He stepped out looking like sin wrapped in designer clothes. Dark trousers hugging powerful thighs, a crisp white shirt stretched across his broad chest, and a tailored black coat draped over one shoulder.

His dark hair caught the morning light, and those intense eyes scanned the area with quiet authority. He looked like a billionaire who had decided to play professor for the day. Without thinking, I found myself hurrying toward him, my short skirt swishing against my legs with every step.

“Professor Vale!” I called out, a little breathless.

He turned, his gaze locking onto me. For a moment, something unreadable flickered across his face as his eyes dropped briefly to my legs before returning to my face.

I stopped in front of him, cheeks already warm. “Let me help you with those,” I said, gesturing to the stack of books and folders under his arm. “Please. It’s no trouble at all.”

He studied me for a long second, the silence thick between us. “That’s not necessary, Miss Blake.”

But he didn’t stop me when I stepped closer and gently took several books from his arms. Our fingers brushed, sending a spark straight through me. I bit my lip, trying to steady my breathing. We started walking side by side toward the faculty building. The campus seemed quieter around us, or maybe it was just the way my pulse drowned out everything else. Being this close to him was intoxicating.

His cologne wrapped around me rich, masculine, with an edge that matched the dangerous aura he carried. I could feel the heat radiating from his body, see the subtle flex of muscle under his shirt as he walked.

“You didn’t have to do this,” he said, voice low and controlled.

“I wanted to,” I replied softly, glancing up at his sharp profile. “You always seem to carry so much.”

He didn’t respond, but he didn’t pull away either. The walk to his office felt both too short and endlessly long. Every step made my short skirt ride up slightly higher on my thighs. I was hyper-aware of how much skin I was showing, how the fabric moved with me. I wondered if he noticed. When we reached his office, he unlocked the door and held it open for me. I stepped inside, heart hammering. The room smelled like him, books, cologne, and that faint trace of something darker.

He followed, closing the door behind us with a soft click that made the space feel suddenly intimate.

Damien moved behind his desk and shrugged off his black coat in one smooth motion. The white shirt underneath clung perfectly to his broad shoulders and back as he draped the coat over his chair. I stood there clutching the remaining books, biting my lip hard while staring. The way the fabric stretched across his muscles, the subtle shift of his body as he settled into his seat it was pure temptation. My mind flashed to my fantasies, those strong hands unbuttoning the shirt, pulling me close, claiming me right here on his desk. He turned and caught me staring.

His dark eyes darkened further. He stood slowly, towering over the desk, and took the books from my hands. His fingers lingered against mine again, deliberate this time.

“That skirt,” he murmured, voice low and rough, sending heat pooling between my thighs, “violates at least three sections of the student dress code, Miss Blake.”

My breath hitched. He was so close I could see the faint scar peeking above his collar, the sharp line of his jaw, the intensity burning in his gaze. For a moment, the cold, indifferent professor mask slipped, revealing something hungry underneath.

“I… I didn’t realize it was that short,” I whispered, biting my lip again.

He stepped even closer, looking down at me. “You realized,” he said quietly, almost dangerously. “You wore it anyway.”

The air between us crackled. My knees felt weak. I wanted him to touch me. To stop being so controlled and finally give in to whatever this tension was. To pin me against the desk and kiss me like he owned me. Instead, he stepped back, breaking the spell. He sat down behind his desk once more, expression returning to professional calm, though his eyes still held that darker edge.

“Thank you for the assistance with the books,” he said, voice steady. “You may go.”

I nodded, legs shaky as I turned toward the door. Just as my fingers touched the handle, his voice stopped me again.

“Ava.”

Hearing my first name from his lips made my stomach flip.

He was watching me intently. “Be careful today. Some choices draw more attention than others.”

I slipped out of his office, heart pounding wildly. My cheeks were flushed, thighs pressed together as I walked down the hallway. That moment the way he looked at my skirt, the low murmur of his voice, the brief crack in his indifference left me aching.

For the rest of the day, I replayed every second. The brush of his fingers. The way his eyes had darkened when he noticed my outfit. The quiet power in his presence. Even as I sat through my other classes, my mind stayed locked on him. On the fantasy of what could happen if we were truly alone. If he stopped pretending I didn’t affect him.

By evening, back in my apartment, I stood in front of the mirror still wearing the short skirt. I ran my hands down my sides, remembering the heat in his gaze. Professor Damien Vale was slowly becoming more than just a crush. He was becoming an addiction. And I had a feeling the real danger was only just beginning.