Bound By Sin

Chapter 2: Too Close

I told myself I wouldn’t think about him.

That lasted exactly twelve hours.

By morning, his voice was still in my head. Low. Controlled. The kind that didn’t raise, didn’t rush, didn’t need to.

The kind that stayed.

“Amara, you’re staring at nothing again.”

I blinked, dragging my attention back to the cafeteria. Lila sat across from me, her expression halfway between amused and suspicious.

“I’m not,” I muttered, stabbing at my food.

“You are. And let me guess.” She leaned forward slightly. “Tall, dark, terrifying professor?”

I rolled my eyes. “You’re obsessed.”

“I’m observant.”

I ignored her, but my grip on my fork tightened.

Because she was right.

Again.

And I hated that.

I made it to class early.

Not because I cared.

Because I refused to give him another reason to call me out.

The lecture hall was nearly empty when I walked in. Just a few students scattered around, quietly talking, scrolling, existing.

Normal.

Safe.

I chose a seat closer to the middle this time. Not too close. Not too far.

Perfectly unnoticeable.

Or so I thought.

“Improving already.”

My body went still.

I didn’t turn immediately.

I didn’t want to.

Because I knew exactly who it was.

And I wasn’t ready for the way my pulse would react.

Slowly, I looked over my shoulder.

Dominic Vale stood a few rows behind me, one hand resting casually on the back of a chair. His eyes were on me, sharp and deliberate.

Too aware.

“I’m early,” I said.

A pointless statement.

He already knew that.

“I noticed.”

Of course he did.

Something about the way he said it made my stomach tighten.

Like it wasn’t just an observation.

Like it mattered.

I faced forward again, trying to focus on anything else.

The empty board.

The quiet room.

My own breathing.

It didn’t work.

Because seconds later, I felt it.

That presence.

Closer.

Too close.

The chair beside me shifted.

My heart stuttered.

He sat down next to me.

Out of all the empty seats.

Next to me.

“That seat isn’t taken, is it?” he asked calmly.

I swallowed. “No.”

“Good.”

My fingers curled slightly against the desk.

This was wrong.

Professors didn’t sit next to students before class like this.

They didn’t lean back casually, one arm resting behind the chair, their presence filling the space so completely it was impossible to ignore.

They didn’t look at you like that.

“You seem tense, Miss Cole.”

“I’m not.”

A lie.

Again.

His gaze flicked over me, slow, assessing.

“You have a habit of saying things that aren’t true.”

I exhaled sharply. “And you have a habit of assuming things.”

A pause.

Then, quietly, “I don’t assume.”

My breath caught.

The way he said it…

It didn’t sound like a correction.

It sounded like a warning

Silence stretched between us.

Heavy.

Not uncomfortable.

Just… charged.

Like something was building.

Something neither of us was acknowledging.

“What do you want from me?” I asked finally, keeping my voice low.

I wasn’t looking at him.

I didn’t trust myself to.

“Right now?”

That tone again.

Too calm.

Too deliberate.

“Yes.”

A beat passed.

Then I felt it.

His hand brushing the edge of the desk.

Close to mine.

Not touching.

But close enough that I felt the heat.

“Your attention,” he said.

My fingers twitched.

“You have it.”

“Do I?”

I turned to him then.

That was my second mistake.

Because he was already looking at me.

And this time…

There was no distance in it.

No professionalism.

Just something dark.

Something intense.

Something that made my chest rise a little faster.

“You shouldn’t be sitting here,” I said quietly.

“And yet,” he replied, just as softly, “here I am.”

My pulse thudded.

“People will see.”

“Let them.”

The words sent a sharp, unexpected heat through me.

That wasn’t normal.

Nothing about this was normal.

“You’re my professor.”

“And you’re my student.”

His voice dipped slightly.

“But that’s not what you’re thinking about right now, is it?”

My breath hitched.

He saw too much.

Too easily.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

Another lie.

His gaze dropped briefly to my lips.

Then back to my eyes.

“You do.”

My heart slammed against my ribs.

This was dangerous.

Not just for my scholarship.

For me.

Because a part of me wasn’t pulling away.

A part of me was leaning into it.

Into him.

And that part scared me more than anything.

“Professor Vale.”

A voice from the doorway.

The moment snapped.

Just like that.

He leaned back slightly, the tension easing from his posture, his expression shifting back to something neutral.

Controlled.

Like none of this had happened.

Like I hadn’t just felt completely unraveled sitting next to him.

“Yes?” he responded, already composed.

A student walked in, asking something about the assignment.

Normal conversation.

Normal tone.

Normal distance.

I sat there, trying to steady my breathing.

Trying to understand what had just happened.

And why it felt like something I couldn’t stop.

The class filled quickly after that.

Noise returned.

Movement.

Distractions.

But none of it reached me.

Not really.

Because even when he stood at the front of the room again, even when he spoke like nothing had happened…

I felt it.

That pull.

That tension.

That invisible thread tightening every time his gaze flicked in my direction.

And the worst part?

I didn’t look away.

By the end of the lecture, I knew I was in trouble.

Not because of him.

Not entirely.

But because of me.

Because no matter how wrong this felt...

No matter how many lines we were already crossing...

I wanted to see how far it would go.

“Miss Cole.”

My stomach dropped again.

I stopped mid-step as students filed out around me.

Slowly, I turned.

He stood a few feet away, watching me with that same unreadable expression.

“Yes?”

“Stay behind.”

Not a request.

My pulse quickened.

Every instinct told me to say no.

To walk away.

To end this before it became something worse.

Instead

“Okay.”

The room emptied.

One by one.

Until it was just us.

Again.

The silence felt different this time.

Heavier.

More deliberate.

I set my bag down slowly, trying to keep my hands steady.

“What is this about?” I asked.

He didn’t answer immediately.

He just watched me.

Like he was deciding something.

Then he stepped closer.

Not rushed.

Not hesitant.

Just certain.

My breath caught as the distance between us disappeared.

Too close.

Again.

Always too close.

“You’re distracted,” he said quietly.

“I’m not.”

His hand lifted slightly.

My heart stopped.

But he didn’t touch me.

Not quite.

His fingers hovered near my jaw.

Close enough for me to feel the heat.

“You are.”

My lips parted slightly.

I couldn’t help it.

“You’re the one distracting me,” I whispered.

The words slipped out before I could stop them.

A mistake.

A dangerous one.

But his reaction…

Was worse.

Something dark flickered in his eyes.

Something that looked almost like satisfaction.

“Good.”

My pulse spiked.

“That’s not something you should be proud of.”

“Maybe not.”

His gaze dropped again.

Briefly.

Intentionally.

“And yet…”

The unfinished sentence hung between us.

Heavy.

Charged.

My heart raced.

This was the moment.

The line.

The one we shouldn’t cross.

The one I knew we were both thinking about.

And neither of us was stepping back.

“You need to leave,” I said softly.

But I didn’t move.

Neither did he.

“Do I?” he asked.

My breath came quicker now.

“Yes.”

A pause.

Then, quietly, almost dangerously calm…

“Then why haven’t you walked away?”

I didn’t have an answer.

Not one I was ready to admit.

And that was the problem.

Because standing there, inches from him…

Feeling that pull…

That heat…

That wrong, irresistible tension…

I realized something I couldn’t ignore anymore.

This wasn’t just dangerous.

It was already too late.