Accidentally His Student

If regret had a flavor, mine would taste like aged whiskey, peppermint gum, and a stranger’s mouth. I couldn’t stop thinking about him. The way his fingers knew exactly where to touch. How his voice dropped into my skin like heat. How we never exchanged names, just tangled limbs and breathless moans in a hotel room that smelled like danger and expensive cologne. It was supposed to be a one-time thing. Until I walked into class. My boots clicked against the hardwood floor of the seminar room. The chatter of returning students bounced off the walls, but my head was somewhere else. Somewhere, tangled in sheets and wrapped around a man whose name I didn’t know—but whose face was burned into my bloodstream. I slid into the second row, pulling out my notebook. Just as I capped my pen, the room fell quiet. I looked up. And choked. He was standing at the podium. No. No, no, no. That couldn’t be— But it was. Same sharp jawline. Same storm-gray eyes. The same mouth that had whispered filth against my throat just two nights ago. My one-night stand was my professor. He didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink. His gaze swept the room, calm and unreadable—until it landed on me. It flickered, just once. A heartbeat. A twitch of his brow. Like he was seeing a ghost. Or a terrible decision. “Good morning,” he said, voice low and smooth, like silk over steel. “I’m Dr. Wolfe. Welcome to Advanced Creative Writing.” Dr. Wolfe. The man who’d kissed my inner thighs with his eyes closed like he was praying. My lungs forgot how to work. People around me scribbled in their notebooks and whispered about how hot the new professor was. One girl even fanned herself. They had no idea he tasted like sin and wrote poetry on skin. His gaze dropped to his folder. “You’ll be working closely with me this semester—workshops, private reviews. This class is intimate. Vulnerable. You’ll be expected to expose your inner world.” God. If only they knew how much I’d already exposed. My cheeks burned. He didn’t look at me again, not until the end of class. Everyone stood to leave, papers rustling. I moved fast, but a low voice cut through the noise like a blade. “Miss Moreno.” My heart dropped. I turned. He was still at the front, one hand resting on the podium. His eyes met mine. Calm. Controlled. But beneath it… I saw it—a flicker of something wild. “Stay for a moment,” he said. A few students snuck glances, probably thinking I was in trouble. They had no idea. I waited until the last student left. The door shut behind them with a soft click. Now it was just us. The man who’d ruined me for every college guy I’d ever met—and was now grading my assignments. “What the hell are you doing here?” I hissed. He stepped forward, slow and deliberate. “I could ask you the same.” “This is my university.” He tilted his head, amused. “And I’m your professor.” My throat tightened. “You didn’t mention that when you were—” “When I was what?” he asked, his voice like velvet wrapped around a threat. “Worshiping your body like it was my last prayer?” My knees buckled, but I held my ground. “You knew.” “I didn’t,” he said, his eyes darkening. “Not until now.” He was lying. Maybe. I didn’t know anymore. I hated the way my skin lit up just hearing his voice. The way my stomach twisted in that dangerous, delicious way. The way heat pooled low when he took another step toward me. “This is a mistake,” I said, backing up. “Probably.” He moved closer. “You can’t do this. I’m your student.” “And you’re still thinking about that night.” His hand brushed my wrist—barely there, but enough to set me on fire. “Just like I am.” My breath caught. “Say the word, Lucy,” he murmured. “Tell me to stop. Tell me to forget it ever happened.” I couldn’t. Because I didn’t want to. Instead, I felt my body betray me—leaning in, hungry for another taste. Of his mouth. His hands. His control. His fingers slid up my forearm, slow and teasing. My pulse thudded in my throat. “We can’t,” I whispered, though my lips were already parting for him. “No,” he agreed, his voice rough. “But we will.” His mouth claimed mine before I could think. Hot, desperate, and deep—like he was trying to erase the space between us. I gasped into him as his tongue found mine, his hand fisting in my hair. The room spun. He lifted me onto the desk like I weighed nothing, pressing between my legs. My skirt rode up. His hands were on my thighs. I moaned as his mouth found my neck, trailing kisses down, down. “Adrian—” I breathed. He froze. His name hung in the air like a gunshot. He pulled back slowly, eyes dark. “What did you just say?” “Adrian,” I said again, quieter this time. His expression changed. Like something had cracked open behind his eyes. “Where did you hear that name?” he asked, voice cold now. Too cold. I blinked, confused. “You told me.” “No. I didn’t.” A chill swept through me. Before I could answer, the door creaked open behind us. I turned. My heart stopped. Standing in the doorway, eyes locked on mine, was the one person I never wanted to see again. Liam Wolfe. My ex. His eyes dropped to my skirt. To the man standing between my legs. Then he looked at me, smiling, slow and venomous. “Dad,” he said. “I didn’t know you’d met Lucy.”