MY OFF-LIMITS PROFESSOR... BUT HE'S MINE

007

RYDER'S POV

The corridor stretches out before Ryder, a long, polished expanse of linoleum reflecting the fluorescent buzz from overhead. He walks with a loose, rhythmic gait, the kind of stride that comes from years of dominating the ice, his hockey-honed thighs rubbing together against the rough denim of his jeans. He finished his last subject only an hour ago, the adrenaline from the lecture still humming in his veins, but it’s the message waiting for him that really pumps the heat through his system. The class rep told him Professor Adrian wants to see him. A private meeting.

Ryder smirks, catching his reflection in a darkened window as he passes. He looks f*****g good, and he knows it. The tight black t-shirt he wears clings to his chest, outlining the solid slabs of muscle he earns every weekend at the gym. He knows how lecturers look at him. He sees the hunger in their eyes when he walks into a room, the way their gazes linger on his ass or the bulge in his crotch before they quickly remember their professionalism. They want a piece of this. They want to see what the star athlete is packing under all that fabric.

Today, he’s going to give one of them exactly what they want. The bet hangs heavy in his mind, a debt of honor he refuses to lose. His friends think he’s all talk, that he won’t have the balls to follow through. But Ryder hates losing more than anything. He’d rather make out with his crusty old ex-literature lecturer in front of the entire student body than admit defeat. Winning is the only thing that matters, and if that means seducing the notoriously strict Professor Adrian to seal the deal, then he’ll bend the man over his desk and make him beg for it.

He reaches the heavy oak door marked Professor A. Vales and stops. He adjusts his package, making sure the outline of his thick c**k is visible through the denim, just a little hint of the trouble waiting underneath. He takes a breath, shaking out his shoulders, letting the cocky mask slide into place. He raises a hand and knocks softly, three sharp raps against the wood.

"Come in," a voice calls out from inside.

The sound hits Ryder before he even touches the handle. It’s a deep, resonant baritone that seems to vibrate through the wood and into the palm of his hand. It’s not just a voice; it’s a physical sensation, a low thrum that settles instantly in the pit of his stomach and shoots a jolt of electricity straight to his balls. Ryder’s breath hitches. His c**k twitches, a sudden, betraying throb against his zipper that has nothing to do with his conscious plan and everything to do with pure, animal reaction.

He frowns, confused. He’s heard plenty of men speak—coaches barking orders, teammates shouting in the locker room—but none of them have ever made his body react like this. It must be the accoustics of the hallway, or maybe he’s just hornier than he thought about winning this bet. He pushes the thought away. Professor Adrian is rumored to be a straight-laced academic, probably married with 2.5 kids and a golden retriever. There’s no way the guy is gay, and Ryder sure as hell isn’t. This is just a game.

He turns the knob and steps inside, shutting the door firmly behind him. The office smells of old paper, leather, and the faint, sharp scent of black coffee. It’s a quiet, masculine space, lined with bookshelves that reach the ceiling.

Professor Adrian is sitting behind a large mahogany desk, facing away from the door toward a computer monitor. The rhythmic clacking of fingers on keys fills the silence. Ryder stands there for a moment, watching the man’s back. He can see the width of Adrian’s shoulders beneath a crisp white dress shirt, the fabric pulling tight as he types.

Ryder clears his throat, ready to launch into his act, ready to lean against the desk and flash his most charming, f**k-me smile. But then Adrian stops typing. The man reaches up to adjust his glasses, pushing the wire frames higher up the bridge of his nose with a long, elegant finger.

Adrian turns his chair around to face him.

The air leaves Ryder’s lungs in a rush. He hadn’t expected the man to look like this. Up close, Adrian is devastating. Sharp cheekbones, a jawline that could cut glass, and eyes that are a piercing, intelligent grey. But it’s the lashes that stop Ryder cold. They are impossibly long, dark and thick, framing those grey eyes with a feminine delicacy that contrasts violently with the hard, masculine set of his mouth.

Ryder stares. He can’t help it. He watches the way the fluorescent light catches in those dark lashes as Adrian blinks, a slow, deliberate sweep that sends a fresh wave of heat coursing through Ryder’s veins. His plan feels suddenly distant, the bet fading into the background noise. All he can focus on is the way Adrian’s throat moves as he swallows, the way his lips part slightly.

"Good to see you again Mr. Knight," Adrian says, that deep voice washing over him again, wrapping around his senses like velvet.

Ryder blinks, the spell breaking just enough for him to realize he’s been standing there with his mouth slightly open like an i***t. He snaps his jaw shut, his heart hammering against his ribs. He needs to get it together. He needs to remember why he’s here.

"Yeah," Ryder replies lazily, a cocky grin pulling at his lips" I could say the same thing, professor".