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

009

RYDER'S POV

Adrian’s hands clamp onto Ryder’s shoulders, fingers digging into the muscle with bruising force, shoving hard enough to send a shockwave through Ryder’s chest. The momentum breaks the seal of their lips, the wet smack echoing loudly in the small office space. Before Ryder can catch his breath or process the sudden severance of contact, Adrian’s palm connects with Ryder’s cheek.

The slap isn’t just a tap; it’s a backhanded strike that snaps Ryder’s head to the side, the impact ringing in his ears like a gunshot. The taste of copper floods his mouth, sharp and metallic. Adrian doesn’t stop there. He grips the front of Ryder’s jersey, twisting the fabric until it chokes him, and drags him toward the door. Ryder stumbles, his boots scuffing ineffectually against the carpet, trying to find purchase but failing against Adrian’s frantic, superior strength. They hit the doorframe, and Adrian flings the heavy wood open, manhandling Ryder into the hallway.

"Get the f**k out," Adrian grits out, his voice low and vibrating with a dangerous mix of rage and panic.

Adrian releases him only to slam the door. The wood shudders in its frame, the latch clicking with a final, damning sound that cuts off the sight of the professor’s heaving chest and flushed face.

Ryder stumbles backward, catching himself against the opposite wall. The hallway is spinning, tilting at an awkward angle. He brings a hand to his mouth, his fingers coming away stained with a bright smear of crimson. He wipes the blood from his split lip, the sting throbbing in time with his racing heart. His brain feels like scrambled eggs, the adrenaline from the aggressive kiss still pumping through his veins, warring with the sharp pain of the rejection and the slap.

He starts walking, his legs moving automatically toward the hockey field. He doesn’t know where else to go. Anger boils beneath his skin, hot and volatile. He is the captain. He shouldn’t be lurking in hallways getting manhandled by lit professors, no matter how f*****g good it felt to have professor Adrian’s tongue in his mouth.

Students mill about in the corridor, heading to classes or the cafeteria. As Ryder storms past, heads turn. They see the disheveled uniform, the blood on his chin, the wild look in his eyes. A group of freshman girls giggles behind their hands, their whispers trailing after him like smoke. "Is that Ryder?" "Looks like he got into a fight." "Total psycho."

“I heard he got someone pregnant.”

“No way…”

“But they said it’s true.”

A few students glanced at him openly, others covering their mouths as they whispered behind his back.

He ignores them. He focuses on the rhythm of his boots hitting the pavement, the friction in his thighs as he power-walks across the campus green. The sun is too bright, mocking his confusion. He was busy kissing his lit professor, he thinks, the phrase repeating in his head like a mantra. He was busy tasting the inside of professor Adrian’s mouth, feeling that hard d**k press against his thigh, and now he’s walking alone with a bleeding lip and a hard-on that won’t quit.

He reaches the athletic complex, the smell of ice and stale sweat hitting him like a wall. The locker room is eerily quiet when he pushes the door open. The rest of the team is already out on the turf or the ice; he is late. Very late.

The silence amplifies the sound of his breathing. He walks to his locker, the metal cool against his fingertips as he spins the dial. Click. Click. Click. He yanks the door open. Inside, his gear hangs like a second skin. He strips off his jersey, tossing it carelessly onto the bench. The air in the room is cool, raising goosebumps on his arms, but his blood is still hot.

He pulls on his pads, strapping them tight with aggressive jerks of the Velcro. He needs to burn off this energy. He needs to hit something. As he steps into his jockstrap, adjusting his c**k so it sits comfortably in the pouch, his mind flashes back to Adrian’s hand gripping him, the force of the slap. It makes his d**k twitch, a traitorous reaction to the violence. He spits on the floor, a glob of saliva and pink blood, disgusted with himself and turned on all at once.

He laces up his skates with practiced speed, tying the knots hard enough to cut off circulation. He grabs his helmet and gloves, storming out of the locker room toward the ice. The fresh air hits him, but the tension in his shoulders doesn’t ease.

As he approaches the sidelines, he spots Jax, one of his wingers, hovering near the bench. Jax’s eyes widen when he sees Ryder, and he immediately steps in front of him, blocking his path to the others.

"Whoa, Cap, where you been?" Jax asks, his voice high and nervous. He keeps looking over his shoulder at the group gathered near the center of the field. "Maybe you should... uh... go check your phone or something?"

Ryder frowns, pushing past him. "Move, Jax. I’m late enough as it is."

"No, seriously, dude," Jax insists, grabbing at Ryder’s arm, but Ryder shakes him off. The confusion is back, gnawing at his gut. Why is everyone acting so weird? First the slap, now the team is acting like he’s got a contagious disease.

He steps onto the ice, his cleats sinking into the turf. He opens his mouth to call out to the assistant coach, to offer some bullshit excuse about a meeting with a professor, but a movement in his peripheral vision catches his eye.

It’s Kai. Kai isn’t just walking; he’s sprinting, his face twisted into a mask of pure, unadulterated fury. Ryder doesn’t have time to brace himself. He doesn’t even have time to register that Kai is aiming for him.

Kai’s fist connects with Ryder’s jaw.

The impact is solid, a sickening crunch of bone against bone that sends Ryder sprawling backward onto the ice. His vision whites out for a second, pain exploding through his face. He lands hard, the wind knocked out of him, his helmet rolling away.

Ryder blinks, dazed, looking up at the sky spinning above him. Kai stands over him, chest heaving, fists clenched at his sides.

"How dare you!" Kai screams, the sound shrill and terrifying in the open air. The entire field goes silent. Players stop moving; coaches stop yelling. All eyes are on them. "How dare you impregnate my sister!"

The words hang in the air, absurd and impossible. Ryder stares up, his jaw throbbing, his lip bleeding anew.