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

005

ADRIAN'S POV

The classroom door clicks shut behind Ryder, and the sudden silence presses against Adrian's eardrums like a physical weight. He stands frozen at the front of the lecture hall, his knuckles white where they grip the edge of his podium. The bastard. The absolute audacity of that student, saying those things in front of everyone, looking at him with those heavy-lidded eyes like he wanted to—

Adrian releases the podium and turns away from the empty seats. He needs to move. Needs to put distance between himself and the spot where Ryder stood, where those words hung in the air like smoke he couldn't stop inhaling. His shoes click against the linoleum as he strides toward the faculty corridor, each step deliberate, measured. Professional. The way a professor should walk after dismissing a disruptive student.

Not the way a man walks when his blood runs hot and his mind circles back to the same filthy words like a tongue probing a sore tooth.

His office door swings open with more force than necessary. Adrian steps inside, closes it, and twists the lock. The small room smells of old books and the coffee he'd abandoned hours ago. He crosses to his desk, grabs the half-empty water bottle sitting beside his keyboard, and drains it in four long swallows. The plastic crinkles as his grip tightens. Cool water slides down his throat but does nothing for the heat pooling lower, coiling in his gut where Ryder's voice still echoes.

"I bet you'd like to punish me, wouldn't you, Professor? Bet you'd get hard doing it."

Adrian drops into his chair. The leather creaks beneath his weight. He sets the empty bottle down and stares at the closed door without seeing it.

Those words should have infuriated him. Should have made him furious, dignified, ready to drag Ryder before the disciplinary committee and watch him squirm. Instead, something dark and hungry had stirred in Adrian's chest the moment they left Ryder's mouth. The way the student looked at him—chin tilted up, lips curved in a smirk that said I know exactly what I'm doing to you—it wasn't defiance. It was an invitation.

And Adrian had sent him out because he couldn't trust himself to stay in that room for another thirty seconds without doing something catastrophic.

He drags a hand down his face. His palm is damp. The air conditioning hums overhead, but his collar feels too tight, his skin too warm beneath his pressed shirt. Ryder's gaze had raked over him like he was stripping away the layers—professor, authority figure, composed adult—until all that remained was the part Adrian kept locked away. The part that wanted to grab that smug student by the throat and show him exactly what happens when you poke a predator.

"Bet you'd get hard doing it."

His c**k twitches against his thigh. Adrian's jaw clenches. He shifts in his chair, the friction of fabric against his half-hard length both maddening and not nearly enough. This is insane. Ryder is a student. Twenty years younger, all sharp edges and provocative mouth, and Adrian has spent Seven years building a career that doesn't include fantasizing about disciplining insolent boys who don't know when to keep their pretty lips shut.

Pretty lips.

He exhales through his nose. His fingers drum against the armrest—once, twice, three times—before he forces them still.

The memory replays without permission: Ryder standing too close, the scent of something woodsy and clean radiating off his skin, the way his pupils had blown wide when Adrian ordered him out. Like being commanded was exactly what he wanted. Like he'd been waiting for it.

Adrian's hand drifts toward his lap. He catches himself, fingers hovering inches from the growing bulge in his slacks, and grips the armrest instead. No. Not here. Not like this. He'll take a cold shower, go home, and forget this ever happened. Ryder will receive a formal warning, and Adrian will never think about the heat in those dark eyes again.

The door handle rattles.

Adrian's head snaps up. The lock holds, but the person on the other side doesn't bother knocking—just jiggles the handle again before pushing harder.

"Adrian, I know you're in there. Open up."

He doesn't need to see the face to identify the voice. Williams. His cousin, his self-appointed guardian, the man who'd pulled strings to get Adrian this position and never let him forget it. Adrian sighs and stands, crossing to the door. He turns the lock and pulls it open.

Williams stands in the hallway, arms crossed over his broad chest. He's dressed in his usual faculty blazer, the one that makes him look more like a bouncer than an administrator. His dark eyes scan Adrian's face with the thoroughness of a man searching for injuries.

"Williams," Adrian says flatly. "I'm busy."

"No, you're not." Williams steps past him into the office without waiting for an invitation. His gaze sweeps the room—the empty water bottle, the closed blinds, Adrian's rumpled collar. "I heard what happened in your lecture."

Adrian's stomach drops. He closes the door and turns to face his cousin, keeping his expression carefully blank. "It was handled."

"Handled." Williams repeats the word like it's a joke. "A student sexually harassed you in front of your entire class, and you sent him to the hallway like he's a child who talked out of turn. That's not handled, Adrian."

"It's being handled," Adrian corrects, his voice hardening. "I don't need you to—"

"I'm reporting him." Williams pulls out his phone, thumb already moving across the screen. "One call to the disciplinary board, and that little s**t gets expelled by Friday. Should've done it the moment you told me about his attitude problems last month."

Panic claws up Adrian's throat. He moves before he can think, closing the distance between them and grabbing Williams's wrist. His cousin looks up, startled, as Adrian's fingers tighten around his arm.

"Don't."

Williams's eyebrows rise. "Excuse me?"

"Don't report him." The words come out rougher than Adrian intends. He swallows, forcing his grip to relax, but he doesn't let go. "I'll handle it myself. I'll punish him—properly this time. I just need to—"

"You'll punish him." Williams pulls his arm free, his expression shifting from surprise to suspicion. "That's what you said last time. And the time before that. And now he's standing in your classroom telling you he wants to—" Williams cuts himself off, his jaw working like he can't even say the words. "Adrian, this isn't something you fix with a detention and a stern talking-to."

"I know that." Adrian's voice drops. His hands curl into fists at his sides. "I know exactly what it needs."

For a long moment, Williams just stares at him. Something shifts behind his eyes—understanding, maybe, or something closer to alarm. He takes a step back, then another, creating distance that feels deliberate.

He turns and yanks the door open. Adrian watches his cousin's rigid back disappear down the corridor, the sound of his footsteps fading into the building's ambient hum.

The door swings shut.

Adrian stands alone in his office, his pulse thudding in his ears, his c**k still half-hard and aching against the restrictive fabric of his slacks. Williams is gone. Ryder is somewhere on campus, probably smirking to himself, thinking he's won.

He hasn't won.

Adrian crosses to his desk and sits back down, reaching for his phone. His thumb hovers over the contacts as he pulls up Ryder's student file. Office hours. Tomorrow afternoon. He'll summon the boy here, close the door, and teach him exactly what happens when you play games with someone who's been holding back for far too long.

His c**k throbs at the thought.

This time, Adrian doesn't stop himself from pressing his palm against the bulge in his lap.