After The Bell Rings

Chapter Four - Things We Don’t Talk About

Olivia’s POV

The campus looked exactly the same as it did yesterday—clean-cut hedges, the same faded posters peeling off bulletin boards, the same gravel crunching beneath my shoes.

And yet… something felt different.

Maybe it was me.

Maybe it was the way I hadn’t slept properly all night.

The way my thoughts kept circling him even when I tried to drag them back to safe ground.

Professor Reed.

He was just a man.

A temporary one, at that.

But that didn’t stop the image of him from creeping in—his voice, low and deliberate. The way his eyes lingered too long when he spoke.

Like he was watching the way you breathed.

Ridiculous.

I walked into the classroom early, claiming my usual seat near the front. There were only a few others scattered across the room, none of them talking much, buried in their notes or scrolling through their phones.

I didn’t expect him to walk in so soon.

But when he did, it was like the atmosphere shifted.

Nick Reed strode through the door with that effortless calm he always wore like armor. Shirt slightly unbuttoned. Sleeves rolled. No tie again.

But today—

Today, he looked… wrecked.

Not in a disheveled way.

No, he was composed. Too composed.

His jaw tighter.

His gaze sharper.

His energy louder.

I tried not to look, but it was useless. My eyes locked on the hollow of his throat where the edge of his open shirt revealed just enough.

There was something about the way he moved today—like he had exorcised something violent the night before and was walking around with the ghost of it still clinging to his skin.

A ghost that smelled faintly like perfume.

Why did I notice that?

He didn’t look at me when he passed by. But when he stood at the desk and flipped open the folder of lecture notes, his voice came out rougher than usual.

“Morning. Let’s begin.”

It was stupid, how two words could feel like a match scraping against the edge of something flammable inside me.

⸻

The class blurred.

I took notes.

Answered a question when he asked.

Tried to appear unaffected.

But every time he leaned back against the desk, arms crossed, ankles slightly apart, the hem of his shirt would ride up just a little.

And I couldn’t stop looking.

Not at him.

At the space he created in the room.

At the pull in my gut that warned me: this is dangerous.

⸻

After class, I told myself to leave.

Just pick up my books and go.

But of course—I didn’t.

I lingered. Pretending to gather my things slower than usual. Maybe he’d leave first. Maybe he wouldn’t notice me.

He did.

And he was in front of me.

“Miss Blake,” he said, low. That voice like velvet dragged across heat. “You stayed behind.”

I blinked. My lips parted. “I—I had a question.”

He stepped closer. Too close. One hand braced beside me on the desk, the other brushing a strand of hair from my cheek.

“Ask me.”

I couldn’t. My mind was blank, my breath shallow.

He leaned in, slowly—eyes dark, mouth set, the space between us crackling like static.

“You’ve been looking at me all morning,” he murmured. “You think I didn’t notice?”

My pulse pounded. “I wasn’t—”

“Liar.”

And then—

He kissed me.

Hard. Unapologetic. Like he’d been waiting for it since the moment he walked in.

My back hit the desk. His hand slid around my waist, gripping tight as his mouth devoured mine, taking everything I wasn’t ready to give and still somehow leaving me hungry.

I moaned against him as he lifted me onto the desk like I weighed nothing, parting my legs with one knee and stepping between them.

His fingers traced the hem of my skirt. “Do you want me to stop?”

I didn’t answer.

I couldn’t.

His lips dragged down my neck, sucking at the base where he knew it would leave a mark. My hips lifted without permission, needing contact, pressure—anything—

“Olivia.”

My eyes snapped open.

“You had a question?” His voice was even. But there was something unreadable in his eyes as he stepped around the desk and stopped just beside me.

I swallowed. “No. I… uh.. I’m good”

“You alright?” he asked, voice low. Almost teasing.

I blinked up at him. “Yeah. Fine.”

But his eyes said he didn’t believe me.

He didn’t move.

He just wrecked me with a dream I couldn’t tell anyone about.

My cheeks were burning.

I gathered my things in silence, ignoring the ache between my legs, the flush on my skin, the shame curling low in my stomach.

It wasn’t real.

But it felt real.

And now I couldn’t stop thinking about it.