SEDUCING MY BIKER PROFESSOR

CHAPTER 16: Peaceful Sky

Nirvana's POV

I walked closely beside Leo across the campus. Frustration still boiled under my skin. It's been a few minutes since we left the lecture hall but he had remained silent.

I knew Leo wanted to ask me questions about what had just happened inside that hall. I could see the confusion and the fear pulling his eyebrows tightly together. But he did not speak a single word about it. I knew he respected my personal space but his silence was loud.

Seeing him look so scared of Adrian actually hurt me. Leo was my friend. He had been kind to me from the very first day I arrived here. He did not deserve to be treated with such hostility. Adrian had been a d**k. A major d**k at that.

Adrian’s glare had been a ridiculous territorial hatred. It made zero sense to me. He constantly pushed me away, acting the ridiculous brother, yet he acted like a jealous possessor the second another man breathed in my direction.

"Did Professor Harris say we needed to finish chapter four by tomorrow, or five?" I forced a casual tone just to break the awkwardness between us.

Leo kept his eyes glued firmly to the ground beneath his sneakers. "Just four," he answered quietly. "Pages forty through sixty."

His voice shook slightly on the numbers. The subtle tremble made my stomach drop with guilt. There was no point in pretending everything was normal when Adrian has spoilt the mood for us. d**k!

I gave up on the conversation while we walked the rest of the way in silence.

I returned home an hour later. My entire body still hummed with s****l frustration and a lingering anger.

Adrian had almost lost his rigid control. He pulled me against the desk and covered me with his large body, and then pushed me away the second we were interrupted. His sudden withdrawal left me reeling and unsatisfied.

I walked straight up the stairs. I went directly into my bedroom and locked the door. I leaned my back against the solid wood and closed my eyes.

My breathing was shallow. I could still feel the phantom pressure of Adrian's hard chest pressing flush against mine.

The ache lower down had not faded at all. My p***y throbbed with a persistent, liquid heat. I had become so wet just from the memory of his hands gripping my thighs. It was a maddening need driving me crazy.

I did not want romance. I did not want a sweet love confession. I just wanted his rough hands on my skin. I wanted him to finish exactly what he started in that hall.

I needed release for all the pent-up energy vibrating deep in my bones. But I refused to touch myself. Touching myself would feel like a defeat. It would mean he won the unspoken game we were playing.

I needed a different outlet.

I dragged my canvas out from the corner of my closet and set it up firmly on my wooden easel. I grabbed my brushes from my supply box and squeezed some dark navy blue, heavy grey, and white acrylic paint onto my palette.

When I paint, the world disappears from my thoughts. The stress of Ronan’s lies and his bloody shirts vanishes from my reality. I gripped the handle of my brush tightly in my right hand, applying forceful strokes across the texture of the canvas.

I painted a churning body of water across the bottom half of the space. The painted waves were jagged, dark and angry.

I used thick layers of navy blue and black to show the terrifying depth of the ocean, letting the exertion burn the muscles in my shoulders and distract me from the throbbing heat between my legs.

Above the angry water, I painted a sky filled with fluffy white clouds. I blended the white and light grey paint smoothly to give the clouds a soft and voluminous texture.

The stark contrast between the soft, peaceful sky and the violent water matched my exact feelings at that moment. The sky represented the peace I wanted, and the water represented the frustrating reality of my current life in New York.

When I finally finished the piece three hours later, my arms felt like lead. I took a clear picture of the wet canvas with my phone and posted the image directly to my anonymous "Muse" profile online to share my frustration with the world without words.

A light knock interrupted my thoughts just before Ronan pushed my bedroom door open. He leaned against the frame, his expression much softer than it had been all week.

"Put on something nice," he said. "I got us a table at this eatery downtown. Let me treat you tonight."

I stared at him, seeing right through the sudden, easy charm. Guilt was practically written all over his face. I knew it was because I had been asking way too many questions at breakfast about the blood stain on his shirt.

He was trying to buy my silence with a fancy dinner. But honestly, I was too physically and mentally tired to fight him again.

"Okay," I said quietly. "Give me twenty minutes."

Ronan drove us in silence to a rich restaurant downtown. We stepped inside the building and the atmosphere was filled with wealth and quiet power.

Men wearing sharp, expensive tailored suits sat at large circular tables, discussing their corporate business in hushed tones. The scent of roasted meats and expensive cologne hung thickly in the air.

The front receptionist stood up immediately when we walked through the glass doors. She smoothed her uniform and greeted Ronan with extreme politeness. It was very obvious that this was not his first time walking into this building.

"Our company owns a very large part of this establishment," Ronan explained quietly as I gently looked around the opulent room. "Be free to walk around and explore while I secure our reserved table."

Ronan excused himself to speak with the general manager near the front desk, leaving me standing alone in the grand foyer.

I instantly felt out of place. The wealthy patrons at the nearby tables were casting curious glances in my direction.

I did not want to stand in the middle of the lobby like a lost child on display. The loud chatter and the clinking of crystal wine glasses felt suffocating. I needed a moment of quiet to breathe.

I did not wander off looking for any grand adventure. I just wanted to escape the staring eyes. My gaze found a quiet hallway with fewer passengers.

I quickly slipped in to escape the low noise. I walked past a few closed doors until I reached the very end of the corridor.

One of the wooden doors was left slightly ajar. A dim light spilled out onto the hallway floor. It looked like a quiet place to sit until Ronan came back to find me.

I reached out, pushed the door open, and stepped into what looked like a viewing room. As if something was drawing me to it.

The viewing room was empty of people, which instantly calmed my nerves. I admired the rich colors of the walls and the impressive structure of the arched ceiling above me.

I turned my head to view the art displayed on the walls for their wealthy guests to admire and my feet stopped moving immediately.

Hanging perfectly in the exact center of the room was a painting of a woman screaming into nothingness. It was the exact piece my mother had stolen and sold back in New Orleans.

I walked closer to the portrait, my heart beating l fast inside my chest. I recognized every single brushstroke on the woman's face. I saw the jagged lines of her silent scream and the exact way her head tilted backward in agony.

Right beside the thick wooden frame was a small, polished gold plaque fastened to the wall. I read the engraved owner's name printed in sharp black lettering.

“Acquired by A. Cross.”

Adrian Cross.

I let out a loud gasp as a sudden anger brewed hot inside my stomach. Of course I was glad to see my painting safe and intact instead of destroyed. However, my mind raced with furious questions. Why the hell had Adrian kept this a secret from me?

He had listened to me cry on the phone over losing my entire portfolio. He knew exactly how much that specific painting meant to my career. Even if he acquired the painting illegally through any connections, he should have told me he had it in his possession.

I tried to calm my racing thoughts. I reasoned with myself to stop the anger from boiling over. I told myself he might not actually know I was the original artist.

My actual name was not signed anywhere on the front of the canvas. He might have just bought it from a dealer because he liked the dark aesthetic.

I turned around quickly. I wanted to leave the VIP room and find my brother right. I took one single step forward and collided into a solid chest.

Two familiar hands gripped my upper arms immediately to steady my balance and keep me from falling backward.

When I looked up, Adrian stood in front of me. He was blocking the exit, his jaw was clenched tight as his dark eyes burned with intense, furious anger.

"Where do you think you're going?" he demanded in a low, dangerous whisper.