Forbidden Lecture: My Professor's Secret Craving

Chapter14

Jason stood at the front of the room, his hands on the lectern, as the projector behind him hummed. Students rustled papers, opened laptops, the usual first few minutes of settling down. Ethan sat on the side with a notebook, ready to jump in.

Aria was three rows back. She was not in her usual seat at the front. Not close enough that he could feel her breath when she leaned forward to ask a question.

Good. That was good.

“Last week,” Jason said, his voice steady, “we started talking about narrative unreliability. Today we’re going to push that further.”

He clicked to the next slide, lines of text and a book cover appeared on the screen. The words poured out easily—he could do this in his sleep. But the problem was that his brain was not on the text.

Every time a student spoke, his gaze scanned naturally around the room. And every time, they would land on her.

The way her pen moved quickly. The way she chewed the cap. The way she would glance at him and then look away too fast when he catches her eyes.

He tried to keep his focus on the front row. When a question came from her side of the room, he glanced just over her head, deliberately catching Ethan’s eye instead.

“Ethan,” he said, nodding. “Do you want to jump in on that?”

Ethan blinked, then answered smoothly, giving a neat summary of the secondary reading. Jason pretended not to see the way Aria’s shoulders stiffened.

Professional, Jason. You’re being professional.

At the end of class, the students lined up with questions about essays and readings. Aria usually hovered to the side, waiting for the line to thin before approaching. Today, she gathered her things quickly, tucked her hair behind her ear, and headed toward the door without looking back.

He tensed. Let her go, dammit!

“Aria,” he heard himself say.

She froze, then turned around slowly. “Yes?”

Her face was neutral.

He kept his tone cool. “Could you email me the attendance sheet once you and Ethan have updated it?”

“Of course,” she said. “I’ll send it before the end of the day.”

“Thank you,” he said.

That was it. No lingering, no “can we talk about Friday?” He watched her walk out, her bag swinging against her hip, and swallowed the urge to follow her.

Ethan stepped up beside him, sliding a stack of essays onto the table.

“You okay, Prof?” Ethan asked, casually.

“I’m fine,” Jason said. “Just a lot on the schedule this week.”

Ethan nodded. “It’s just… you’ve been… different. Students notice when you’re not making bad Dickens jokes.”

Jason forced a thin smile. “I’ll try to disappoint them less.”

As Jason left, Ethan stood there silently as he looked over at where Aria had just walked out from, but he shrugged his shoulders and continued with what he was doing.

- - -

The next day in his office, Jason put the distance into practice again as they both came for their T.A. meeting. As they went through the tutorial plans for the week, Aria was perfect, spoke clearly, and answered his questions before he finished asking them.

“Good,” Jason said, focused on the printed schedule in front of him. “Let’s make sure you both emphasize citation standards. The Dean is still on a plagiarism crusade.”

“Yes, Professor,” they said in unison.

“Anything else?” he asked, looking between them, not letting his gaze linger on either.

“Just one thing,” Aria said, sliding a stack of marked quizzes across the desk. “The averages skewed lower than expected. I included a breakdown.”

“Let me see,” He reached out at the same time she did, and their fingers brushed slightly.

Immediately, he felt the heat shoot up his arm.

Aria jerked her hand back, a tiny flinch she masked by folding her fingers around her pen. For a moment, the air went still with tension.

“Responsibility goes both ways,” he said, the words out before he could stop them. “If expectations are clear and they still don’t meet them, that’s on them. Not on you.”

She looked up. Was he talking about students, or something else entirely?

“Understood,” she said quietly.

He felt Ethan’s gaze flick between them, his curiosity sparking.

“Alright,” Jason said quickly, shutting the folder. “You’re both free to go. Email me if anything urgent comes up.”

When they were gone, he exhaled deeply like he had been holding his breath the whole time she was there. He stared at the door, hearing the echo of his own voice.

Responsibility goes both ways? i***t.

He sank into his chair, pinched the bridge of his nose, and tried to pretend his body wasn’t still humming as if he’d just touched a live wire.

He needed this distance. The conversation he had with Victoria after that dinner, his entire carefully constructed life depended on him acting like Aria Jenkins was just another student he taught.

But his hands, his pulse, and his c**k hadn’t gotten the memo.

- - -

By the time Aria arrived for her shift at the café, her shoulders felt like someone had replaced her muscles with stone. She usually liked the change; the ritual of wiping tables and pulling shots calmed her.

But today, her nerves were all over the place. Every time she closed her eyes, she could still feel his fingers against hers.

“Yo, space cadet,” Mia said, snapping her fingers lightly in front of Aria’s face. “You with us, or are you projecting somewhere with less minimum wage?”

Aria blinked, catching the dishrag before it slipped from her hand. “Sorry. Long day.”

Mia handed a drink to a waiting customer, then slid back behind the counter with her. “You’ve had a lot of those lately. Everything okay with school?”

“It’s just… seminars,” Aria said, reaching for a stack of cups. “Grading. Tutorials. Regular stress.”

Mia gave her a side-eye. “Uh-huh. Because regular stress definitely makes people twitch every time their phone buzzes.”

“I do not twitch,” Aria said.

“You flinch like someone’s tasing you,” Mia said. “Hey, I’m not judging, just observing.”

The bell over the door rang. A small rush of customers came in. For a few minutes, they moved on autopilot: taking orders, steaming milk, exchanging practiced banter with the regulars.

When the rush died down, Lena wandered in from the back, putting on her apron.

“Hey, losers,” she said, sounding cheerful. “Who’s ready to suffer for tips?”

“You’re late,” Mia said. “I already did the mid-afternoon rush. I deserve the hazard pay.”

“I was doing inventory,” Lena said, then looked at Aria. “You look like death.”

“Thanks,” Aria said dryly. “Love you too.”

“Everything okay?” Lena asked, the joking tone softening. “New week going according to plan?”

Aria reached for the milk jug, focusing on the swirl of foam. “It’s fine. We’re fine. Everything’s… professional.”

Mia’s brows shot up. She was about to say something stupid before Lena shot her a look.

Then, she leaned her elbows on the counter. “And you’re sure it’s just classes? Because every time you come back from campus lately, you look like you want to scream out or scream into someone’s mouth. And I can’t tell which.”

Heat crept up Aria’s neck. “It’s just…” she said. “Being a T.A. is a lot.”

“Mm,” Mia said, unconvinced. “And it’s got nothing to do with any particular professor whose name rhymes with—”

“Mia!” Lena cut in sharply.

Mia held up her hands. “Fine. I’ll shut up. For now.

She drifted off to take a table’s order, leaving them alone at the bar. Lena didn’t say anything at first. She just started restocking napkins.

“You’re sure?” Lena asked quietly after a while. “That you’re okay?”

Aria sighed. “He’s… being professional. Like really really professional.”

“And how does that make you feel?” Lena asked.

Like I might crawl out of my skin.

“It’s what we wanted, right?” she said instead. “What I wanted. No more… whatever that was.”

“Aria…”

“It hurts,” she admitted, the words coming out low. “Seeing him act like I’m just another student. Like the last few weeks were a glitch.”

Across the café, Mia laughed loudly at something a customer said.

Lena reached out and squeezed Aria’s wrist, reassuring her. “Look, you’re allowed to be messed up about it,” she said. “Just don’t pretend you’re not. That’s how you end up doing something stupid at the worst possible time.”

Their eyes met. Lena’s looked steady, worried, while Aria’s felt restless, the gap between what she had to do and what she wanted stretched like a fault line under her ribcage.

A customer called for a refill, so Aria pulled her hand back, pasted on a smile, and moved to the machine.

Professional, she told herself.