Tease Me, Sir [Completed]

Chapter 13: Secrets and Storms

Maxine slammed the door behind her, pressing her back against it as she exhaled sharply. Her hands trembled, her heart still racing from the encounter in the restroom.

Noah Castellano was playing a dangerous game.

And the worst part?

She wasn't sure if she wanted to stop him.

The apartment was dimly lit, a single lamp casting a soft glow over the living room. Grace was sprawled across the couch, laptop balanced on her knees, a bowl of popcorn resting beside her. She barely looked up as she typed, only acknowledging Maxine with a casual, "Hey, you're home late."

Maxine swallowed, trying to steady her breathing. She made her way to the kitchen, grabbing a glass and filling it with water, anything to keep her hands busy. "Yeah. Class ran long."

Grace hummed, still absorbed in her screen. "Lemme guess, the students were being idiots again? Or was the professor a total hard-ass?"

Maxine froze, her grip tightening around the glass.

If only she knew.

She forced a dry laugh. "Something like that."

Grace finally looked up, narrowing her eyes. "You okay? You look... flushed. Like, in a 'I just ran for my life' way."

Maxine turned away, pretending to fiddle with something in the fridge. "It's nothing. Just... stressful day."

"You sure?" Grace asked, shifting to sit up properly. "Because you look like you either want to punch someone or—" She paused, eyes narrowing. "Wait. No. That's not an 'I want to punch someone' face. That's a 'something happened' face."

Maxine cursed internally. Grace knew her too well.

She shut the fridge door a little harder than necessary and leaned against the counter, gripping the edge. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Grace smirked. "Uh-huh. Spill."

Maxine hesitated, debating how much to say. Grace knew about Noah—about the past, about how he'd broken her heart in a way she had never admitted out loud. But she didn't know the full extent of their history. And she definitely didn't know that he was standing at the front of her classroom every week, dictating the terms of their twisted little war.

"Max," Grace said, her voice softer now, the teasing gone. "Talk to me."

Maxine stared at the counter, her mind replaying the way Noah had leaned in, his voice a low murmur, his fingers grazing her skin like a ghost of a promise.

She swallowed hard. "It's him."

Grace's entire expression shifted. "Noah?"

Maxine nodded.

Grace set her laptop aside and sat forward. "Did you see him again? What happened?"

Maxine let out a bitter laugh. "Oh, I see him, alright."

Grace frowned, confusion flickering across her face. "Wait... what does that mean?"

Maxine hesitated. She wasn't sure how to say it, how to drop the bomb that the man who had once held her heart—then shattered it—was now her professor.

Grace's eyes widened. "Oh, my God. Don't tell me—"

Maxine exhaled heavily. "He's my professor."

Silence.

Grace blinked. "What."

Maxine ran a hand through her hair. "I didn't know when I enrolled in his class, okay? It's not like I planned this."

Grace's mouth opened, then closed. Then opened again. "You're telling me that the Noah Castellano—the same Noah who ghosted you, who wrecked you—is now... teaching you?"

Maxine nodded, her lips pressed into a thin line.

Grace let out a disbelieving laugh. "Holy shit."

"Yeah."

Another beat of silence.

Then Grace sat back, staring at Maxine like she was a walking soap opera. "So let me get this straight. He's your professor, and you've been seeing him regularly. And you didn't think to mention this to me?"

Maxine winced. "I was going to. It's just... complicated."

Grace snorted. "No kidding."

She watched Maxine carefully before her expression shifted, her usual sharp intuition kicking in.

"Oh, my God," she whispered. "Something happened, didn't it?"

Maxine tensed.

Grace gasped. "You did something with him, didn't you?"

"No," Maxine said quickly. Too quickly.

Grace narrowed her eyes. "Max."

Maxine exhaled, her fingers curling into fists. "Nothing happened."

Grace studied her, then tilted her head. "But you wanted something to happen."

Maxine turned away, gripping the edge of the counter until her knuckles turned white.

Grace sucked in a breath. "Jesus."

"It's not like that," Maxine muttered.

"Uh, sounds exactly like that."

Maxine shook her head, frustration bubbling inside her. "He's not—he's not the same."

Grace arched a brow. "And yet, you look like you just had an emotional car crash over him."

Maxine exhaled sharply, running a hand over her face. "He's different now. Colder. Crueler. Like he wants to make me pay for something."

Grace frowned. "Pay for what?"

Maxine shook her head. "I don't know."

Grace crossed her arms. "You need to drop that class."

Maxine let out a humorless laugh. "Yeah, because that'll solve everything."

Grace stood, walking over to her. "Max, you don't owe him anything. And if he's messing with you—"

"I can handle it," Maxine cut in.

Grace's gaze softened. "Are you sure about that?"

Maxine swallowed, forcing herself to nod.

Grace studied her for a long moment before sighing. "Fine. But if he so much as breathes the wrong way, I will personally make sure he regrets it."

Maxine almost smiled. "Noted."

Grace pointed a finger at her. "And you're telling me everything from now on. No more secrets."

Maxine hesitated.

She couldn't promise that.

Because deep down, she knew—

This game between her and Noah?

It was just getting started.

Maxine barely had time to process Grace's warning before a loud knock echoed through the apartment. She frowned, glancing at the clock—it was late, and she wasn't expecting anyone.

Grace arched a brow. "You expecting company?"

Maxine shook her head and made her way to the door, peeking through the peephole.

And immediately groaned.

Standing outside her apartment were Ashley, Bea, Lianne, Jerome, Josh, and the rest of her friends, dressed like they were ready for a night out.

Maxine considered pretending she wasn't home, but Ashley knocked again, louder this time.

"Max, we know you're in there! Open up!"

Grace, now standing behind her, smirked. "Your fan club awaits."

Maxine sighed before unlocking the door.

The second it opened, Ashley grinned. "There she is! The woman of the hour!"

Bea smirked. "Took you long enough."

Lianne waggled her brows. "Don't tell me you were busy with something—or someone."

Maxine rolled her eyes. "What are you guys doing here?"

Jerome held up the whiskey. "Intervention."

Josh nodded. "You've been acting weird lately, Max. We decided you need a night out."

Maxine crossed her arms. "And by 'night out,' you mean...?"

Ashley pushed past her, stepping inside. "Drinks. Music. Bad decisions. The usual."

The rest of them followed without waiting for an invitation.

Grace chuckled, crossing her arms as she watched them invade the living room. "Wow, you guys are just making yourselves at home, huh?"

Bea flopped onto the couch. "What can we say? We missed our girl."

Maxine exhaled, running a hand through her hair. She wasn't in the mood for this—not after everything that had happened with Noah. But the last thing she wanted was to raise suspicions. If she refused, Ashley would hound her until she cracked.

So she forced a smirk. "Fine."

"You wanna join, Grace?" Ashley said.

"Pass... I have work tomorrow."

"Boring" they all said.

The bass thrummed through the floor, sending vibrations up Maxine's legs as she stood at the edge of the bar, fingers curled around her untouched drink. The club was packed—sweaty bodies moving under the flashing lights, laughter and conversation blending into the music.

She hadn't planned on being here tonight.

But her friends had other ideas.

"Max!" Ashley's voice cut through the noise as she appeared beside her, breathless from dancing. "Why do you look like you're at a funeral?"

Maxine exhaled, forcing a smirk. "Because you maniacs dragged me out when I could've been home, curled up with a book."

"Blasphemy," Bea said as she slid into the seat next to her. "Besides, you owe us. You've been weird lately."

Lianne plopped onto the other side, stealing a sip of Maxine's drink before making a face. "God, Max, could you have picked something more depressing? Whiskey neat?"

"It gets the job done," Maxine muttered.

Jerome and Josh appeared next, Jerome throwing an arm over her shoulders. "Come on, loosen up. You need this."

Josh nodded. "Yeah, no brooding tonight. And definitely no thinking about—"

"Shut up," Maxine warned, shooting him a sharp look.

Josh raised his hands in surrender, but the knowing smirk on his face remained.

Maxine swallowed hard, her mind flashing back to earlier. Noah. The tension. The game they were playing.

She needed to forget.

Needed to drown it out.

Ashley grinned. "I know that look. You need a shot."

Before Maxine could protest, Ashley was already flagging down the bartender, ordering a round for everyone.

"Fine," Maxine relented, picking up the glass when it was placed in front of her. "Just one."

Lianne snorted. "Yeah, yeah. Just one."

As the shot burned down her throat, Maxine ignored the nagging voice in her head.

Tonight, she wasn't thinking about Noah Castellano.

Not at all.

The alcohol burned going down, but it wasn't enough to erase the tension still coiled in Maxine's chest. The neon lights, the scent of sweat and liquor, the deep bass vibrating through the floor—it should have been enough to drown everything out.

And yet, she still felt it. Him.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, Noah's voice echoed—taunting, smooth, a ghost of a whisper brushing against her skin. Your voice shakes when you're trying not to break.

Maxine inhaled sharply, shaking the thought away as Bea tugged her toward the dance floor.

"Come on, Max, you need this."

"I really don't," Maxine protested, but Lianne and Ashley had already joined in, pulling her deeper into the crowd.

The beat shifted, something dark and sultry pulsing through the speakers. Around them, bodies swayed, lights flickered, the air thick with the scent of cheap perfume and bad decisions.

Maxine let herself move, just enough to appease her friends, her limbs looser from the alcohol. It was easy to get lost in the moment—to pretend she was just another girl in a club, not the one tangled in a dangerous game with the last person she should be thinking about.

But then it happened.

A shift in the atmosphere.

A prickle along the back of her neck.

She felt him before she saw him.

And when she turned, her breath hitched.

Noah.

Leaning against the upstairs railing, a drink in hand, watching her like he had all the time in the world.

His gaze was unreadable, but the tension in his posture was unmistakable. He wasn't supposed to be here. He didn't belong here. And yet, there he was—watching her from the shadows like a predator observing his prey.

Maxine's fingers clenched at her sides.

No.

Not tonight.

She wasn't going to let him ruin this.

With a sharp exhale, she turned back to her friends, plastering on a smirk. "Another round?"

Josh groaned. "You're actually voluntarily drinking? Who are you, and what have you done with Max?"

Lianne laughed, already dragging them back to the bar. "Oh, we are so making the most of this."

Maxine forced herself to focus on the warmth of her friends, on the burn of the next shot sliding down her throat.

But as the night stretched on, she couldn't shake the weight of Noah's stare.

Even when she didn't look, she knew.

He was still watching.

And the worst part?

A part of her liked it.

The night blurred in a haze of laughter and liquor, but no amount of alcohol could burn away the feeling of Noah's eyes on her.

Maxine danced, drank, and threw herself into the moment, but the awareness never left her. Every stolen glance toward the upper level confirmed what she already knew—he was still there. Still watching.

And then, suddenly, he wasn't.

Her stomach twisted. Had he left? Had he gotten bored? Or worse—was he somewhere in the crowd now?

Her fingers tightened around the cool glass of her drink. No. She refused to let him live in her head rent-free. She turned her attention back to the group.

"Max, we need to do this more often," Ashley slurred, throwing an arm around her shoulder. "You're *fun* when you're not stressing about assignments and—whatever it is you stress about."

"Life," Maxine deadpanned, earning a laugh from Jerome.

"You guys get another round," she said, needing a moment to breathe. "I'm gonna step outside for some air."

No one questioned her. The night had already spiraled into that warm, tipsy stage where conversations overlapped and decisions were made without much thought.

Maxine slipped through the bodies, weaving toward the back exit. The club's alley was quieter, save for the occasional group sneaking out for a smoke or a makeout session. Cool air kissed her skin, and she exhaled, pressing her palms against the brick wall.

She needed to clear her head.

But of course, fate had other plans.

"Running away again?"

The deep, familiar voice sent a shiver through her spine.

Maxine's eyes snapped open. She turned, already knowing who she'd find.

Noah leaned against the wall a few feet away, hands tucked into his pockets, looking maddeningly composed compared to her still-drunken haze.

Her stomach clenched. "What the hell are you doing here?"

He tilted his head slightly. "I could ask you the same thing."

Annoyance flared in her chest. "Oh, sorry—was this your club? Didn't realize I needed permission to exist in the same place as you."

A smirk ghosted over his lips, like she had just unknowingly played into his hands.

Maxine hated that it still made her pulse quicken.

She exhaled sharply, crossing her arms. "Why are you here, Noah?"

"Would you believe me if I said it was a coincidence?"

"No."

He huffed a quiet laugh. "Didn't think so."

A beat of silence stretched between them. The sounds of the club rumbled behind the brick walls—muted bass, muffled laughter, the occasional burst of voices.

Noah took a slow step closer, and despite herself, Maxine didn't move.

His voice dropped, lower, smoother. "Tell me something, Max."

She swallowed. "What?"

"Were you thinking about me?"

The air felt heavier, charged.

Her fingers curled into fists. "No."

A lie. A terrible one.

His gaze flickered over her face, reading her, pulling apart the cracks.

Then he smiled, a slow, knowing thing. "You always were a bad liar."

Heat crawled up her neck. "Go to hell."

"I've been there." His voice was softer this time. "And I think you have too."

She should have walked away. Should have thrown another sharp remark and left him standing there in the alley.

But for some reason, her feet wouldn't move.

And neither did his.

Maxine barely had time to react before Noah moved.

One second, she was glaring at him, and the next—her feet were off the ground, her world flipping upside down as he threw her over his shoulder like she weighed nothing.

"What the hell, Noah? Put me down!" She kicked her legs, her fists pounding against his back.

Noah didn't even flinch. "You're making a scene."

"I don't care!" she hissed, twisting in his grip. The cool night air, the faint scent of his cologne, the distant pulse of the club's music—it all blurred together as he carried her toward the parking lot.

People were around. She could yell. She should yell. But the fight was tangled in something else—a dangerous mix of rage, old wounds, and something she refused to name.

Noah reached his car, a sleek black vehicle that looked as smooth and calculated as he was. He opened the passenger door with one hand, then adjusted his grip, setting her down *just* enough before shoving her inside.

Maxine scrambled upright, fury burning through her drunken haze. "What the *f**k* do you think you're doing?"

Noah shut the door before she could leap out, rounding the car with an infuriating calmness.

She grabbed the handle. Locked.

Of course.

By the time he slid into the driver's seat, she was breathing hard, her hands clenched into fists. "You've lost your mind," she spat.

Noah exhaled, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. "Maybe."

His gaze flicked toward her—dark, unreadable.

She wasn't sure if it was the alcohol or the sheer insanity of the moment, but something in his stare made her pulse stutter.

Maxine forced herself to look away, gripping her thighs to steady herself. "Where are you taking me?"

"Somewhere we can talk."

Her laugh was sharp, bitter. "Kidnapping me is your idea of a conversation?"

"You weren't going to listen otherwise."

Her head snapped toward him. "Oh, so now it's my fault?"

His jaw tightened, his fingers curling around the gear shift. "If I let you go back in there, what would you have done?"

"Had fun," she snapped.

"Gotten drunker."

"So?"

His gaze darkened. "So, maybe I don't want to stand around and watch you drink yourself into oblivion just to avoid me."

Maxine's breath caught.

That was exactly what she had been doing.

She hated that he saw it.

She hated even more that, despite everything, a part of her still craved his attention.

Noah leaned back in his seat, exhaling slowly. "You want me to let you out?" His voice was quieter now. Less sharp.

She hesitated.

If she walked away now, she'd be proving him right—that she *was* running.

Her fingers tightened around the hem of her dress. "Drive."

Noah didn't hesitate.

The engine rumbled to life, and just like that, the night took another turn.

The drive was silent, thick with tension. The city lights flickered past, neon reflections dancing on the windshield. Maxine sat stiffly, arms crossed, her lips pressed into a thin line.

Noah didn't speak. He didn't need to. His grip on the wheel, the way his jaw tensed—it said enough.

When the car slowed, Maxine blinked at the sight in front of her. A hotel.

Her stomach twisted. "You've got to be kidding me."

Noah parked without answering. He cut the engine, then turned to her, his expression unreadable.

Maxine scoffed, shaking her head. "You're unbelievable."

Noah's gaze held hers, steady and unmoving. "Get out of the car, Maxine."

His voice wasn't sharp. It wasn't demanding. But it carried weight.

She hesitated, her heartbeat pounding in her ears. "Why here?"

"Privacy."

She let out a humorless laugh. "We could've talked anywhere. You didn't have to kidnap me."

"If I asked, would you have come?"

She hated that he was right.

Noah pushed open his door and stepped out, waiting. He didn't rush her. Didn't say anything else.

Maxine inhaled sharply, then—against every ounce of logic—she followed.

Inside, the hotel was sleek, modern, quiet. The front desk clerk barely glanced at them as Noah led her past, swiping a key card and guiding her toward the elevator.

As the doors slid shut, trapping them in the small space, Maxine's pulse quickened.

This was a bad idea.

A very bad idea.

The air between them was too charged, too dangerous.

She shifted, her arms crossed. "How do you even have a room here?"

Noah exhaled. "I was staying here for a conference."

She narrowed her eyes. "Convenient."

His lips twitched, but he didn't respond.

The doors opened with a soft chime. He stepped out first, leading her down the hall.

Her feet felt heavy as she followed.

The moment they entered the room, the air shifted.

Dim lighting. A king-sized bed. The faint scent of clean linen and something distinctly *him.*

Maxine lingered near the door, arms still crossed. "Say whatever you need to say so I can leave."

Noah sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. He looked exhausted. Frustrated.

"Why are you doing this to yourself?" His voice was softer now. Less guarded.

Her throat tightened. "Doing what?"

"Running. Pretending." He met her gaze. "Drowning yourself in alcohol just to forget."

Her jaw clenched. "You don't get to do this."

"Do what?"

"Act like you care."

Noah's expression darkened. "You think I don't?"

She let out a shaky breath, turning away. "It doesn't matter."

He was behind her in an instant. Not touching her, but close enough that she could feel his presence.

"It does matter," he said quietly. "You matter."

Her eyes squeezed shut.

This wasn't fair.

She came here for a fight, not for this.

Not for the way his voice softened, or the way her body still betrayed her, drawn to him despite everything.

"Maxine." His voice was a plea now.

She turned, her gaze clashing with his.

Maxine's pulse pounded in her ears. She could still feel the alcohol in her system, making her body warm, her skin hypersensitive. Every nerve in her body was betraying her, reacting to Noah's presence, his voice, the way he looked at her like she was something he *needed*.

But she wasn't.

She couldn't be.

Noah stepped closer, slow, deliberate. "Tell me you don't want this, and I'll stop."

Maxine's breath hitched. *Liar.* He was calling her out, and they both knew it.

She did want this.

Her body ached for it. For him.

But she also knew what would happen after.

Shame. Regret. The weight of everything she was trying to escape.

She shook her head, stepping back until she hit the wall. "I can't."

Noah didn't touch her, but he was so close now that she could feel the heat radiating off of him.

"You can't or you won't?" His voice was low, his breath warm against her cheek.

Maxine squeezed her eyes shut. She was drunk, but not enough to ignore the warning in her mind. This is dangerous. This is a mistake.

But her body wasn't listening.

She wanted to push him away, to tell him to stop, but instead, her hands were gripping his shirt, her fingers fisting the fabric like he was the only thing keeping her standing.

"Noah..." Her voice trembled.

He exhaled sharply, his hands bracing on the wall beside her head. "You drive me insane, Max."

She let out a shaky laugh. "Funny. I was about to say the same thing."

His jaw clenched. "Then stop fighting it."

Her body screamed at her to listen.

To let go.

To forget the past, the consequences, the fact that this was wrong.

But she wasn't just drunk—she was vulnerable. And tomorrow, when the haze cleared, she didn't want to wake up next to another mistake.

Maxine shook her head, her grip loosening on his shirt. "I can't do this."

Noah stiffened. His eyes searched hers, like he was waiting for her to take it back.

But she didn't.

Even though every fiber of her being begged her to.

Finally, he exhaled and took a slow step back.

"Okay." His voice was rough, strained. "Okay."

Maxine swallowed, pressing a hand to her forehead. "I need to sleep this off."

Noah nodded once, his jaw tight. "Take the bed. I'll stay on the couch."

She hesitated. "You don't have to—"

"I'm not leaving you like this." His voice was firm.

And maybe she should have argued. Maybe she should have forced herself to walk out that door and go home.

But she was too exhausted to fight anymore.

So instead, she turned away, crawled into the bed, and pulled the covers over her.

As she closed her eyes, she heard him sigh, heard the rustle of him settling onto the couch.

Neither of them spoke.

Neither of them moved.

And even though she was safe, even though she'd stopped herself from making a mistake, her body still ached with something she couldn't name.

Something forbidden.

Something she wasn't sure she could keep resisting forever.

Maxine tossed and turned in the hotel bed, the sheets soft against her skin but offering no comfort. She squeezed her eyes shut, willing herself to sleep. To ignore the heat pooling in her stomach, the way her body ached.

But it was useless.

Noah was in the same room.

She could hear his steady breathing from the couch, could feel his presence even without looking.

And it was driving her insane.

This wasn't just the alcohol anymore. This was something else—something that had been building for years. Something she had buried, ignored, denied.

But tonight, she couldn't deny it anymore.

Maxine sat up, her breath unsteady as she glanced at the couch. The dim light from outside cast shadows across Noah's face. His strong jaw, his tousled hair, the way his lips parted slightly as he exhaled.

Her fingers curled into the sheets.

Don't do this.

But she was already moving.

Before she could talk herself out of it, she slid out of bed, her bare feet padding softly against the floor. She hesitated for only a second before kneeling beside him.

"Noah," she whispered.

His breathing hitched, but he didn't open his eyes.

She swallowed, reaching out, her fingers barely brushing his arm. "Noah."

His eyes blinked open, dark and intense, locking onto hers immediately.

For a moment, neither of them moved.

Then his gaze flickered down to her lips, and something inside her snapped.

She surged forward, pressing her mouth to his in a desperate, feverish kiss.

Noah tensed for a split second—then groaned, his hands finding her waist, pulling her onto his lap like he had been waiting for this just as long as she had.

Maxine gasped as his fingers dug into her skin, as his lips moved against hers with a hunger that sent shivers down her spine.

"Max," he muttered against her mouth, his voice rough, strained. "Are you sure?"

No.

Yes.

She didn't know anymore.

All she knew was that she needed him.

Needed this.

"I can't fight it anymore," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

Noah exhaled sharply, like her words had undone something inside him.

Then he kissed her again—deeper, slower, like he was trying to memorize the way she felt.

Like he knew there was no going back.