Page 34 of Marrying My Professor

And in that brief, electric moment, I see it. The challenge. The provocation. The deliberate, calculated intent behind every movement she's made since walking into this room.

She's doing this on purpose.

She wants me to see. Wants me to watch Wesley touch her, wants me to notice the absence of underwear, wants me to lose my carefully constructed control and do something reckless.

And like the fucking brat she is. It's working.

I set the marker down on the ledge of the whiteboard with more force than necessary, the sharp crack echoing through the suddenly silent room.

"That’s all for today,” I say, my voice a low growl that I am trying to swallow down.

A few students look up at the clock, this class is supposed to be two hours long and I have barely made it pass hour one, and they see my slides up online. They know I have about fifteen more slides to go, but I can’t stand here another minute with Wesley fucking Carter drooling over my girl.

“Now,” I bark, and it causes some students in the front room to jump.

The announcement triggers an instant stampede. Chairs screech against the floor, bags are grabbed mid-zip, and forty students bolt for the door like the building's on fire. No one questions it. No one lingers.

Except Elara.

She moves slowly, sliding her notebook into her bag while everyone else runs. Wesley hovers beside her, his hand still on her back, saying something I can't hear.

"Miss Cross," I call out, my voice cutting through the chaos. "Stay."

Her head snaps up, eyes wide, and for half a second I see something flash across her face—surprise, maybe, or guilt, or something that looks dangerously close to triumph—before it's replaced by that infuriating mask of indifference she wears so well.

Wesley's hand falls away from her back. He looks between us, his expression sharpening with interest, and I feel my control slip another inch toward the edge.

"Professor, if this is about the essay—" he starts.

"It's not," I interrupt, my tone leaving no room for argument. "You're dismissed, Mr. Carter."

He hesitates, his gaze lingering on Elara, and I see the calculation happening behind his eyes. The weighing of options. The decision of whether to push or retreat. "Elara⁠—"

"I'll text you," she says quickly, and the casual intimacy of it—the easy familiarity, the implication that they have each other's numbers, that they communicate outside of class—makes something dark and vicious curl in my chest.

Wesley nods, shoots me a look that's half-challenge, half-amusement, and finally leaves.

The door closes behind the last student, and the silence that follows is so thick I can hear the hum of the fluorescent lights overhead. Elara stands slowly, slinging her bag over her shoulder. She doesn't look at me. "You wanted to talk?"

"Have you lost your mind?" The words come out harsher than I intend, but I don't soften them.

Her head snaps toward me, eyes flashing. "Excuse me?"

I step around the desk, closing the distance between us in three strides. "You heard me. Have you completely lost your fucking mind?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," she says, but her voice is tight, defensive.

"Don't play dumb, Elara. It doesn't suit you." I stop a few feet away, close enough to see the flush creeping up her neck, the way her pupils dilate slightly. "Are you and Wesley together?"

She laughs, sharp and disbelieving. "Why would you care?"

"Answer the question."

"No," she snaps. "You answer a question first. Why do you care, Alexander? You've been avoiding me for weeks. You can barely look at me in class. You act like I don't exist unless you're forced to acknowledge me. So why the hell does it matter to you who I sit next to?"

The accusation lands hard, and for a moment, I can't find words. Because she's right. I have been avoiding her. I've been avoiding her because every time I look at her, I remember the taste of her on my tongue, the sound of her moaning my name, the way she looked at me like I was the only thing in the world that mattered.

"You think I've been avoiding you?" I ask, my voice low, dangerous.