Chapter 4
MICHAEL
—Nice to Meet Ya
by Niall Horan
I must be possessed.
That’s the only explanation I have for what just happened.
Because the version of me I thought I knew possessed some semblance of self-preservation.
Not loads, obviously, but enough to know better than to hook up in my office on the first day of a new job.
Especially not with a student, and not when there’s still a chance of the dean returning.
What the fuck was I thinking? I need to end this before it gets out of hand.
Seeing him in class was enough to throw me off balance.
When the shock of recognising him waned, I ended up in a constant state of arousal.
I spent the entire lecture fighting myself because every time I look at him, I wanted to keep looking.
Every time I forced my attention elsewhere, it found its way back to him again, and by the end of class, I had given up on pretending I wasn’t affected.
I enjoy sex, and I’m not ashamed to know what desire feels like—but I also happen to be an adult with self-control.
It befuddles me how immediately I’m transformed into a puddle of want when it concerns Taj.
I will never tell him this, but I went back to the club, too.
I stood outside like a loser, debating whether to go in, only for the last functioning part of my brain to remind me I was well out of my element.
I left before anyone could notice me. None of it makes sense because I barely know him.
Wanting someone this much after one meeting is pathetic.
Wanting him even after finding out he’s my student is even worse; a fact that should’ve shut all of this down immediately.
Instead, my mind keeps skirting around it while the rest of me behaves like a feral animal.
I grab hold of the only sensible thought left in my head, and I force myself to be firm. I open my eyes, meet his gaze, and tell him, “This can’t happen again.”
He pins me with a look that I can’t read, and before I can work out what it means, he lifts his finger, the one still marked with my cum, and sucks it into his mouth.
It is such a filthy move that my supposedly spent cock, traitorous thing that it is, stirs back to life.
He glances down at my dick like he expected nothing less, and the corner of his mouth lifts in a smug little smirk that makes me want to throttle him and kiss him at the same time.
I shrug, and then I tuck myself back into my trousers with whatever dignity I can scrape together.
He mirrors me and puts himself away, too, then bends down to pick up my book from the floor. He hands it back to me.
I take it from him, gesturing for him to follow me and pointing to the chair opposite my table. I move behind it and lower myself into my own seat.
He sits in the chair, long legs stretched out, eyes fixed on me. “I think we should introduce ourselves formally,” he says, like I didn’t say anything. “Since we didn’t do that at the club, and class doesn’t count.”
I stare at him, not even knowing where to begin.
“Did you hear what I just said?” Somehow, I manage to keep my voice steady, but my eyes keep wandering over him.
He looks so fucking delectable. His low-waisted jeans are a little loose, and his cropped hoodie shows off just enough skin to be tempting.
“Yeah,” he shrugs. “But we should still get to know one another.” He sits up straighter and extends his hand across the desk. “Hi, I’m Taj,” he adds, his lips curving into a smirk.
For one brief, precarious moment, his defiance sparks something hot in my chest. A flash of curiosity that makes me wonder how badly I’ve underestimated the person I’m dealing with. Like I didn’t just bite off more than I can chew, but I swallowed the whole thing and now it’s lodged in my throat.
Against all sense, I take his hand. Mostly to humour him, and partly because I clearly hate myself. “I’m Michael,” I say, giving his hand a shake.
The handshake ends, but he doesn’t let go. Instead, he rises from the chair and walks to my side of the table, our joined hand stretching between us until he’s standing in front of me. Then he hops onto my mahogany table and parks his arse there before threading our fingers together.
“Nice to meet you. Is it okay if I call you Mike?” he says.
I don’t know what it is about him that disarms me so completely. I’ve met handsome men before. Plenty of them, in fact. Some of them are charming, some are arrogant, some are pretty enough to make a person walk into furniture—but none of them have ever affected me like this.
With Taj, it feels like he has slipped under my skin somehow. Like he can say jump, and some foolish part of me will ask how high?
“You may,” I answer, then clear my throat. “Is Taj short for something?”
He nods his pretty head. “Yeah, my full name is Tajudeen.”
I take that in because it is a common name in Nigeria and paired with his surname, it gives me a fair idea of where he’s from. “You’re Yoruba?” I ask.
His whole face brightens. “Yes, and I’m guessing you are too. There aren’t many Nigerians here in Prague, and there are even fewer Yoruba people among us.” He sounds genuinely pleased.
“There’s a good Nigerian community here, then?” I ask.
He nods. “A growing one, too.”
I study him for a bit, appreciating his easy confidence, the warm expression on his face, the fact that he’s still sitting on my desk as if this were all perfectly normal.
I decide to make one more attempt at sanity. “You know why this can’t happen, right?”
He nods thoughtfully, like he’s giving the matter serious consideration. Then he says, “There’s no reason why it can’t happen. I’m of age and can consent, and boy do I consent wholeheartedly.” He lets out a chuckle.
I blink at him. It hadn’t even occurred to me to ask his age, another indication that I’ve gone mad in the head. “How old are you?”
“I’m twenty.” He lifts our linked fingers to his mouth, pressing a kiss to the back of mine. “See, I’m a big boy.”
“You’re a baby,” I blurt out.
My taste have always leaned towards women my age, sometimes older, or maybe two years younger than me at most. I have never been with anyone more than a decade younger than me.
I’ve never even considered it. I like shared references, people who remember life before streaming services.
Before I can repeat that nothing else can happen between us, or attempt to sound stern this time, Taj migrates from the table and settles straight onto my lap.
His legs fall on either side of mine, and my brain completely stutters to a halt.
The closeness is as much strange as it is welcome, the warmth of his body seeping into me.
I don’t even realise my hands have moved until they’re on him, pulling him nearer until his chest meets mine.
“I like you,” he says plainly. “I’ve not been able to get you out of my head since Friday.”
“I like you, too,” I admit, and the smile he gives me in return is worth it, to be honest. “But I’m new here, and even as a guest lecturer, I still have an obligation to behave properly.
Hooking up with a student goes against that.
” I sigh and drag my hand through my locs, already feeling the headache forming behind my eyes.
“Whatever happens here will be sent to my actual university, where I have to return to in a year. And you’re young. I’m sure you’ll find someone your age.”
Even as I say it, something tightens in my chest. I refuse to examine it closely.
If things were different, if we were just two people hooking up at the club with no other ties to each other, then I might be able to see where this goes.
Especially since I’ve already sorted out my attraction to men.
There are just too many factors stacked against this right now.
He sighs. “Maybe I can change your mind,” he whispers, darting his tongue out to lick the corner of my mouth.
He’s not making this easy on me. My body reacts, and now my dick is getting hard in my trousers. I gather what remains of my self-control and slide my hands under him, lifting him off my lap. It’s not even a struggle. He’s built, but I have the weight and height advantage.
Once his feet hit the ground, he looks up to me with those big, doe eyes. “Can we at least be friends?” he asks.
The hopeful note in his voice catches me off guard. I pick up my laptop and put it inside my bag before slinging it over my shoulder. “Sure,” I tell him.
He grins, and for the first time I can clearly see the twenty-year-old guy beneath all that confidence. “Okay, friend,” he agrees, walking to the door to retrieve his abandoned bag. “Let me drive you home.” He lifts a finger and points it at me. “And you can’t decline my friendly offer.”
I just stare at him.
I’m royally fucked, aren’t I?