15. Lynn #2
And I definitely notice when class ends and a swarm of girls immediately surrounds him, blocking any possibility of private conversation.
“Professor Draven, I had a question about the reading-”
“Professor, could you sign my book-”
“I brought you more cookies!”
I gather my things slowly, watching the crowd around him grow. There’s no way I’m getting close enough to talk without causing a scene.
He catches my eye over their heads, looking genuinely pained.
Tonight, he mouths.
Tonight, I mouth back.
I leave class and head toward the English building, brain churning.
I’m walking past the department office when I hear Trevor’s voice through the open door.
“ - don’t understand why I’m being reassigned-”
“Budget considerations. The eight o’clock section across campus needed additional support.”
“But that’s a forty-five minute commute! And I specifically requested this time slot-”
“Decisions have been made, Mr. Harrison.”
I keep walking, but I’m grinning.
Milo did that. Had to be. Trevor touched me, and within thirty seconds he was being reassigned to the worst possible section at the furthest possible building.
I should probably be concerned about the power dynamics at play here.
Instead, I’m kind of turned on.
That afternoon, the library is closed for repairs.
Roof leak, Diane texts me. Take the day off. We’ll reopen tomorrow.
Which means I have an unexpected free afternoon.
And that means I can surprise Milo.
I head toward the English department, climbing the stairs to his third-floor office. The hallway is busier than I expected, students milling around, voices spilling from doorways, and as I get closer to Milo’s office, I understand why.
There’s a crowd.
Like, an actual crowd of people waiting outside his door.
Specifically, approximately ten girls in various states of flirtatious dress.
Amber is there, holding another Tupperware container.
Tara is there too, wearing a skirt that barely qualifies as clothing.
The twins from the back row are both wearing low-cut tops and matching expressions of determination.
And through the open doorway, I can see more girls inside his office.
One of them, a blonde I don’t recognize, is perched on his desk, leaning forward in a way that makes her cleavage extremely prominent. Another girl is literally in the process of dropping a pen, clearly expecting Milo to pick it up for her.
Milo is standing behind his desk, looking deeply uncomfortable and extremely trapped.
Something dark and ugly rises in my chest.
It starts as a vibration. A low, continuous rumble that I feel before I hear.
I’m growling.
Like an animal. Like a lycan. Like someone defending territory.
What the hell.
Milo’s head snaps toward the doorway. His eyes find mine through the crowd, and something in his expression shifts from distressed to relieved.
“Office hours are concluded,” he announces.
“But it’s only been twenty minutes-”
“Concluded.” He’s already moving, physically herding girls toward the door. “I have a prior engagement. Essays can be submitted via the online portal. Questions can be addressed during my regular Tuesday hours. Thank you for coming.”
“But Professor-”
“Concluded.”
He manages to empty the office with the efficiency of a man who’s been wanting to escape for the last twenty minutes. The girls spill into the hallway, shooting me curious looks as they pass.
Brittany and Jessica pause directly in front of me.
“Trying to get noticed?” One of them sneers, looking me up and down. “Poor little girl. You think you have a chance?”
“I think you should fuck off,” I say pleasantly.
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me. Fuck off. Go home. Find literally any other hobby besides stalking our professor.”
“Our professor?” The other one laughs. “Listen to her. Like she has some kind of claim.”
“I have a claim on my own sanity, which is being eroded by having to look at your tragic highlights.” I smile sweetly. “Seriously. Fire your hairdresser.”
“You’ll regret this.” The first one’s face has gone ugly. “You don’t know who you’re messing with.”
“And you don’t know who you’re messing with. Now. Fuck. Off.”
They stare at me for a long moment, then turn and stalk away, heels clicking angrily on the tile floor.
“That was something,” Milo says from behind me.
“I don’t know what came over me.”
“I do.” He’s grinning. “Get in here.”
He yanks me into his office and slams the door shut, and then his face is buried in my neck and he’s inhaling.
“You smell like me.” His voice is muffled against my skin. “You didn’t shower.”
“There wasn’t time-”
“Don’t apologize. God, don’t apologize.” He inhales again, deep and desperate. “You smell like you’re mine. Like you’re covered in me. I’ve been going crazy all day, being able to smell it across the room-”
“The whole class could smell it?”
“Just me. Lycan senses.” He pulls back enough to look at me, his eyes golden and hungry. “But I knew. Every time you shifted in your seat, every time you raised your hand, I could smell it. Us. On your skin.”
“That’s-”
“I want to bottle it.” He’s pressing kisses along my jaw. “This scent. The smell of you belonging to me. I want to keep it forever.”
“That’s intense.”
“I’m intense. Haven’t you noticed?”
His hands find my waist. Lift.
Suddenly I’m sitting on his desk, and he’s stepping between my legs, and the position is familiar from my fantasies but somehow more overwhelming in reality.
“Were you jealous?” he murmurs against my throat. “Out there, with all those girls?”
“No.”
“Liar.” His teeth graze my pulse point. “I could hear you growling.”
“I don’t growl.”
“You absolutely growl. You were growling like a lycan defending her territory.” He pulls back, grinning. “It was the sexiest thing I’ve ever heard.”
“Shut up.”
“Never.”
He kisses me, and I forget about jealousy and crowds and girls with Tupperware containers. There’s only him, his mouth on mine, his hands on my thighs, the solid heat of his body between my legs.
Then he sweeps everything off his desk.
Papers fly. Pens scatter. A stapler crashes to the floor.
“What are you-”
“Lie down.”
He pushes me back gently, and I’m lying on his desk, staring up at the ceiling, my legs dangling over the edge.
“Milo, we’re in your office-”
“We are.” He’s pushing my skirt up. “The door is locked.”
“There are other professors in this building-”
“Then you’ll have to be quiet.” His fingers hook in my underwear, dragging them down my legs. “Can you be quiet for me, darling?”
“I - probably not-”
“Then you’d better find something to bite.”
And then his mouth is on me.
I stuff my fist against my lips, biting down hard to muffle the sound that wants to escape. He’s relentless, tongue and lips and the occasional scrape of teeth, taking me apart with methodical precision.
“So sweet.” He’s talking against me, the vibrations making me shake. “So wet. You’ve been wanting this all day, haven’t you? Sitting in my class, smelling like me, thinking about my mouth-”
“Yes-”
“Shh.” His tongue flicks exactly where I need it. “Quiet, remember?”
I’m going to die. Expire right on this desk while he kills me with his tongue, and my obituary will read death by supernatural cunnilingus.
I bite my hand harder.
He eats me like a man with something to prove, greedy and filthy about it, and when I come it whites out everything, my whole body arching off the desk while I scream silently into my own palm.
He works me through it, gentling as the aftershocks fade.
Then he stands, pulls me up to sitting, and kisses me deep.
“Come with me,” he says against my lips.
“Where?”
He takes my hand and leads me to the back of his office, to a door I’d assumed was a closet.
It’s not a closet.
He opens the door, and beyond it is a bedroom.
Small but well-appointed. A large bed with dark sheets. A dresser. A window overlooking the campus. Personal effects scattered around, books, a photograph, a worn leather journal.
He lives here.
He turns to face me, something vulnerable in his expression.
“Welcome,” he says roughly. “To my actual space. Where I actually sleep. Where I’ve been imagining you for two weeks.”
I stare at him.
Then I step through the door.