When he finally dismissed the class, I deliberately took my time packing up my things, waiting for the other students to file out. I needed to talk to him, to start making progress on convincing him this could work between us.
When the last student left, closing the door behind them, I stood up and approached his desk. Valen was shuffling papers with more force than necessary, clearly trying to avoid looking at me.
“Professor Crowe,” I said formally, though my heart was hammering against my ribs.
“Mr. Quinn.” His voice was clipped, professional. “I trust you found today’s lecture informative.”
“Very much so.” I moved closer, noting how his shoulders tensed as I approached. “I was particularly interested in your points about outdated prejudices and families on the wrong side of history.”
That made him look up, amber eyes flashing with something that might have been anger or amusement. “I teach historical facts, not personal commentary.”
“Of course.” I set my bag down on the desk next to his papers, deliberately invading his space just slightly. “Though I couldn’t help but notice you seem to have some strong opinions about traditional magical families.”
“Strong opinions based on centuries of observation,” he replied, finally meeting my gaze directly. “Is there something specific you wanted to discuss about the curriculum, Mr. Quinn?”
The way he said my name, with that slight emphasis, made my pulse quicken. I could see the conflict in his expression, the careful professional mask warring with something much more heated underneath.
“Actually, yes.” I took another small step closer, close enough now that I could smell that familiar cologne that had driven me crazy in Pigeon Forge. “I was hoping we could discuss my... educational goals.Privately.”
His jaw tightened. “I don’t think that’s appropriate.”
“Why not?” I challenged, emboldened by the way his eyes kept flickering down to my mouth before snapping back up. “I’m auditing your class. Surely it’s reasonable for a student to want to discuss their academic interests with their professor.”
“Your academic interests.” The skepticism in his tone was unmistakable.
“Among other things.” I let my voice drop slightly, just enough to remind him of whispered conversations in dark alleys. “I’m very interested in expanding my horizons, Professor. Learning about perspectives I’ve never considered before.”
For a moment, something raw and hungry flashed across his features, and I thought I might actually be getting through tohim. But then he stepped back, putting the desk between us like a barrier.
“Mr. Quinn, I think you should leave.”
“Valen—”
“Professor Crowe,” he corrected sharply. “And yes, you should definitely leave. Now.”
I stared at him, frustration building in my chest. He was being deliberately obtuse, hiding behind professional boundaries when we both knew this was about so much more than teacher-student protocol.
“Fine,” I said, shouldering my bag. “I guess I’ll see you in the salle then.”
I didn’t wait for his response, pulling the door open and stepping into the hallway. But I caught a glimpse of his expression as I left. He was conflicted, frustrated, and definitely irritated with me. I didn’t care though.
This was far from over.
Chapter 11
Valen
Dread was not a strong enough word for what I felt as I headed toward the fencing salle. If my heart could beat, it would’ve beenracing. From nerves, from excitement, or maybe just from pure frustration. Either way, there was only one cause for all my anguish.
ArcherfuckingQuinn.
The bastard was going to get me in all sorts of trouble. And the worst part was, I wanted him to. I wanted him to push me into the locker room, pin me to the bench, and ride my cock like his life depended on it. It was all I could think about. And now the little fucker was in my class, so I had to see him three times a week and pretend I didn’t want to fuck his brains out.
The salle was already bustling with activity when I arrived, team members stretching and checking their equipment. I forced myself to walk normally instead of stalking across the floor like the predator I was, though every instinct screamed at me to either flee or find Archer and finish what we’d started in that alley, both of which were not good options.
I spotted him immediately, of course. He was near the equipment rack, already suited up in his whites, adjusting the fit of his jacket with those graceful movements that had caughtmy attention during tryouts. Even from across the room, I could see the lean lines of his body beneath the fencing gear, and my mouth went dry remembering exactly what he looked like without it.
“Focus,” I muttered under my breath, setting down my gear bag with more force than necessary. Several students glanced my way, probably wondering why their usually composed professor looked like he was ready to murder someone.
