Page 37 of When Hearts Collide
- Friedrich Nietzsche
Thought-provoking analysis of ethics and the greater good. I look forward to witnessing your accomplishments in the future. Your mother would be proud. After everything, you’re still standing. Remember, you’re a fighter too, and one day, you’ll achieve your dreams.
- R.
My eyes prickle and burn. He sees me. He understands me. I look up, finding Ryland leaning once more against his desk, the heat of his gaze firmly on me.
Biting my lip, I smile shyly at him, only to watch his face darkening. If he didn’t hand me back the paper himself, I’d think someone else wrote those comments.
Someone nudges my shoulder, and I’m tempted to ignore her.
“Psst. Millie, Millie!” Jocelyn whispers urgently next to me.
My mind still on the man before me, I answer, “Yeah?”
“What did you get?”
“An A.”
She falls silent and I turn to look at her.
Jocelyn’s eyes well with tears and her lips wobble. “I’m so going to fail this class.”
She shows me her paper with a D scrawled on top.
My forehead pinches. “I’ll help you study, Joss. You can do this. We still have time.”
She shakes her head sadly and stares into the space in front of her.
Letting out a sigh, I turn my attention to the front of the room, where his fiery gaze meets mine once more.
Ryland’s attention is unwavering, a solid beam of spotlight in a dark room. I can bask in the warmth of his presence, and I’ll never be cold again. My eyes dart to his message on the paper before returning to his face. I arch my brow. Do you mean it? What you wrote?
He narrows his eyes, like he’s reading my mind before tilting his head slightly to the side and returns a brief cock of his dark eyebrow, the one with the small scar. Of course I do.
He then flattens his lips and crosses his arms before tilting up his head, so he’s literally looking down at me as if to say, don’t overthink this. You’re not that special.
Squaring my shoulders, I thrust my chest out, determined not to cower underneath his scrutiny.
Fragments of our interactions sift through my mind. His gentle caresses. Whispered words. My kiss on his thumb. My fevered dreams and chaotic emotions. This can’t only be one-sided. This intensity. This pulsating chemistry between us. The palpable tension. Things that should never appear between a professor and his student, with over fifteen years of life between us.
I shouldn’t encourage this. I shouldn’t test him. My reputation is at stake. The honors program, my future, everything.
But the whirlwind.
A spark of deviousness tears through me. I want to see what he’ll do next. Leaning forward slightly on my desk, I unleash a vixen I didn’t know was inside me all along. I smooth my fingers over my long, thick hair, and slowly twirl a lock around and around, winding it in circles, curling it over my delicate wrist, imagining it is him doing it.
His eyes focus on the movement, the graphite turning almost pitch black in the distance. Then, I wet my lips again, a move that was subconscious before, but this time, it’s a deliberate slow, sensual lick, feeding into the fire burning in my veins, slithering between my legs.
His eyes flare and the muscles in his arms flex and ripple as I see his fingers dig into the desk behind him, his knuckles stark white. A flush creeps up his tanned skin and his strong chest rises and falls like tumultuous ocean waves. The throbbing vein on his forehead makes a reappearance.
Feminine pride sweeps through me, and I lower my eyes, gazing at him through my lashes, and break into a smile, a warmth spreading through every atom of my body.
“Thank you,” I mouth.
He flinches and falters before swallowing again, the vein still rioting against his forehead. A muscle pulses in his cheek and he gives me the barest nod.
It’s not one-sided.
