Page 14

Chapter fourteen

Foxx

The clock on the wall ticks softly, marking the seconds as I set up the projector for tonight’s lecture.

Wednesday nights at the community college are usually the calmest part of my week—two hours of advanced calculus with a group of students who actually want to be here.

No one’s trying to charm their way into extra credit.

No restless undergrads struggling to juggle it all.

Just numbers, logic, and the sweet predictability of formulas.

Numbers never surprise you. Hot young men do, though.

Finn may or may not have a surprise waiting for him on his phone tonight, and even though I played it off like I wouldn’t be sending him one, the thrill and the satisfaction of knowing that I could get him there with a picture of me…

Well, that had me reaching, and before I knew it, I’d pressed send on my first dick pic.

I adjust my tie, snapping my focus back to class, and run a hand through my hair as students file in. I need this calm tonight.

Turning back to the whiteboard, I start writing the night’s topic in neat, block letters: Integration Techniques: Partial Fractions . Numbers. Focus on the numbers.

The door creaks open once more. I glance at the clock, 6:05 p.m. Late, but it happens. I don’t bother looking. “Take a seat,” I say, capping the marker.

Silence stretches a little too long. And then a voice hits me like a sucker punch.

“Yes, sir.”

The marker slips from my fingers and clatters to the floor.

My body freezes. Everything inside me draws tight as that voice registers, raspy and unmistakable.

Slowly, I turn toward the door, and there he is.

Standing just inside the classroom with a black backpack slung over one shoulder, wearing a Henley that clings to his chest and baggy jeans that hang low on his hips.

His hair is a little damp, blond curls unruly, like he’s just come from the shower. Don’t think about him in the shower .

His eyes lock on mine, swirling heat and fire, and his mouth curves into a disbelieving grin.

He shouldn’t be here. He can’t be here. He said he wasn’t a student.

Finn drags a hand through his hair, eyes still locked on mine. “This calculus?”

My throat goes dry. I bend down to pick up the marker, buying myself a second to breathe, to think. When I straighten, I meet his gaze and try for something resembling authority. “Yes,” I say. “Take a seat.”

Finn’s eyes glitter with something far too dangerous.

Then he steps farther into the room, each stride more confident than the last. As he passes me, I catch the faintest hint of that same ocean-salt scent I remember from our night together, and I’m completely thrown by how it makes my body come to life. Not now, not now.

Dropping into the front row, he slouches back in the chair and stretches his legs out in front of him like he owns the place. The backpack falls to the floor with a soft thud. And the entire time, his gaze doesn’t leave mine.

Focus. Numbers. Focus.

I clear my throat and turn back to the whiteboard.

I can get through this; I fucking have to.

“Tonight, we’ll be reviewing partial fractions and advanced integration techniques,” I say, forcing my voice into something steady.

I write the first equation, but my mind is stuck on the weight of his attention on my back.

The class moves on in fits and starts. I go through the motions: breaking down equations, answering questions, setting problems for them to solve on their own.

But my mind keeps tripping over the presence of the man sitting in the front row, twirling a pen between his fingers.

Blue eyes that pin me with a I’ve-made-you-come twinkle are unmistakable.

He said he wasn’t a student and lied about it. Fuck, what if he lied about other things too? Then the realization that he has a picture of my dick sitting on his phone strikes me like a hot poker, and I want to scream. I need this class to be over, now.

I scan the room, avoiding him, praying my voice stays steady. “Any questions before we wrap up?”

I should just dismiss them, end the class, walk out before he gets the chance to sink his teeth into me again.

Why did I just ask a question? And because the universe likes to punish me, Finn’s hand goes up.

Of course it does. I really can’t do this with him.

Exhaling through my nose, bracing myself for whatever bullshit he’s about to pull, I nod. “Yes?”

He leans back in his chair, all easy confidence, like he hasn’t been waiting for this all night. Like he doesn’t already know exactly what he’s doing to me.

“Yeah, so…” His voice is smooth, casual, but I feel the weight of it before he even finishes. “What happens when two variables keep pulling toward each other, even when they’re not supposed to?”

My pulse jumps. I lock my jaw and keep my expression blank, but it doesn’t matter. I know what he’s doing. He knows what he’s doing.

I swallow hard as I look away. “Sometimes,” I say finally, voice stiff, “they cancel each other out.”

Finn grins, pleased. He already knows I’ve given him an opening.

“And the other times?”

My eyes snap to his, and fuck . I see it, the way his pupils dilate, the way his chest rises and falls, and I wonder if he’s waiting for me to slip.

And I realize, in that exact moment, that this isn’t about math. That it never was.

I inhale slowly. Because if I don’t, I will slip.

“Sometimes,” I say, barely above a breath, “they don’t.” I tear my gaze away and set the marker on the ledge with more force than necessary. “That’s it for tonight. Homework is due next class. If you need help, my office hours are listed in the syllabus, as is my email.”

Chairs scrape. Students gather their things and file out but, of course, Finn stays put. I busy myself with the markers, stacking them neatly. Heart beating too fast, too loud. When the last student leaves, the door clicks shut, and we’re alone.

“You can’t be here,” I say, rougher than I mean to, but I’m trying to hold it together.

“Sure I can.” His chair squeaks as he leans back, stretching out those long legs. “It’s a community college. Open enrollment. And I needed a math credit.”

“That’s not what I meant.” I grip the edge of the desk. “You didn’t know I taught here, did you?” I ask, a little breathless.

“I didn’t.” His lips twitch. “Best surprise I’ve had in a while, though.”

I force my teeth together to keep the thin grip I have on my restraint. “Finn, when did you enroll here?”

“Few days ago. I wanted to do something productive with my spare time, because all I’ve been doing is wondering when the fuck I should ask you to hook up again.”

It’s like my whole body can’t decide if it wants to flinch or lean in.

I’ve been split down the middle, unable to comprehend the thoughts fraying at the edges, and he’s now in my space like temptation incarnate, saying things he shouldn’t in a voice I want to follow into every bad decision I’ve ever tried to avoid.

I’m supposed to be the adult in the room.

But right now, I’m not sure I even remember how.

“You look good like this,” he interrupts my spiraling thoughts, tone dropping to something darker. “In a tie. All serious. I had no idea that you were a teacher. Though if I’d seen your real name on the email, maybe I would’ve been more clued up. Foxx, huh? Did you think of that all by yourself?”

Heat flushes through me so fast I feel unsteady. I desperately try to contain my rapid breathing, and nod toward the door. “Go home.”

He grins. “That an invitation?”

“Finn.” My voice cracks like a whip. “This is my job. I can’t…we can’t…” I take a minute to compose whatever it is I’m trying to say and look at him, which is a mistake, because he’s hypnotizing. “Foxx is my middle name; it’s what I go by with friends. Nicholas is my first name.”

Considering me for a beat, his head tilts. “Is that what we are? Friends?” He stands and slings his backpack over his shoulder, but the glint in his eyes promises trouble. “Well, buddy , I’m going to be a model student.”

I don’t believe that for a second. Because even when he isn’t saying anything, I know I’ll be watching him every class.

When he doesn’t raise his hand, I’ll still feel his presence.

Every stretch. Every smirk. It’ll haunt me like it has been since we…

Fuck, this is all a bad idea. Maybe I could ask to run a different class?

I could take over from Bea’s Monday class.

But that idea is quickly squashed because this is the only class that fits with my other schedule at CLU.

And I took it because I love it, and they needed a reliable teacher to fill in. Shit, there goes that.

I shouldn’t want him. But wanting and doing are two very different things. I’m struggling to remember why the latter is a bad idea. “You should go.”

Before I can gather myself, he moves. One second, he’s lounging in the chair, and the next, he’s standing in front of me, too close, heat radiating from his body.

“You sure you want me to leave?” he murmurs. Blood starts pumping around my body at speed, and I’m not sure if its fight or flight, both? A mixture of wanting him, but knowing I can’t have him makes me want to run and hide, but also push him against my desk and take.

I open my mouth to say yes, to tell him again how inappropriate this is.

But the words stick, caught behind the memory of his mouth on mine.

His gaze dips to my lips. My breath falters.

When he leans in, every muscle in my body locks.

Don’t look at his lips. Don’t lean in. Don’t think about kissing him.

“You’re thinking about it,” he says.

I swallow hard. “No, I’m not.”

He hums, tilting his head. “Liar.”

Damn his voice. The rasp wraps around me like a rope, pulling me toward the edge of something I can’t afford to step into. My knuckles whiten on the edge of the desk, a futile anchor against the gravity of him standing so close.

“See, you might wear the tie and play the part, Professor , but I remember what you’re like when you stop thinking,” he whispers, voice like velvet over gravel.

“I remember what you’re like when you just feel.

How much you like to push me, to bring me to the edge over and over until I’m weak beneath you. ”

My knees weaken. “Finn…”

“Want me to stop?” His eyes flicker with heat. Do I want him to stop? Is that some kind of fucked up? “Stop reminding you how you moaned my name when you spilled all over me? Or stop standing here, pretending like you don’t want to do it again?”

I groan involuntarily, my jaw ticking. His mouth curves into a predatory grin.

“Tell me to go,” he says, voice soft but commanding. “Say you don’t want this. Say you didn’t think about me the last time you touched yourself. Say you weren’t picturing my mouth on you.”

I try. God help me, I try. But I remain mute.

Finn’s fingers graze mine where I cling to the desk. Just a brush of skin to skin, enough to ignite every nerve in my body. “Yeah,” he breathes. “That’s what I thought.”

He steps back, those blue depths holding my gaze the entire time. “See you next class, Professor. ”

The door clicks shut behind him.

I collapse onto the chair, drag both hands over my face, and curse under my breath.

I’m so, so screwed.