Page 24 of The Naughty Professor

Chapter Twenty-Two

Jax

The lights hit me like a promise. Hot, golden, alive.

The first bass drop hit, and I rolled my hips to it — slow, teasing, deliberate. The crowd roared, a tidal wave of hunger that hit my chest and rushed straight to my ego.

I threw my arms out wide, grinning like I owned the place. “You love me, Badlands?”

The answer was a scream that rattled the glassware.

I strutted to the edge of the stage, dragging a finger along my slick chest. A guy in the front row reached for me — tall, gym-built, jawline that could open letters.

I bent low enough for him to smell the sweat and cologne on my skin.

His hand hovered just shy of my thigh. I smirked, whispered, “You couldn’t handle me,” and backed away before he could blink.

The crowd howled.

A woman tossed a twenty-dollar bill at me like it was a bouquet. I caught it and winked. “Sweetheart, I’m not cheap,” I said around the paper. “But keep them coming.”

Laughter rippled through the room. I dropped the bill into my thong and spun, giving them what they came for.

Flashbulbs went off like fireworks.

Someone shouted, “Take it off!” and I turned toward the voice, pretending to scan the audience. “You want more?” I called, tracing my fingers down my chest to the waistband of gold. “I don’t hear you!”

The sound that came back was pure chaos — cheering, clapping, stamping feet. The floor vibrated under me.

I pointed at a man in a floral shirt. “You. You look like a sinner.” I motioned him closer, just to watch him blush. “Don’t worry,” I said into the mic, my voice low and wicked, “confession starts after midnight.”

He practically melted.

God, it was intoxicating — all those eyes, all that desire. I could taste it in the air — thick and sweet. Every move I made, they matched with sound — every twist of my hips, every flick of my tongue, every wink.

I was the music, the motion, and everyone’s fantasy.

I laughed, breathless and drunk on adoration. “You love me,” I said, and they screamed yes. “You need me,” I teased, rolling my body to the beat.

A hundred phone screens captured every second, but I didn’t care. I wanted them to see all of me. And just like that, I wasn’t performing anymore — I was consuming them, one glance, one gasp, one cheer at a time.

When I looked down at the front row, there he was.

Thorne.

God, he looked so hot — all calm control and crisp lines, watching me over the rim of his glass like he was grading my performance. His jaw was tight, and his eyes unreadable. But I knew better. I’d seen that face come undone.

I sauntered to the edge of the stage and leaned down until our faces were inches apart. “You remember last night, Professor?” I purred, my voice wrapping around him like smoke. “I’m ready for an encore.”

I slid down into his lap, my back arching, and my ass grinding against his thigh in time with the music.

“Jax,” he said, voice low, almost like a warning.

“Say it again,” I whispered, my mouth near his ear. “Say my name.”

“Jax.”

The way he said it — part plea, part disbelief — made my blood spark.

For a moment, there was no one else. No music, and no noise. Just him and me and the pounding of two hearts that wanted the same impossible thing.

Then the world tilted.

It was small at first — a hiccup in gravity? I blinked hard, shook my head, and smiled wider to cover it. It was probably the lights, or the adrenaline.

I got back on stage, spun around, threw my arms wide. “You want more?”

The crowd roared.

“Then let’s make this night unforgettable!”

I started to dance again — hips, arms, body all in sync — but halfway through a spin, the dizziness hit harder. The lights blurred, doubled. The beat warped, slowing down and then speeding up again.

My chest tightened, and my skin tingled. Something was… off.

I pressed a hand to my temple. “Whoa, easy there, tiger,” I muttered under my breath.

The world swam. I blinked, and for half a second, I didn’t recognize my reflection in the mirrored panel behind the stage.

The grin slipped from my face.

“What the—”

My body moved on autopilot, but my thoughts weren’t keeping up. Every cheer, every flash of a camera suddenly felt too loud, too bright, too real.

And then, something inside me cracked.

I stumbled. My vision split — one half glitter and gold, the other sterile white lab walls.

And then panic struck me.

What am I doing on this stage?

Oh God.

My breath hitched. Where are my clothes?

I looked down.

Gold thong. Glitter everywhere. Nothing else.

Oh. My. God.

I’m only wearing a thong!

The crowd kept cheering, thinking it was all part of the act. I stood frozen under the lights, heart hammering, every nerve ending screaming in embarrassment.

The swagger drained out of me like air from a balloon. My muscles softened, my stance folded in. My confident smirk vanished, replaced by sheer horror.

And just like that, the room warped around me. Cheers turned into a dull roar, and the sweat cooling on my skin felt wrong. Heavy. Shameful.

Oh fuck.

I was Felix Sterling, professor of chemistry, and chronic overthinker. And I was standing almost-naked on a stage in front of a bunch of strangers. And oh shit, my students and co-workers too.

I tried to move, but my limbs felt foreign — like I’d been dropped into someone else’s skin. I could see the crowd’s faces now, not as Jax’s adoring fans, but as individual eyes — curious, confused, pitying.

I snuck a glance at Thorne, and his expression shifted from amusement to concern.

“Felix?” he mouthed.

I turned away and wanted to run. Every cell in my body screamed, hide. Slip out the back. Pretend that none of this happened. But I’d been doing that my entire life. Avoiding conflict, avoiding attention, avoiding being seen.

Because being seen meant being judged.

Being seen meant being hurt.

But something else stirred inside me — something that hadn’t been there before. A spark left behind by Jax.

For the first time, I was tired of being afraid.

I’d spent years apologizing for existing — in my classroom, with my family, and in my own damn skin. I was always polite, careful, and, damn it, invisible.

But not tonight.

Tonight, I was standing in a gold thong under a spotlight, and there was no place to hide.

I took a deep breath. My hands were shaking, but I raised one toward the DJ booth. The guy blinked at me, confused. I mimed cutting the music.

The bass faded, and the silence that followed was deafening.

Hundreds of eyes locked on me. My knees trembled, and my heart pounded. But I didn’t look away from them.

“Uh… hi,” I said, my voice cracking through the microphone.

A ripple of laughter moved through the crowd. Not cruel — just expectant.

“I, uh…” I cleared my throat. “This isn’t exactly how I planned to… conduct myself.” A weak chuckle escaped me. “Conduct. Chemistry joke.”

More laughter, and a few groans.

Okay. Okay, I could do this.

I straightened my spine, feeling the chill of the air against my bare skin. “You were expecting Jax — and, well, so was I. But I think… he’s gone for good.”

A murmur spread through the crowd.

“I’m Felix,” I said. “Dr. Felix Sterling. The boring one. The guy who grades your midterms and never dances, or has much to say.”

The absurdity hit me mid-sentence. “And apparently,” I added, “I’m also the guy who should never be left alone with a chemistry set and low self-esteem.”

I felt something loosen inside me — that tight, constant knot of fear. For once, I wasn’t performing or pretending. I was just… me.

“Here’s the thing,” I said, scanning the crowd. “I’ve spent most of my life afraid. Afraid of failure. Of rejection. Of being seen too much, or not enough. And somewhere along the way, I started thinking fear was safer than freedom.”

The crowd had gone quiet now.

I took a shaky breath. “But you know what? Fear’s exhausting. And hiding — it doesn’t protect you. It just keeps you small.”

My throat tightened. “So yeah. I made a serum that turned me into Jax. The kind of man I thought I wanted to be — bold, loud, unashamed. But maybe… maybe what I really needed was to stop apologizing for being myself.”

Silence and looks of confusion stared back at me.

Thorne hadn’t looked away. His glass sat forgotten, his eyes locked on me like he was trying to work out an equation he’d never seen before.

Before I could talk myself out of it, my feet were moving. I stepped off the stage and stood in front of him.

“I’ve had a crush on you, Thorne, since the day we met,” I blurted. My voice cracked. “Four years ago. I was too scared to say anything then, and apparently, the only way I could ever tell you was while half-naked and possibly violating several university ethics codes.”

Someone coughed.

I ran a hand through my hair, laughing shakily. “This is the real me. I’m not some crazy, sexy dancer, or even particularly coordinated.” I gestured toward my glitter-coated chest. “I’m just a geeky chemistry professor who doesn’t know how to flirt without a formula.”

A ripple of nervous laughter rolled through the audience.

I swallowed. “Can we go on a date? You know—no personas, no masks, no glitter. Just us. Me and you?”

For a heartbeat, no one breathed. Then Thorne stood up slowly, deliberately, as if the world might break if he moved too fast. His expression softened.

“Felix,” he said, voice low but carrying. “Come here.”

He opened his arms.

The crowd gasped as I stepped forward and into his arms. We didn’t speak for a long moment, just looked at each other, and I saw the faintest smile curve his lips before he leaned in and kissed me.

The crowd erupted. Whistles, applause, and someone yelled, “ABOUT DAMN TIME!”

And then—

A shriek of feedback split the air.

A woman’s voice yelled out: “Oh, honey, I live for a dramatic confession, but enough with the foreplay—let’s give the audience a show!”

I turned just in time to see her.

She came strutting down the stage like a raging storm in stilettos: black hair cascading in glossy waves, eyes rimmed in liquid smoke, wearing nothing but a bedazzled bra, matching panties, and a pink feather boa that swirled behind her like a comet tail.

Juniper?

Her skin shimmered under the lights. She looked half-angel, half-succubus, and ready to seduce the crowd.

She snatched the microphone from my hand with a manicured flourish. “Name’s Lux, boys and girls,” she said, tossing her hair. “And clearly, this party needs a woman’s touch.”

The crowd roared.

Lux winked at the DJ booth. “Hit it, sweetheart!”

The music exploded back to life, bass thrumming through the floor. Thorne’s arms were still around me as Lux took center stage, and the crowd screamed like the night had just begun again.

Thorne looked at me with confusion in his eyes. “Do you know her?”

I sighed. “It’s… complicated.”