Chapter 5

CHAPTER 5

CRUZ

M arshall looks delicious, seated behind his desk on the podium, flicking through a stack of graded papers while the sun casts streaks over his broad shoulders and rolled-up sleeves. His navy tie is loosened, and his muscles shift beneath the white, button-up shirt.

He looked even more delicious last night when I watched him sleep for hours until the sky lightened outside.

Seated on a lone chair in the corner, I observed the slow rise and fall of his diaphragm while fighting the urge to crawl into bed and drag my tongue over his quivering muscles. When he stirred, the quilt pooled dangerously low around his waist, and I had to bite my knuckles. What once started as curiosity is now a full-blown obsession with a man twice my age, but I refuse to touch him again, not until he begs me to.

And he will.

"Professor Kirk."

He stiffens, gazing blankly at the paper before him, and seconds pass before he lifts his head. "Cruz…"

I hold out the ripe apple. "A peace offering."

His eyes flick to it and he stares at the fruit as though it'll eat him alive.

My smile widens, and I shrug. "It's not poisoned."

Reaching out, he accepts it, his throat jumping as our fingers brush. Sparks tingle at that simple touch. "Thank you."

Students still filter through the door, and their chatter fades into muted background noise while we observe each other. I jerk my chin to the fruit. "Aren't you going to take a bite?"

The chair creaks beneath his weight when he eases back, observing me closely. "What's that?" he asks and nudges his chin to the poisonous plant I placed on his desk.

My fingers linger on the fragile stem, trailing a slow path over the length. "Nightshade. Don't ingest it. It's deadly."

A muscle twitches in his cheek while he silently watches me from beneath his dark lashes.

"Enjoy your apple, Professor Kirk." I turn on my heel, leaving him to stare at the toxic flower I picked before class—an homage to the first time I made him mine.

He failed to notice, though, that I swapped out his travel coffee for something a little more…exotic because he was too distracted by the red apple and everything it represents.

Snickering, I fall into my seat and sip his lukewarm coffee. Marshall places the apple on the table without taking a bite, and annoyance flares through me when he scoots his chair back and calls the class to attention.

Shoving his hands into his pockets, he rounds the desk and sits down, but I can't focus on what he says. My knee jiggles as I stare at the apple, uncharacteristically bothered that he didn't taste it after I spent the better part of fifteen minutes picking out the perfect one. Many of them were bruised or not ripe enough—short of perfection—and Marshall deserves nothing less. I wanted the shiniest fruit possible.

My spiraling thoughts grind to a halt when he picks up the cup beside him and takes a swig. He stiffens, spluttering, the content spilling from his lips.

Our eyes clash, and I quirk an eyebrow while he wipes my cum off his chin before tossing the cup into the trash can beside the desk. When he looks at me again, his cheeks are blotchy, and he tugs on his tie before straightening up and carrying on with the lesson. He refuses to look at me again, but I know he can taste my obsession on his lips and all the times I came while watching him sleep. All the times I wanted to crawl into his bed and paint every rippling muscle of his with cum.

As soon as the lesson ends, he calls my name, and I smile as I shoulder my bag, descending the steps to the raised podium with a pep in my step. His jerky movements portray his anger as he packs his paperwork into his bag with his tense back to me. "What you did… It was completely inappropriate. I am your professor, and this is my lecture hall." Spinning around, his chest expands with a shaky inhale. "You will treat me with respect, Cruz."

Fuck, he's even more irresistible when he's mad, with all that pent-up anger begging for an outlet. If he weren't so stubborn, I would bend him over the desk and shove his pants to his ankles before tangling my fingers in his mussed hair while he trembles with anticipation and fear.

Stepping onto the podium, I saunter toward him with a smile, secretly loving how rattled he is and how he stiffens when I enter his personal space. My boots touch the tips of his shiny Oxfords, and I lean into him to collect the apple perched on the desk behind him. Sinking my teeth into the crunchy flesh, I wink before turning on my heel and walking back out.

"Why did you do it?" he asks before I can leave, and my smile widens as I draw to a halt at the entrance and peer over my shoulder.

"Because you're mine."