Chapter 24

He's pacing in his glass office, a phone against his ear as he rubs his temples in apparent frustration. His white shirtsleeves are rolled up, his dark navy suit jacket hanging on the coat rack behind his desk. He's the god Jocelyn mentioned back then, hurling thunderbolts in every direction, punishing all those who dare defy him. His Royal Highness, as the press calls him, is very much in his element.

The lava scorches through my veins.

For the last few weeks, his demeanor toward me has been colder than the arctic and I've put up with it because I know he has his misgivings about me. I'm here to prove him wrong, to show him I'm not the cheater he claims me to be. I refuse to be lumped into the same wretched category of human beings who have offended him so.

I've been patient. I've worked hard. Even harder than before.

And to be subjected to his behavior in class earlier today? I don't think so.

Gritting my teeth, I stomp toward him. He hasn't noticed me yet. He's facing the floor-to-ceiling windows now, a scowl on his face.

Knock. Knock.

I don't bother waiting for his response before I step into his office and close the glass door with a resounding bang.

Chilly eyes meet mine as he slowly turns toward me. His nostrils flare when he sees me standing before him and he mutters something into his phone before turning it off. His lips flatten—nonchalance clearly reflected on his face—as he strolls to his desk and carefully places his phone on top before sitting down in his leather chair.

He steeples his fingers in front of him and lifts his brow at me. "How may I help you, Ms. Callahan?"

I huff out a breath and stride to the other side of his large oak desk. I toss my messenger bag on the chair and don't even bother sitting down.

Pressing my palms on the desktop, I lean over, the fury unabated in my veins.

"Professor Anderson," I grit my teeth, "I want to discuss your behavior in this morning's class."

He sits back and shrugs, his fingers twirling a fountain pen, like he has no idea what I'm talking about. "What behavior?"

"You know what I'm talking about. Fred and I were having a quick, idle conversation while working, and we weren't disrupting anyone. Your words were uncalled for."

"You guys were talking about dating in the middle of a serious project. The classroom is not the time or the place for such conversations." His fingers pause on the pen and his eyes flash with warning.

"Even if that was the case, the comments from you were unnecessarily harsh. They were unprofessional if I were to be honest. I didn't appreciate you using what I told you in confidence regarding my mom and my future plans against me in front of everyone. I've done nothing to deserve this treatment from you. I've worked hard, scored well on all the assignments, and am never late to class."

I stab my finger onto the wood desk when I want nothing more than to stab his chest.

"Your censure was completely out-of-proportion, and for an ethics professor, especially, I'd think you'd recognize that."

Muscles twitch in his jaw and a strong pulse pops against his corded neck. He's now gripping the pen tightly in his fist.

"Be careful, young lady."

"Or what?"

Perhaps I'm crazy and out of my mind, because for a moment, I don't care he's my professor and I'm his student.

All I know is, this man has been driving me absolutely insane for the last two years. When we were apart, he'd invade my dreams at night. It was his voice I heard rasping in my ear when I grew slick between my legs, with a heavy ache no toys could satisfy. And now, his commanding presence and volatile temper fill my days, driving me crazy.

Ryland presses a button on his desk, and the glass walls and windows instantly turn to solid gray. The room is immediately cloaked in relative darkness, with nothing but the light from his desk lamp offering visibility.

He slowly stands up and leans toward me, his lips parting in a sneer.

"You don't want to test me, little girl."

"I know you're disappointed I cheated for Jocelyn," I continue, undeterred.

Perhaps I'm a prey with no commonsense left because anyone will look at his dark expression and know he's seconds from snapping, the dirty bomb inside him threatening to explode at any moment and unleash devastation around him.

But I frankly don't care anymore. I need the lonely man who stood in the rain with a smile on his face, the man with the fiery eyes, rippling muscles, but had the gentlest touch, the man who wiped away my tears and handed me an umbrella so I wouldn't be subjected to the elements.

I want that man back.

"And I'm here to tell you, yet again, in your words, the world is not black and white, it's shades of gray. It was the right thing to do for her and I know you agree as well, or you would've reported me. You wouldn't have given her that extra credit assignment. So, don't you dare use this incident against me. I've done nothing to warrant this behavior from you, and I refuse to be treated this way. It seems like you have a problem with me."

I lean forward some more and our faces are now a few inches apart. He stands up and towers over me, with the desk in between us, his hot breath caressing my heated face. His intoxicating woodsy scent with hints of citrus lands on my nose and I fight an urge to inhale deeply, to seek its source on his body.

His heavy, large, muscular body.

"Whatever problem you have, it's your problem, not mine. You need to deal with it or tell me what it is. Tell me—"

"What? That you drive me fucking insane with need?" he hollers, his rough voice vibrating with tension. His face is flushed, his eyes fevered, pupils dilated.

My pussy throbs and pulses. The blistering eye of the storm. He's so breathtaking. An unforgettable whirlwind, sweeping me off my feet into his madness.

He snarls. "I shouldn't be thinking about how your lips taste. I shouldn't be thinking about how I want to pin you against me and fuck you until you see stars. I shouldn't be fucking attracted to you. You're young. Bright. Fucking beautiful. Your future is untethered. Free. Limitless. I shouldn't have broken my rules for you. You drive me abso-fucking-lutely crazy. A fucking disease, and I…and I…"

He heaves, his chest moving up and down, up and down, his eyes dipping to my parted lips.

I lean forward, drawn to those perfect lips of his. "You what?" I whisper.

"And I," he rasps, "Shit. Fuck this shit."

The tension between us snaps.

He clasps his large hand around the back of my neck and tugs me to him, slamming his lips on mine.

My world spins as he claims me with his mouth, a raging inferno barreling through my body with every swipe of his tongue. He invades and overpowers my senses. His teeth make an appearance, biting on my plump lip as I let out a ragged moan and claw his neck, his back, any part of his body I can reach with the wide desk between us.

He kisses me like I'm an elixir that'll fix his madness.

He kisses me like he's desperate and will die without having his lips on mine.

My heart skydives and free-falls and I meet his passion and heated aggression with clawing hands and raking nails.

With a rough growl, he swipes his arm over the surface of his desk, sending papers, pens, and God knows what else to the floor and hauls me over the desktop in one fell swoop. Like I weigh absolutely nothing.

My core clenches at this outrageous display of masculinity. He pins me to the desk and presses his hot, hard body on top of mine. My legs part of their own accord and I wrap them around his muscular thighs. My fingers dig into his back as he manhandles my face with a roughness that sends me reeling. His mouth claims me over and over again and everything feels feverish, my body on fire. I can't get enough. I want the clothes to disappear between us.

Arching my body up, I rub against the solid steel of his erection, which settles over my jean-clad pussy. He hisses like the motion singes him. He's huge. Long and thick from the large bulge in front of his pants.

"Oh my God, yes," I moan when we part for breath.

"Fuck me. Why is this so good?" he grunts as he grinds against me, his hands trailing down my body possessively, like I'm a feast he doesn't know if he'll ever experience again. He squeezes my heavy breasts over my thin tank top, his fingers pinching my hard nipples, and I let out a mewl.

"I'm fucking obsessed. Out of my mind. You drive me fucking insane," he growls against my neck as he bites the tender flesh there, each pinch sending a sharp current of pleasure to my clit.

I gyrate against him, my hand covering my mouth, trying to stifle my moans. His hips thrust harder against me, each slide of his thick ridge hitting my clit at precisely the right angle.

"Ryland," I whimper, my hands grabbing his muscular ass, trying to roll against him as the fire builds in my pussy.

Wetness seeps through my panties. Everything is achy. Needy.

"Yes, Millie, what do you need? You need me to fuck the ever-living shit out of you?" he rasps before biting my earlobe.

"Shiiitt," I mewl as the sensation makes me clamp my legs tighter around him and he lets out a frustrated, guttural moan, his hips snapping faster against me.

The flames climb rapidly, the sparks igniting, our hearts colliding, and the world ceases to be a swath of gray but is an array of incandescent colors instead.

"Yes, oh my God, yes. I need you inside me," I whimper into his ear as more wetness seeps out of my pussy. I need him inside me. I feel like I'll die without him filling me.

Groaning, he ruts harder against me and I feel his cock lengthening.

I thrash on the desk. "Yes, please, please, yes—"

Riiiiiing.

The ringing of the phone lying on the floor is a sudden deluge of icy rain, shattering the alternate world we are in. He freezes for a millisecond before hauling himself off me like I'm a burning hot stovetop, leaving me a melted mess on top of his desk, my pussy throbbing with unslaked need. I can only imagine how I look right now—hair in disarray, bee-stung lips, hard nipples threatening to poke holes through my thin cotton tank, my legs spread and hips arching.

Panting, my lungs rake in desperate gulps of oxygen as reality swiftly sets in.

I almost had sex with my professor in his office. Shit. I almost threw our futures away and crossed a line we could never undo.

Judging from the fury on his face as he scrambles to mute the ringing phone on the floor, he feels the same way.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," he chants under his breath, his fingers raking through and pulling at his glorious dark hair, his forehead gleaming with sweat.

He turns around and faces the wall. I see the tightness of the muscles bunching on his back, the trembling of his hands as they knot against his sides. I hear the harshness of his panting breaths.

Thump.

He slams his palms onto the filing cabinet, the loud slap echoing in the quiet room. "Fuck. Fuck. Fuck." More frustration. More anger. More…everything.

My limbs finally awaken, and I quickly climb off the desk. I straighten my clothes, my hands shaking as I smooth my tangled hair and touch my heated face. The thumping in my chest is a devastating earthquake and I find myself disoriented.

"Go." His voice is rough. He's still not facing me. "This was a mistake. It will never happen again."

His words are a blade thrust into my trembling heart and the sharp pain wrenches the air from my lungs. It's the right thing to do, my mind whispers, trying to make itself heard in the madness and chaos around me.

But I don't care, my heart retorts. I want him. I want more. I need more.

"Ryland—" My heart won out.

"Go! We'll never speak of this again."

He whips his body toward me, his finger pointing at the door, and what I see on his face devastates me, the dagger driving deeper and twisting into the bloody wound in my chest.

His anguished eyes reek of self-hatred and self-flagellation. The throbbing vein on his forehead threatens to burst. The overarching regret radiating from his trembling frame unmoors me.

My heart clenches and plummets, a bloody mess at the bottom of my soul.

"Leave, Millie. Please," he begs.

Moisture prickles my eyes and without a further word, I turn around, open the door, and dart out of his office.