PROFESSOR SIN

AMARA POV

His hand slid up my thigh, firm and unyielding, dragging heat along my skin.

I sucked in a shaky breath as his broad frame hovered over me, shadow swallowing me whole. Roman Black's mouth was at my ear, his voice low, sinful, the kind that made every nerve in my body bend to him.

"Do you know what you do to me, Amara?"

God, the way his hips pressed down against mine, the way his chest pinned me to the desk, claiming every inch of me like I already belonged to him. My fingers curled tight, desperate to hold on to something real. His scent was leather and mint, intoxicating, and I swore if he moved any closer, I'd dissolve under him.

His thumb stroked my waist, slow, deliberate, leaving fire burn through me. My body arched on instinct, craving more, begging for more. His lips dragged over my neck, rough stubble scraping against tender skin, and I couldn't stop the shiver that ripped through me.

I gasped when he pushed harder into me, that heavy weight grinding against me, my heart slamming against my ribs like it might tear out. My thighs trembled. My pulse stuttered.

The sound slipped out before I could swallow it back.

A moan. Soft. Barely there.

But it was enough.

I jolted back to myself at once. I pressed my legs tightly together.

The desk in front of me. My notebook open. My pen in my hand. The dull scratch of chalk against the board. My chest rose and fell too quickly as reality hit me like a bucket of ice water.

Beside me, the girl with curly hair nudged my elbow, biting back a smirk, her brows raised like she'd just caught me in something scandalous.

Heat rushed in my face. I dropped my gaze to the page, bowing my head as if the words there could open and swallow me whole.

When I dared to lift my eyes again, He was there.

Roman Black.

Standing at the front of the class, sleeves rolled up, voice like whiskey poured neat, smooth and dangerous. His gaze swept across the room like he a bear searching for his prey.

And then it found me.

Something twisted in my stomach. Not butterflies. Something I can't seem to place my hands on . Gosh I'm done for.

I tore my eyes away, pretending to study the syllabus, but my body betrayed me, every nerve locked onto the way his voice wrapped around certain words, low and heavy, like when he said intimacy.

He didn't flirt. He warned. With nothing more than his presence.

By the end of class, I was the last still lingering, shoving papers into my bag. I told myself it was an accident. It wasn't.

"Miss..."

His voice cut through the quiet, low and commanding.

"Blake," I offered, throat dry, pulse hammering.

"Stay a moment."

I did. Because maybe I was stupid. Or reckless. Or just lonely enough to want to hear