Lunar Crest University (Forbidden Fruit)

Chapter Eleven

LUCA

WEDNESDAY, OCTOBER 11TH, 2023

T here’s no erasing Finley Dunaway from my mind. She’s etched into my brain permanently, tattooed into the hippocampus. The way her porcelain cheeks flushed crimson, her soft skin reddening under my gaze as I had her pinned to the classroom wall on Monday— it all formed a dangerous addiction in my veins. I yearn to see her rosy, burning cheeks again—a stark contrast to her green eyes and dark hair. I want to reach out and brush my thumb along her cheekbones, following the feverish glow dancing on her face.

So much for self-control.

It had taken every ounce of strength inside of my body not to touch her, to press my hardened cock against her through my pants. The mere sight of her writhing beneath me, blushing and shuddering as my fingers clamped over her full lips, turned me on. I wanted to redden her skin everywhere, with my lips, my beard, my teeth .

But the last thing she needed was another man putting his hands on her.

Get a fucking grip.

It’s all I can think about during class as I drone on about Shakespeare’s Sonnet 18 and its relation to immortality. My eyes flicker toward Finley now as I speak, walking back and forth in front of my desk, observing the way she peers down at me from her seat. Her eyes are piercing, gazing at me with such intensity, I don’t even think she realizes she’s doing so. It feels like she’s studying me to my core, and God, I almost want to allow her.

It’s exhausting trying to fight the lull of attraction toward her. How much would it hurt to give in? Just one time. Get it out of my system, wipe my hands clean of her afterward. Just once.

That’s how fucking addictions start. It’s only supposed to be once, and then suddenly, you’re doing it over and over and over .

I feel like I’m practically breaking out into a cold sweat by the end of the period from the longing stares in her direction for the last hour. I wonder if she thinks I’ve lost my mind, but she isn’t necessarily looking away, either. It’s like a game—who can look away first? I had failed every time.

The tension that fills the room is almost suffocating. I wait for it to let up as students file out of the classroom, but it only feels more constricting as it dwindles down to just her and me. Despite the extra space with everyone gone, there’s still so much strain, I need to take a deep breath as she makes her way down to my desk.

“Ready?” I ask her quietly.

She purses her lips tentatively. “As I’ll ever be.”

Grabbing the quiz from my top drawer, I extend my hand as I offer it to her, my tongue darting out to wet my lips. I watch as she hesitantly reaches out to take the paper, brushing her hair behind her ear.

“Take your time,” I clear my throat. “There’s no rush.”

Her thick eyebrows cinch as she frowns at me. “I should get ten minutes just like everyone else did.”

Pressing my tongue to my cheek, I exhale gruffly. It shouldn’t surprise me that she has decided to be stubborn about this, and it really doesn’t, not as much as it lights that fire deep in my stomach. The heat rushes straight to my cock. Her attitude holds the ignition switch to my erections.

I’m a grown man, for fuck’s sake.

“If you say so.”

Grinding my molars, I struggle to keep my face impassive as I watch her stomp toward the nearest desk and plop down. The veins in my neck feel like they’re going to burst out of my skin as her skirt flutters on her thighs as she sits, brushing dangerously close to her center. Jerking my eyes away from her, I perch coolly at my desk and pretend to be busy with some papers to pass the time.

After listening to the faint sound of her writing irritably on the paper, the pencil clacking roughly against the desk, I can’t help but peek up at her through my glasses.

Her ample lips are twisted into a pout as she glares down at the quiz, her black hair cascading down her shoulders, falling in her face a few times before she blows it from her view. Her knee bounces impatiently, and the hem of her ruffled skirt inches higher and higher.

Mierda.

I’m brought back to reality as she stands swiftly from the desk, whisking up the paper and bringing it toward me, slamming it down as her nostrils flare. I raise my eyebrows dubiously at her blatant annoyance.

“There you go,” she huffs, crossing her arms.

The corner of my lip twitches.

“Something bothering you, Ms. Dunaway?” I ask, dropping my eyes to the quiz as I decide to grade it right then. “You seem upset.”

My eyes crinkle in amusement as she mutters a quick I’m fine while I skim over her answers. They’re not nearly as bad as her other quiz, which only had two questions filled out—both far from correct. Making a few marks with my red pen, I jot down her letter grade on the top of the paper before turning it toward her.

Finley’s virescent eyes flicker to the B+ .

“Thank you,” she mumbles.

The grade must’ve been enough to ease her irritability, because the frown lines disappear from her forehead as she relaxes a bit. If there’s one thing I know for certain about her, it’s that she seems to thrive off structure. Surely, not finishing her quiz on Monday had sent her into a spiral of inner turmoil. I picked up on it the moment I met her.

“Feel better?”

“I’m fine .”

My body moves before my mind can catch up with my actions. It feels like I’m watching myself in slow motion from afar, making another stupid decision as I lift from my chair to lean over the desk toward her. Keeping my eyes on hers, I reach out to gently tug her arms free from the tight hold they’re in over her chest. Her gaze drops to follow my movements, her arms falling to her sides.

“You seem pretty tense for someone who is apparently fine,” I comment lowly, inching back down into my seat.

My fingertips buzz where I touched her, and dammit, it only makes me want to do it again. The electricity. The heat . I want more of it.

Finley nods, her lips parting as if she wants to speak, but instead, she clamps her mouth shut. Picking at her skirt, she clears her throat feebly as she glances reluctantly up at me. Obviously, she has something she wants to get off her chest, but she’s holding back.

It’s for the best.

“I’m fine,” she repeats after a beat. “I’ll see you on Friday, Professor Serrano.”

She turns to leave, and instinctively, my body jerks out of the seat again—my desk scooting across the floor as my thighs nudge it out of the way. The sound makes both of us flinch as I gruffly clear my throat. Rubbing my slacks, I lick my lips.

Have I lost my fucking mind?

“It’s okay if you’re not fine,” I say. “You know…you don’t always have to be.”

She peeks back over her shoulder at me, her eyebrows knitting together as she studies me. “Yes. I know.”

My chest heaves like I’ve just run a fucking marathon, my shoulders rising and falling with each breath. My brain has clearly left the building. I’m grasping for any ounce of sanity or rationale, but I can’t find anything to hold onto as I peer at her.

“Is that all, Professor Serrano?”

Her words sound like an invitation. Or is that my cock talking?

“We’re past niceties.” I cock my head. “Aren’t we?”

Fuck.

Shut the fuck up.

“I don’t know,” she whispers. “Are we?”

I swallow the thick, cottony wad in my throat, nodding frantically now. Reaching up to loosen the tie, I tug it from my neck, trying to find the oxygen to fill my lungs. The tension in this room is constricting.

This is inappropriate. I need to get my shit together.

“Are you okay?”

I peek up at her, nodding again before walking around the desk. “Yeah. Yeah. I’m good. See you on Friday, Ms. Dunaway.”

It comes out more dismissive than I intend, and I immediately regret it as I watch the chagrin flood her features. She hums in agreement, fidgeting with the hems of her sleeves as she quickly turns to walk toward the classroom door.

It’s impractical.

There’s no way she’s disappointed to leave because of the reason I hope. The chance that she feels the same insufferable attraction as me is low, nearly impossible. Right?

It’s in my head. All in my head.

There’s only one way to find out, and instead of allowing her to leave like I should, I hurry after her. My hand smacks against the door as she opens it, slamming it shut and sighing hungrily as a squeak escapes her lips in response.

My common sense is nowhere to be found. All sanity is gone, throwing caution to the wind, disappearing into the thick of the tension that encloses us.

My subconscious screams at me as I press against her back, pinning her to the door, my hands resting on either side of her head. The voice in my head begs me to stop. To let her leave. To think about what I’m doing. Someone could walk in—see us or hear us. The heat spreads rapidly through every surface of my skin, and the butterflies flutter against every part that touches her. The hair on my neck pricks as goosebumps trail down my spine.

This is wrong.

Don’t do this, Luca.

But as the faintest, sweetest moan leaves her full lips, her body shuddering from head to toe, I know I am truly and wholly fucked.