Chapter 30

DIMITRI

I have a hyperfixation on Anya’s legs.

They are crossed in front of me as she sits perched on the desk in my office, facing me. Her skin is glistening, so soft to the touch, and she has sprayed on a rose-scented perfume today. It carries a mouthwatering quality to it.

She is talking about something regarding her upcoming exams, but I can’t tear my eyes off her legs. I want to pave a path with my tongue from one end to the other and wrap them around my waist as I—

“Dimitri!” Her shout brings me back to myself.

I pause, my gaze connecting with hers, and she wears a disappointed expression. “Huh?” I croak out as I swallow a thick lump of desire.

“Don’t be a pervert, now, Professor,” Anya says, attempting to hide the twitch in the corner of her lips. “Doesn’t suit you.”

She unbuttons her black blazer, spreading it open and bringing my attention to the way her shirt strains over her tits. She has the top few buttons undone, which shows a brief glimpse of the route that descends to her cleavage. Her casual tie hangs loosely from her neck.

I drag my chair closer, praying she doesn’t notice how hard I am under my pants. I clear my throat and fight to keep my stare off her legs. “Sorry, what did you need help with?” I ask, sounding more like a professor than the boyfriend she has come to meet during lunch break.

It is risky for us to be seen together; we are walking through fire every time we are in the same room. But these moments between us are precious. Our relationship is based on hiding from the world like we are dirty together.

Our situation irks me, although I can’t do anything about it. I just need to keep reminding myself it is only temporary. Once Anya’s final exams are done, she and I can make our relationship official without my superiors objecting to it.

However, I am not so in love with my job that I fear losing it. In fact, nothing is stopping me from being anywhere else right now with a title that doesn’t come with so many complications as to when and how I can be with my girlfriend.

“I need some tips on how to pass Mrs. Sharma’s paper,” she proceeds to say, interrupting my dangerous thoughts about our future. “She’s having us do essays on the postcolonial literature part.”

“It’s quite easy.”

“Duh, for you!” She rolls her eyes and shakes her head. Her gestures are cute as she moves her hands while she talks. “I can’t wrap my head around…”

Her words fade away when she uncrosses her legs and shifts on her ass. I am then further distracted by the sunlight casting a smooth shimmering glow on her.

The sexual tension in the room grows, and the tips of my fingers itch to touch her. It shouldn’t be this way. I shouldn’t be this obsessed with her.

We fucked only last night. I showed up at her apartment with tacos, and we had bed-smashing sex for five whole hours, which annoyed her neighbor—the best friend who hates the very sight of me, Vanessa.

I can still taste her cum on my tongue. It is an aphrodisiac, urging me to seek more. A moan rumbles through my throat as I recall eating her pussy.

“Dimitri!”

My name brings me back again, and I am surprised to see that my nose is almost touching her leg. I jerk up, my tight pants becoming a disturbing sensation. “Yeah?” I murmur, my face turning hot as I avoid meeting her gaze.

“Thinking about sex all the time is not right,” she says with a touch of humor in her tone that tells me she is secretly laughing at my situation.

“Sorry,” I mutter, a little embarrassed. “Your skirt is too short today.”

“And?” she retorts, giving me a frown.

I read that frown quickly and correct my words. “Nothing. Absolutely nothing.” I shake my head. “You can wear whatever you want.”

Seeing me fumbling, she smiles brightly. She taps my head like I am a child. “Good boy. Back to the topic.”

“Yeah, okay.” I rub a hand over my bearded cheeks and focus. Looking at Anya’s notebook, I read her scribbled list of doubts. “Here’s what we’ll do—go home and send me the parts you don’t understand. I’ll make notes for you. Mrs. Sharma chooses easy topics for her papers.”

Mrs. Sharma also checks the papers more sternly than any other professor. But sharing that information with Anya will only make the girl more anxious.

Anya shuts the notebook and taps it on my head. “Everything is easy to you with that big, fat brain, Professor.”

I shrug. “I have the experience now,” I tell her with pride in my voice. “I was just like you once.”

“Don’t talk as if you were a grandpa, ~Daddy~.” Her voice lowers to a whisper when she says that last word.

She winks, and a smirk blooms on my lips.

“~Brat~.”

Her cheeks flush at the word. She is about to retort when there is a sudden knock on the door. Anya jumps from the desk, whipping her head left to right. Before I can tell her to remain calm, she pushes my chair back and crawls under my desk, her tote bag pulled to her chest.

“Seriously?” I smirk, noting her flustered expression.

“Shut up!” she hisses. “I’m doing it for you. Come closer now.”

I roll my chair back in place and look at the door. “Come in,” I say, and Sage steps in like she owns the room.