Brad had once asked, Would you rather be an artist?
McMillan had given him a wistful smile and said, I draw in my spare time.
Didn’t seem fitting, someone like him teaching instead of drawing. Brad figured McMillan deserved to do something that made him happier.
McMillan avoided Brad’s eyes after his fucked-up answer, though. He asked a few other questions, and Brad stopped trying to draw any attention to himself. Didn’t want to mess up in front of McMillan again.
A couple of times through the lesson, McMillan looked up, his face lit by the visualizer. He would glance at Brad, his nostrils flaring, and there was no mistaking the way he was smelling Brad. As though he wanted more of Brad, wanted Brad’s scent on him.
And Brad wanted to mark this omega, make McMillan every bit his.
Sounded good, having McMillan as his own.
McMillan dragged his eyes away, leaving splotches of ink on his pros and cons list, just like he’d done on Brad’s assignments so long ago.
Some things hadn’t changed, had they?
By the time the lesson ended, Brad felt as though his jeans might split. He had no idea what McMillan had just taught for the past two hours.
All he knew was he wanted McMillan on the desk, his legs spread, his body opening around Brad’s cock. Wanted to fuck McMillan good and hard, until McMillan choked on his moan. Wanted to knot inside him, wanted to taste his skin, breathe in every bit of his musk.
Fuck, Brad was so hard it hurt.
“That’s all for class today,” McMillan said, capping his marker. “Feel free to step up if you have any questions. The next assignment will be due after your Christmas break.”
And now Brad couldn’t stop looking at him, because he’d finally, finally, get McMillan all to himself, and the other students were walking out of class like snails in winter.
McMillan tucked his markers away in his messenger bag slowly, like he wasn’t in any hurry to leave. It meant Brad stood a chance with him, didn’t it?
Brad raked his eyes down McMillan’s chest. Looked at his fragile wrists, the slope of his narrow shoulders. So many places Brad wanted to kiss.
The professor cleared his throat. Brad glanced at the last few students shuffling out. Decided he should probably pack up, in case they ended up going to someone’s place for the night. He shoved his textbook in his bag. Counted the steps until the last student left, and then he stood.
McMillan’s eyes dropped to Brad’s hips. Brad couldn’t help smiling a little—there was no way McMillan would miss the thick line in Brad’s jeans, his cock straining for touch.
A low whine slipped from McMillan’s throat. Brad throbbed for him.
The professor winced and blushed, looking away. “Sorry.”
All Brad could smell was McMillan’s rose scent, and his musk. He thought about opening his jeans, showing McMillan his cock. “Not sure what you gotta be sorry for.”
“I shouldn’t be staring.” And now the professor was packing up, his movements jerky, his hands trembling just a little.
“Haven’t seen you around,” Brad growled. “I was waiting three whole months for you to show up.”
McMillan paused, looking up. “You were?”
Brad abandoned his belongings, stalking over to the nearest door. Locked it. McMillan’s eyes grew wide; he met Brad’s gaze, and Brad licked his lips. Wanted to pin McMillan down, didn’t know if he should. Didn’t want to scare the professor off this soon. “Yeah. ‘Cept Kindling kept subbing for you, and I was getting tired of waiting for you to show.”
McMillan grimaced. “I was away from the college. Didn’t know my presence was required.”
“I want your presence in my bed,” Brad murmured, just loud enough for McMillan to hear. And McMillan sucked in a deep breath, his cheeks turning a dark red.
He wasn’t saying no, so Brad stepped over to the other classroom door, locking it.
And now they were alone in the room. Brad’s blood thrummed, his hunger heavy in his bones. Wanted McMillan closer. Wanted to taste him, reacquaint himself with every inch of McMillan’s body.
“You shouldn’t be doing that,” McMillan said weakly, watching as Brad shut off the classroom lights.
They were thrown into shadow, save for the bluish-white glow of the visualizer. It illuminated McMillan’s face, his dilated pupils. There wouldn’t be another class after this—it was almost 8PM.
“Then tell me to get out of here,” Brad murmured.
McMillan licked his lips, his throat working. He didn’t even back away when Brad prowled closer. So Brad stopped in front of him, reaching up. Touched the velvety skin of McMillan’s cheek. McMillan’s warmth soaked into Brad’s fingers, and Brad couldn’t help brushing his thumb along Ian’s lower lip.
It was soft, damp, and Brad wanted to kiss him.
“You weren’t actually… coming to class because of me, were you?” McMillan asked, meeting Brad’s eyes. There was desire in his gaze, a slight hint of uncertainty.
“I was.”
“Why…?”
“Because.”
This close, McMillan was half a head shorter than Brad, his glasses almost slipping off his nose. His eyes were a deep blue, beautiful, and Brad could fall into them and never emerge.
He gently pushed the glasses back up McMillan’s nose. Wasn’t sure if the professor could see without them.
“Brad,” McMillan whispered.
Brad’s cock jerked in his pants. “You still remember my name.”
McMillan laughed, disbelieving. “You think I’d forget you?”
“Maybe.”
But it made Brad’s pulse race, knowing McMillan had thought about him. Knowing that afternoon had stayed in McMillan’s mind through the years, just like it had for Brad.
“Where’s your alpha?” Brad asked. Glanced down—no bonding mark past McMillan’s collar.
“That’s not your business.” McMillan looked away.
“If I’m gonna fuck you, then I need to know you don’t have one,” Brad said, the words falling from his tongue faster than he could think. “’Cuz I wanna make you mine.”
McMillan’s breath hitched. “I—I don’t have one.”
Brad’s pulse throbbed between his legs. McMillan wanted to be his, then?
