Page 89 of Riptide

I hear the door click open behind me, and Finn leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, eyes fixed on me with a lazy grin that already spells trouble. He’s early today.

I can’t help but watch as he strolls in like the room belongs to him and stops a breath away.

“Hey, Professor,” he says with a smirk.Yup, trouble.

“Hey,” I echo, still adjusting my papers, even though everything’s already in order.

Then he leans in close enough so only I can hear.

“Can’t stop thinking about your mouth on me,” he murmurs, warm breath grazing my jaw. “Hope this lecture’s short, because I’m already hard for you.”

And just like that, he’s gone. Sliding into his seat in the second row, legs stretched out, expression a picture of innocence as the room fills with other students.

I stare at the board for a solid five seconds, brain buffering like a broken computer as the rest of the class filters in.

“Right,” I say, voice not quite steady. “Where were we? Chain rule. Let’s… Let’s start with that.”

The next hour is absolute hell.

I can’t look at him without remembering the sound of his voice in my ear. I can’t walk past his row without wondering if he’s still half hard beneath the table. Halfway through an example problem, I realize I’ve written the wrong variable, and by the time I correct it, my ears are burning and my shirt feels too tight across my chest.

He’s no help either. Watching me like he knows.Pen twirling between his fingers, mouth curled in a half-smile that says he could undo me with a single word if he wanted to.

By the time I dismiss the class, I’m wrecked in the quietest, most excruciating way. He waits until the last student leaves before he even moves.

“You okay, Professor?” he asks, tone as mild as can be.

I narrow my eyes. “You’re evil.”

His grin widens as he takes slow, measured steps toward me, one hand still gripping the strap of his bag, the other sliding into his hoodie pocket like he has all the time in the world.

“I like watching you trying not to fall apart,” he says, low and deliberate. “You get all flustered and formal—‘let’s start with that’ like you’re not imagining me bent over your desk.”

“Jesus, Finn—”

He closes the distance between us and cages me in against the desk, hips brushing mine, hands planted on either side. “You want me to stop?” I’m taken back immediately to one of our first classes together when he asked me the same question. The answer was no then, and it’s still no, more of afuck no, never stop.

Then he drops his bag, grabs a fistful of my shirt, and pulls me into him.

The kiss is immediate. Desperate. His mouth crashes into mine, and I match his neediness without thinking. My hands find his hips, then his back, dragging him closer as his fingers push into my hair like he’s been starving for this. Like I’m the only one that’ll fix it.

He kisses like he doesn’t care if we’re caught. Like he wants to ruin me right here, in the room, where I’m supposed to be in control.

“Fuck,” he gasps against my mouth, kissing me again before I can speak. “I wasn’t joking earlier. I really need you to make me come.”

He presses closer, breath hitching, hands sliding under my sweater, fingers splayed across my spine. I grip the edge of the desk behind me to stay grounded, but it’s useless; he’s everywhere.

And then he grinds against me slowly. Every movement he makes draws filthy sounds from me, then when he mirrors my noises and groans against my throat, my restraint snaps, classroom be damned. I grab his waist, press our hips together harder, kiss him so deeply, he whimpers into it. Every nerve I have is lit up, begging me to give in.

But then I remember why I came in early. Why I spent the morning rehearsing the words in my head.

I pull back, just enough to look at him. “Finn, wait.”

His breath stutters. “What?”

“I need to tell you something.”

Inhale. Focus. Tell him.

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