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“I never challenged him, I just said he wasn’t my favorite.”
He cocks a pierced eyebrow, his devilish expression infused with intelligence. It’s the most seductive thing I’ve ever seen. “Didn’t you write your dissertation about how Friedrich Nietzsche twisted millenia-old structures of the collective human psyche?” Those eyebrows dip, his eyes drilling into mine. “It was your thesis that he used his unusually high intelligence to mask his basic cynicism. Unless I read the wrong paper?”
Gasps travel through the hall. I open my mouth but no words make it out. He obviously read my paper, and he did it thoroughly. But why? His level of interest in me is downright creepy, and yet instead of dread, wetness seeps into my panties.
“That doesn't mean I don’t appreciate Nietzsche,” I counter. “His skill in making his arguments appear elegant despite their basic nature aren’t without merit.”
“No, I know,” Micah says. “It’s not like you despise him the way you do Schopenhauer.”
I freeze. How the fuck can he possibly know that?
“I believe you called him a misogynistic bastard in front of your professor once, back when you were yourself a student,” he continues, surely reading the shock on my face.
Damn him, he’s peeling my layers off one by one. Soon, he’ll have me stripped to my bare soul, and I can’t put up with this pressure in a hall full of students. I clear my throat and square my shoulders.
“Mr. Royales, this was interesting, but if you don’t mind, I have a class to teach here. And since you’re not technically a student enrolled in this class, I’ll have to ask you to leave.”
“I actually do mind.” He makes himself comfortable in his seat, closing his arms over his adamant chest. I shift on my feet, cursing myself for even thinking about how his thighs felt under my palms last night. I’m not doing myself any fucking favors.
“You can always sign up for next semester,” I push, faking a calm I don’t feel.
“Already tried. Your class is full, which leaves us with only the possibility of joining one lecture at a time and listening.”
Bullshit. He’s Micah Royales, he could have gotten a spot easily. This is about him staying here now.
“Emphasis on listening,” I counter. “You’re not supposed to interject, much less disturb. And since that already happened, I would really appreciate it if you left my class,” I say through my teeth, but on the inside I’m cracking. Micah feels it too, because he gives me that devastating, perfect grin.
“And if I don’t?”
A hair-raising quiet spreads over the entire room. Everybody seems to be holding their breath, eyes darting between Micah and me. The other two Kings keep quiet, yet their entire aura is dripping with menace, making everyone around them lean away and hunch over their gadgets and notes.
Micah keeps his steel-hard stare on me, a challenge in itself. My blood boils in my veins. He’s making me look weak in front of my students, and I can’t let him get away with it.
And he knows it. It’s why he’s still here.
“Then I’ll have to insist that you remain after class,” I bark. “We need to have a serious conversation.”
“I couldn’t agree more.” He settles comfortably in his seat, keeping that breathtaking grin on full display. I clear my throat and turn my back at him in order to get on with the class. I have to avoid seeing the beautiful edges of his face and those butterfly-inducing dimples if I want to keep a clear head.
I try to go on with my class, but he keeps talking over the others and making it impossible. The other students snap their mouths shut, of course, since he’s Micah Fucking Royales, which is also why everybody is so damn relieved when the class is over. Students gather their things and scurry away, even if some of them—mostly girls—glance over their shoulders with a mixture of curiosity and lust. All of the Kings are masturbation material, but this daredevil is in a league of his own. Especially when he gets a chair from beside the high window and places it right in front of my lectern. He even throws one last wink in their direction just before the door closes.
With the students now out of the room, the space feels palatial. Even the silence seems to be echoing against the walls, and Micah gives it a few moments to sink in. He just sits there, looking mouthwatering in his leather jacket and with that mocking grin on his face, making no attempt to fill it.
“You did this on purpose,” I state, my shoulders pulled back.
He keeps silent, only his strong chin dipping to allow his eyes to spill their darkness into mine. I can feel his influence creeping into me like a demon’s, taking possession of me, biding its time.
“Why?” This time, my voice comes out strangled.
“You know why. You called him.”
I blink down at Micah, trying to understand how he found out so fast. A muscle feathers in his jaw before he bursts into laughter, but the amusement doesn’t reach his eyes.
“You didn’t think I’d let you have that burner phone back without bugging it first, did you?” The laughter slowly fades, and his stare becomes heavy, suffocating. “That would have been very unprofessional of me.”
When all I can do is swallow hard, unable to come up with anything to say, he chuckles darkly and continues. “Also, I wanted to see if you look at other students the way you looked at me last night, while you pleasured yourself.”
“You’re sick.”
