Chapter 2 Chapter two
Zara
The entire lecture hall had gone dead silent after Professor Darren Kane’s words landed like a bomb.
“I believe we’ve already met.”
Heat flooded my face so fast I thought I might actually combust. Every pair of eyes in the room swung between us, curious, confused and amused. I couldn’t speak. My tongue felt glued to the roof of my mouth. The arrogant bastard from the bar...the one I’d called grandpa and told to go jerk off was standing at the front of the class like he owned the fucking universe.
Apparently he was 'THE' fucking Professor Kane.
He didn’t wait for me to answer. His grey eyes held mine for one long, charged second, then he turned his attention to the rest of the class as if I were nothing more than an annoying latecomer.
“Most students seem to think the night before my class is best spent in bars or random places instead of actually preparing,” he said, his deep voice effortlessly resounding through the hall. “They stumble in late, hungover, and constitute a nuisance to those who actually want to learn. Let me be very clear now, that will not be tolerated here.”
A ripple of laughter swept through the room. Some guys in the back even clapped lightly. My stomach twisted, the embarrassment burned so hot I wanted to melt into the floor.
He glanced back at me, one eyebrow raised. “Miss…?”
I swallowed hard, my voice barely above a whisper. “Lennox. Zara Lennox.”
“Miss Lennox,” he repeated, letting my name roll off his tongue like he was tasting it. “Please find a place to sit and stop obstructing the class. We’ve already wasted enough time.”
The laughter grew louder. I wanted to die, or scream. Or both.
From the fourth row, my best friend Clara waved frantically, her eyes wide with second-hand embarrassment. She patted the empty seat beside her. I hurried down the aisle on shaky legs, my short black pleated skirt swishing against my thighs. My crop top suddenly felt too tight and revealing. I slid into the seat, cheeks still flaming, and sank as low as I could go.
Clara leaned over, whispering, “Holy shit, Zara. What the fuck was that? You know him?”
“Shut up,” I hissed back, grabbing my notebook like it could shield me.
Professor Kane launched into the lecture without missing a beat and damn it, he was brilliant.
His voice wrapped around complex political theory concepts with effortless authority...Hobbes, Locke, Rousseau breaking them down in ways that made the material feel alive, seductive even.
He paced slowly in front of the lectern, those rolled-up sleeves showing off strong forearms, his broad shoulders filling out the navy shirt perfectly. The man moved like he owned the room.
I hated how much I noticed.
Most of the female students were practically vibrating in their seats, eager to answer his questions. When he asked about the social contract and its modern implications, hands shot up everywhere.
A blonde girl in the second row practically bounced. “Professor Kane, I think in today’s society...”
“Professor Kane,” another mimicked in a sweet feminine voice, batting her lashes. “Yes, exactly, Professor Kane.”
Fucking assholes. The way they said his name...like it was candy made my skin crawl. I caught a few of them exchanging glances, whispering behind their notebooks, clearly already fantasizing about the hot new professor who was twice our age and looked like he could ruin lives with a single look.
Bastard. He probably loved it.
I kept my head down, scribbling notes furiously even though my mind kept flashing back to last night, the way I’d called him grandpa, told him his dick hadn’t seen action in years. Fuck I thought that was the last time I saw him, apparently not, now here he was, commanding the room like a king while I sat there looking like a mouse.
Every time his gaze swept the hall, it seemed to linger on me just a fraction longer than anyone else. Or maybe I was imagining it. The heat between my thighs definitely wasn’t imaginary though. Traitorous body. The man was an asshole, but the memory of his deep voice saying “little girl” in that bar sent unwelcome sparks racing through me.
He taught for the full hour without mercy and by the end of class, the room felt electric. Students were buzzing, half terrified, half turned on by his 'teaching.'
“Before you leave,” he said, his voice dropping low again as he leaned against the lectern, “your assignment. Read chapters one through three of Locke’s Second Treatise and discuss how his ideas on property and consent apply to contemporary power structures. And Miss Lennox...” he paused, grey eyes finding mine across the sea of heads, “make sure you’ve actually read it. I expect better from students who claim to know how to live.”
A few snickers broke out. My face burned hotter.
He straightened, scanning the entire hall one last time. “In my next class, anyone who comes late will not be allowed in. I believe I have made myself perfectly clear.”
His gaze landed on me again. Then the corner of his mouth lifted in an arrogant smirk.
Without another word, he gathered his notes and strode out of the lecture hall, leaving the room exploding into chatter behind him.
Clara turned to me immediately, eyes wide. “Girl. What the actual fuck happened last night? You need to spill right now.”
I couldn’t even answer her. My pulse was still racing, a confusing mix of humiliation and something hot and liquid that settled low in my pussy every time I remembered the way he’d looked at me when he said we’d already met.
Professor Darren Kane wasn’t just brilliant.
He was trouble and the worst part? After the way he’d embarrassed me in front of everyone, after calling me out like that… I was already wondering what those strong hands would feel like if they ever touched me again.
Not as a polite stranger in a bar.
But as the man who clearly wanted to teach me a lesson.
