Page 12 of The Professor's Indecent Obsession

I can’t live without her. Her heart. Her mind. Her body. Her brilliance.

It’s that simple. That terrifying.

She stirs beside me, soft and slow, and the sound she makes punches the air right out of my lungs.

“Mmm… Roman?”

Just a breath. Just my name. But my whole body locks up like she whispered a spell.

She stretches, lashes fluttering as she wakes, her arm sliding across my stomach like it belongs there. Her cheek nuzzles into the pillow for a second before she blinks up at me, eyes hazy and wide, and then she smiles.

That sleepy smile. Sweet and rumpled and a little shy.

I can’t take it.

I toss my phone aside without looking, without thinking, and lean in to kiss her. I don’t even give myself the space to say good morning. My mouth finds hers like it’s been waiting its whole life for the chance.

It’s not rough. Not demanding.

It’s reverent.

Thank you, I want to whisper into her skin.Thank you for existing. For dreaming. For writing that story and then sleeping in my bed like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“I read the whole thing,” I murmur when I finally pull back, just enough to breathe. My hand cradles her jaw, thumb tracing the soft curve of her cheek. My voice comes out rough, wrecked. “Your book. I couldn’t stop.”

Her brows lift slightly, lashes fluttering as she blinks up at me. “Really? All of it?”

Her voice is thick with sleep, warm and raspy. There’s surprise there, and something like wonder, and I feel her body shift closer, instinctively seeking mine.

“Every word. You...” I can barely get the words out. I don’t even know where to start. I press another kiss to the corner of her mouth, then to her temple, then to her shoulder as I pull her closer, tangle her up in me. My palm rests over the curve of her hip like I need it there to breathe.

“You’re brilliant, Callie,” I murmur. “I don’t even have the words. Your voice… it’s so clear. So true. And the way you write about love... fuck. You’ve got something real. Something people are going to feel in their bones.”

She flushes instantly. I feel the heat of it under my fingertips, blooming across her chest, up her neck. She tucks her face against my throat, like she needs to hide.

“I… wow. Thank you. I don’t...” she laughs a little, soft and disbelieving. “I don’t even know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything, baby,” I whisper, threading my fingers through her hair and stroking it back from her face. I shift so her body fits more snugly against mine, my hand dragging down her back, splaying across her spine. I can’t stop touching her.

She tilts her chin, just enough for our eyes to meet, and I swear to God I could drown in her.

“I’ve wanted this since I was a kid,” she says suddenly, quietly. “Being a writer. Seeing a real book with my name on the cover. I used to draw little covers on construction paper and staple the pages together. My mom still has them.”

My heart fucking aches.

Of course she did. Of course she dreamed this deeply, this earnestly. She’s full of dreams, and I’d give everything I have to make them come true.

And I’m not even just talking about the filthy ones anymore.

“You’re going to get there,” I tell her, fierce and certain. I press my lips to her knuckles, one by one. “Not just a book. Not justpublished. I’m talking book tours. Bestseller lists. Movie deals. You’re going to blow them all away.”

Her eyes shimmer with something soft and stunned. “You really think so?”

“I know so,” I say, my voice rough with it. “And anyone who tells you otherwise is an idiot or a coward.”

She lets out a breathy laugh, the sound barely a whisper between us, and tucks her head beneath my chin. Her fingers glide over my chest in slow, absent circles, like she needs to keep touching me the same way I need to touch her. Like she needs to prove we’re real.

“I, um…” Her voice is muffled, but I feel the shift in her breathing. A small flutter of nerves. “I actually already have an agent.”

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