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Lucas takes a deep breath, his hands flexing on my waist as if he's fighting the urge to pull me closer. "I should let you go," he murmurs, though he makes no move to step back.
"Probably," I agree, my voice breathy and unsteady.
Lucas's eyes darken even further, if that's possible. He leans in, his lips brushing my ear as he speaks, his voice a low, dangerous growl. "I'll see you in class tomorrow, Sarah. And trust me, I'll be thinking about this moment all night long."
With one last searing kiss that leaves me weak-kneed and breathless, Lucas steps back. "Drive safe," he says, his voice husky with barely restrained desire. "Sweet dreams, Sarah."
I nod, still slightly dazed. "Goodnight, Lucas."
Chapter 8
Lucas
The lecture hall fills slowly, the murmur of student voices growing as they settle into their seats. I arrange my notes on the podium, the familiar rustling of paper a stark contrast to the restless energy thrumming through my body. My eyes flick to the door every few seconds, anticipation building with each passing moment.
A gust of air from the opening door carries her scent to me, and my fingers tighten on the edge of the podium, the wood creaking under my grip.
Sarah.
My gaze snaps up, tracking her movement as she enters the room. The soft blue of her blouse makes her eyes seem even brighter, and a loose tendril of hair escapes her ponytail, curling against her neck. My hands itch to brush it back, to feel the softness of her skin beneath my fingertips.
Our eyes lock across the room, and a faint pink tints her cheeks. The tip of her tongue darts out to wet her lips, and I have to stifle a growl that threatens to escape my throat. She takes her seat, and I force myself to look away, my heart pounding in my chest.
"Good morning, class," I manage, my voice rougher than usual. I clear my throat and try again. "Today, we'll be discussing the implementation of technology in adaptive learning environments."
I begin the lecture, but my words feel mechanical, automatic. My eyes keep drifting back to Sarah, catching on the way she nibbles her pen cap, the slight furrow of concentration between her brows. Each tiny movement sends a jolt through me, my wolf pacing restlessly beneath my skin.
I pace in front of the class, trying to channel my restless energy into movement. "The key to effective adaptive learning is understanding the individual needs of each student. Technology allows us to gather and analyze data on a scale that was unimaginable just a few decades ago."
As I speak, I can feel Sarah's eyes on me. Her gaze is almost tangible, leaving a trail of heat across my skin. I turn to face the class, our eyes meeting briefly, and for a moment, the rest of the room fades away.
"Can anyone give me an example of how AI might be used in an adaptive learning system?" I ask, scanning the room. My heart rate picks up as Sarah's hand rises, slender fingers stretching towards the ceiling.
"Yes, Ms. Mitchell?"
"AI could analyze a student's performance data and adjust the difficulty or style of content presented," she answers, her voice sending a shiver down my spine. "This could create a more personalized learning experience for each student. For example, if the AI detects that a student consistently struggles with visual learning but excels with auditory information, it could adjust the presentation of future lessons accordingly."
Pride swells in my chest, mingling with the constant ache of desire. My wolf preens at our mate's knowledge and insight. "Excellent point, Ms. Mitchell," I say, my voice husky. "AI's potential in education is indeed vast. The ability to tailor content to individual learning styles could revolutionize our entire approach to education."
As the lecture continues, the air feels thicker, charged with an invisible current. Every inhale is filled with Sarah's scent, making it harder to focus on the lesson. My wolf claws at my insides, demanding action, demanding her. I grip the edge of the podium, knuckles turning white with the effort of maintaining control.
I catch Sarah shifting in her seat, crossing and uncrossing her legs. The movement draws my eye, and I have to force myself to look away, to remember where we are and who else is in the room. But the image of her smooth legs lingers in my mind, taunting me.
I hadn’t realized how difficult it would be to stand near her and maintain the facade of professionalism, when all I want to do is claim her.
By the time I dismiss the class, my shirt clings to my back with a fine sheen of sweat, my muscles tense with the effort of maintaining control. As the students file out, chattering about the upcoming assignment, Sarah lingers, her movements slow and deliberate as she packs her bag. Is she as reluctant to leave as I am to let her go?
I hope so, because I don’t think I can wait any longer.
"Ms. Mitchell," I call out, surprised by the steadiness of my voice. "A word, please?"
She approaches my desk, and the shortened distance between us makes the air crackle with tension. Her pulse jumps visibly at the base of her throat, and I fight the urge to press my lips to it, to feel her life force beneath my mouth.
"Yes, Dr. Morgan?" Her voice is soft, breathless, sending another wave of heat through my body.
I lean in close, pitching my voice low so only she can hear. The scent of her shampoo, floral and sweet, fills my nostrils. "Meet me in my office in ten minutes. We need to talk."
Sarah's eyes widen, her pupils dilating slightly. A quick inhale, the rise and fall of her chest more pronounced. She nods, a quick, jerky movement, and I catch the hitch in her breath as she turns to leave. The sway of her hips as she walks away is mesmerizing, and it takes all my willpower not to follow her immediately.
