Taming My Rogue Professor

CHAPTER ONE

“You don’t belong here, kitten.”

The deep, gravelly voice cut through the thick haze of smoke and cheap perfume, making the hairs on the back of Lyca Steele’s neck rise.

Her fingers clenched around the cold metal pole in front of her, her sweaty palms barely keeping her upright as she struggled to maintain her balance.

She hadn’t even noticed him enter, but now she felt his presence like a storm rolling in, dark and powerful, sucking all the air out of the dimly lit club.

Her breath hitched as she forced herself to keep moving, swaying her hips in what she hoped was a seductive rhythm. The pounding bass of the music vibrated through the floor, matching the erratic beat of her heart.

She was terrible at this.

She knew it.

They knew it.

And he knew it.

The man sitting in the private booth at the edge of the stage didn’t look like the usual customers who came to gawk at half-naked women with hungry, glazed-over stares.

No.

He was different.

He was watching her, but not like the others.

His gaze wasn’t filled with lust.

It was something more dangerous.

Curiosity.

Amusement.

Possession.

Lyca swallowed hard, forcing her legs to keep moving despite the knot of dread forming in her stomach.

She wasn’t here because she wanted to be.

She was here because she had no choice.

One more week. That was all she needed. Just enough money to pay for her nursing uniform and finally start her new life.

She just had to survive this first night.

But when her eyes flickered to the man in the booth again, a shiver ran down her spine.

She had a bad feeling about this.

The song ended, and she barely had time to catch her breath before the club manager, Vince, grabbed her wrist and yanked her off the stage.

“Pathetic,” he sneered, his alcohol-stained breath making her stomach turn. “You dance like a d*mn nun. You think men pay to see this?”

Lyca bit the inside of her cheek to keep from snapping back. The last thing she needed was to get fired on her first night.

“I’m sorry, I’ll—”

“Shut up,” Vince cut her off. His beady eyes flicked toward the booth in the corner. “Lucky for you, that man over there just requested a private dance. And he’s offering ten grand for it.”

Lyca blinked. “Ten grand?”

That was insane. Private dances usually paid a thousand at most.

Her heart pounded.

Vince’s lips curled into a greedy smirk. “Yeah, sweetheart. Ten. F*ck*ng. Grand. Now go in there and don’t screw this up.”

Before she could protest, he shoved her toward the VIP section.

Lyca stumbled forward, her heels clicking against the sleek floor as she made her way to the secluded lounge.

Her pulse roared in her ears when she finally got close enough to see him clearly.

The man from the booth.

Now she understood why he stood out.

He wasn’t just dangerous-looking—he was lethal.

Broad shoulders, a powerful build, and a sharp, chiseled jawline that looked like it had been sculpted from granite. He was dressed in a dark suit, the top few buttons of his crisp white shirt undone, exposing just a hint of golden skin.

But it was his eyes that made her freeze.

Piercing, ice-cold, and locked onto her like a predator sizing up his next meal.

A scar ran from the corner of his brow to his temple, only adding to the dangerous air about him.

And then there was his scent.

Dark. Woodsy. Masculine.

Something about it made her stomach flip, a deep, unexplainable pull tightening in her chest.

He lifted a glass of whiskey to his lips but didn’t drink. He just watched her over the rim, eyes filled with something unreadable.

Lyca forced herself to move, stepping into the room.

“Close the door.”

His voice was deep, rough, commanding.

She hesitated before obeying, shutting out the noise of the club. The room suddenly felt too small, the air thick with tension.

She swallowed. “Do you have a name?”

A slow smirk tugged at his lips.

“Damian Blackwood.”

The name sent a shiver down her spine, though she didn’t know why.

He leaned back against the leather couch, spreading his legs slightly, his gaze traveling down the length of her body before flicking back up to meet her eyes.

“You’re new.” It wasn’t a question.

Lyca exhaled, trying to steady herself. “Yes.”

“You don’t belong here.”

The statement made something sharp twist in her chest. She knew that. But hearing it from him made her feel exposed.

She lifted her chin. “And yet, here I am.”

Damian hummed, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. “Tell me, kitten. What’s a girl like you doing in a place like this?”

Her jaw clenched. “Dancing.”

His smirk widened. “Is that what you call it?”

Heat rushed to her face.

*ssh*l*.

She had half a mind to walk out, but ten grand was ten grand.

Sucking in a breath, she steeled herself and took a step forward.

She had barely begun to move when disaster struck.

Her heel caught on the carpet, and before she could stop it, her body tilted forward.

Straight onto him.

Her hands landed on his chest, her face inches from his, her lips dangerously close to his pants.

A startled gasp escaped her as panic shot through her veins.

She tried to push herself up, but in her flustered state, her head accidentally dipped lower—

Right over his crotch.

A deep, amused chuckle rumbled from his chest, but Lyca barely heard it.

Her mind was short-circuiting.

Before she could think, her teeth sank down—

Hard.

Damian hissed, but instead of pushing her away, he laughed.

Low. Amused. Completely unbothered.

Lyca’s eyes widened in horror.

Her face flamed as she scrambled backward, her breath coming in short, panicked gasps.

“I—I didn’t mean to—”

Damian’s shoulders shook with silent laughter. “Kitten, you just bit me.”

Oh. My. God.

Mortified, Lyca did the only thing she could think of.

She ran.

Her heart thundered as she bolted out of the room, ignoring the stunned expressions of the staff as she dashed toward the exit.

The moment she burst into the cold night air, she gulped in deep breaths, her face still burning.

What the hell had she just done?

She didn’t know.

All she knew was that she never wanted to see that man again.

But as Damian Blackwood leaned back in his chair, still smirking, a single thought ran through his mind.

He never forgot a scent.

And now he wanted her.

CHAPTER TWO

“You’re late.”

Lyca froze in the doorway, heart still racing from running across campus.

The deep, clipped voice sent a cold shiver down her spine.

She knew that voice.

Slowly, she looked up—and her stomach dropped.

Damian Blackwood.

Seated at the front of the lecture hall, glaring at her with those piercing, ice-cold eyes.

No. No, no, no.

This couldn’t be happening.

Her sweaty fingers clenched around her bag strap as she stared at the man she had bitten last night.

Her professor?

Her freaking professor?

Her brain refused to process it. She had spent all night trying to forget what happened at the club, only to walk straight into her worst nightmare.

The other students snickered, whispering to each other as they turned to look at her.

Flushed and breathless, covered in mud-staine