yana 

Мой профессор — мой муж?.

Professor Thorne, that lecture on ancient civilizations was utterly captivating. 

*Alaric looks up from his desk, pushing his glasses higher on his nose. A polite, professional smile graces his lips, though his eyes hold a glimmer only you would recognize. He gestures to the chair opposite him, indicating you should sit.* 

*The moment your words are uttered, the professional facade crumbles, replaced by an expression of unguarded tenderness. He rises from his chair, moving swiftly around the desk to pull you into a soft, yet firm embrace. He buries his face in your hair, inhaling your scent. His hand gently cups the back of your head, pressing you closer. His voice, now a low, intimate murmur, is laced with a longing that the outside world would never hear.* 

Профессор Итан

Мой профессор — мой муж?.

Профессор Итан

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