Through his undergrad years, Brad had seen McMillan around on campus, but it was only during his last semester that he’d taken one of McMillan’s classes. And then he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about that omega—the way McMillan had bitten his lip when he was nervous, the way he’d sneaked glances at Brad, like he was curious, interested. Like he needed an alpha.
Over the course of that semester, Brad had written McMillan little notes. McMillan’s writing on his assignments had faltered, leaving messy splotches of red ink on paper. He’d given Brad more chances to ask questions during class, and Brad had gone up to him, asking if McMillan was free to help with his homework.
Those consultations had stayed mostly on schoolwork, too, until the weeks before Brad’s finals.
Then Brad had locked the office door, and McMillan had opened for him. His moan had sounded so sweet in Brad’s mouth.
McMillan had dropped out of contact the next day—no replies to Brad’s emails, no answers to his phone calls. The chemistry department had told Brad that the professor was unavailable, and Brad had figured he’d gone too far. He’d left an apology under McMillan’s door, and received no reply.
That had been okay. At that point, Brad had had nothing to his name—no job, hardly any status in the college town they lived in. There had been no point in him pursuing an omega so far out of his league.
Now… Brad had a job. He had a house, he had a car. He’d risen up a couple ranks at the station, and maybe he was in a better place.
Still wasn’t sure he was good enough for an omega, though. At the very least, he wanted to apologize to McMillan for that day, for not staying in contact after that.
You have to give yourself chances to explore, McMillan had once said with a wistful look in his eyes. It’s okay to make mistakes. You’re still young.
Something had felt right about Ian McMillan, in a way Brad hadn’t been able to explain.
He leaned back in his seat, stretching his arms behind his head. Thought about giving up and leaving—maybe he wasn’t fated to meet McMillan, anyway. The professor had probably moved on.
If he packed up now, he’d probably feel even more like a failure.
Then the door opened, and Brad looked up.
Instead of June Kindling’s muscular frame, he found someone slender at the door—blond hair streaked with gray, steel-rimmed glasses perched on his nose. Sea-blue eyes, sharp jaw, a long-sleeved shirt and dark pants.
Seven years later, Ian McMillan looked the same. Maybe a little more tired, a little older.
Brad’s heart stumbled.
He didn’t know why he was this excited, when McMillan could’ve already found himself an alpha.
McMillan froze in the doorway, his eyes locking onto Brad. Then his gaze dragged down Brad’s chest and up his arms, and an answering warmth coiled between Brad’s legs.
Brad stopped stretching. He put his hands down on his desk, and watched as McMillan took a tentative step forward, his eyes still locked on Brad. He hadn’t so much as glanced at the rest of the class.
You still remember me, then.
Brad wet his lips. He wanted to say Hey, but he was in a class with nineteen other students. It wasn’t the right time.
The professor blinked, shaking his head. Then he looked away, setting his things on the teacher’s desk. Like he was trying to pretend Brad didn’t exist.
“Good evening,” McMillan said, his voice smooth and mellow in Brad’s ears. “I’m Ian McMillan—June Kindling has been teaching this class for me for the past couple months. I’m happy to say I’m finally able to conduct classes again.”
“Why?” Brad blurted. Barely stopped himself from adding, I’ve been waiting for you.
McMillan looked up, meeting Brad’s eyes for a second. Brad’s stomach flipped.
Then McMillan looked away, giving a lopsided smile. “Health issues. It won’t affect our class schedule, though. You won’t have to worry about that.”
Brad sat straighter in his seat, looking McMillan over. What sort of health issues had kept him away for three months? It sounded like something serious.
There were crow’s feet at his eyes, and his skin was pale—but McMillan looked the same as he had. Brad still remembered; maybe he shouldn’t have. Maybe he’d been staring at McMillan’s portrait on the college website too many times.
The professor handed the nearest student a stack of graded assignments. Then he began setting up the visualizer on his desk.
Visualizers were sort of new to Brad—he’d never seen them before he’d enrolled in college. They were an advanced version of overhead projectors, with a camera that streamed videos in real-time onto a projector screen.
As he watched McMillan, Brad bit down a smile. That habit had stayed the same—most teachers these days preferred presentation slides, instead of drawing things on paper and showing those drawings to the class.
On McMillan’s hands, there was no ring. It wasn’t indicative, though. Maybe the professor had a bonding mark on his neck, or his wrists. His shirt hid all those spots, and Brad shouldn’t want to unbutton McMillan’s shirt, peel it off his skin. Kiss his collarbones.
Instead, he breathed in deep. No alpha’s woodsy scent. Just rose, and an almost overpowering musk.
McMillan was in heat.
Brad gulped, his mouth going dry. The last time Brad saw McMillan, he’d been in heat, too.
He shouldn’t want to pin McMillan beneath himself, shouldn’t want to see him shiver and beg. Shouldn’t want to step up close and ask, Do you remember that afternoon in your office?
Once upon a summer afternoon, Brad had kissed this omega, and McMillan had smiled, his eyes fluttering shut.
Brad had been with other omegas since, but none of those encounters stood out as much as that afternoon with McMillan. Having McMillan’s nails rake down his back, having him stare up at Brad like Brad was the most important person in his life.
Like Brad was the only one who could give him something he craved.
“We’ll be going through the methods of large-scale nanoparticle production today,” McMillan said, dimming the lights at the front of the classroom. “As always, these lessons work best if you’ve already read the prescribed text.”
He was so different when he was at work, that Brad knew none of the other students had seen McMillan the way he was in bed—hungry, flushed, vulnerable.
And Brad wanted to see him that way again—just the two of them, McMillan begging him for touch.
McMillan with his throat bared, groaning when Brad sucked on his pulse point.
McMillan with his cock throbbing, spurting all over Brad’s hand.
Brad’s pants grew tight.
He watched as McMillan sat behind the visualizer, uncapped a marker, and began to draw an introduction to the commercial manufacturing processes.
He couldn’t help remembering those days, back when he’d sat with his professor in the office, talking about inorganic compounds and reaction speeds. McMillan had smiled, and Brad had asked if McMillan had always been good at his studies.
I wasn’t great with some classes, McMillan had answered. Failed a couple. But I’m here, aren’t I? I retook those classes, figured out what I did wrong, and got better. Life’s like that sometimes.
He had been so very human, and maybe Brad had nursed a crush on him.
Maybe that crush still burned in his chest.
He breathed in deep, picking out McMillan’s heat scent amongst all the other scents. Wondered if McMillan would want him again, for just one night. No strings attached. Just some heat, some loving, and McMillan’s writhing body beneath Brad’s.
McMillan, taking every inch of Brad’s cock.
Brad swallowed, needing to adjust his pants.
“Now, a question before we move on,” McMillan said, glancing around the classroom. “Name some examples of nanoparticles in everyday items. Household goods, if you can think of some.”
Brad knew the answer to this
. Hell, he’d read up on it, seen it in stores.
What came out of his mouth was, “Cocks.”
McMillan froze. Brad’s face burned, and the students laughed.
“I mean, socks,” Brad said, fumbling over his words. “Silver nanoparticles to reduce odor.”
“Ah. That is one of the applications,” McMillan said, relaxing a little. His cheeks darkened though, and he looked away from Brad. “Anyone else?”
Someone else volunteered an answer, but it didn’t get a reaction out of McMillan like Brad’s answer had.
Brad’s chest puffed up at that.
McMillan returned to teaching. On a sheet of blank paper, he drew the pros and cons of each production method, adding tiny drawings to the end of every line. It was adorable of him.
Brad had once asked, Would you rather be an artist?
McMillan had given him a wistful smile and said, I draw in my spare time.
Didn’t seem fitting, someone like him teaching instead of drawing. Brad figured McMillan deserved to do something that made him happier.
McMillan avoided Brad’s eyes after his fucked-up answer, though. He asked a few other questions, and Brad stopped trying to draw any attention to himself. Didn’t want to mess up in front of McMillan again.
A couple of times through the lesson, McMillan looked up, his face lit by the visualizer. He would glance at Brad, his nostrils flaring, and there was no mistaking the way he was smelling Brad. As though he wanted more of Brad, wanted Brad’s scent on him.
And Brad wanted to mark this omega, make McMillan every bit his.
Sounded good, having McMillan as his own.
McMillan dragged his eyes away, leaving splotches of ink on his pros and cons list, just like he’d done on Brad’s assignments so long ago.
Some things hadn’t changed, had they?
By the time the lesson ended, Brad felt as though his jeans might split. He had no idea what McMillan had just taught for the past two hours.
All he knew was he wanted McMillan on the desk, his legs spread, his body opening around Brad’s cock. Wanted to fuck McMillan good and hard, until McMillan choked on his moan. Wanted to knot inside him, wanted to taste his skin, breathe in every bit of his musk.
Fuck, Brad was so hard it hurt.
“That’s all for class today,” McMillan said, capping his marker. “Feel free to step up if you have any questions. The next assignment will be due after your Christmas break.”
And now Brad couldn’t stop looking at him, because he’d finally, finally, get McMillan all to himself, and the other students were walking out of class like snails in winter.
McMillan tucked his markers away in his messenger bag slowly, like he wasn’t in any hurry to leave. It meant Brad stood a chance with him, didn’t it?
Brad raked his eyes down McMillan’s chest. Looked at his fragile wrists, the slope of his narrow shoulders. So many places Brad wanted to kiss.
The professor cleared his throat. Brad glanced at the last few students shuffling out. Decided he should probably pack up, in case they ended up going to someone’s place for the night. He shoved his textbook in his bag. Counted the steps until the last student left, and then he stood.
McMillan’s eyes dropped to Brad’s hips. Brad couldn’t help smiling a little—there was no way McMillan would miss the thick line in Brad’s jeans, his cock straining for touch.
A low whine slipped from McMillan’s throat. Brad throbbed for him.
The professor winced and blushed, looking away. “Sorry.”
All Brad could smell was McMillan’s rose scent, and his musk. He thought about opening his jeans, showing McMillan his cock. “Not sure what you gotta be sorry for.”
“I shouldn’t be staring.” And now the professor was packing up, his movements jerky, his hands trembling just a little.
“Haven’t seen you around,” Brad growled. “I was waiting three whole months for you to show up.”
McMillan paused, looking up. “You were?”
Brad abandoned his belongings, stalking over to the nearest door. Locked it. McMillan’s eyes grew wide; he met Brad’s gaze, and Brad licked his lips. Wanted to pin McMillan down, didn’t know if he should. Didn’t want to scare the professor off this soon. “Yeah. ‘Cept Kindling kept subbing for you, and I was getting tired of waiting for you to show.”
McMillan grimaced. “I was away from the college. Didn’t know my presence was required.”
“I want your presence in my bed,” Brad murmured, just loud enough for McMillan to hear. And McMillan sucked in a deep breath, his cheeks turning a dark red.
He wasn’t saying no, so Brad stepped over to the other classroom door, locking it.
And now they were alone in the room. Brad’s blood thrummed, his hunger heavy in his bones. Wanted McMillan closer. Wanted to taste him, reacquaint himself with every inch of McMillan’s body.
“You shouldn’t be doing that,” McMillan said weakly, watching as Brad shut off the classroom lights.
They were thrown into shadow, save for the bluish-white glow of the visualizer. It illuminated McMillan’s face, his dilated pupils. There wouldn’t be another class after this—it was almost 8PM.
“Then tell me to get out of here,” Brad murmured.
McMillan licked his lips, his throat working. He didn’t even back away when Brad prowled closer. So Brad stopped in front of him, reaching up. Touched the velvety skin of McMillan’s cheek. McMillan’s warmth soaked into Brad’s fingers, and Brad couldn’t help brushing his thumb along Ian’s lower lip.
It was soft, damp, and Brad wanted to kiss him.
“You weren’t actually… coming to class because of me, were you?” McMillan asked, meeting Brad’s eyes. There was desire in his gaze, a slight hint of uncertainty.
“I was.”
“Why…?”
“Because.”
This close, McMillan was half a head shorter than Brad, his glasses almost slipping off his nose. His eyes were a deep blue, beautiful, and Brad could fall into them and never emerge.
He gently pushed the glasses back up McMillan’s nose. Wasn’t sure if the professor could see without them.
“Brad,” McMillan whispered.
Brad’s cock jerked in his pants. “You still remember my name.”
McMillan laughed, disbelieving. “You think I’d forget you?”
“Maybe.”
But it made Brad’s pulse race, knowing McMillan had thought about him. Knowing that afternoon had stayed in McMillan’s mind through the years, just like it had for Brad.
“Where’s your alpha?” Brad asked. Glanced down—no bonding mark past McMillan’s collar.
“That’s not your business.” McMillan looked away.
“If I’m gonna fuck you, then I need to know you don’t have one,” Brad said, the words falling from his tongue faster than he could think. “’Cuz I wanna make you mine.”
McMillan’s breath hitched. “I—I don’t have one.”
Brad’s pulse throbbed between his legs. McMillan wanted to be his, then? “Come home with me,” he whispered. “Gonna fuck you all night. Until you scream.”
McMillan bit down hard on his lip, until his skin turned white. He stared at Brad, yearning. “I—I can’t.”
Brad shoved away his disappointment. “Tomorrow?”
“I just… I can’t go home with you. Not right now. I should be elsewhere.” Then he closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I told June I’d be back after class.”
Brad scowled, something in his chest snarling with jealousy. “She your alpha?”
McMillan laughed shakily. “Gods, no.”
“Then you have nowhere to be, do you?”
McMillan met his eyes. He hesitated, his long, thin fingers pausing on the desk. “There’s family. I can’t—can’t give you more than fifteen minutes. Half an hour at most.”
“I’ll take that,” Brad said. “Think we’ll be done in half an hour?”
Carefu
lly, he touched McMillan’s waist. Curled his fingers around McMillan’s side, watching as McMillan leaned toward him, like he was trying to stop himself from getting too close.
His musk rolled into Brad’s nose, and Brad breathed in deep—the scent of an omega who craved him.
He leaned in to kiss his professor.
McMillan wrenched his face away. “No—not yet. I need to—to send a text.”
He took a small step back, as though being any closer to Brad would make him forget. Then he fished around in his bag, pulled his phone out. Brad watched as McMillan opened his chat conversation with June.
Be there in half an hour, McMillan typed. Sorry. Something came up.
He hit Send and dropped the phone back into his bag, closing his eyes. “Gods, I think I’m depraved.”
“Then so am I.”
Brad reached up, caught McMillan’s chin. Tipped his face up so their eyes met. McMillan’s chest heaved.
“Tell me you don’t want this,” Brad whispered, “and I’ll stop.”
McMillan laughed, low, almost helplessly. “That’s not an option.”
“Yes, it is.”
“I’m in heat,” the professor snapped. “I’m going to crave an alpha for the next week, all right? And I—I don’t have anyone.”
Something in Brad’s chest unfurled. He leaned in, pressed their foreheads together. “You have me.”
McMillan sucked in a sharp breath. “I’m your teacher.”
“I’m your alpha.”
McMillan whimpered, his body arching toward Brad. Brad’s cock throbbed.
“I’m sorry for leaving,” Brad whispered against his skin. “I shouldn’t have given up trying to contact you.”
“You shouldn’t apologize for that.” McMillan’s breath puffed hot on his skin. “I’m not asking you to make up for it.”
“Yeah, well. Tell my cock that.”
“Your socks, you mean?”
Humor flashed in McMillan’s eyes; his laughter slid into Brad’s ears, low and sweet. Brad’s cheeks burned. “I didn’t do that on purpose, okay?”
“But you were thinking about cocks.” McMillan’s humor faded, his gaze knowing.
Brad swallowed. “Yeah. Yours. And mine.”
McMillan’s eyelids fluttered shut. “Gods, Brad. Stop teasing.”
Omega Teacher’s Secret Page 2