Chapter 37

Avery’s POV

The drive stretched before us, a winding ribbon of darkness pulling us from the artificial glare of the city. With every mile, I felt Tiffany’s suspicion grow like a storm pressed against glass.

The hum of the tires on asphalt was supposed to fill the silence, but tonight, the silence pulsed with anticipation.

“Where exactly are we going, Avery?” she asked for the tenth time since we left the orphanage.

Her voice held that sharp blend of exasperation and patience she reserved just for me—a voice that could deliver an academic critique or a lethal boardroom summary with precision.

“You’ll see, Professor,” I answered, my eyes fixed on the road, a grin tugging at my lips. Anticipation is a gift, Professor. Savor it.

Her brows furrowed, a wrinkle of annoyance appearing between them. Though I did not glance her way, I knew the look she gave me—that raised eyebrow, that half-amused glare that made lesser people stammer.

Anyone, except the stubborn Avery Von Carter.

“I don’t like mysteries,” she muttered, the statement clipped and final.

I chuckled, the sound low and satisfied. “That’s funny, Professor, because you are the biggest, most frustrating mystery of all.”

For once, she had no comeback. The silence that followed was a victory.

The car slowed, the tires crunching over loose gravel. We had left the city lights behind.

The air was cooler here, sharper, carrying the scent of pine and wild undergrowth. The world opened onto a secluded hilltop—a place where the grass whispered secrets under the breeze, and the horizon stretched, dotted with stars and the glow of the city far below.

I parked and stepped out, stretching the stiffness from my legs. She followed, her heels clicking against the gravel, her arms folding across her chest to shield herself from the vastness.

“What is this place?” she asked, though the severity had drained from her voice, replaced by wonder.

I turned to her, hands tucked into my pockets, and let her take in the view. “My favorite place,” I said, the words quiet and true. “Far from noise, far from rules, far from everything that tells us what we should be. It’s a place where I can breathe, Professor.”

Her lips parted, but no words came out. Her face said everything—flabbergasted, amazed. The reflection of the city lights in her eyes made them look as though they held galaxies within their depths.

Witnessing her awe was enough for me.

“Wait here,” I said, a glint of mischief in my eyes, reaching into the backseat.

She narrowed her eyes, suspicious. “Avery, what are you—”

I emerged, not with a lecture, but with a chilled bottle of champagne and two crystal glasses, the clink of the crystal echoing in the still night. Her reaction was magnificent.

“Are you serious?” she almost shouted, her hands gesturing in disbelief.

I grinned, popping the cork with a theatrical pop! The sound rolled across the open air like a round of applause. “Of course, I’m serious.”

I have permission now. I will use it.

“You brought champagne—champagne, of all things—here? To a random, freezing hilltop?”

“Yes.” I stepped closer, unrepentant. “I mean, you emphatically said no to a big, blasting party. And I know, Professor—student rules, boundaries, appearances, all that high-minded nonsense. So I thought… this instead. No witnesses, no rules, just two people.”

Her eyes softened, even as her arched brows went higher. I handed her a glass, our fingers brushing, and a spark of electricity ran up my arm. “I wanted to spend time alone with you, Professor. Honest this time. For your birthday.”

She stared at me, her gaze unreadable, processing the sincerity behind the audacity. “You’re impossible, Avery,” she muttered, shaking her head.

“Come on, Ms. Rose.” I teased, using her name, motioning with my head toward the edge of the overlook where the grass dipped into the panoramic view.

With a final, reluctant shake of her head, she capitulated, joining me. We sat on the cool earth, the dark night enveloping us, our glasses catching the faint light, watching the city glitter like distant stars.

The silence was heavy, but no longer uncomfortable—it felt like a cocoon woven for the two of us. After a long while, she broke it.

“So,” she said, her voice quiet and reflective. “Are you finally going to tell me the connection to that orphanage thing?”

I swirled the liquid in my glass, watching the bubbles rise. “We can save that for later, you know. I brought the champagne to avoid the heavy topics.”

She hummed, a low sound, and to my relief, she did not push further. That was Ms. Rose for you—a profound curiosity wrapped in iron-clad restraint.

The quiet stretched again. Then, she sighed, the sound faint against the breeze. “Time to go, I guess. I have an early meeting tomorrow I need to prepare for.”

“Okay,” I said, my voice laced with regret. “Let’s go.”

I stood, brushing the grass from my hands, and she rose too, her posture perfect even on the uneven ground. But just as I turned to walk back toward the car, a warm tug stopped me.

Her hand had caught my wrist, her grip firm. I turned back, heart leaping into my throat. “Professor? What happened? Did you twist your ankle?”

She met my eyes, something serious and determined burning behind her calm exterior. Then she said one single word—one forbidden, beautiful word—that knocked the air out of my lungs.

“Tiffany.”

I blinked, my brain struggling to process the sound. “What?”

“I grant you permission to call me Tiffany,” she whispered, her voice barely louder than the wind, as though the night might steal the concession away.

For a dizzying moment, I could not breathe. Her name—her real name, the name that felt sacred—had been offered to me like a priceless gift.

Before I could form a coherent thought, she moved. Her lips pressed against mine, sudden and fierce.

For a blinding heartbeat, my world shattered into a storm of starlight and fire. I froze, then melted into the sensation, kissing her back with a rush of desperate longing.

The taste of champagne, the scent of her perfume, and her essence tangled in my senses, intoxicating. My hands moved instinctively, cupping the back of her neck, drawing her closer, tighter—

And then, with a playful push against my chest, she broke the contact.

“I didn’t grant you permission to go this far, Ms. Carter.”

A groan escaped me. She laughed, a sound that was music to my ears, her cheeks flushed pink in the moonlight.

“This was, perhaps, the most beautiful gift I’ve received all day from you, Avery. But of course—that orphanage tour was moving.”

I smirked, regaining my breath. “Well, if that was only your second most beautiful gift, then I have better, and many more, options lined up. Perhaps a third kiss will secure the top spot?”

Her eyes gleamed with mischief. “You’re flirting, Ms. Carter.”

I leaned closer, my eyes fixed on her mouth. “But you kissed me. What exactly is that supposed to mean?”

She tilted her head, her lips curving into that sly, superior smile that undid me every time. “It means I took what I wanted.”

“And what about me?” I asked, the heat of my longing simmering in my chest. “What about what I want?”

Her expression turned serious, the playfulness gone, though her eyes never left mine. “You’ll wait for my permission. Would you?”

I did not hesitate. I stepped closer, pulled her against me with a firm grasp on her arms, and looked into her eyes. “I am ready to wait forever for this grant.”

Her name slipped from my tongue like a prayer—sacred, burning, a vow. The sound of it, spoken with intent, startled even me.

Her breath caught, a sharp sound. And then, in a reversal, she grabbed the collar of my jacket, yanking me toward her, her lips hovering a fraction of an inch over mine as she whispered, her voice husky and dangerous, “Then let’s wait and watch, sweetheart.”

The careless endearment hit me harder than the kiss. The night wrapped around us, the stars our only witnesses, the cool air irrelevant to the fire she had ignited.

For the first time in my controlled life, waiting did not feel like losing ground. It felt like the beginning of destiny.

❖ 

Tiffany’s POV

The drive was interminable, far longer than I anticipated when Avery first insisted I accompany her. She drove with confident recklessness and a mischievous glint in her eyes—the kind that made my professional alarm bells ring, yet left me helpless to resist.

The road stretched out of the city, climbing higher, twisting into narrow paths where streetlights faded into nothingness. “Are you finally going to tell me where we’re going, Avery?” I asked for the seventh time.

From the driver’s seat, she smirked, her lashes flickering down as if savoring a private joke. “Patience, Professor. You’ll see the destination shortly.”

Professor. Always professor. Always that safe, respectable boundary.

Yet, the way she said it—teasing, deliberate, possessive—made my chest stir in inconvenient ways I did not want to acknowledge. I crossed my arms, leaning back into the seat with a frustrated exhale. “You’re too pleased with yourself. I can hear the triumph in your voice, Ms. Carter.”

She just grinned, not bothering to deny it. The car climbed one final, steep turn, and the world beneath the roof opened up.

The city unfurled beneath us like a living galaxy—millions of lights sparkling, flickering as though every street was a captured star. My breath caught before I could stop it.

“Oh…” It was a stolen gasp, a reaction of shock and awe. Avery cut the engine and hopped out, circling around to my door.

She extended her hand with a theatrical flourish. “Professor, your throne awaits. Behold your domain.”

I stepped out, my heels crunching against the gravel. The night air was cool, sharp, touched with the scent of pine and earth, wrapping around me like something alive. My eyes lifted to the skyline—and for a breathtaking moment, I was undone.

It was beautiful. Too intimate a spectacle to share with anyone, let alone an audacious student.

Avery’s voice interrupted the moment, low and triumphant. “So? Flabbergasted? Speechless? Amazed? Because your face is screaming all three, Professor.”

I tilted my head toward her, raising a single brow—the best professional defense I had left—but I did not deny it. She knew. She always knew where the cracks were forming.

Then came the unmistakable pop! of a bottle cork. I turned, aggravated. “Avery—what on earth—”

She held up the bottle of champagne, grinning like a child who had executed a scandalous prank. Two crystal glasses clinked in her other hand.

“Avery!” I nearly shouted, half exasperated, half incredulous at her audacity. “Are you serious? You drove all this way for alcohol?”

“Of course, I’m serious,” she replied, unfazed, the picture of self-possession. “You didn’t want a booming party. I know the boundaries—professor, student, rules, all that high-minded nonsense. So…”

She shrugged, a gesture of nonchalant privilege, handing me a glass. “I thought this was better. Just us. Just this view. And if I’m being honest—” her voice softened, dropping to a murmur—”I just wanted some alone time with you, Professor.”

Her words hung in the crisp air. I felt the weight of them settle on my skin, unsettling every nerve ending.

Alone time. With me.

I tried to keep my face neutral, tried to raise an eyebrow in that untouchable way I always did when she deployed her dramatics. But my fingers betrayed me—they trembled as I accepted the chilled glass.

We sat on the edge of the stone ledge, the city glowing beneath our feet like a carpet of fireflies. The champagne fizzed, the air was clean, the silence comfortable but fragile.

For a while, neither of us spoke. The beauty was overwhelming, the proximity to her more so. Then I broke it, because I could not leave the other topic alone.

“So…” I took a sip. “Are you going to tell me about your involvement in that orphanage?”

Her eyes flickered, the smirk dimming, replaced by defensiveness. “We can save that for later, Professor. This is meant to be a quiet celebration.”

I hummed, not pushing further. She was not ready. And the Tiffany emerging tonight respected that.

The silence stretched, only a breath this time—like the pause of a symphony before its final crescendo. Eventually, I glanced at my watch, reluctantly. “Time to go, I suppose. I do have an early meeting I must prepare for.”

She sighed, reluctant. “Okay, Professor. Let’s go.”

We rose, brushing the dust from our clothes. She took a step ahead, toward the car—but something in me moved, instinctively, faster than caution. My hand shot out, catching her wrist, my grip firm.

She turned, her brows knitting with confusion. “Professor? What happened? Did you forget something?”

I swallowed hard, feeling my heart hammer in my throat. Then I said it—the thing I held back, the ultimate concession, the crumbling of the wall.

“Tiffany.”

Her lips parted. Confusion was etched all over her face. “What?”

I steadied myself, holding her gaze. “I grant you permission… to call me Tiffany. The Professor is off the clock tonight, darling.”

Her eyes widened, and I felt the atmosphere between us shift, heating. This was not a professor and a student anymore. This was something else—fragile, dangerous, intimate.

Before I could think better of it, before I could recoil from the shock of my own vulnerability, I leaned in and pressed my lips against hers. The world vanished in a rush of sensation.

Her mouth was warm, soft, surprised but with an answering firmness. For a moment, it was as if the night itself held its breath.

Her scent—perfume, champagne, Avery—wrapped around me, and I was falling, terrifyingly falling. Then she moved, taking charge, her lips sliding toward my neck—and the professional alarm bells, the survival instincts, screamed a warning.

I laughed breathlessly, pushing her back with a firm shove. “I didn’t grant you permission to go that far, Ms. Carter.”

She groaned, her arrogant smirk returning. “Unfair.”

I touched my lips, still tingling. “This was… perhaps the most beautiful, reckless gift you’ve ever given me, Avery. But, still—” I tilted my head—”after that orphanage tour, of course.”

Her eyes gleamed with mischief, the internal fire reignited. “Well, if that’s only the second-best gift, then I have far better options lined up for the future.”

I laughed, shaking my head. “You are flirting, Ms. Carter. That is a serious violation.”

“And you kissed me,” she shot back, smooth and logical. “What, exactly, is that supposed to mean?”

I held her gaze, allowing my feelings a brief, dangerous airing. “It means I took what I wanted.”

Her eyes darkened, amusement replaced by intense heat. “And what about me? What about what I want from this?”

I let the pause linger, the silence thick with my answer. Then, softly but firmly, I granted my most dangerous condition. “You’ll wait for my permission for the next step. Would you?”

Something shifted in her expression—a devotional seriousness I had not expected. She pulled me closer, her breath mingling with mine, her voice a low, reverent rumble.

“I am ready to wait forever for this grant.”

My name—on her lips, spoken with such force—was sacred. It was a vow. For one dizzying moment, my knees threatened to buckle.

Then I caught her collar, tugging her close, my eyes locking with hers, granting one final, devastating concession. “Then let’s wait and watch… sweetheart.”

The dangerous endearment slipped out, a complete accident, a beautiful mistake. I had not meant to say it aloud.

But once spoken, there was no taking it back. Her eyes widened, and then her face split into that dazzling, irresistible smile. The night stretched around us, and I knew then that something irreversible, something catastrophic and wonderful, had begun.

The night air clung to my skin as we walked to the car. My lips tingled, a physical reminder that betrayed me every time my mind replayed the moment.

The kiss. My kiss. Her startled softness.

I shouldn’t have done it. That was the first, frantic thought. And yet—I could not summon a single ounce of regret. That was the second, more terrifying truth.

Avery opened the passenger door for me with a theatrical flourish, bowing as if I were royalty. I arched a dismissive brow. “You are impossible, Ms. Carter.”

“Impossible, yes,” she quipped, her voice smooth, “but unforgettable too. And you know it.”

I slid into the seat, refusing to give her the satisfaction of my smile. But my heart betrayed me. It was thundering, a frantic rhythm that echoed the pop of the champagne cork.

The car started, headlights slicing through the quiet road. For a stretch, neither of us spoke. The silence was charged, heavy with things unsaid, things trembling at the edge of breaking open.

Finally, Avery cleared her throat. “So… how does it feel?”

I turned, feigning ignorance. “How does what feel?”

Her grin flashed in the dim glow of the dashboard. “Being kissed by your student.”

I groaned, pressing two fingers to my temple. “Avery Von Carter, if you ever want to live to see your next semester, you will not phrase it like that again. I am an established academic.”

She laughed—a bright, unrestrained sound that filled the car. “Fine. Let me rephrase. How does it feel being kissed by… Avery?”

I bit my lip, keeping my gaze fixed on the road, refusing to meet her eye. My silence must have given me away, because she whispered, softer, the tease gone. “You don’t regret it… do you?”

I exhaled slowly, my breath misting the cool glass. “Regret isn’t the word. But this—” I gestured between us, “—is complicated. Too complicated for either of us, Avery.”

She did not argue. She just nodded, as if she already knew the complexity, and kept her eyes forward, focused on the driving.

That restraint—the moments when she did not push, when she showed respect for my space—made her far more dangerous and appealing than any of her dramatics. The city lights drew closer, but before we reached the outskirts, she pulled the car over at a quiet overlook.

She cut the engine, plunging us into silence once more. “Avery?” I asked, my voice laced with apprehension.

She turned, her face serious. No smirk. No teasing. Just raw honesty. “You granted me permission tonight. You used my name, and you gave me a piece of yourself, just like I gave you a piece of me at the orphanage.”

My breath caught. Hearing my name on her tongue still shook me.

“And I don’t take that lightly,” she continued, her gaze unwavering. “I’m not asking for more right now. I’m not asking you to cross every line all at once. But I need you to know this: I’m not going anywhere. Even if I have to wait forever for that next grant of permission, I’ll be here.”

Her words echoed against my chest, unsettling me, unmooring me. I wanted to tell her she was reckless, that she did not understand the storm she was stepping into. But instead, all I managed was a desperate, honest whisper.

“You’ll ruin me, Avery.”

She leaned forward, her dark eyes burning with conviction. “Or maybe,” she whispered, “I’ll save you.”

That silenced me. My hands curled into fists, my heart a battlefield between years of caution and a lifetime of fierce longing. I had spent years mastering control, building walls, and yet tonight—a single kiss, a single word—had sent massive, irreparable cracks racing through the fortress.

Avery reached across the console, not daring too much, just letting her fingertips brush against mine. Light. Tentative. An unspoken question.

It was enough to undo me. I closed my eyes, leaned my head back, and let out a laugh that was half despair, half surrender. “You are a menace, Ms. Carter. A beautiful, terrifying menace.”

She grinned, satisfied, the victory in her eyes complete. “And yet, your menace, Tiffany.”

I shot her a sharp look, the last vestige of my professor-self fighting back. “Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

The drive resumed, quieter now, but beneath the surface, something fundamental had shifted. A powerful, invisible tether had formed, fragile yet unbreakable.

By the time she dropped me at my apartment building, I was reeling, my heart pounding a desperate, erratic drumbeat. As I stepped out, she rolled down the window, calling softly. “Sweet dreams. Don’t forget who you’re waiting for.”

Her voice wrapped around me like silk. I did not look back. I could not. If I did, I might have done something reckless and run straight into her arms again.

But as I closed my apartment door, I leaned against it, my hand pressed over my chest, whispering to the empty room.

“What have you done to me, Avery Von Carter?”