You approach Professor Riddle after class, determination clear in your eyes. "I was wondering if you could look over my reading assignment," you say, voice soft but unwavering.

He turns from the blackboard, his usual composed demeanor in place, though there's something guarded in the way he stands. "Perhaps this could wait until after the makeup test has been administered," he replies.

You take a step closer. "Actually, it would be great if you could just review it now," you say, looking up at him from beneath your lashes. The air between you shifts as your eyes lock onto his, your lips curling into a subtle smile. "So I know that I'm on the right track," you add, the double meaning in your words hanging in the silence between you.

He softly hums, his gaze traveling along your body before meeting your eyes again. The intensity there is unmistakable, a struggle between maintaining control and letting go of it entirely. He exhales, the tension building as he watches you.

"You know this isn't appropriate," he says, though his voice has lost its usual authority. He takes a step back, as if putting distance between the two of you would restore some sense of professionalism.

But you take another step closer, refusing to let the moment slip away. "But you don’t want me to stop, do you?" you whisper.

A beat passes, and then something in him breaks. His hand reaches out, fingers curling around the back of your neck, and before you can even react, his lips crash against yours. The kiss is heated, urgent. You respond in kind, your hands reaching up to grip his jacket as you pull him closer.

He kisses you harder, as though he can't get enough. His other hand finds your waist, tugging you even nearer, until there is no space left between you. This kind of kiss made clear the moments where he held back—until now.