Professor Who Is Great At Flirting, Special Valentines With Sinclair

I never liked asking for help. It wasn't in my nature to admit I was struggling, but as I sat in the academy library, staring down at my half-completed Advanced Magical Theory notes, I knew I had no other choice. The formulas blurred together, the runes I was supposed to memorize seemed like a foreign language, and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't grasp the intricacies of the subject.

I groaned, rubbing my temples, frustration settling deep in my bones.

"You look like you're about to set that book on fire," a cool, familiar voice drawled.

I stiffened. I didn't need to look up to know who it was.

Evelyn Sinclair.

Poised, composed, and utterly unreadable, the professor stood with her arms crossed, looking down at me with an amused smirk. The other students at the nearby tables pretended not to watch, but I knew they were listening—everyone did when Ms. Sinclair was around.

I exhaled, schooling my expression into something neutral. "I need help," I admitted, forcing the words out before I could second-guess myself.

Evelyn raised a single elegant brow. "Do you?"

I clenched my jaw. "Yes."

She hummed, tilting her head as if considering. "And why should I help you?"

I swallowed. "Because if I fail this course, I'll have to retake it, and I'd rather not suffer through this twice."

Evelyn smirked, clearly entertained. "Honest. I like that." She tapped her fingers against her arm in mock contemplation before finally sighing. "Fine. I'll tutor you."

Relief flooded through me, but it was short-lived.

"But," Evelyn continued smoothly, "I prefer tutoring in a private setting."

My stomach twisted. "Private?"

Evelyn's smirk deepened. "My home. Tomorrow night. Eight o'clock. Don't be late."

And just like that, I knew I was in trouble.

The estate was stunning. Sleek black marble, sharp architecture, the kind of modern luxury that felt cold and untouchable—just like its owner.

The door opened before I could even knock a second time.

I barely had time to compose myself before I saw her.

Evelyn stood at the top of a sweeping staircase, watching.

Her presence alone was enough to send something sharp curling through my stomach.

Dressed to kill.

A button-down blouse, pristine white, but just sheer enough to hint at something sinful beneath. The first few buttons undone, revealing a sliver of smooth, golden skin. A perfectly fitted pencil skirt that accentuated every graceful movement, the high slit parting slightly as she shifted her weight. Thin-rimmed glasses perched on her nose, accentuating sharp, intelligent eyes that seemed to pierce through my very thoughts.

And the heels. Gods help me, the heels.

She moved slowly, each step deliberate as she descended toward me, the soft click of her stilettos against the marble floor echoing like a countdown to disaster.

I forgot how to breathe.

Evelyn stopped just before me, head tilting slightly, amusement flickering in her gaze.

"You're staring," she murmured.

I snapped my gaze to the side, heat creeping up my neck. "I— No. I was just—"

"You were just…?" Evelyn's lips twitched, hovering dangerously close to a smirk.

I clenched my jaw. "You look… different."

Evelyn hummed, adjusting the cuff of her blouse—deliberate, slow, controlled.

"Shouldn't I dress the part?" she mused. "You're my student tonight, aren't you?"

My stomach dropped.

Oh, this was going to be hell.

Evelyn's private study was a masterpiece. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, plush velvet seating, the scent of aged parchment and something dark, spiced, intoxicating.

I sat stiffly at the desk, trying not to fidget. Evelyn, on the other hand, was completely at ease, perched on the edge of the desk, one long leg crossed over the other.

"You're tense," she noted, watching me over the rim of her glasses.

I scoffed. "I'm fine."

Evelyn smirked. "We'll see."

And so the lesson began.

Or at least—it was supposed to.

But how the hell was I supposed to focus when Evelyn was sitting there, legs crossed, eyes flickering toward me every time I hesitated on an answer?

The way she spoke—low, deliberate, teasing—as if every word was a test of patience.

The way she occasionally adjusted her glasses, dragging her fingertips along the frame—an unnecessary motion, one that kept my gaze locked on her hands.

I shifted, my fingers gripping the book in front of me. I wasn't losing this battle.

Evelyn leaned forward, her elbow propped lazily against the desk.

"You're distracted," she murmured.

I stiffened. "I—I'm not."

Evelyn sighed, standing slowly, making her way behind my chair.

The air shifted.

I sat completely still, my heartbeat drumming in my ears.

Then—fingertips ghosted along my shoulder.

A barely-there touch. Fleeting, teasing. Testing.

My breath hitched.

Evelyn leaned down, her breath warm against my ear. "Shall I test that theory?"

I shuddered.

Evelyn chuckled softly, the sound dark, knowing. Her hand trailed lower, brushing against my wrist, fingers barely skimming over my pulse.

"You're trembling," Evelyn observed, voice silken, laced with amusement.

I clenched my jaw. "I'm not—"

"Lying doesn't suit you, darling."

Then, as if she hadn't just unraveled me in mere seconds, she pulled away with a satisfied chuckle. "Well, let's get back on topic. I can't have you failing my class, can I?" Her voice was all smooth professionalism again, but the smirk playing at the corner of her lips told a different story. "So, tell me, what exactly is giving you so much trouble?"

I swallowed hard, trying to regain a semblance of composure. "The advanced spell structure equations. The way they're supposed to be layered—it's not clicking for me."

Evelyn hummed thoughtfully, pushing off the desk and circling back to her chair. She adjusted her glasses, her gaze sharp and assessing. "Ah, the layering theory. It's intricate but not impossible. Perhaps a more hands-on approach would help?"

She gestured to the seat beside her, an unmistakable invitation.

My heart thudded violently against my ribs, the space between us suddenly too charged, too heavy with something unspoken. Evelyn's words lingered in the air, wrapping around me like a slow-burning spell, and I wasn't sure if I was more terrified of the answer—or my own reaction to it.

I wet my lips, hesitant, voice coming out softer than I intended. "What… do you mean?"

Evelyn didn't answer immediately.

Instead, she tilted her head slightly, watching me with an almost lazy amusement, like she was enjoying this far too much—like she knew exactly what she was doing to me.

Then, with deliberate ease, she reached for a book from the desk, flipping it open without breaking eye contact. "The equations, of course," she mused, her voice smooth as silk, but I caught the deliberate pause, the way her lips curved just so, like she was testing me.

Her fingers ghosted over the pages, tapping against a set of intricate spell diagrams. "Or," she continued, voice dropping just a fraction lower, "did you have something else in mind?"

A slow, unbearable heat crept up my neck.

I was losing.

And Evelyn knew it.

I swallowed hard, my throat suddenly too dry, my mind too fogged with the weight of her words. There was a game being played here—one I hadn't agreed to, but one she was already winning.

I forced myself to look at the book instead of her, my fingers curling tightly against my lap. "No," I said, clearing my throat. "Just the equations."

Evelyn hummed, a sound that crawled down my spine, vibrating in the space between us. She didn't call me out on the lie, but she didn't have to. The way she was looking at me said enough.

"Mm," she mused, flipping a page slowly, like she wasn't in a rush—like she was savoring every second of my unraveling. "Very well, then."

She pushed her chair back slightly, patting the space beside her. "Come here."

I hesitated.

There was no reason to. It was just a seat. Just another part of the lesson.

And yet, the second I moved—the second I crossed the distance between us and settled beside her—everything shifted.

I was too aware of her now. The way her perfume wrapped around me, warm and spiced, something intoxicating and entirely too Evelyn. The way the slightest movement of her leg sent the faintest brush of fabric against my own.

She turned a page, her voice impossibly smooth. "Tell me what you don't understand."

I tried—gods, I tried—to focus on the words, but my brain refused to cooperate when she leaned in slightly, her shoulder just barely brushing mine.

I exhaled sharply. "It's—" I swallowed. "The layering."

Her fingers traced over the runic patterns on the page, slow and deliberate. "You're overcomplicating it," she murmured, tilting her head toward me. "It's about precision. Balance."

Then—she reached for my hand.

I froze.

Evelyn, entirely unaffected, lifted my fingers and guided them along the page, tracing the symbols together. A simple movement. Innocent, even.

But her touch—gods, her touch—was anything but.

Slow. Calculated. A barely-there caress that sent something treacherous sparking through my veins.

Her voice dropped lower, like she was enjoying this, like she knew I was holding my breath.

"See, darling?" she murmured, her lips dangerously close to my ear. "Much better when you let me guide you."

I shuddered.

I wasn't sure if it was from the lesson—

Or from her.

I couldn't move.

Her fingers remained over mine, pressing down just enough to keep me rooted in place, as if she had any intention of letting me go. The way she guided my hand along the page was deliberate, slow, more of a tease than an actual correction.

I should have pulled away.

I should have said something.

But Evelyn was so close now—her breath warm against my skin, her perfume flooding my senses—and I wasn't sure if I could.

"You're holding your breath again, Sera."

Her voice was silken, amused.

I exhaled, sharp and uneven, a betrayal of just how much she was affecting me. Evelyn chuckled softly, pleased, and her fingers brushed lower, grazing the inside of my wrist—a barely-there touch that sent a shiver racing up my arm.

Heat coiled low in my stomach.

"You're supposed to be helping me," I managed, voice weaker than I wanted it to be.

Evelyn hummed, shifting slightly beside me, and suddenly, her thigh pressed against mine.

"I am helping," she said smoothly. "You just need to relax."

Easy for her to say.

I clenched my jaw, trying to focus on the words before me, but the numbers and runes blurred together in the wake of her touch.

She knew exactly what she was doing.

The way her fingertips traced my wrist, how she leaned in closer under the guise of correcting my form—how she was pushing, testing, waiting for me to break.

I swallowed. "Evelyn—"

She cut me off by shifting again, her knee nudging against mine, casual, yet so devastatingly intimate that I felt my pulse jump in response.

I sucked in a breath, but she didn't move away.

She smiled, as if hearing it. "Ah, so you can still breathe after all."

I glared, though it lacked any real heat. "You're enjoying this."

She didn't deny it.

Her fingers slid away from mine—but instead of retreating, they skated higher, up my forearm, nails barely grazing against my skin before pausing just at the crook of my elbow.

Evelyn tilted her head, her gaze dropping to my lips for just a fraction of a second.

And then, voice low and devastatingly smooth—"A little."

A slow, unbearable heat spread through me.

I was drowning in her, in the deliberate pace she set, in the control she held so effortlessly. And the worst part?

I let her.

Evelyn's lips curved into something dangerously amused, her fingers still lightly grazing my arm, as if she had all the time in the world to ruin me.

Then, she giggled.

The sound was soft, deceptively sweet—but I knew better. It wasn't innocent. It wasn't casual.

It was calculated.

"How about this?" she mused, drawing lazy circles against my skin. "If you're able to fully grasp the Layering Theory after I teach you—seriously, of course—for the next… let's say an hour…"

She leaned in, just slightly, just enough that our breaths mingled, just enough that my heart slammed against my ribs.

"…I'll give you a reward."

I swallowed hard.

A reward.

I knew better than to ask. I knew better than to agree to anything she proposed without fully understanding what she meant.

And yet—

I still nodded.

Despite knowing how dangerous it was.

"…Sure." My voice was softer than I meant it to be.

Evelyn's smile deepened, slow and wicked, like a cat toying with its prey.

"Good girl."

My breath caught.

I was certain she felt the way I tensed, the way my fingers curled against my lap. Her smirk told me everything.

She was testing me.

And I was failing.

She leaned back, adjusting the cuffs of her blouse, like nothing had just happened—like she hadn't just effortlessly unraveled me in mere seconds.

"Alright," she said lightly, like she wasn't still smirking, like she wasn't still watching me out of the corner of her eye.

"Let's get started then."

And just like that, the lesson began.

But I wasn't sure if I wanted to succeed.

Or if I just wanted to see what happened when I failed.

I tried to focus. Really, I did.

For the first fifteen minutes, I forced myself to look at the equations, to listen to her explanations, to follow the structure of the spell layering theory she so effortlessly wove into words.

But it was impossible to ignore her.

The way she spoke—low, smooth, deliberate, as if she was coaxing rather than instructing.

The way she adjusted her glasses, her fingers grazing the frame so lightly, so slowly, it felt sinful.

The way she leaned in whenever I hesitated, her breath fanning against my cheek, her thigh brushing mine just barely—enough to make me aware of her, but not enough for me to pull away.

She was pushing boundaries, erasing them, redefining them entirely.

And gods help me, I let her.

"Explain the foundation," Evelyn instructed, her voice smooth, composed, and far too amused.

I cleared my throat, trying to remember the words, not her touch.

"Layering Theory is the practice of combining multiple magic types into a single spell structure," I recited carefully, forcing myself to stay on track. "It requires precise balance. If one layer is stronger than the other, the spell collapses."

Evelyn hummed approvingly, her fingers idly tapping against the desk. "Go on."

I exhaled. "The spell must have a central anchor—one primary magic that serves as the base. The second layer must be applied with equal force but adjusted so it doesn't override the first."

Evelyn leaned closer, her hand sliding across the desk, stopping just beside mine.

"And the third?" she murmured, her voice lighter, almost teasing.

I hesitated.

"The third layer is the most difficult," I admitted, swallowing. "It has to merge with the existing structure seamlessly, supporting both layers without causing disruption. The slightest imbalance could destabilize the spell."

Evelyn's smile deepened, pleased.

"Good," she murmured. "Then let's apply it practically, shall we?"

Before I could respond, she took my hand again, guiding it toward the parchment. She didn't have to—she never had to—but she did anyway.

"Write out an example of a hybrid spell," she said. "One that layers fire as the base, wind as the secondary, and light as the third."

I stiffened. "That's… complex."

Her thumb brushed absently over my wrist, slow and featherlight. A deliberate distraction.

"But not impossible," she countered smoothly. "Unless, of course… you don't think you can handle it."

I clenched my jaw.

Oh, she was enjoying this.

I forced myself to look at the parchment, pushing past the heat curling in my stomach.

Fine. I'd show her.

I began to write.

First, the fire glyph. The primary anchor. It would determine the core structure of the spell, giving it power and heat. It had to be precisely formed, or the entire framework would crumble.

Then, the wind layer. A controlled force, allowing the fire to spread but not burn out of control. A spell balancing act—one designed to sustain.

Finally, the light layer. The most fragile yet the most vital, acting as an amplifier while keeping the other two stable.

A bead of sweat slid down my temple as I concentrated. Every stroke of the runes had to be perfect.

Evelyn, completely at ease, watched.

And then, just as I finished the final symbol—

Her hand covered mine.

I stiffened.

She didn't move it, didn't tighten her grip—just rested it there, warm, grounding, utterly possessive.

"You hesitated here," she murmured, her fingers lightly tracing over a single rune.

My breath hitched.

"Why?"

I swallowed. "Because… light magic is delicate."

Evelyn smiled. "And yet, you still managed to balance it. Good girl."

Heat shot through me.

Her praise—gods, her praise—sent something shamefully warm pooling in my stomach.

She must have noticed, because her fingers pressed down slightly, her touch still featherlight, still teasing.

My pulse skipped.

"Do you want to test it?" she murmured.

I exhaled shakily. "You mean… the spell?"

Evelyn chuckled, her nails skimming over my knuckles.

"What else would I mean, darling?"

I wasn't sure anymore.

And that was the real problem.

I wasn't sure what was more dangerous—the spell I was about to test, or the woman sitting beside me.

"Is it safe to try this here?" I asked, glancing around at the luxurious furniture, the towering bookshelves, the priceless artifacts lining the study. The last thing I needed was to be responsible for burning down Evelyn Sinclair's home.

Evelyn merely smirked, completely unfazed. "Of course. Don't worry."

I narrowed my eyes. "You sound far too confident about that."

She chuckled, tapping a single manicured finger against the rune I had hesitated on earlier. "That's because I made a small adjustment before you finished."

My stomach tightened. "What kind of adjustment?"

She leaned in slightly, the warmth of her breath skimming my skin. "A surprise."

That did not make me feel any better.

Still, I took a slow breath and nodded, pressing my palm against the parchment, channeling mana into the layered spell.

The second my magic flowed into it, something shifted.

The runes glowed, each layer of magic interweaving in perfect harmony—fire, wind, light—melding together in a way that felt both powerful and impossibly smooth.

Then, before I could react, the paper dissolved into golden embers.

And from those embers—

A dragon.

Not a real one, but a magnificent spectral figure of golden fire and air, its serpentine form swirling in a graceful arc around the study. It left trails of flickering embers in its wake, each one shimmering like falling stars, the wind rippling through its glowing, translucent wings.

I gasped.

"What… what is this?" My voice was barely above a whisper, completely mesmerized.

Evelyn sat back in her chair, utterly composed, utterly smug. "A surprise," she repeated, watching the dragon with quiet satisfaction.

I didn't even have time to process her words before the dragon shifted.

Its golden eyes locked onto me, and without warning, it opened its mouth—

And dove straight for me.

My breath hitched, my entire body locking up, every instinct screaming to move. But before I could react—before I could even summon a barrier—

The fiery creature burst apart in a shower of embers.

I blinked, my heart hammering, and then—

A single red rose floated down in front of me.

The petals were deep crimson, but streaked with golden trails, as if they had been kissed by fire itself.

I caught it on reflex, my fingers trembling slightly.

"…Wow." My voice was barely above a whisper.

Evelyn's eyes gleamed with amusement as she tilted her head. "Do you like it?"

I nodded slowly, still staring at the impossibly delicate flower in my hands. "I... I've never seen anything like this before."

Evelyn leaned forward, her elbow resting against the desk, her chin lazily propped against her palm. "Good."

Then, in a voice barely above a murmur—

"Because it suits you."

Something in my stomach flipped.

I swallowed, my grip tightening around the rose. This was dangerous.

And yet—

I wasn't sure if I wanted to run from it… or fall into it completely.

Evelyn watched me, her smirk lingering, assessing me like a predator who knew her prey was already ensnared. Then, with the same smooth, velvety voice that had been unraveling me all night, she asked—

"Would you like your reward now?"

I stiffened.

The reward. I had forgotten about that entirely.

My fingers curled around the rose still warm from magic, grounding myself as I nodded. "Sure."

Evelyn's smirk deepened.

"Good," she purred.

I should have known better.

"You'll be learning Layering Theory."

I blinked. "Again?"

She hummed. "Mm. But this one is… different."

I narrowed my eyes. "Huh?"

Evelyn slowly stood, her movements deliberate, the dim candlelight flickering against the pristine white of her blouse, the sharp curve of her skirt, the deadly confidence in her posture.

"Clothe Layering Theory," she mused, tilting her head as she stepped closer, her heels clicking softly against the marble.

I stared at her. "What?"

Her smirk grew impossibly slow, her fingers grazing along the desk's surface as she leaned ever so slightly forward.

"Have you ever heard of it?" she asked, voice dripping with something far more dangerous than magic.

I swallowed hard.

No. No, I had not.

And yet—I had a very bad feeling about where this was going.

It was in the way she was watching me now, her gaze flickering, slow and knowing, from my face… to my collarbone… lower.

It was in the way my breath caught before I could stop it, my pulse quickening in the heavy silence that stretched between us.

Then, Evelyn let out a soft chuckle.

And that's when I became far too conscious of what she was wearing.

Her blouse, sheer enough to hint at the lace beneath.

Her skirt, hugging her hips in a way that was anything but innocent.

The way the slit parted slightly as she moved, revealing just a fraction more of her thigh—enough to distract me, enough to make me forget that I was still sitting there, gripping a rose like it was my last defense.

I suddenly felt warm.

Too warm.

"What… what exactly does Clothe Layering Theory do?" I asked slowly, though I already knew I was going to regret it.

Evelyn's eyes gleamed.

Her fingers traced a lazy pattern against the desk, her lips curving as she finally answered—

"It removes layers, darling. One by one."

My stomach dropped.

And from the way she was looking at me—I knew she had no intention of letting me leave this lesson unscathed.

Suddenly, Evelyn leaned in, closer than ever, her figure towering over mine, her presence overwhelming.

My breath hitched as she braced her hands against the desk, effectively caging me in, the warmth of her body radiating through the narrow space between us.

Her eyes—**dark, knowing, filled with something wickedly amused—**never left mine.

"Or," she murmured, her voice a slow, silken tease, "would you prefer something different?"

Clothe Layering Theory is too dangerous.

Way, way too dangerous.

I felt my entire body tense, my fingers clutching at the edge of the desk, my heart pounding far too fast.

"S-Something different, please," I blurted out before I could stop myself.

I saw it then—the slight glint in her eyes, the way her smirk curled just a little sharper, like she had been waiting for me to say exactly that.

And then—she moved.

Her lips brushed against my ear, her voice dropping into something that sent a shiver running straight down my spine.

"Don't complain, darling. You asked for it."

Before I could even react—before I could fully process the weight of her words—

I was on the desk.

My back met the smooth surface with a gentle but firm push, the air leaving my lungs in a short, startled gasp.

Evelyn hovered above me, her frame pinning me down without even touching me. Her knee had slipped between my legs, just slightly, just enough to remind me exactly how close we were.

I dared to glance down—

And immediately regretted it.

The undone buttons of her blouse teased far too much, the soft glow of candlelight casting golden shadows over her perfectly smooth skin, the hint of lace peeking from beneath.

But I couldn't let my gaze linger—

Because Evelyn was looking at me like she already knew everything I was thinking.

Like she was waiting for me to react.

I forced myself to breathe, my fingers pressing into the desk beneath me. "Evelyn—"

She cut me off with a kiss.

Soft at first. Teasing. Just a gentle, deliberate brush of her lips over mine, like she was giving me the chance to pull away.

I didn't.

She smirked against my mouth.

And then—she deepened it.

Her hand slid up my waist, her fingers skimming the curve of my hip, pulling me closer, deeper, into her.

Her lips moved with slow, devastating precision, coaxing, teasing, commanding.

And then—her tongue.

I shuddered the moment she licked into my mouth, slow and sensual, taking her time, savoring my reaction.

The kiss was all-consuming, intoxicating, devastatingly thorough.

I felt lightheaded, overwhelmed, drowning in the way she moved, the way she controlled the pace like she had all the time in the world to ruin me.

My fingers instinctively reached for her, gripping at her blouse, unsure whether I wanted to pull her closer or push her away before I lost myself entirely.

Evelyn must have felt my hesitation—

Because she broke the kiss just slightly, her lips still hovering over mine, her breath warm, uneven.

Her fingers traced over my jawline, her thumb dragging slowly over my bottom lip, smirking at how swollen it was already.

"You taste sweet," she murmured, her voice far too pleased with itself. "Did you plan that?"

I struggled to form a coherent thought, my chest rising and falling far too quickly.

"N-No," I muttered, my voice barely there.

Evelyn chuckled softly, pressing another slow, teasing kiss to my lips before whispering—

"Liar."