I go a whole day sulking and acting like a sullen fucking teenager about. I type out and then erase about twenty text messages to Ellie, and hover my thumb over her number another hundred times.

Please, spare me the cliché, okay?

Fuck.

In a way, she’s fucking right. Here I am, a college english professor fucking around with a damn student half my age.

All I need is a red fucking sports car and I am every bit the cliché I bet this looks like.

Except I also don’t give a shit about “what it looks like.” I don’t care what sort of cliché people think this is. Because whatever Ellie and I are - however illicit and totally fucking wrong it is - it’s not the tawdry, manipulative affair I know people would assume it is. There’s no power trip here, no “oh professor, I’ll do anything for a better grade” nonsense. I’m not her sugar-daddy, and she’s not my cure for feeling old.

She’s my fucking everything.

I know the age thing is bizarre. And while I’d be a fucking liar if I tried to claim that fucking a girl as young and sexy as her didn’t get my cock harder than ever, she could be my age, or fucking twice my age, and I’d still have the feelings I have her.

And that’s why this isn’t the bullshit cliché people would think this is.

The physical is the hottest thing I’ve ever experienced, but it’s knowing her - the gorgeous, sensitive, incredible woman inside - that has me twisted up and lost. If this was just me getting my dick wet in some barely legal freshman pussy, I could handle whatever hiccups or train wrecks came my way.

But not when she’s found her way into my heart like this.

Not when it’s real like this.

* * *

I finally see her a day later.

I’m at the front podium in my lecture hall when she steps in, and it’s everything else in my head just fades away at the sight of her.

Holy fuck.

It’s also everything I can do to keep my fucking eyes in my head and my damn tongue in my mouth.

She’s gorgeous. Cock-throbbingly, jaw-droppingly sexy in this tight sweater with the sleeves pulled up, and a skirt just short enough to almost give a flash of tight young ass as she waltzes right past me into the room.

She dressed up for this class.

It’s obvious, and knowing that gets my blood pumping a little faster as I think about her prepping and making sure she looked extra hot for when we saw each other again after that moment outside her dorm.

She wants me to feel all coiled up and ready to pounce on her.

She wants my cocky to be so hard from just seeing her that I can barely get through the lecture.

And I barely can.

I’m dimly aware of getting through the day’s lecture one fucking bullet point at a time, like a checklist. But I’m basically just talking on autopilot, because it’s impossible to concentrate with whats going on in the front row.

Ellie.

Specifically, Ellie crossing and uncrossing her legs about a hundred times, and each time, giving me the quickest last of pure-white panty.

Needless to say, my cock is about tearing a hole in my pants.

I’m stumbling through words, droning on about God knows what while I just stare at the little tease doing her damnedest to hide a grin while she flashes her little panties at me.

She know exactly what she’s doing, and she’s enjoying it.

And that’s when I decide that I’m done hemming and hawing about this. I’m done acting like the confused, dumb teenager about this girl.

Because I’m a man - a man who knows exactly what he wants.

And I’m going to take what I want.

Right now.

I stop talking and glance at my watch.

“You know what?” I look up and smile at the class. “We’ve got twenty minutes left, but I think we’re going to stop things right here.”

There are a few murmurs, and a few puzzled looks as I slam the lesson book shut.

“We’ll pick this up in a few days, alright?”

The lecture hall fills with shuffling as students start to collect their things and stand. I turn and look right at her.

“Ms. Thompson.”

Her cheeks flush as she swallows quickly and looks at me with those big blue eyes.

“I need to see you in my office, right now.”

The lecture hall is slowly emptying around us, but she’s still sitting there, fingers toying with her pen.

She shakes her head.

I growl lowly.

I’m not playing games. I’m far too hard for that, and far to interested in making that sweet little pussy come for me to do the back and forth with this.

I step towards her seat.

“Now, Ms. Thompson.”

She swallows quickly before shooting me this defiant, sassy look.

“I think we’ve gone over everything that needs going over, professor.”

The last of the other students trickles out the door. She stands abruptly, and she’s grabbing her bag and starting for the door when my hand jerks out.

I grab her by both arms and she’s gasping as I yank her tight against me.

“You mean everything to me,” I say thickly, my eyes burning into hers. I say it loud, and forcefully, and she’s suddenly staring up at me with those big blue eyes.

“You mean everything to me,” I say, softer now.

She swallows thickly and bites her lip. “Well who the fuck was that girl?”

I grin. “Casey, my agent.” I raise a brow at her. “Gay, and married, by the way.”

Ellie’s face goes bright red, and she drops her head down before looking up at me with this guilt, embarrassed expression.

“You’re lucky you’re so charming, you know,” she says, trying to hide the smile that starts to creep across her lips.

“Oh I’m lucky for a lot more than that,” I say, kissing her softly on the lips, right there in the empty lecture hall.

And there’s more I want to say, I just don’t know how; not yet at least. Because they’re things and words I never have said, and words I’ve avoided.

So how in the world is this girl - this totally off-limits girl who’s so wrong for me, the one I have no future with - making me want to?

“God, I’m an idiot,” she mumbles, her face still red as she pulls away from my kiss.

“I acted like a total psycho bitch without knowing what was going on.”

I grin. “If I’d walked in on you in that situation with some guy, I’d have probably knocked his fucking teeth out.”

She grins, biting her lip in this unintentionally seductive way.

“Think you can forgive me, professor?”

Fuck. The word is like fucking kryptonite to me at this point, and I can feel the blood roar inside of me as my cock goes rock-hard in my pants.

“Well that depends, Ms. Thompson,” I growl, pulling her tight enough against me that I know she can feel how hard I am.

She does, and she moans quietly as she moves her hips tighter against me.

“Depends on what, professor?” she says softly, her eyes sparkling and her tongue darting out across her lips.

“It depends,” I growl into her ear, my hand tracing down over her ass, lifting the skirt, and hooking a thumb into the waist of her panties.

“It depends on how fast you can take these fucking panties off, give them to me, and the get to my office.”