“Elijah?”

The voice penetrates into the garden. It’s Rosie’s voice, and she’s only a few feet away. As soon as she turns the corner, she’ll see us.

I let go of the tie, and it goes slack. I quickly pull it off my hand and stuff it into my pocket. I go to flip my collar back down, but I already see Rosie in my peripheral vision.

She steps into the garden, and I decide to flip my collar down even though she’s already looking at me. She’s squinting, and suspicion is painted all over her face in bright colors. Even in the darkness, I can tell she knows.

“I was wondering if you were coming back or not,” she says, her voice cold.

I look over toward Nicole, and if my missing tie and popped collar didn’t already look suspicious, Nicole Faria’s expression must all but confirm everything to Rosie. Nicole’s face is red as blood, her lips are parted, and she’s too shocked to even look embarrassed. Her big breasts are heaving up and down, and she’s panting and licking her lips. She’s just staring wide-eyed at Rosie as if she’s completely perplexed that anyone could infiltrate this garden. As if the walls were magical and impenetrable.

“I suppose you weren’t coming back, then,” Rosie says. “So I’ll leave you alone.”

Fuck. Rosie is faculty at Oxford. This is how career-ruining rumors start. Even if Rosie doesn’t go straight to the administration with this, one word to a friend or colleague would be enough, wouldn’t it?

“Are you going to tell?” I ask.

Nicole begins to stammer. “Nothing...there’s nothing…”

“Quiet, Ms. Faria,” I snap.

She bites her lip, and I feel a surge of anguish. She obeys me already. Even in a situation like this, she obeys. And I can’t have her. Not now, and not ever. It was incredibly reckless to go this far with her. Rosie coming in when she did was probably for the best, because after one night with Nicole, I doubt I could have ever played it safe enough to not get caught. It was always too risky, which is exactly why I didn't touch her all semester.

“Is there anything to tell?” Rosie asks.

“No,” I say. “A brief lapse in good judgement, but I stopped myself in time. Nothing happened. Nothing will happen.”

Rosie scoffs and shakes her head. “This is why I don’t date liberal arts professors. You’re all such clichés.”

I take two steps toward Rosie, and I tower over her. I look down at her with a dark expression, one I usually save for a woman sworn to obey me. It’s a risk that could backfire, but I see the look of awe in Rosie’s eyes as she looks up at me.

“You’re not going to say a word, as it would just make you look bad, wouldn’t it?”

She frowns, but her eyes tell me she’s trying to win my approval. I have her where I want her.

“If nothing happened, or will happen…” Rosie says. “Then what is there to tell?”

“Nothing,” I say. “Nothing at all.”

* * *

After I finish talking to Rosie, I step back into the garden to see Nicole standing stock-still, exactly where I ordered her to stand. Why does she have to be so damn obedient? It makes things so much more difficult.

“Professor Leeds,” she says. “You see how well I obey you? I’ll obey every single one of your orders. Dr. Woods will never know...no one will.”

“No one will know,” I say, “because we aren’t doing this.”

I pull my tie out of my pants pocket and wrap it around my shirt collar. It becomes just a man’s necktie again, and Nicole Faria is just my student. I won’t reshape her, and I won’t ever feel her warmth.

I feel the conflict within me burning like fire. I was raised on the romantics, and how can I choose something so dry and stuck-up like my “career” over what could possibly be the perfect woman to suit my complicated needs. Still, for me, no woman is ever permanent. Every woman is a flower to be plucked, and eventually wither from my declining interest.

I try to calm the fire within me by telling myself that the harder choice leads to more suffering. The more I suffer, the better the eventual release. None of the heroes in literature ever got what they truly wanted without a good dose of suffering—without being denied. I willingly choose to deny myself. It means that I am in control.

Then I look at Nicole’s expectant eyes, and I nearly break. I could grab her and taste her. But I couldn’t do just that. As soon as her lips pressed against me, I’d be unable to turn her away again. I’d be like that infamous heroin addict who became addicted from the very first hit. I know myself well enough to know that I’d not be able to give her up once I’d had her. It’s pointless to trick myself into thinking it could only happen once. That I could order her to keep quiet. It wouldn’t work.

I finish re-doing my tie, and I look down at her. In the most banal voice I can manage, I say, “I order you to forget this. This will not happen. You will attend my last few lectures and take the final exam, but you will not so much as look at me. I will not look at you.”

“But—”

“Don’t argue,” I snap. “Just obey.”