I wrote all weekend. Whatever the hell this thing with Purity is, it's fueling my writing like nothing ever has before. I'm a sexually frustrated adolescent boy, horny as hell and mentally reliving what happened in my office over and over.

I think that's what's fueling my creativity. I think it's her who fuels my creativity.

Or my obsession.

When Purity walks into class on Monday morning, I realize just how fixated I'm becoming with this girl. She breezes into the room wearing a pair of cutoff jean shorts and a black tank top. Her hair is pulled back from her face in a ponytail on top of her head, the first time I've ever seen her wear it in any way other than hanging down around her shoulders.

I'm standing in front of the entire class, and I can't think of anything except how badly I want to hold onto that ponytail while I fuck the girl from behind.

My thoughts are perverse. I'm well aware of that. I've never had explicit thoughts like this about a student before – and in class, no less. And I'm having these thoughts about her. Alan's daughter.

That makes them even more perverse.

When Purity sinks into her seat, she looks up at me and her cheeks flush bright pink. I don't know if that pink hue means she's embarrassed by what happened or whether it means she's been thinking about what happened all weekend long, the way I have. It doesn't much matter. Either way, the color of her cheeks reminds me of the way they flush pink after orgasm, and it makes me want to give her another one immediately.

I clear my throat and try to focus on my job instead of gaping at the girl like a love-struck teenager. "Let's talk about the assignments from last time, shall we?"

I put everything out of my head and remain professional during the lecture. I even convince myself that I can be professional when I see her at the end of class – that is, until the same student who was talking to her at the start of the last class walks up to her and engages her again.

The minute I see him talking to her, I want to throttle him. I want to throttle him for the way he's looking at her. I want to throttle him for the way he's clearly trying to hit on her.

But I don't do a damned thing, because I'm their professor.

When Purity looks my way, I shrug and gather my teaching materials. I'm an adult, I tell myself. I shouldn't be the least bit jealous that one of my students is speaking to another one of my students. Yet I'm jealous as fuck, because it's her.

I walk past the two of them on the way out of the classroom, mentally congratulating myself on refraining from killing Randolph. "There's another class in this room in five minutes."

"Oh, sorry, yeah." Randolph says something to Purity about his phone number, but I don't hear her response because I'm already gone.

This is absurd, I tell myself as I make my way out of the building. You're a grown man. The girl is eighteen, for fuck's sake. She's spent her entire life sheltered away from everything. She should be dating. She should be playing the field. She should be gathering some damned life experience.

The thought of her getting experience from anyone besides me makes me angrier than it should.

"Professor Ryan!" Purity's voice rings out behind me as I make my way through the quad.

I could keep walking and completely ignore her. Reluctantly, I pause in the midst of the chaos in the quad. When Purity reaches me, she's breathless. "Professor Ryan!"

I raise my eyebrows. "Can I help you, Ms. Taylor?" I ask. "You know when my office hours are, and I'm afraid I'm on my way home."

Purity glances around furtively at the students passing us in every direction on their way to their classes. The gesture almost makes me laugh. The girl couldn't be any more obvious if she tried. She clearly has zero experience in deception, which is somehow charming, but standing here with her is going to draw attention to the fact that something happened between us.

I need to be more careful.

"I'm – I just wanted to – to talk to you," she stutters.

"Did you have a question about the assignment?" I ask, my voice raised. I'm just a regular professor talking to one of my students. There's absolutely nothing else going on here.

Maintain professionalism.

Purity tucks her hair behind her ear. "I – yes," she says, looking around again before dropping her voice lower. "What happened on Friday. I wanted to talk about –"

"Other people may be more interested in your time," I remind her.

"What people??" she starts, then pauses. "Randolph?"

"Go back to your dorm room."

She crosses her arms. "No."

"No?"

"No," she repeats. "I'm not going back to my room. You can talk to me now right here in the middle of everything, or –"

"Or what?"

"Or – " she pauses. "Or I don't know what. But I know that you're being rude."

"I told you I wasn't a gentleman."

Her eyes narrow. "Well, you don't have to be an asshole just because you're jealous some guy was talking to me."

"You're going to regret saying that, little girl."

"I doubt it," she retorts, her arms still crossed.

I lean close to her, far too close to be appropriate, but I tell myself it's only for a moment. "You're awfully bold for a girl who was turned over my knee the last time she saw me."

When I step back, her cheeks are flushed. "I'm – um…"

"Are you finished with classes for the day?"

"I have another class at one," she replies.

"What class?"

"Politics."

"Attendance requirement?"

"Yes."

I regret what I'm about to do even before I do it. The adult part of me knows better. "Then you have enough time for another class."

"What do you mean?"

"My house, Ms. Taylor," I say, my voice low. "I'll be giving you a lesson."

She bites her lip. "What if I'm not teachable?"

I let out a low laugh. "You're going to learn," I promise, stepping close again – at my own risk – but I'm fucking reckless right now.

I whisper my address into her ear. It's within walking distance to campus but far enough from all of the off-campus frat and college student houses that she won't attract attention. Still, it's fucking crazy to summon her there.

I tell myself that it could be innocent, two old friends from the same town reconnecting. Nothing has to happen between us. Except that we're not old friends – I was friends with her father once, but not with her.

Sending her to my house is wrong.

Telling her I’m going to teach her is very wrong.

The things I'm thinking about doing to her are the most wrong things of all.