Chapter 16

It's wrong.

This craving, bordering on obsession.

But like an addict, I can't stay away. And it's getting worse, lecture after lecture, the temptation taking on a life of its own.

My eyes unwittingly find her in the sea of students. My ears automatically pick up the light, sweet voice, just like the meadowlark's song. My fingers…well, they itch to be near her, to feel her soft skin, which blooms into a pink flush in my presence.

The students are clustered in small groups today, preparing to present an argument on a case study, where I'll poke holes in their positions.

Why? Because that's what the business community will do to them when they're out in the workforce. To succeed, not only do you need to make the best choice for the situation, but you also need to defend your position against critics.

My attention is captivated by her, this water nymph who seems so delicate and vulnerable and yet so strong at the same time. A mesmerizing contradiction. Life has been rough to her, if what she told me in the office before was true.

My mind drifts to the most erotic and anguish-laden fifteen minutes of my life again for the thousandth time this past week. The way she brought in the sunshine from the outside and yet seemed so cold. How her soulful, sapphire eyes were so sad, but she tried to hide behind a practiced, fake smile, one I recognized immediately because it is something I often wear myself.

Then she told me about the loss of her mother, a pain I felt viscerally because at that moment, we were the same person, both trying to mend a hole in our hearts, a hopeless, fruitless task. And her tears…the liquid marring her brilliant eyes…they were speared into my chest, and I could feel its impact wrenching the air out of my lungs.

Nothing could prepare me for the burst of possessiveness, the burning compulsion to protect her at that moment. The ethics of the situation, our age gap, the complete power imbalance, all reasons I'd repeat to myself every time before class, before I knew I'd see her, flew out the window, merely mist vaporized into thin air.

This has to stop. This madness. This rumination.

I stare at her right now, knowing I shouldn't. She's laughing at a group mate, a slim Asian girl I've seen her sit next to from time to time.

There's a lightness in her frame now. She is still standing before me, head held high, her effervescence not dimmed one bit. In fact, she seems even more determined to prove to the world nothing can snuff out her spirit.

It's a beautiful sight to behold.

Her fingers absentmindedly trail over her cheek and curl a lock of wavy hair behind her ear, and my own fingers twitch.

I remember every little thing about our interaction in my office—how soft her cheeks were, the creamy skin tinged with swaths of pink, which darkened with every second I kept my hands on her under the guise of wiping those tears from her face.

How, even during her pain, she was able to comfort me when my darkness leaked out. How she seemed to truly understand and wanted to set me free. Then there was that tentative swipe of tongue on my thumb, the sharp pleasure shooting straight into my veins.

I wanted her then. To wrap her in my arms and protect her from the elements, from the rain, so she'd never have to be a water nymph again.

Every moment in class with her ever since last week has been torture.

I want to wind those luscious strands around my hand, much like she did earlier last week when she was teasing me with her coy smile. Then there was the incident with the erotic sound clip she was listening to, and fuck did I want to act out that scene with her. I want to pull her head back to expose her throbbing pulse, then—

This is wrong. Forbidden. You're a fucking ethics professor. Stop it, Ryland.

Her eyes flicker to me, as if sensing the darkness in my thoughts, and whatever she sees causes the smile to slide off her face. Her chest swells and falls, and that enticing pink flush is spreading across her skin once more.

Tearing my gaze away, I check my watch and clear my throat. "Time's up. Group one, you're first. Who have you chosen to represent you in this debate?"

The cluster of students in the first row all turn their heads and stare at Millie. She does the twisty fingers thing again, but this time, her eyes hold a spark of deviousness, like she knew the darkness of my thoughts just moments before.

"I'm representing group one, Professor." She steps away from behind her desk and stands up tall.

A fire churns in my gut and I fight every impulse to step back or stalk toward her. With a flick of my hand, I motion for her to proceed. "The floor is yours, Ms. Callahan."

"The case study revolves around the pricing of a new medicine that'll stop the progression of kidney disease in patients and can decrease the likelihood of patients needing dialysis or a kidney transplant in their lifetimes," she begins, her voice wavering as we all focus our attentions on her. Her fingers continue to pull and twist with each other.

"Gentech Pharmaceutical has been criticized about the exorbitant prices of this lifesaving, miracle drug." She looks at her teammates, who are nodding in apparent encouragement.

She turns back to me, her voice stronger and louder. "We're here to argue pricing the drug at such a high cost is immoral and unethical. Under Kantianism, as members of society, we should focus on Gentech's underlying duty to patients. They have a moral obligation to treat these patients ethically, which includes allowing them fair access to the drug. If the price is too expensive, Gentech is condemning these patients to death."

I bite back a smile. I expect this argument from her. It's one I've heard from many students before, young people with an interminable amount of hope with little to no experience with the ugliness of the real world, where sustaining on hope by itself will starve you.

"In addition, based on the Rights Theory, human beings have the fundamental right of access to health care. Excessively high prices for this drug will violate this essential right. And after all, as a pharmaceutical company, what is Gentech's mission statement? According to their website, it's ‘To better mankind by innovating with integrity, and to deliver medical treatments that will help patients prevail over diseases and improve patient outcomes.' How can they achieve that if they aren't even allowing lifesaving medicine to land in the hands of those who need it the most?"

Millie pauses, excitement pouring out of her in spades, her eyes brimming with passionate fervor.

The heat simmering in my veins burns through me and I begin my rebuttal. "Pharmaceutical research is expensive and takes years to complete. Thousands of man hours, hundreds of failed projects, many revisions, before a viable product can be put out. You say a pharmaceutical company's purpose is to help ease the suffering of the common man from diseases. How can they do this without recouping their costs?"

She furrows her brows, her mouth parting to respond, but I hold up my hand. "You talk of Kantianism's focus on duty and the Rights Theory's focus on fundamental patient rights. What about the duties and rights of Gentech to themselves and their employees and shareholders? Should they license their patent for cheap to other companies so the price of the drug will drop, knowing that'll be at a significant cost to them, one that might threaten the company's wellbeing and viability, and endanger the livelihood of the thousands of employees working for them? Don't they have a right to their intellectual property?"

"But those are only monetary and capitalistic concerns," she retorts, her eyes flashing in anger. "How can that measure against the value of human life? How are those two things even remotely comparable?"

God, the fire in her eyes is fucking intoxicating. I want to bathe in it and control it. I want to let it wash over me, curing me of my darkness.

There's a hush in the classroom now, everyone avidly watching the debate.

No, they are watching her.

This luminous nymph clearly out of her depths on dry land, yet still attempting to wield the currents of water around her, brandishing her only weapon the best she can.

Heated blood travels to my cock, the discomfort quickly becoming clear by the bulge in my pants, but I find myself not caring. Instead, I step closer, entranced by her.

Fuck, I should step away. Stay back. But like a Siren, she lures me closer with her song.

But I'll only hurt her in the end. My abyss will snuff out her flames. My prison will clip her wings. My darkness will corrupt her light.

"You know, pharmaceutical companies are typically working on multiple research projects at the same time. Including medicines to cure cancer." I can't stop the poison from seeping out of my voice—to punish her, to punish me for this insanity brewing between us.

You're an asshole, Ryland. Fuck, you're a grade A prick.

She flinches, no doubt thinking about her mom.

I continue, "If we went with your theory of making the medicine readily accessible to everyone at a cost to Gentech, then they won't have the funds to continue their research for their cancer drug and tens of other drugs for other human diseases."

I take a few more steps forward, but she refuses to cower before me even when I loom above her. Instead, her eyes are chilly swirls of treacherous seas, threatening to level me with her glare.

Pressing further, my voice hard and low, I ask, "What about utilitarianism? Don't we want to focus on the greater good? Are we saying we'll forsake the lives of millions with other life-threatening conditions such as cancer or lung disease, diabetes, or other plight, just so folks with kidney disease can all get the aid they need at a cheap cost?"

Her lips curl, and a mist appears in her eyes. Millie fists her hands by her sides. Somehow, I don't think these are tears of sadness.

She's furious.

The anger leaching off her body is the most addictive drug. Fucking intoxicating. I can't get enough.

I lean forward, the last vestiges of logic pulling me back just enough, so we maintain the barest respectable distance between us. "Do those other patients' lives not matter to you? What about their families? Or maybe a little girl missing her mom?"

She flinches again, her mouth parting in shock.

I'm such a fucking bastard. I want to bash my head against the wall, but like a sadist, I continue.

I rasp, my voice heavy and thick. Almost guttural. "How can we be so selfish and only think about the individual or small groups of people and not for the greater good, the rest of the population?"

We can't be so selfish. I can't be so selfish.

She delivers a blistering blow, which in my twisted mind, seems more like the pleasurable pain of a lover's nails digging into your back during a rough night of fucking.

"You bastard," she seethes, the insult a quiet scathing whisper only I can hear.

I smile, the sight causing her to recoil. That's right, Millie. Stay away from me. I am a bastard. One that'll ruin you, and one that is fucking hard for you right now.

Clearing her throat, she straightens up even more. She tilts her chin up in defiance, and responds, "How do you measure the price of one patient's life versus the other? Who made you God? When human beings give themselves the right to value one sick patient's life over another, that's when society is corrupted beyond repair."

Her backhand is forceful, a powerful liver punch, and I stagger back, my hands shaking, my lungs stealing the air from around me, the heat in my veins now a full boil, scorching me from within, charring my insides beyond recognition.

And yet, I savor the pain, the burn, the sharpness of her eyes on me, slicing me to pieces.

It makes me feel alive and free.

"If we can't empathize with the individual, our sorrows for society's plight are just bullshit and plain lip service." Her heated gaze softens, the rest of the words unspoken.

"Without considering individual happiness, how can we achieve happiness in the group?" Her wise words from her first essay in class.

Suddenly, the air feels thin in the room, her attention too raw. I feel exposed. Naked. The horrid dream of showing up to work without a stitch of clothing on.

She sees me, just like I see her.

Kindred spirits.

"What if the individual wants something inappropriate for the greater good? And shatters the society's rules for right and wrong?" I murmur, staring at her plump lips.

So soft. So inviting.

I crave a taste.

Millie's eyes widen, her pulse feathering her slender neck. She exhales. "Maybe it's time to redefine the rules then." Her reply is as light as air but is taut with meaning.

I swallow, my gaze capturing hers again, watching those blue eyes darken, the pupils slowly encroaching on her irises, her breaths quickening, each movement causing her chest to swell and tremble.

Someone coughs in the background, the sharp sound shaking me out of my trance. I clear my throat and step back, the cool air of the room finally knocking some sense into me. "An enticing argument, Ms. Callahan. Well done."

Looking up, I find the other students sitting with rapt attention, the spark of insight appearing in their eyes. A few teams gather around and whisper passionately amongst themselves, clearly wanting to amend their argument with whatever new ideas the debate just now generated. My chest hums in satisfaction. This is why I want to teach.

I feel the heat of her gaze on me as I walk back toward my desk, needing distance from her, this woman who threatens to unravel everything I stand for.

My temptation.

The rest of the class passes by quickly, with each group ardently defending their opinions. Ultimately, we realize there is no black or white in this situation, no win-win solution.

Millie is quiet for the rest of the period. The variations of her—the flirtatious vixen from the beginning of the lecture, the nervous student finding her voice, the quiet seductress passionately defending her opinions—have receded into the background. In their place is someone contemplative, and I can sense the myriad of thoughts coursing through her mind.

Every quirk of brow, every rippling of her throat, every scrunch of her nose. Her thoughts are written clearly on her face in a language only I can read.

Confusion. Lust. Admiration. Excitement. And so much hunger.

My hands fist behind my back. I want to satiate that hunger, so she'll never be wanting for anything again.

A timer buzzes and class ends.

"Excellent discussion today, class. Remember, the revised papers are due by Friday."

The students hurry out of the classroom, excitement seeping through their voices as conversation topics range from weekend plans to college sports. I see the Asian girl, Jocelyn, I believe, dragging Millie out of the classroom. Keeping my eyes away from my temptation, I pack my materials in my briefcase before restoring my sleeves and cuff links. Then I slide on my suit jacket, grab my umbrella, and head toward the stairwell.

The mood of the sky has taken a dreary turn during the last hour, the storm drenching the pavement and courtyard when I finally make it to the entrance.

The trees rustle as an icy breeze kicks up in the air. The alluring scent of jasmine with a hint of vanilla reaches my nose from the open doors.

Her scent.

The hairs on my forearms stand at attention, my body already attuned to the woman I'm sure is standing outside.

I can feel her presence like a hunter sensing his prey.

Snapping open my umbrella, I step onto the small patch of pavement covered by the cement overhang of the building. Sure enough, Millie stands there, her hands rubbing her arms as she stares forlornly at the rain.

She shivers and blows out a deep breath, like she's trying to psych herself up to run into the elements, returning to her state as a water nymph after an excursion on dry land. Visions flood my mind—the first day when I met her, when I found her on the floor of my classroom drenched head-to-toe and when she looked so cold and lonely standing in front of my desk in my office, clutching the pot of daffodils.

The same overwhelming need to protect her fills me, an inferno blazing my insides.

I don't want her to become a water nymph again. I want to see her fly in the skies like the meadowlark.

I know I should ignore her and walk away. But I can't.

Wordlessly, I stride up to her and place my free hand on hers. Her tempting lips part in surprise as she looks at me and for a moment, a brief, selfish moment, I stand there before her, my larger hand on top of her smaller, chilled one, and just look at her.

My eyes rove hungrily over her features, committing them to memory—the thick, shiny chocolate strands billowing in the wind, sending a stronger current of jasmine laced with vanilla toward me, her special brand of magic, the eyes like tranquil waters soothing the ragged edges of my soul, the heart-shaped face, her nose already tipped pink from the elements.

The cool breeze sweeps by, and a lock of hair falls over her face. Wetting my parched lips, I gently brush the strands to the side and tuck them behind her ear. Millie's eyes widen, her pupils dilating. Her breathing quickens, the pulse thudding rapidly in her throat.

I feel the mirrored frenzied beats inside me.

Step away, the wind whispers. Do the right thing. Be the bastard.

But my nostrils flare and I tangle my fingers with hers, my soul allowing for one more selfish moment, one more taste of freedom. My long fingers glide over hers and a thousand sparks light up my skin, sending heated blood south, the simple touch far more erotic than anything I've experienced in the past, with nameless, faceless women.

I don't remember any of them.

I only see her.

Giving her hand a squeeze, I open her palm and curl it around the handle of my umbrella. She won't need to be cold again with me here.

Turning away, I walk into the rain, letting the elements soak my body once more. I feel her stare on my back, but I don't turn around.

Instead, I let the rain wrap me in her embrace. A sharp gust whisks by, an icy front shocking to the senses.

I should be cold, but for the first time, amidst the pouring rain usually making me feel alive when the icy chill settles into my veins, I'm not. Instead, I'm kept warm by the heated intent of her gaze on my back, and my soul has never felt freer.