Ever since Violet made the costly move from Los Angeles to Manhattan she's had to work to pay for her rent. But a few months ago she lost her high-paying desk job and had been doing what her ex-boyfriend had exposed her to ever since: the art of drug dealing.

Sure as a little girl Violet never imagined selling weed to randoms in the Upper East Side in order to pay to for her unnecessarily expensive studio apartment would be her life, but she's not complaining. Lucky for her, most of the people she deals to are just rich snobs who trust her merely because she's a girl. And that's just fine, but she also knows how to protect herself and her merchandise (with a handgun and a few years of karate as a kid).

But one of her most memorable clients, as she likes to call them, is a young man who has been buying from her almost as long as she's been jobless, which is coming on seven months. And, from what little she knows about him, she's intrigued. She guesses he's in his mid-to-late twenties and, by lack of a ring, single. Also, he's attractive.

Actually, that's an understatement. Violet practically begs him to fuck her with her eyes each time he picks up from her. But alas, she has a no boyfriend during college, as well as no dating customers, policy that's been strictly enforced throughout her time a NYU. And she's not exactly the type to go for one-night stands.

So, instead, she counts the days- hours - until Tate, his name she soon learned after his second visit, shows up at the coffee shops two blocks from her home to "pick her up".

But it's more like a small walk to exchange goods without tipping others off. And on their short stroll, she only allows herself one question: how are you?

Each week it's the same, 'good and you', response. However, a few times he's given detailed answers about his stressful day or great weekend, but mostly it's the bland reply.

But her absolute favorite time of the entire week is during the ten seconds that Tate pulls her into a hug, which is another decoy but has actually become a habit. The first time it happened, on the sixth arrangement after their first meeting, Violet nearly squealed. Luckily she contained herself and now, months later, but still feels a chill run down her spine and a smile spread across her face each time they collide.

And of course, she knows the feeling must be somewhat mutual because she's caught him checking her out more times than not, and he actually brushed his hand over her butt, purposefully she hopes, and didn't pull away.

But who would want to date a young, and clearly fucked up, drug dealer when he could easily snag a beautiful heiress to daddy's fortune or a model.

However, Violet doesn't know how wrong she is because Tate feels more like her than she could imagine.

He even remembers the moment he laid eyes on her, and, not to be cliché, his stomach actually fluttered. He genuinely thought his insides were doing flips and crazy tricks to let him know she's gorgeous. But he didn't need any feeling or sign to know- it was obvious just by the way he couldn't move forward without his palms becoming clammy as ever.

To resist the urge to ask her on a date was the hardest thing he's ever done- and Tate has participated in the Polar Bear Plunge. But before he could even gather the courage to ask, or beg if it came down to it, the amazing woman in front of him to accompany him to a play or something extraordinary, he came to his senses.

Of course the hot drug dealer must have a tough, gangster even, boyfriend who provides the drugs and watches her closely.

So, to stay out of trouble, he backed off for good and decided that either way, this girl is probably trouble. For all he knows she skimps him.

But no matter what, he's loyal to her because not only is she the most alluring woman he's met, and he's encounter plenty of females since he's met her, but she also has the dankest stuff in town.

But even Tate wonders why after all these years his still uses marijuana. Yet he soon remembers that it's because his job is the most stressful and he earns an entire afternoon a week to sit in his loft and smoke until he passes out.

And during his usage he always thinks of Violet and wishes he had the nerve to invite her to smoke with him. He would kill to experience her while high. In fact, he knows it'd be the most incredible moment of his entire life. Her skin, so pale and delicate, would feel like satin against his rough fingers. And he's decided she tastes like honey- sweet and natural.

But Tate forces the thoughts away because they'll only lead to disappointment when he realizes she's not there and never will be.

So instead he visualizes the hug they share at the end of their time. Oh how he desires to lift her chin and kiss her pouty, cherry-stained lips each time the touch.

But this month is different, the two promise. It's January and they've each made a pact to get over one another and find a significant other.

However, Violet makes the thought to be after finals since this is her last semester and, hopefully, she will be graduating in May.

Unfortunately, she's only left with the random, boring electives, with the exception of her final radiography class.

So after she's made her schedule, and checked RateMyProfessor for reviews on each instructor, she wonders why Advanced Camping is a class and why she signed up for it. But she's sort of excited for a literature course focusing on dead poets that she's scheduled for.

So, on the first day, it isn't a surprise that Violet arrives early to the English lecture and picked the perfect seat in the back.

And since there's thirty minutes until the professor is supposed to arrive, she plugs her headphones in and blasts the Sex Pistols.

However, she doesn't realize how long she's been in her own world because the flicker of the lights is the only thing to awaken her from the daze.

"Good morning students, I'm professor Langdon and this is Midcentury Poetry. I'll pass the sign in sheet around but it'll normally be at the front."

Instantly, Violet knows the voice is familiar but she can't see the face of her teacher well enough to understand who he is.

However, from the moment he scans the crowd, Tate recognizes Violet. How could he not spot the blonde with baggy, distressed clothes and the most adorable smile he's ever seen in a sea of girls in skin-tight pants and frowns and a few men practically asleep on their backpacks?

During the lesson Violet can't focus on a word the professor was speaking because she is studying his face. And half way through it she comes to the conclusion that it is indeed the cute, and apparently not so young, man she encounters every Tuesday for a quick exchange.

Naturally, Violet decides to not confront him because she's more of the let it go kind of girl. And Tate would normally say the same about himself but he really loves her weed and needs to clear things up.

And Violet thought she had gone unnoticed in the room since it is rather large, but to her disappointment Tate spotted her almost instantly and has himself set on a word with her.

How could she be so young, he wonders as he formulates what to say. But when he notices she's nearly out the door, he shouts her name, which causes her entire body to turn scarlet red and heart pound uncontrollably in her chest.

So it is really him, she almost mumbles aloud. What could he possibly say to make the situation less awkward? It's not like Violet plans on ratting him out; after all, she is the source of his drugs.

"Violet!" He calls out once more with his hand raised and messenger bag clutched under his other arm.

She concludes running won't work and that the least uncomfortable thing to do would be staying since she'll have to face in sometime.

So as he inches closer, tearing through the small crowd formed at the door, she wonders what he'll say and also what he looks like without the dress shirt and tie.

"Can we talk in private? Do you have class?"

The shock of their first real conversation in weeks almost sends her into a coma, but she instead gathers herself and clears her throat before responding.

"I'm free until two-thirty," she utters so quietly Tate barely hears it.

But he does. So he grabs her hand, sending an electric-like jolt of nerves up their arms, and leads her to his office.

Once inside, after the three-minute walk hand-in-hand, he looks- stares- at Violet and admires her bold sense of style. The way her loose cardigan flows down her body and covers her butt, not allowing a peek at the glorious muscle, and how her purple leggings hug her hips that one can only appreciate when she faces forward and her perfectly filled out breasts slightly spill from her grey tank top.

He's never laid eyes on a carefree outfit such as hers and never noticed her unique wardrobe until today (perhaps since he's been focused on her whiskey colored eyes and silken, honey hair for the past six months).

But he soon snaps out of his daze and realizes what has to be done.

"Violet," Tate begins.

Instantly, she fears for the worst. He could sell her out to the cops or worse, not buy from her again. And she absolutely needs the money, but she craves the time together. With out it, she'd go through the most terrible kind of withdrawal that could only be fixed by a series of regrettable events.

"I know this is... awkward- to say the least, but I want you to know I have a reason. I...I smoke because the stress level of this job is almost unbearable. I'm sure you don't find that a reasonable excuse but if you'd-"

"Professor?" Violet shyly interrupts Tate from his rambling.

And immediately he looks up from his fumbling feet and straight into her soul penetrating eyes.

"You don't have to explain yourself to me. After all, I am your drug dealer. It's not like I'm in any position to judge you."

And as soon as the last word glides off her tongue, he has a realization.

She's right. They're both at each other's mercy. He can't expose her without possibly unveiling himself and vice versa. Besides why would a drug dealer rat out her teacher? They are friends...well, sort of.

"Anyways, I'm not a nark. Your secret is safe with me... Professor." Violet finishes her statement with an eyebrow raise and an intense stare into the depth of his irises.

Tate has never been exposed to this side of her but he is indeed enjoying it. The mysterious act was more than enough to intrigue him but the suddenly bad-girl notion has him wrapped around her finger.

But still he decides to take precaution because his job is most important in his life.

"Thank you Violet, but I'm afraid our weekly meetings will have to stop. It's just not appropriate."

The words she knew were coming stung worse than she thought. Of course, Violet figured they'd stop interacting one day but she didn't plan for it those soon and under this circumstance. It's not fair. She hardly knows the guy and a stupid class she doesn't even have to take stomps on their possible future!

"B-but, I promise I won't say anything. In fact, this could be better! I... I could meet you somewhere for tutoring and then we could exchange and-and."

Violet stops herself before looking more pathetic. She even finds herself on the verge of tears.

But at least to Tate it looks like desperation for money, not for his touch.

"Violet..." is all he lets out. Tate wants to give in so bad. He doesn't want to give up the weekly hug. In fact, he wants to hug her right now. She looks so stressed sitting in the leather chair before him with glassy eyes and shaky hands.

He can't deny her of business, right? After all, she has been good to him since he started buying from her.

"If we do this, if we actually continue this, we have to promise no one can know. Not a single soul or I'll be jobless and you'll be in prison. We have to continue like a student and professor would. Understood?"

The sternness in his voice could spook anyone else, but Violet is too happy to be intimidated. The love of her life, or realistically her huge crush but violet's mind over exaggerates greatly, is willing to continue their secret meetings.

. . .

The past four weeks have been almost normal for Violet with the exception of more time spent with Tate, or Professor Langdon as he's formally called.

The two have continued the weekly meet up but unfortunately the hugs have ceased. She guesses it'll give the two a bad image, which Violet agrees with but still wishes he would wrap his arms around her once more.

However, they have been getting closer because they spend more time together to make the tutoring believable.

Some discussions were focused on the lecture but most were about the drug and how to amplify the high.

But today Tate decides to test the waters by asking personal questions.

So when Violet arrives to their corner of the library Tate straightens his back and glances at her outfit. The first piece he notices is the shaggy mustard cardigan that's draped over her, two sizes too big. He recalls owning a piece like that a few years ago. But when he directs his eyes under the jacket, he notices a yellow and brown floral dress that accentuates her breasts and hips so well that he can almost envision what they look like bare.

But perhaps his favorite part is the grey tights stuck to her legs. He adores how trendsetting she is. Most girls wouldn't wear that many layers with fear that they won't be able to show off their body, but Violet clearly does not give a fuck.

"Hey," she says in a breathy tone as she slides into a chair.

"Hello," Tate responses while wiping the sweat from his palms on his pants.

"Here's my paper." She slides a folder containing her assignment as well as the marijuana.

"Thank you," he answers but is more focused on the way her hair falls over her shoulders so delicately and forms small waves towards the end.

"Um, Violet, may I ask you a personal question?"

The bombshell nearly sends her into a choking fit. The hot professor wants to know more about her?

So, because she can't form words at the moment, Violet nods her head slowly and continually until he lets out a smile.

"How old are you?" Tate, expecting a terrifying answer of eighteen, cringes.

"Twenty-three in a week," she announces, causing a wide grin to spread across Tate's face.

"What about you?" Violet asks, curious to how old her crush is.

"That's not how the game works!" He answers.

"Game?" Violet mutters confused.

"Oh you want to play that question game. Fine. You're on!" She whisper-shouts.

"Why did you buy from me?"

Her question is simple, easy to answer, but embarrassing to admit. Should he really tell her the honest truth that will give away his feelings so easily?

"Well, you know my friend Troy bought from you at the time and well, when I found out you were a girl I wanted to know more about you. So-"

"You Internet stalked me!" She bursts out and then quietly laughs.

"Very funny. Yes I looked into you. But I couldn't not meet you because, well, you're just so damn cute, Violet."

After the last words leave his mouth he regrets it.

Cute?That's what a dog is called while dragging its crotch across a carpet or a baby when it gnaws on a finger. Not what the most attractive woman he's ever met should be deemed.

But he didn't want to overwhelm her so cute will do, for now.

The silence is broken when she rolls her eyes and lets out a nose laugh.

But Tate decides to move on and ask another question.

"Do you have a pimp or something- for the mary jane?"

The bluntness of his question, and the silly code word for marijuana, causes Violet to choke on the water she just sipped into her mouth.

"No," she blandly responds. As if she constantly is asked this.

"How old are you?" She asks with an eyebrow arched. She's hoping not older than thirty-two, but at this point she doesn't care. He's into her and she's into him. Now, it's just a waiting game to see who makes the first move.

"Twenty-nine."

Violet stares at his lips the entire time, watching how each syllable gracefully rolls off the plump muscles.

"Shit. Violet, I left my wallet in the office. Care to join me?" He asks while standing up suddenly.

Violet doesn't want the money yet because then she'll have to leave and count the minutes until next Tuesday. But she walks with him anyways because maybe he'll hug her in his office.

The stroll is quiet but not uncomfortable. They both are dissecting the earlier conversation but neither wants to talk about it.

So, when Tate unlocks his office and insists Violet to walk in before him, ladies first, of course, he thinks of a question that's just itching to be let out.

"Do you have a boyfriend?"

It's not as controlled as he hoped but it's too late so he's standing his ground.

"Excuse me?" Violet retorts, so shocked by his undue question.

"We're still playing the question game, aren't we?" His answer is coy and almost rude, but Violet likes sass.

"No boyfriend," she murmurs, embarrassed that she's not two steps ahead of him.

Instead of a verbal response, Tate raises his brows and allows a smirk to take over his face for a moment.

Now, Violet is thinking of an even better, more obscene, question to ask.

"Have you ever had sex while high?"

Her tone is even and pitch is loud. Violet is not backing down on this war of who's bolder.

"Nope," Tate says, popping the p and staring straight into Violet's light, caramel eyes.

"Have you ever kissed a professor?" He asks, stepping closer to her.

Violet is truly baffled and at a loss of words. He jumped too fast for her to even compete.

"No," she whispers while avoiding eye contact even though she knows his obsidian orbs are focused on her and his shaggy, blonde locks are messily spread across his forehead, which would pull her into a dangerous pool of lust.

"Look at me," the professor demands after moments of silence and heavy breathing.

Slowly, she lifts her head up and scans her eyes over his chest, which is covered in a tight dress shirt and tie, and then to his well-defined jaw line. After, she gradually inches her focus to his strawberry colored lips that appear so soft and puffy. Next her gaze travels to his nose, noticing a tiny brown freckle on the top for the first time. And last, she meets his stare.

The way his eyelashes kiss the skin under his brow and flutter each time he blinks could have Violet in awe forever, but really, she wants to study his eyes until she can spot the pupil and the iris, not just one mesh of the two.

Meanwhile, Tate has taken in her face many times, and his favorite part is the tiny dimples that appears by her lip each time she speaks or slightly smiles. And, accompanying the indentation is her mole, which he finds so sexy.

Something about the small brown speckle is adorable but badass at the same time. Violet is a walking, talking contradiction.

And Tate loves it.

. . .

Minutes later the two are still in silence but the space between them had closed to the point that there's hardly room between their chests and each feel the others breath on their skin.

"Ms. Harmon?" Tate finally lets out.

Instantly, the words gave her a rush of sadness. He's only called her that in public when she would bid him goodbye after their "study sessions".

But Tate knew that it would tip her off, and truthfully, he just loves to push her buttons.

"Next time someone asks you that question, you'll have to change your answer."

And before she could process his words, or even prepare herself for what's coming next, Tate places his eager lips onto hers.

From the moment the two collide there's no turning back. And deep down they both know that very well.

But still, they're reckless. Tate can get fired for hooking up with a student in his office, and it'll ruin his stance as a professional to her.

Plus if anything goes wrong they'll have to face one another in class.

But Violet doesn't care about that, or the fact that she's breaking her no boyfriend/ hook up policy or even that she's mixing business with pleasure.

None of that matters as long as Tate's hands are squirming around her waist and Violet's fingers are tangled in his hair.

Neither of them can visualize anything beyond this moment, lips locked and tongues touching, but why would they?

. . .

After a steamy few minutes of intense making out, Tate pulls apart when he hears the jiggle of the doorknob.

Luckily, just as the two inch far enough to make the scene look normal, it's only a custodian.

So they grab their belongings and quickly exit the building.

And once the fresh, cool air hits their faces, Violet fears it's time to part. So instead of chalking up an awkward goodbye or some sorrys about the behavior, she heads off towards the bus.

But before she can get far enough, Tate grabs her wrist and mumbles, "let me drive you home."

With a simple nod the two are off to find his car.

. . .

"So, where is home?" He asks as they finally exit campus grounds.

Debating whether or not to tell the man she sells drugs to where she lives and keeps her stash, Violet stays quiet.

Finally, feeling awkward, she answers. "You can just take me to the coffee shop."

Thinking silence indicates yes, she falls back into her seat to allow the soft leather to cushion the stress away.

Minutes later, stuck in evening traffic, Violet concocts an idea.

"Have you ever smoked with a student?" She asks, fully aware he'll be caught off guard.

"What?" He asks while turning to face her momentarily and then back to the road. "No, I have not." He quickly adds. "But I'd like to."

And once again, he's beat her to the punch. Now she's unsure if that's an invitation or a statement.

But by the way he misses the turn to go on 75th street, she assumes he's taking her somewhere to smoke.

"You know Violet, I've always wondered what it would be like to be high with you in my presence. How your milky, smooth skin would feel again my palm or how your lips would taste, maybe cherry-like, or even honey flavored with a faint hint of weed. And how the weight of your body would feel on top of mine."

His words are punches as he slides his hand to her lap and rubs circles in the middle of her thigh, careful not to inch too high.

"So, why don't we head to my place and see what the ganja does to us?"

With a loud gulp and anxious mind, Violet nods her head and closes her eyes.

. . .

"I totally didn't see you as a joint guy!" Violet exclaims just after taking a long hit.

Tate only laughs before inhaling a large amount of smoke and holding it in until he can barely breathe.

"I always thought you ripped a bong alone in your room while watching some weird foreign television show," she confesses, clearly becoming high by her unfiltered mouth.

"Come here," Tate mutters, ignoring her random but hilariously accurate comment.

A few seconds later, when her brain registers what he's said, she scoots closer to him and as she does her cardigan falls off her shoulders.

Tate can't resist the urge to touch her skin, a dream he's been wishing to fulfill since he met her. So, he traces his fingers slowly from her collarbone to her shoulders and then tugs the sweater off her and tosses it across the room.

The next moves are so slow but too fast for either to realize how far they're going.

Tate scoops Violet in his arms and places her on top of him, just as he described earlier. The weight of her delicate body is comforting to say the least. Truthfully, he could lie under her for eternity but the next few minutes will do.

However, Violet has other ideas, and so she cups his face and pushes her lips onto his so roughly he's taken back.

And truth be told, Violet is a sloppy kisser while high, but Tate wouldn't want it any other way.

With every move of their lips, the two feel bundles of nerves travel all around their bodies, specifically to their crotches. But when Violet grinds her herself into Tate's bulge he loses all control.

And with a quick, but sloppy, flip of her body, Tate has Violet under him and already she's clawing at his tie.

And when his lips attach to her neck, Violet allows moans to escape her mouth and her nails to dig into his clothed back, as if she'll be able to rip to shirt off.

But when Tate's warm lips leave a trail ending at the top of her breast, Violet begins to sink deeper into her high. The image of Tate and her connected, in all ways possible, is enough for her to be satisfied forever. But her body isn't agreeing with her mind.

And so, Violet yanks the bottom of her dress, pulling as high as she can with her little strength thanks to the weed and Tate's weight.

Tate, still leaving sloppy pecks all over Violet's upper body, doesn't realize what she's doing until she grabs his face and asks him to move.

At this point, the two are so anxious and intoxicated that every move they make feels like a tiny, nerve-filled step closer to orgasm.

As Violet removes her dress Tate stares at the curve of her hips and length of her legs. Everything looks smooth and pale, just as he suspected.

But when she tosses the dress, he gets a glimpse of faded scars on her wrist. And normally he would just ignore them because clearly they're old and not his business, but neither of them has a filter anymore.

"Why?" Is all Tate manages to spit out. In his head he would have been more gracefully but everything is messed up right now.

"Wha-?" Violet asks while ripping the tights since she can't seem to slip them off normally.

Instead of answering, mostly because he can't put his words together the way he wants to, Tate crawls over to Violet, yanks her to the ground, and then grabs her wrist. Next, he flips it so her palm is facing up and proceeds to kiss the small, dull grey-red lines that travel up her forearm.

At first, Violet doesn't know how to react. No one has ever even seen these marks. She hasn't cut since she left California, but when she was fired she added a few before realizing she's stronger.

"Tate..." She mutters, embarrassed, on the verge of tears, and utterly confused. "You don't have to."

But, like always, Tate is persistent and continues kissing every inch of her altered body. And when he runs out of scars to appreciate, he moves on to the rest of her skin.

And so as he lays her down, thinking that she purrs like a kitten for him, he's determined to make her feel special. To allow her a peek into his thoughts of how wonderful she truly is.

So, switching his plan, he kisses down her body so slowly, paying extra attention to her breasts and hips. And when he finally reaches her underwear, he places light pecks around it. And even pokes his tongue where her opening would be.

But what gets Violet really wet, is when he sucks her clit through the cloth and runs his hands down her body.

Meanwhile, Violet is feeling a mix of things but mostly lust. And then she wonders why Tate is still dressed, so, right before he's about to shimmy her out of her panties, she yanks him by the tie and attempts to remove it.

However, being eager, Tate stands up and undresses himself to speed things along.

And then they're back to action.

Tate tears her boyshorts off so fast that Violet is confused when she feels a cool breeze hit her vagina.

But when everything registers, and Tate begins to kiss her inner thighs, she bucks her hips. And never been given cunnilingus, she's almost nervous that it won't look perfect or smell right down there.

But Tate knows it's all he dreamed over. He never wanted a girl more in her life.

So after a few minutes of tongue-fucking, finger-rubbing, and sucking on the small bud of nerves, Violet erupts into a violent, shaking orgasm.

And as soon as he looks up, Tate notices her body turn a light shade of rose and her peach colored nipples are erect and tempting.

But Violet doesn't allow him to take action; instead she shoves him and climbs on top in attempts to ride him.

After some adjusting and misses, Tate's inside. And although he's trying to thrust up, he's weak from all the work he put into Violet. So, since she noticed this, Violet bounces and grinds as quickly and roughly as possible.

Meanwhile Tate is lying under her, staring as she determinedly springs up and down on his cock, and since she's too focused to care about how she looks, Tate sees the raw Violet. The way she licks her upper every few seconds, how her hair is a ratty mess, and even her lipstick smeared slightly above her lip.

Tate realizes then that he loves her. And maybe he's not in love quite yet, but he knows he wants- needs- to be with her because he's never looked at a woman who's such a mess and thought that because of all her quirks he loves her.

As Violet slides off him and into his arms, he thinks to the classic love story and realizes most gave one thing in common: they love each other despite their flaws- but Tate doesn't feel that way.

He loves Violet because of them.