~Elena's POV~

"I asked you a question." David steps fully into the office, his eyes jumping between Mateo and me. "What are you doing here?"

My mouth opens but nothing comes out.

Mateo moves first, putting calculated distance between us. "Miss Vega had questions about dropping my course, so I was advising her to reconsider." His voice is perfectly neutral and professional. "Is there something I can help you with, Mr...?"

"Chen. David Chen. I'm Elena's boyfriend."

"Ex-boyfriend," I found my voice, shaking but firm. My heart is still racing, "And I'm handling my own schedule, David. You need to leave."

"We need to talk..."

"No. We don't." I grab my bag, pushing past him into the hallway. "Stop following me."

He holds my arm. "Following you? Elena, I came to speak with Professor Sandoval about auditing his seminar. I had no idea you'd be here."

I pulled my arm off his hand. "Audit somewhere else."

I don't look back nor check if Mateo is watching. I just walk, faster, until I'm outside gasping for air that tastes like freedom and nothing like sex and mistakes.

The email arrives on Thursday morning.

FUNDING NOTIFICATION: Research Grant - DENIED

I read it three times to be sure and I call the department head.

"I'm sorry, Elena." Dr. Morrison sounds genuinely sorry. "The committee felt your project lacked sufficient basic information. You can reapply next quarter."

"Next quarter? Dr. Morrison, I need this funding now. My rent is due in two weeks, and I've already bought materials..."

"Perhaps you should have submitted a stronger application."

The line goes dead.

I sit in my empty apartment, the studio I can afford only because of that grant, 

What do I do now? I do the math. 

Thesis materials: 800 euros. 

Rent: 900 euros. 

Bank account: 237 euros.

I'm fucked.

My phone rings. It's an Unknown number calling.

We need to talk. My studio. Address attached. Come tonight. MS

A sane person would delete it, block him, but not me.

Instead, I'm standing outside an old building in El Raval at eight PM, the address leading me up three flights of stairs to a door marked only with a number.

I knock.

Mateo opens it immediately, like he was waiting. "Come in."

The studio is large, brick walls, huge windows, artwork stacked everywhere.

In the center: a raised stool, spotlights, a stool.

"What is this?" My voice trembled, even to me.

He closes the door behind me. "An offer."

"I'm not interested in..."

"Your grant was denied." He leans against a work table covered in charcoal and brushes. "David Chen submitted a formal complaint to the funding committee, he claimed your research was compromised by personal issues, lack of focus and emotional instability following your breakup."

The words hit like a slap. "He did what?"

"He sabotaged you Elena, professionally and completely." Mateo crosses his arms. "But I can help."

"Why would you help me?"

"Because I need something." He points to the stool. "I'm publishing a paper on anatomical accuracy in figure drawing. I need a model, someone intelligent enough to understand the work, who can hold still for hours and that I can trust to be discreet."

Understanding hits cold and sharp. "You want me to... pose nude?"

"Yes."

"Absolutely not."

"Four sessions 1,000 euros each." He names the figure like he's talking about something casual. "Cash enough to cover your rent and materials until you can reapply."

Four thousand euros. My brain buzzed, my stomach twisting. Two months of breathing room.

"This is insane, you're my professor..."

"In one elective class. Your degree is in physics. I have no influence over your actual program." He moves closer, his expression unreadable. "This is art, Elena. Academic, professional, nothing more."

"Professional." I laugh. "Like Tuesday was professional?"

"Tuesday was a mistake but this is business." His eyes hold mine. "I won't touch you, you'll pose while I draw, this is a clean transaction, we'll keep it professional."

"And if someone finds out?"

"They won't. This studio isn't connected to the university. No one knows I rent it." 

He brings out his phone, types something and shows me the screen. A contract, simply written. "Read it, take your time."

I read the terms: Four sessions, three hours each. Full nudity required. Payment upon completion of each session. Confidentiality clause. No physical contact.

My hands shake. I don't know what to say.

"I need an answer, Elena."

I think about David's stupid face, about Rebecca's moans in my bed and the eviction notice I'll get in two weeks if I don't find money.

"When's the first session?"

"Tomorrow night. Nine PM."

I sign the contract on his phone before I can overthink it and change my mind.

"Good." He saves the document, then focuses on me. "Strip, we start now."

"What? No, you said tomorrow..."

"I said the first session is tomorrow. This is a test run, free" His voice lowered. "I need to see if you can actually do this."

"I just signed your contract..."

"Then prove you can handle it." He picks up a piece of charcoal, nods toward the stool. "Clothes off, Elena. Let's see what I'm paying for."​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

~Elena's POV~

My sweater hits the floor first. I don't look at him, I can't. If I see his face, I'll lose my composure. 

So I focus on taking my clothes off, my fingers tremble as I push the last button of my jeans, I step out of them and I unhook my bra with my hands still shaking.

The studio is warm, but goosebumps rise across my skin anyway.

"Underwear too."

Mateo's voice comes from somewhere behind me. But I feel him before I see him, his presence in the studio, precise, controlled. I hear charcoal scratching the paper, he's already drawing.

I take my underwear down, step out of them, and I'm completely naked in my professor's studio. 

"Sit on the stool in the stage."

I climb the two steps, the wooden stool pressing under me. The spotlight is bright, exposing. I cross my arms over my breasts, dying of shame.

"Drop your arms."

"Mateo..."

"Professor Sandoval." His tone is sharp. "In this studio, you call me Professor. And you follow instructions. Arms down."

Something about the command meant business. I lower my arms.

"Good. Chin up. Shoulders back."

I adjust. 

He draws, the charcoal moving faster now.

"Part your knees a little."

I refused to obey.

"Elena, this is anatomy, I need to see bone structure, muscle definition, shadow and light so part your knees."

I do, the air touches places that haven't been exposed since Friday night. Since him.

Twenty minutes pass, my legs ache, arms start to burn from holding still. He moves around me like a predator with a purpose, but without touching me. He barely breathes, barely blinks.

"Can I move?"

"No."

"My back is..."

"Then we'll try a different pose." He drops his charcoal and comes closer. "Stand up, raise your arms above your head."

I stand, raise my arms. He's close now, he looks at me as if he's studying me. 

"Higher, stretch." His hand moving near my ribcage but not touching. "I need to see how the muscles look."

I stretch higher. His eyes track the movement of my body like he's memorizing equations.

"Turn slowly." He takes a deep breath.

"Something wrong, Professor?"

"Your posture." His voice sounds strained. "Your back curves here." His finger runs down my back, the first time he's touched me since I stripped. "Do you feel that?"

Of course I feel everything. "Yes."

"And here." His hand rests on my lower back. "Lean your hips a bit  forward."

I adjust. His hand stays, burning through my skin.

"Mateo..."

"Professor." He ignores the warning in my tone. 

"This doesn't feel professional."

"It's not." His other hand comes to my hip. "But I need accurate measurements for the study so turn around."

I turn facing him. We're inches apart.

"Measurements, is that what this is?"

"Yes." But his hands are still on my hips, thumbs drawing small circles on my skin. "I need to document proportions. Hip to waist ratio, thigh circumference."

"Then document it."

His fingers run down my thigh, one hand feels professional. The other... doesn't. It's on my inner thigh, too close.

"Professor Sandoval," I hold his shoulder to steady myself. "What are you checking?"

He looks into my eyes, dark and dangerous. "The exact line between being professional and this."

"This?"

He drops to his knees.

My breath stops. He's eye-level with the part of me that's been aching since I walked into his studio. His hands grip my thighs, his hand stroking that sensitive inner skin.

"Tell me to stop, Elena."

I should. I absolutely should. "Measure whatever you need to measure."

"This wasn't part of the deal, we said no contact."

"I know."

"We agreed no contact."

"I know."

"I'm going to taste you now." He parts me slightly. "And you're going to let me, aren't you?"

"Yes."

His tongue licks me, slow and deliberate. Like he's enjoying something valuable.

I grab his hair, my legs trembling. He moans against me, and the feeling almost overwhelms me. With my teeth pressed so tight against my lips. 

He works me with devastating skill, tongue and lips. When he slides two fingers inside, curling them perfectly, I stop caring about contracts or consequences.

"Look at me."

I look down. His eyes lock with mine while his mouth destroys me.

"Come for me, Elena."

I do, I shout his name, not Professor, just Mateo...while his tongue works, my body betrays me in the best way.

When I can stand again, he rises. His mouth is wet. His hands are shaking.

He reaches for his wallet, pulls out cash. Counts out 1,000 euros, places it on the work table.

"Session complete. Tomorrow night, Nine PM."

"That wasn't the session. You said tonight was free..."

"Consider it payment for professionalism, I'm generous." His voice is cold now. "Get dressed."

The studio is silent. The charcoal rests on the table. The spotlight burns down on me. Naked, alone, though not really. Not after what just passed.

I'm pulling on my jeans when his phone rings.

He looks at the screen, his face goes pale.

"What is it?"

"Campus security. They've requested footage from the art building." He looks at me, and I see fear behind the lust. "Tuesday afternoon. My office."​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

I feel exposed, not just physically, but in ways I can't explain.

~Elena's POV~

"What do you mean footage?" My hands freeze on my sweater. "There are cameras in your office?"

"In the hallway, pointed at the door. They'll see you going in. Coming out forty minutes later. Hair messed up, your skirt..."

"Fuck." The word slip out of my lips. "Who requested it?"

His phone rings again. He reads, and his expression turns dark. "The ethics committee, someone filed a formal complaint."

We both know who.

I wear my sweater over my head. "What happens now?"

"Now?" He laughs, bitter. "Now I get called in front of the committee. Probably suspended and if they push hard enough maybe I'll get fired."

"For what? We're both adults..."

"I'm your professor, Elena. In their eyes, one person naturally has more power than the other.

It doesn't matter that Friday happened first. Doesn't matter that you initiated it on Tuesday." He walks around worried with his hand through his hair. "This looks really bad."

"So we tell them the truth, we met on Friday and we didn't know..."

"And they'll ask what happened after. In my office." He stops, faces me. "Can you look them in the eye and lie? Say nothing physical happened?"

I think about his fingers inside me, his mouth on mine and the papers we scattered.

"No."

"Then I'm fucked." The hard truth sinks in

My phone rings. Email notification.

*ETHICS COMMITTEE SUMMONS: Your presence is required Monday, 10 AM. Re: Complaint #2847 - Inappropriate conduct with faculty member.*

"They're calling me in too, Monday morning."

"Don't go."

"What?"

"You're the student, you can honestly say you didn't know" He moves closer,clearly in a hurry. "Say you were discussing grades, that I made you uncomfortable but nothing physical happened. Say the complaint is from your ex trying to cause trouble."

"And get you in trouble?"

"Better one of us gets out of this than none of us."

"That's not..."

"Elena." He grabs my shoulders. "I'm forty-three years old and I've been teaching for fifteen years, I knew better. You're twenty-four with your whole career ahead of you, let me take the blame."

I stare at him, at the man who's been inside me twice. Who paid me a thousand euros tonight for breaking his own rules.

"No."

"This isn't up for discussion..."

"I said no." I step back. "I'm not lying to save myself while you lose everything."

"Then we both lose everything."

"Maybe." I grab my bag. "But at least we go down honestly."

I'm at the door when he speaks again.

"There's a third option."

I turn.

"I confess everything and take full responsibility. Say I came after you and I made it impossible for you to refuse. They'll ruin me but you'll walk away clean."

"That's not what happened..."

"It's what I'll say happened."

"Mateo..."

"Go home, Elena." He's already pulling out his phone. "I'll handle this."

I don't go home. I go to three different bars, I drink enough not to think clearly and I end up outside his apartment at midnight because apparently I'm incapable of making smart decisions.

I pull on my sweater, trying to put myself together. The thought of him, of every touch, every look, every dark heat of that room, clings to my skin. Goosebumps rise again.

I hammer on his door.

He opens it shirtless, he looked angry all over. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"You don't get to act like the victim." I push past him and walk inside. "You don't get to decide my future without asking me."

"I'm trying to protect you..."

"I don't need protection. I need..." The words stick. "I need you to stop treating me like some naive student who can't handle consequences."

"You are my student..."

"I'm a woman who wanted you before I knew who you were. Who wants you now even though it's crazily impossible." I'm in his space now, close enough to see his pupils pop out. "And you want me too, stop pretending this is one-sided."

"It doesn't matter what I want."

"Doesn't it?" I reach for his belt. "Then why are you hard right now?"

He catches my wrist. "Elena. Stop."

"Make me."

He turns me around, presses me against the wall. His body is stong behind mine, his mouth at my ear.

"You want honesty? Fine." His hand slides under my shirt, palming my breast roughly. "I've thought about fucking you every single day since Friday. 

In my office, in my classroom. Bent over that stool in my studio." His other hand works my jeans open. "I think about it when I'm supposed to be grading papers. When I'm in faculty meetings, when I touch myself at night."

His fingers slide into my underwear, fingers me soaked.

"So yes, Elena. I want you. And it's going to destroy us both."

I'm about to respond when his phone rings on the coffee table.

The screen lights up. Dean Morrison.

We both freeze.

"It's eleven PM," I whisper. "Why is the dean calling?"

Mateo's hand is still between my legs when he grabs the phone.

"Professor Sandoval." A pause, his face drains of color. "Yes, I understand. When did you..." Another pause. "The studio keys. I can explain..."

He looks at me, and I see the exact moment he realizes we're truly fucked.

"They found the studio."​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

I nod, I realize this isn't just about us anymore. There are consequences, real ones and I might already be caught in them.