The Professors Canvas

~Elena's POV~

I'm out of my seat before he finishes roll call or before he even gets to my name.

My bag gets stuck on the chair and when I pull it, papers spill like startled birds.

I don't care. I need to get out of this room, away from those dark eyes that have seen every inch of me.

My heart is beating fast while I move to the door.

"Miss Vega."

His voice stops me at the door, smooth, controlled. Not the same voice that moaned into my skin or the breath that shook when he was between my thighs.

I freeze at the door but don't turn. "I need to drop this class."

His answer is measured, cool-professor-like. "Office hours are posted on the syllabus. We can discuss schedule conflicts then."

It's not a suggestion and we both know it.

The next two hours are torture. I sit through Thermodynamics seeing nothing but a blurry whiteboard.

All I can picture is his mouth at my neck, his hands gripping my hips, his body-God.

I press my knees together under the desk, a warm feeling spreads in my stomach.

What is wrong with me?

Every time I blink, I see the hotel room. The dim lights. His face when he said my name...my first name, right before I came.

If anyone finds out, I'm so screwed.

By the time I reach his office, I've thought through every excuse I could possibly give. Each one sounds stupid, childish or like I'm admitting everything out loud.

I knock once. "Come in." His voice again, controlled, neutral.

I push the door open. He sits behind his desk with reading glasses sitting low on his nose. He looks nothing like the man who pinned me against a hotel wall with a hunger that felt like fire.

Now he looks... put together, calm. Like none of this touches him. This version wears an iron shirt and academic authority like armor.

I close the door quietly. "I'm dropping your class."

He doesn't even look up at first. "Sit down, Elena."

"You know my name now."

My name sounds different in his mouth now. Not soft like that night, it now sharper, cleaner. Like he's wiping something away with each syllable.

"I looked at the roster after you ran out of my classroom." He removes his glasses and sets them aside like they're fragile. 

He nods toward the empty chair. "Sit."

I stay standing. I need the distance. Even if distance feels impossible.

"This is inappropriate. You're my professor. What happened was a mistake..."

"Agreed." His interruption was quick and cold.

He stands, moves around the desk. His steps are steady, quiet, controlled. Too controlled. Like if he shows even a little softness, something will break open between us.

He stops a little too close. "It was a mistake. It won't happen again. You'll stay in my class, complete the coursework, and we'll both pretend Friday night didn't exist."

"That's it? That's your solution?"

Now he moves closer, too close now. I can smell his cologne. "Do you have a better one?" he asks, with a low voice. "Should I report myself, lose my job or maybe you want me to give you special treatment so no one suspects why you're suddenly getting perfect grades?"

"I'm not asking for..."

"I know what you're asking for." His voice softens. "You want out because you're scared. Because when you look at me, you remember how you tasted on my tongue."

I feel hot even with the air conditioner. I feel it everywhere, my neck, stomach, between my legs. 

"Don't..."

"Don't what? I shouldn't acknowledge that I know exactly how you sound when you come, or remind you that your nails were in my back while you did?"

He's inches away now, his chest rises and falls faster now, he's fighting something, the same thing I am.

"We're adults, Elena and we fucked, it was good but it's over now."

My voice shakes. "Then why are you standing so close?"

He stops moving completely. I'm not."

"You are." I don't step back.

I refuse to back away. "And if it's over, why do you look like you want to bend me over your desk?"

The space between us snaps like a wire pulled too tight.

His hand is on my hip before I can breathe. His grip is firm, dragging me forward until my body hits his. He's hard, everywhere.

"Because I do," he says against my mouth.

"I've been hard since you walked into my classroom. I spent two hours lecturing about Caravaggio while imagining ripping that little sweater off you."

My heart beats so loudly I'm sure he can hear it. I should tell him to stop, pull away, my brain screams it.

Instead, I grab his shirt and kiss him.

Everything erupts, his mouth devours mine, he lifts me to his desk not bothered by the scattered papers.

His hand slides under my skirt, fingers finding wetness through my underwear. With the same certainty they had that night, like he remembers every part of me.

"Fuck," he breathes against my mouth. "You're soaked."

"I hate you."

"Good." His fingers push aside the thin fabric, sliding into me. "Hate me while I make you come again."

I bite down on his shoulder to reduce the sound of my moan. His thumb rubs my clit, circling with devastating motions.

The room blurs. My nails dig into his shoulders. The pressure builds fast, almost frightening. His thumb moves slow, cruelly precise.

I try to push his hand away, but my body betrays me.

The same hands that sketch renaissance angels are taking me apart in his university office.

I'm close, too close. I grab his wrist. "Stop. We can't..."

"We are." He adds another finger, curling them perfectly. "Come for me, Elena."

The climax hits hard, fast, shaking through every limb. I gasp into his shoulder, trembling.

When I can breathe again, he's watching me with something dark and look in his eyes. He brings his fingers to his mouth, tasting it.

"We're done here," I manage to get off the desk. My legs barely strong enough to hold me standing. "This never happens again." His expression changes suddenly.

"Agreed." I'm fixing my skirt when the door handle turns.

We both freeze.

"Professor Sandoval?" A male voice. Familiar, very familiar.

David pushes the door open, finding me and Mateo too close, the air thick with what we just did.

He looks surprised. "Elena? What are you doing here?"​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

My heart skipped.