The Professors Canvas

~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.