His Forbidden Model: The Professor's Obsession

Jasmine“What the fuck!?”For a second, nobody moved.The room smelled like sweat and cheap vanilla candles—the type Mia always burned when she studied. Her laptop still sat open on the desk beside the bed, highlighted notes glowing against the screen like some sick joke.Jason was sprawled across the mattress, his bare chest heaving, one hand gripping Mia’s waist while she ground against him, her eyes still drunk with pleasure.My best friend and my boyfriend.Their faces snapped toward the doorway at the same time. Jason’s eyes widened first, panic flooding his expression.“Jasmine—”Mia scrambled backward so fast she nearly fell off the bed, clutching the sheet against her chest. Her mascara was smudged beneath her eyes. There was a bruise forming on her neck.I couldn’t stop looking at it.Couldn’t stop looking at either of them.Three years with Jason.Twelve years with Mia.It felt as if someone had reached into my chest and squeezed my heart until it stopped beating.Suddenly,

JasmineThe pounding in my head woke me before my alarm did.For several seconds, I lay perfectly still, my eyes closed against the sunlight filtering through the curtains. The brightness felt cruel, pressing insistently against my eyelids while a dull ache pulsed behind them.Every part of me felt heavy, as if someone had replaced my bones with lead during the night.A low groan escaped me.Something wasn’t right.The mattress beneath me felt unfamiliar. The air smelled wrong. Even the silence felt different.My eyes opened slowly. The unfamiliar room came into focus piece by piece. Dark walls, a black dresser, and a chair in the corner with my dress thrown carelessly over it.My brow furrowed in confusion before understanding slammed into my chest all at once.This wasn’t my room.I pushed myself upright too quickly and immediately regretted it.“Fuck.” I winced.The room tilted violently, sending a fresh wave of nausea through me. A low groan escaped me as I pressed my fingers agai

JasmineI scoffed.Of course.“A proposition?” I repeated coldly. “You’re a professor. If this gets out, you could lose your job too.”His expression barely changed.“True.”He stood slowly from his chair, the movement alone shifting the air between us.“But I can get another position elsewhere,” he said calmly. “I’m a professor, Miss Buston.”He stopped a few feet away, his gaze dropping briefly to the scholarship badge attached to my bag.“But you?” he continued quietly. “You’re a scholarship student from a poor background. Lose that, and then what happens?”Every word landed precisely where it hurt most. My jaw tightened instantly, humiliation burning inside me because I knew he was right—he knew, and I hated him for it.“What do you want?” I asked. “I’m guessing you want something in return.”He nodded stiffly before closing the distance between us.“I want you to model for me, for a private art series,” he said, his gaze locked with mine. “Nude.”My entire body went rigid.“What

JasmineThe sound of charcoal scraping across paper was the only thing breaking the silence.The noise seemed louder than it should have been, echoing through the studio while I stood under the overhead lights, trying very hard not to think about the fact that I was standing in the middle of a stranger’s workspace wearing far less than I was comfortable with.My arms were rigid at my sides, my shoulders feeling locked in place. Every muscle in my body had been tense from the moment the session began.He hadn’t said much since positioning me beneath the lights. There were no inappropriate comments, no smug reminders, and no attempts to make me uncomfortable.The only sounds in the room were the scratch of charcoal against paper and the occasional creak of the wooden floor when he shifted his weight.It should have made things easier.Instead, it unsettled me more because nothing about this matched the version of him I’d built inside my head. It would have been easier if he’d acted like

DavinThe front door slammed shut somewhere behind her, but I made no move to follow.I remained where I was, standing in front of the easel with my eyes fixed on the unfinished sketch.The studio had gone quiet again. Just me, the charcoal dust clinging to my fingers, and the woman staring back at me from the paper.Or at least my attempt at her.I studied the lines for a long moment before setting the charcoal down and dragging a hand across my jaw.It wasn’t right.Not yet.The posture was there. The shape of her mouth. The stubborn lift of her chin whenever she thought someone was being challenging. But the eyes still felt wrong.And that was the problem.It was always the eyes.I leaned back in my chair and rubbed a hand across my jaw.The truth was, Jasmine had been living inside my head long before she ever stepped into this studio.The first spark had come at the bar.I remembered noticing her before she’d even spoken to me. There had been something about the way she sat alone