**Sequel – Scene 1**

You go back to the instructor's studio after hours. She's packing up, barely looks up when you walk in.

"Class is tomorrow."

"I know. I'm not here for that."

She pauses, finally looks at you.

"The model from last week..." you start.

"What about him?"

You shift, jaw tight. "I need his number."

She folds her arms. "Do you now."

"It's for my study."

She lets out a short laugh. "Right. Your study. Nothing to do with what happened last week?"

"Nothing happened last week."

But even as you say it, the memory hits you—a flash of him on the platform. His thick, heavy cock swinging as he stepped toward you. The taste of him on your tongue. The weight of his cum sliding down your throat. Your pants shift. A familiar tightness pulls low in your belly. Your body remembers. It's already responding.

She sees it. Something flickers across her face—amusement, maybe, or just knowing. She doesn't say it. She just stares.

"Nothing," she repeats, flat and dry. "That look in your eyes—just a coincidence. The way you couldn't stop staring at his cock—also coincidence."

You say nothing.

"Can I have his number or not?"

She holds your stare a moment longer, then reaches into her pocket, pulls out her phone, and rattles off a number. You scramble for a pen, write it on your palm. You breathe a sigh of relief. "Thank you," you whisper.

She doesn't answer. She doesn't need to. She knows that look. She knows what you want, what your body is craving. She holds your gaze, steady and unblinking, and you feel the heat creep up your neck. You can't deny it. You can't even try. You leave before she can say another word, but her silence follows you out the door. She knows. And you know she knows.

**Sequel – Scene 2 – The Text**

You sit in your car, phone in hand, the number still wet on your palm. You type, delete, type again. What if he doesn't reply? What if he's moved on? What if that night was just a one-time thing? Your stomach twists. You hit send.

"Hi. It's me—the guy from class. The one you helped understand (male) anatomy. I was wondering if I could maybe continue my study...?"

You stare at the screen, heart pounding. Seconds stretch. Then the dots appear. Then his reply:

"1427 Maple. Now."

That's it. No name. No question. No "good to hear from you." Just his address and a command. You read it twice, your pulse hammering. Nothing else. You drop the phone in the cup holder. Start the engine. And drive.