The Forbidden Love with My Student Ended That Night

We had barely slept. The sky was beginning to lighten when I realized I had spent two hours staring at the ceiling, counting the cracks as if they were an exam. Iker was breathing beside me in an irregular way. I knew he wasn’t asleep either.

At seven, the alarm went off. I turned it off before the first note had finished. Iker got up without saying a word, went to the bathroom, and when he came out, he was wearing a blue shirt that was a little too big on him. His hair was still wet and his eyes were ringed with exhaustion.

—Ready? —I asked, though the question was unnecessary.

He nodded without looking at me.

—I have to be.

We left the house while the street was still empty. We walked side by side, not touching, but matching each other’s steps. A car passed by. A woman swept the entrance to a doorway and looked at us without curiosity.

In front of the police station, I stopped. I looked at the glass door. I felt fear rising slowly from my stomach, like a tide.

—If we don’t go in now, we never will —Iker said, and his voice sounded firmer than mine.

I took a deep breath and pushed the door open.

The officer on duty took a few seconds to look up from the computer. I approached the counter. I placed my hands on the cold wood so it wouldn’t show that they were trembling.

—We want to file a complaint —I said.

—For what reason?

I swallowed.

—For blackmail. For sexual assault. For rape.

The officer shifted in his seat. He picked up a form. He asked us to wait in an adjoining room. Iker sat down beside me and, without anyone seeing, slid his hand over until the tip of his fingers touched mine. Just that. But it was enough not to make me get up and run.

When we got home, after hours of statements and forms and looks that weighed too much, I understood we had crossed a line we could never go back over. And for the first time in months, all I felt was relief.

***

The day at the courthouse smelled of old paper and badly concealed nerves.

The waiting room was full of people who avoided looking at one another. Lawyers murmured with their clients in a corner. Every so often, the janitor passed by with a folder under his arm. The silence was heavy, broken only by the sound of a door opening and by the monotonous ticking of a wall clock.

Iker was sitting beside me with his hands clenched over his knees. I had told him several times to breathe. He didn’t listen, or couldn’t. He was wearing a gray sweater that was too baggy and jeans that hung loose at the waist. He looked younger than he was, and that hurt me.

Then the back door opened and I saw him come in.

Marcos.

He hadn’t changed. He walked with the same confidence as always, shoulders back, chin slightly raised, that attitude that in another time would have made me look away. But something in his face was different. His jaw was tight. The lines around his eyes seemed deeper. The mask was beginning to crack.

Beside him walked a woman of about sixty, with dyed brown hair of an impossible shade and a handbag clutched against her chest as if it were a shield. It was Iker’s mother. I recognized her from the photos he had shown me the previous summer. She walked staring straight ahead, not once looking at her son.

Marcos saw us. And smiled.

He came close enough that his voice wouldn’t carry any farther than the two of us.

—This isn’t going to end the way you think —he murmured.

I felt Iker’s body stiffen like a rope. But he didn’t answer. He looked at him with a calm that surprised me too.

—You still have time to back out —Marcos insisted.

His mother, who until then had remained behind like a shadow, stepped forward.

—This is madness —she said softly, looking at me—. You’re destroying an entire family over a badly told story.

The words went through me. I didn’t know whether what I felt was rage or disgust. Cover-up. That was the exact word. I had always known it, but hearing it said like that, out loud, made it final.

Iker didn’t take his eyes off her.

—You knew —he said, without raising his voice—. And you did nothing.

The woman opened her mouth, but found no answer.

The back door opened again and a voice called Iker’s name. The moment had come. We stood up at the same time. I didn’t look back.

***

When we came out of the building, the sun was hitting our faces hard. There was an instant of unreality in that blinding white light after so many hours indoors.

And then I saw her.

Carla.

She was leaning against a lamppost, arms crossed, watching the main entrance. She was wearing a dark blue dress, no makeup, her hair tied back in a low ponytail. She didn’t seem surprised to see us. She looked like she had been waiting.

I stopped a couple of meters before reaching her.

—Hi —she said.

—Hi —I answered.

We looked at each other, not knowing what to do with our hands. Several long seconds passed, too dense.

—I know everything now —she added at last.

I felt the air drop out of my chest.

—In the village, nothing else is being talked about —she went on—. What that man did. What he did to you. What he did to him.

She looked at Iker. Iker lowered his gaze.

—I’m sorry —Carla said.

That word threw me off so much I had to clear my throat before speaking.

—You?

—I thought the problem was you —she replied—. I thought you had lied to me all these years out of spite. Out of cruelty. And the truth is, I didn’t understand anything.

I slowly shook my head.

—I didn’t lie to you out of spite.

—I know.

She lowered her eyes for a moment. When she looked up again, her lashes were wet, but she wasn’t crying. Carla never cried in the street.

—What happened hurt me a lot. More than I can explain to you. But I understand that you couldn’t keep living a lie just so I would be at peace.

I swallowed.

—I think I never really knew you fully —she added.

—I didn’t even know myself —I replied.

Carla took a step forward. For a second I thought she was going to hug me. She didn’t. She only rested a hand on my shoulder, slowly, as if checking that something was real.

—I don’t want to keep hating you —she said—. It’s exhausting.

I laughed without meaning to, a broken laugh.

—I understand.

—I’d rather understand —she added—. Even if it takes me months.

She nodded toward Iker. It wasn’t a smile, but it wasn’t a gesture of rejection either. Something in between. Something more generous than I deserved.

—Take care of him —she said simply.

And she left.

***

The house was silent when we came in.

Not the heavy silence of the previous days, but something different, softer, almost liquid. I closed the door slowly. Iker stood still in the middle of the living room, looking around as if he didn’t quite recognize the place.

—We’re here —I murmured, and I wasn’t entirely sure why I said it.

He turned around. He looked at me without masks. There was something new in his face: a fragile calm, as if he still couldn’t fully believe the worst was starting to be left behind.

I walked toward him slowly. I raised my hand and brushed his cheek with the pads of my fingers. I felt his skin warm, slightly damp with the day’s sweat. He closed his eyes for a second, as if that touch was the only thing his body needed in order to relax.

He rested his forehead against mine. His breathing mingled with mine, warm, still irregular. The contact was slight, but it carried something different from the other times. Not urgency, not fear, not secrecy. Something else.

It was he who closed the distance first. His lips brushed mine with restrained softness, as if afraid of breaking something delicate. I answered the same way, slowly, letting the heat begin to spread through my chest. The kiss gradually deepened, without roughness, with a naturalness that seemed inevitable.

His hands found my waist. Mine, his back. Beneath the fabric of his blue shirt, I felt the slight tremor of his shoulder blades, the effort not to rush, not to turn that moment into a repetition of the anxiety of other nights. I undid the first button with fingers a little clumsy, then the second, and the fabric opened just enough to reveal the pale skin of his chest, the quick rise and fall of his breathing, the marked line of his collarbone. He did the same to me, slipping his hands under my T-shirt, lifting it slowly until he pulled it over my head. The room’s air brushed my skin all at once and I shivered.

We stayed there for a moment, looking at each other standing up, half-naked, as if the other’s body were newly discovered territory. Iker stroked my side with his open palm, tracing the curve of my ribs down to my hip. I slid a hand under the waistband of his pants, felt the built-up heat there, the growing firmness of his cock already straining against the fabric. I swallowed. He closed his eyes and let out a low sound, almost a moan, when I moved my hand a little farther to squeeze him through his boxer briefs.

—Don’t stop —he murmured, his voice broken by breath.

I didn’t stop.

We let ourselves fall onto the bed without fully letting go of each other. The mattress gave under us with a slow dip, and for a second we were tangled together, legs and arms, mouth and neck, skin against skin. I pulled his pants down with both hands, tugging slowly at the fabric until they were at mid-thigh, and then I took them off completely along with his boxer briefs. His cock came into the air, hard, hot, pointing toward his stomach. I didn’t look away. It was clearly defined, the skin smooth, the head dark and wet. Iker looked into my eyes while I wrapped my hand around it and began to move slowly, from the base to the tip, squeezing every pulse of his erection.

He gasped and instinctively lifted his hips.

—Fuck... like that —he said—. Like that, don’t stop.

I leaned over him and sucked his cock first at the tip, slowly, licking the head with my tongue to taste the salty flavor of his skin and the drop of precum already beading there. Then I took it all the way into my mouth as far as I could, feeling the firm weight against my tongue, the heat filling my mouth and the pressure of his hands holding my head without squeezing, as if he didn’t want to miss a single second of what was happening. I moved my mouth up and down, sucking with controlled force, alternating with my hand at the base so it wouldn’t slip away from me. Iker started breathing faster, his stomach tight, his thighs spread, his fingers sunk into the sheets.

—Look how you suck my cock —he murmured, his voice reduced to a thread—. Just like that, yes. You’re so good to me.

I spat a little onto the head and went back down, taking him in again until I felt his abs tightening with every short thrust of his hips. The wet sound of my mouth, the slickness of saliva, the low moan he was trying to hold in and couldn’t, filled the room with a thick, living tension. When I felt he was about to come, I pulled back just enough for him to breathe, so his body wouldn’t lose itself entirely. He let out a frustrated protest, grabbed the back of my neck, and kissed me with his mouth still soaked with himself, fierce, hungry.

—Now you —he said, panting against my lips—. I want to see you wide open for me, fucking now.

He laid me on my back and took off the rest of my clothes with controlled urgency, as if he could no longer keep pretending patience. I felt the air on my naked skin, the mattress under my back, the touch of his hands spreading my legs. He kissed my inner thigh, then my groin, and kept going with his mouth until he found my hard cock, throbbing in the heat of his breath. He licked me from top to bottom, circling me with his tongue, sucking the tip, and then took me deeper, enough to make me shake from sheer excess of sensation.

—Look what I’m doing to you —he whispered, never stopping lapping at me—. I’m going to drive you crazy.

I buried my fingers in his hair, breathing in ragged pulls. I wanted to keep up with him, but I was too sensitive, too full of that delicious tension that starts in your balls and shoots up your spine. When I felt I was about to come in his mouth, I pulled away with a groan and tugged him up over me.

We arranged ourselves clumsily, adjusting our hips, our legs, our breathing. Iker knelt between my thighs and looked at me for a second as if he needed confirmation. I nodded. Then he stroked himself a couple of times to wet himself more, guiding the head of his cock against my opening while I opened for him, already trembling with anticipation. The first push hurt only a little, a brief sting that quickly turned into pressure, fullness, that brutal sensation of being invaded and taken with a precision that made me exhale sharply. Iker stayed still inside me for a second, his eyes locked on mine, as if he were giving me time to get used to him.

—Tell me if you want me to stop —he murmured.

—Don’t stop —I answered, my voice in pieces.

Then he began to move. First slowly, pulling almost all the way out and coming back in with measured pressure, deepening little by little until he brushed a spot inside me that tore a helpless moan from my throat. Each thrust made his pelvis hit mine with a dull, wet sound, and the mattress creaked beneath our weight. He grabbed my hips to keep the rhythm steady, and I wrapped my legs around his back, opening wider, wanting to feel him even deeper. He answered by burying himself more decisively, driving his cock in to the hilt, colliding with me with an intensity that left my throat open.

—Like that, fuck —he said through clenched teeth—. That’s how you have to take me.

I saw the sweat on his neck, the tension in his jaw, his chest rising and falling violently. I was soaked too, holding onto him as if my life depended on it, feeling how each in-and-out stroke made me tremble from belly to fingertips. He stroked my ass with one hand, squeezing and parting the flesh impatiently, and then shifted me just enough to find a better angle. He changed positions without breaking contact, making me lie on my side and then on my back again, over and over, until we found the exact rhythm in which we both moaned at the same time. On one of those thrusts, he slipped two quick fingers between my cheeks, wet with saliva, and opened me wider, making the friction go wild, almost unbearable, while his cock kept going in and out with filthy precision that made my back arch.

—You feel incredible —he murmured, voice broken—. You drive me crazy.

I couldn’t answer. I could only push against him, only take him, only let the pleasure build at the base of my belly like a charge becoming harder and harder to hold. The noise of our bodies, the uneven gasping, the wet sound of skin, the brush of his balls against my ass, everything mixed into one single wave. I felt him tremble at last when he started fucking me faster, less restrained, rougher. I saw his lips parted, his gaze fixed, almost desperate. I wanted to come before him, but he didn’t give me time: he grabbed my cock with his hand and started jerking me off at the same rhythm he was using inside me, squeezing hard just below the head, rubbing with a palm slick with saliva and moisture until pleasure split me open in two.

I came with a brutal moan, my body shaken by a contraction that left me breathless, and the next instant I felt him tense inside me. Iker let out a choked growl, buried his face in my neck, and stayed still, driving once more deep inside as he came hard, filling me with hot semen in thick pulses that made me shiver from top to bottom. I felt him overflowing inside me, the heat of his orgasm spreading through my body, and he kept trembling on top of me, breathing in gasps, until at last he loosened his arms and fell beside me.

We stayed silent for a long time afterward.

The room was dim, lit only by the strip of light coming through the blind. I stroked his back with slow, almost automatic movements, trying to imprint every second, every angle, every breath in my memory.

I knew I had to speak. But I couldn’t find the way.

—Iker —I murmured at last.

I felt his body tense slightly.

—Yeah?

My hand stopped on his spine.

—We need to talk.

He didn’t move away. He slowly sat up until he was facing me, sitting on his heels. His eyes were calm, but they already sensed what was coming.

—My uncles have talked to me —he said before I could continue—. I’m going to live with them for a few months. Maybe a year.

I looked at him, not entirely understanding.

—You’re leaving?

He nodded.

—I need to get away from all this. From the village. From my mother. From the looks. From the people who go quiet when they see me in the street. I need to start over somewhere nobody knows me.

I felt a strange mix of relief and pain in the same breath.

—I think that’s best —he added, almost to himself.

I looked at him in silence for a few seconds.

—Iker, what we have can’t continue —I said.

I saw his expression crack slightly. A very fine crack, controlled.

—I know —he answered softly.

That answer hurt more than I had expected.

—I care about you too much —I went on— to fuck up your life.

He lowered his gaze.

—You’re nineteen. You’re just starting everything. Learning who you are, what you like, what you don’t, where you want to live, what you want to study. You have to fall in love and out of love many times. You have to make mistakes without anyone telling you whether what you’re doing is right or wrong.

I paused briefly.

—I’m thirty-six. I’m in a different moment. A different stage. I don’t want to be the one tying you to a story that won’t let you live the ones still ahead of you.

Iker lifted his eyes. They were shining, but he wasn’t crying.

—You’re not rejecting me —he said.

I slowly shook my head.

—Never.

I moved a little closer.

—I’m trying to take care of you. For once in my life, trying to care for someone without asking for anything in return.

His lips trembled slightly.

—I love you too —he murmured.

I felt the knot tighten in my throat.

—I know.

Iker took my hand. He squeezed it hard, as if he wanted to leave a mark.

—This wasn’t a mistake —he said.

I shook my head firmly.

—Never. None of this was a mistake.

We looked at each other for several long seconds, trying to memorize the other’s face the way you study a photograph before it fades.

—Do you think we’ll ever see each other again? —he asked.

—Yes —I replied—. Someday.

I paused.

—When all this is just a memory. When we can talk about it without it hurting.

He nodded slowly.

—And then... what will we be?

I looked at him steadily.

—Two people who truly loved each other. And who had the courage to know when to let go.

Iker leaned toward me and rested his forehead against mine, just as he had done hours earlier in the living room. We stayed like that for a long time, breathing together, without needing to add anything.

It was a goodbye made with care. With respect. From a love that only dares leave when it understands that staying is worse.

Some stories aren’t made to last forever. Only to be remembered for a lifetime.