Hogs and Heels

~oOo~

What the hell went on at a parent teacher meeting anyway? Fuck if I knew! This was my first. Judging by the tone of voice Masen’s teacher had - I think her name was Bella Swan - this wasn’t going to be a meeting singing the praises of my son’s astonishing intellect; although, the kid was smart, just like his old man. I’m not bragging, just being honest.

Regardless, I’d been summoned to her royal highness’ classroom today after school to discuss something. I fucking hate cryptic messages. She’d mentioned something about Masen’s extensive vocabulary and wanting to meet Mr. Masen’s parents "finally.”

She sounded like a stuck up school marm on the phone. Imagine my fucking surprise when I walked into the room and literally almost walked right into one of the hottest asses I’ve ever seen bending over in a fuckhot tight skirt...and those heels! Damn! Why didn’t teachers dress like that when I had to suffer through this shit? No wonder my son talked about this woman incessantly! Hell, I’d go back to fourth grade just to look at her ass everyday as she stood in front of the classroom. Apparently my dick felt the same way; it was saluting her like she was the damn President of the United States.

It didn’t help that she was singing as she swayed that delicious rear in the air. I think it was some variation of “Love Sex Magic”. She was mostly humming, but when she got to the hook she sung a filtered version of the too-raunch-for-elementary-school lyrics, so they came out as, “Love, and Hmm, and Magic.” That was fucking adorable and annoying. I cleared my throat before she rendered me unable to walk. I looked down at Masen who was smirking with a half dazed look on his face. I gave the side of his head a teasing shove, shaking us both free from the hypnotic power of her hips.

Her head snapped up, which only served to push her ass out further, making me even harder. Slowly, she straightened up, and I was surprised to see that she was rather petite- if it hadn’t been for the heels she wore, she wouldn’t be much taller my son and he’s 4’9”. Everything about this chick screamed “proper”- well, maybe not her choice of song, but she was professionally dressed and when she turned around to face us she exuded confidence and grace. Her hands flowed over her slight frame, begging my eyes to follow their path, smoothing her waist-long chestnut hair that fell down her back in soft, natural curls. She wore a frilly, deep blue blouse with tiny, almost invisibly small dots on it, and it was- fuck me! Her blouse was see through and she wore a little top under it. Those ruffles, or whatever the hell you call them, around her neck just made her look even more proper and tiny. It fit her perfectly, but paled in comparison to the skinny grey skirt that left no curve to the imagination. How did the boys in this class learn anything? Except maybe Sex-Ed. The heels were the icing on the cupcake. This woman was in a league of her own. I was starting to think I should have listened to my sister and dressed a little nicer. I looked like a sow’s ear next to a silk purse- at least that’s how my brother Jazz would have described me right about now.

She introduced herself and waited for me to take her hand and tell her who the hell I was. I stammered out my name and something else that, for some reason, embarrassed my son to no end. Smooth, Cullen. Real smooth.

It was hard to not notice her perusal of me. I was used to the looks and interest my tats drew, but having this woman look at them so intently, following the full sleeves of ink that covered my arms, well, it was hot! She didn’t seem the least bit intimidated or turned off by the ink- not always the case with my kid’s teachers.

Ms. Swan told "Mini Me" to head to the library to work on his homework, and that we’d come and get him after we had a “little chat.” Masen walked off in the direction of the library, but not before our customary salute. It's a Cullen man thing. The walking wet dream that was my kid’s teacher motioned for me to have a seat in the chair next to the desk. She sat down and crossed her legs reflexively, but the combination of the skirt, the “fuck me” heels, and those perfect legs were more erotic than any move I’d seen a stripper do.

This may have been my first P/T meeting, but something told me that this might not be my last meeting with Ms. Swan... Not, at least, if I had anything to say about that.

Apparently my dick agreed with that thought because it was straining against my jeans, trying to force its way out of my pants and into her.

Hey, dip shit! Not the best idea to be thinking about where you wanna bury the bologna stick at this moment! Just try to control “the Beast” and get through this meeting without jumping her, okay?

She cleared her throat, and when I looked at her I could have sworn I caught her ogling the goods. I didn’t mind, she could ogle away.

“Mr. Cullen, thanks for agreeing to meet with me today. It’s nice to meet at least one of the people responsible for raising Masen. He’s an amazing kid, you know?”

I had to smile at that. I knew that kid was awesome. I had no clue to what I had done right in the world to deserve such a fuck awesome kid, but mine he was. From the time he was tiny I knew he was different. Mom says he’s a lot like I was when I was younger. That’s why the whole family had taken to calling him “Mini Me”. He didn’t just resemble me either. Our mannerisms were very similar, and his love of all things musical was second only to my own.

I turned my attention to the beautiful woman across from me and thought for the briefest of moments how I could put us on a more intimate level. I’d start by getting on a first name basis.

“Thank you, Ms. Swan. Please, call me Edward. He’s is pretty amazing, but something tells me that you didn’t just call me in here to tell me how wonderful my son is. You’d mentioned in your message something about an ‘incident’ that occurred on Monday. It was very cryptic.”

I was a rather straight forward person, and didn’t do cryptic, but maybe she considered it polite. It’s not everyone’s idea of small talk to call a parent up and divulge that their kid has the vocabulary of a trucker. Her response was every bit as professional as I had expected.

“Mr. Cull... I mean, Edward. You’re right, I asked to meet with you because I wanted to make you aware of what took place and handle it as you and your wife saw best to.”

Wife? Who the hell has a wife in this classroom? Sure as fuck not me! Gonna have to straighten that shit out right away.

I wasn’t sure what she was getting at, but I knew her point was coming, at least, I hoped to hell it was.

She continued her explanation of what had happened on Monday. She was so cute and professional as she talked about that brat Mikey Newton and his cohort, the Crowley kid, Josh. I almost lost it when she said, “Purple Nurple”. I settled for a cheeky grin at the thought of her telling me rest of the story.

Masen had already come home and told all of us what had happened. He took full responsibility for his actions and took his punishment like a man. I was proud of my son for standing up to those two idiot kids, but not so much of his outburst. A result of his Uncle Emmett’s influence, I’m sure, and a side effect of spending most of his free time in the family’s chopper shop. Personally, I didn’t speak that way around him very often, but Emmett was born without a mental filter and more often than not used language that would make a sailor blush, as did most of our colorful clientele. I didn’t have a problem with swearing, but there’s a time and place for everything, and I’d prefer for my son to be able to articulate his thoughts sans curses and expletives. If he so chooses to say “fuck” every other word once he has a firm grip on a gentler form of speech, then more fucking power to him. But, not while he’s nine, and sure as hell not around his teacher.

The thought of hearing the woman across from me repeat Mason’s words had me trying to covertly readjust the situation in my pants, but I couldn’t resist the chance to hear her say the words. I leaned in, resting my elbows on my knees, straining to get as physically close to her as I could without touching her, and asked her to tell me exactly what Masen had said. I was a bit surprised at how thick my voice was.

Something flashed behind those dark chocolate eyes of hers and she raised her head just a tad, proceeding to not only quote Masen’s outburst with class and eloquence, but make the words0 “titties” and “fuck off” just as refined. I was shocked that she didn’t even wince or blush at the words. It was almost like she was quite familiar with them.

Hmmm, Teach isn’t quite the school marm I thought she was. This one’s got spunk.

As I thought “spunk” I immediately thought of cum, and I mentally kicked myself for being such a pervert. I tried to divert my thoughts by trying to see what else I could get this gorgeous woman to say, or do.

She didn’t look too happy about something from the way she had crossed her arms, and she had this little crease in between her eyebrows. When Ms. Swan spoke I could tell she was definitely unhappy, almost pissed.

“Yes, he did, and while he wasn’t the only one at fault, he was the one who resorted to using foul language in my classroom. I’m not a prude, Mr. Cullen...”

Not a prude, huh? And what is it going take to get this woman to say my name?

An image of me pounding her from behind while she was bent over her desk flashed before my eyes.

That would have her screaming my name, for sure.

While I wanted nothing more than to make that fantasy a reality, I settled for correcting her mistake. The want in my johnson strangled my voice so that my response was more of a growl.

“Edward.”

I decided then that I wanted to see how far I could take this.

What “this” are you referring to? Dude, you just met this woman, you don’t know her from Jenna Jameson. What is it exactly that you want?

Her. I wanted her. But, not just in the pervy, sweaty-hot fuck way, either. There was something more to this creature mere inches from my fingertips. I wanted to know it all, and I wanted to know her. I chose to take the high road and start at the beginning by asking to call her by her first name.

“Ms. Swan, may I call you Bella?”

Her reply spoke volumes. Not a mere yes, but a breathy plea. Again, I imagined coaching her to beg for other things from me. That thought gave me all the courage I needed to push on. First things first, though; Bella needed to be clear on the fact that there was only one Mrs. Cullen, and that was my mother. After explaining that Masen was indeed in deep shit for his little outburst from the other day, I told her in no uncertain terms that Jessica, Masen’s long absent mother, was well- absent.

I sat back in my chair and chanced a quick glance at the piano in the corner of the room, hoping to quiet the intense feelings that were boiling just under the surface. When I looked back to her they were just as intense. I couldn’t help but really look at her. Not like she was a fucking piece of meat, but just look at her, see her. Her hands were slender, with long graceful fingers- definitely the hands of a musician. Her arms were toned, but not overly muscular. The summer sun had brushed her skin with just a touch of color, leaving her porcelain complexion bathed in slight tan. I felt Captain Winkie twitch as I glanced over her perfect breasts under that see through blouse, but quickly continued up her long neck to the chin above. When I settled on her mouth I was mesmerized by its shape and color. I wanted to know those lips, feel them moving over my own.

Apparently my perusal did something to her; I watched her shift uncomfortably in her seat. But I quickly second guessed that thought when the crease reappeared and she suddenly looked unhappy about something. I wondered if I had been too obvious.

Bella continued to conduct our meeting in a very professional manner, complimenting Masen’s talent. I was pleased to hear that he was excelling in something that meant so very much to myself, but even if we had never decided to send him to a school that specialized in fostering it’s students artistic strengths, I would still know how gifted he was. It was rare for anyone to have his ability, much less anyone his age. He was, in fact, a musical prodigy. Then again, he was in a classroom filled with children who were talented in their own rights, or they would not be here. Yet, here sat this woman, the director of the music department no less, who was trying to convey to me that Mini Me was blowing her out of the water. I couldn’t help but play the part of the proud Daddy for a moment.

“I am very proud of my son, and I have to confess that he probably picked up his less than desirable language from his Uncle Emmett. My brother is a little rough around the edges and tends to overuse crass language around Masen. He has a good heart, but a filthy mouth. Our extended family is very close, so Masen spends a lot of time surrounded by my parents, brothers, and sisters. I’m guessing Emmett’s where he learned his most colorful words. Thankfully he has been able to pick up other, more acceptable forms of expression from his other family members.”

Ahhh. My giant hulk of a brother, Emmett. He got the brawn in the family. Both Alice and I were dwarfed next to his ridiculous bulk, even as kids he was twice our size. Unfortunately, because of his massiveness, his penchant for foul language, and his- well, our chosen profession, people often mistook him for a big, dumb ox. That was far from true. Em could have just as easily been a biophysicist as a mechanic, but building bikes was what made him tick. Hell, it made us all tick. Our parents weren’t entirely pleased to learn of our intentions to go into business with our lifelong friends, Rosalie and Jasper Hale, and open a chopper shop. They had dreams of seeing multiple letters after each of our names, proclaiming us each to be a doctor of this or that. After promising our parents that we would all indeed get higher educations, they relented and even supported our decision to open Eclipse Cycles.

We all attended the University of Florida together, for the most part. Rose, Em, and Jasper were a year ahead of Alice and me. Emmett had earned his Master's Degree of Mechanical Engineering, as did his fiancée, Rose. Alice also earned a Master’s degree, but in Graphic design. Jasper always had a head for numbers and focused his efforts on a Master’s of Business Administration. I was the odd ball; I had always had a passion for music, not able to go very long without it, and having grown up around a crew of gear heads, I was enamored to all things automotive. So I chose the best of both worlds. I earned a Doctorate of Musical Education, with the hopes of teaching at the collegiate level, in addition to putting my two cents in at the shop. In the end, Mom and Dad got their educational alphabet, and we got our shop.

Three days out of the week I rode into the city to lecture at Jacksonville University where I taught a new generation of aspiring musicians music theory and composition. The other days were spent in the shop with my partners creating fuck awesome custom choppers for our clientele. It always amazed me that I was doing what I loved with the people I loved the most, had the coolest kid in the universe (that’s not just an opinion, it’s a proven fact), and I lived in a place where the weather was so beautiful it should be a federal crime to not own a bike. There was nothing more that I wanted.

I’d done the marriage thing. That was a disaster, but more because of who I had married, not because of the institution of marriage as a whole. I met Jessica Stanley at UF while I was in the graduate program; she was a beautiful blond with legs that went on for days. We dated for a few years and decided that we were in love and should probably get married. Looking back now I realize that, while I loved Jess and looked forward to a lifetime of growing and loving, she saw me as a stepping stone to the things she wanted in life. We probably would have lasted longer than our four years had she not become pregnant. I’ll never forget her crying, sobbing that she’d never wanted to be a mother, that she was too beautiful to allow a baby to mar the perfection of her body. This shattered me because all I had ever wanted was to be a husband and father. After many talks, puddles of tears, and promises that this would be our one and only child, Jess and I welcomed Masen Anthony Cullen into the world. And Jessica left us both four months later.

I didn’t try to find her. I figured she had moved back to Washington State where she had grown up. Two months after she left I received divorce papers in the mail along with papers that relinquished all her parental rights to Masen. I wasn’t shocked, but I was deeply disappointed. Mostly in myself for having had made such a poor decision about who I would choose to spend the rest of my life with and bare my children- uh, child. I didn’t trust myself when it came to women after Jessica. Sure, I dated, had fun with, and even brought a few of them around the family, but I never once saw any of them as anything more than temporary. They were just someone to pass the time with and kill the loneliness that sometimes crept in. That is until the day I walked into that classroom and met Bella Swan.

I looked at the extraordinary woman across from me as she continued our conversation, fighting to focus on what she was saying.

“It seems like Masen’s talent is genetic. It would be interesting to see if anyone else in the family possessed hidden talents.”

I almost choked at her words. Well, I snorted, actually. I couldn’t help myself! The woman had just insinuated that I came from a line of talented individuals. This might have been a harmless statement to most, but this very topic had come up just before I’d left the shop this afternoon to make this meeting.

“Hey, Em? Do you need me to hold your hand much longer? I’ve got to get cleaned up to meet with Masen and his teacher about what happened Monday. So you think you can handle the rest of this suspension build on your own?”

“Sure, douche bag, I could finish this shit in my sleep, but you sure you don’t need me to come with you and hold your dick for you? You know how you get around women...”

“What the hell are you talking about, Emmett? And why would you hold my dick? That’s just… wrong.”

“You know what I’m talking about, Eddie. You have a way of repelling the opposite sex. Are you sure you don’t need me there to help charm the pants off her, help you hold your dick and all? I could be your wingman! Dude, I could impress her with stories from our college days!”

“Which days are you referring to exactly?”

“Remember the time we got hammered and did back flips off Mike Newton’s second story roof into the pool? Naked? It was two A.M in the morning, his parents were out of town, and the neighbors called the cops. We all got out in time but you were stuck standing on the roof with your frank and beans flopping around! That was funny shit!”

“How is that story of fuckery past supposed to impress a woman, Em?”

“Oh, it won’t impress her, but my story telling prowess sure as hell will!”

I threw the greasy rag I’d been wiping my hands on at my smart ass brother and flipped him the bird.

“It’s not me you want to fuck, Eddie boy, it's the ladies, remember? See? I do need to hold your dick for you!”

Judging from the massive hard on I was sporting right then, I would say it was safe to say that I most certainly did NOT need Emmett to hold my dick for me. And fuck me if her blushing didn’t make that circus tent of a situation any worse off!

Snorting is not the most attractive sound one can make, so I cleared my throat and simply said, “Yes that would be very interesting.” Referring to both the idea of Emmett demonstrating his many talents as well as me demonstrating a few of my own for her.

It was almost as if she read my thoughts when she asked in a fucking innocent as hell voice if I had any hidden talents. Again, the image of me, her, and her desk came to mind. I decided to answer her straight, although it damn near hurt to do so.

“I don’t know that they are hidden, but I do play the piano and the guitar. I taught Masen to play.”

Bella blushed as she asked me to play for her sometime.

There’s no time like the present.

I gave her a knowing look and stood up. God help me, but I couldn’t resist brushing her knee with the backs of my fingers; I just had to touch this woman. When I moved to the piano I quoted the sappiest movie I’d ever seen and instantly regretted the, “As you wish,” I’d shot over my shoulder at her.

Em and Jazz would revoke your man card if they heard you saying that shit, you pussy.

The piano was beautiful and very similar to the one I had at home. I wondered briefly what a public school teacher was doing with an instrument of its caliber in her classroom.

Bella moved to a desk closest to the piano as I sat at the bench, she didn’t seem the least bit surprised by my impromptu concert.

I didn’t put much thought into the piece I would play; I just played the first thing that came to mind. Masen and I had been working on his technique last evening and we were using the familiar “Claire de Lune” to focus on his finger placement and posture. I was a little stunned when I heard her snickering and then question my choice.

Her teasing response when I asked her what was so fucking humorous about Debussy enamored her even more to me.

“Oh. Nothing. It’s just... a bit overdone, that’s all. You play it well, though. You have good form and technique.”

I have good technique? What the hell? I have fuck awesome technique and I’m not even referring to anything sexual. If I showed her those techniques she wouldn’t be able to stand for a week. I guess Debussy doesn’t do it for her. Well, I wonder if a Cullen original will.

Apparently it did because she never took her eyes off of me as I played “Masen’s Song”. It was a piece that I had begun to hear from the moment Jess found out she was preggers. It would float through my head in fluid measures and my fingers would tap and stroke over table tops, my jean covered legs, and even air, itching to bring the notes and melody to life, much as Jess’ body was doing with our son. For months the composition serenaded my every waking moment as well as my dreams. The day Masen was born was the day the song sang its last note to me.

Every day since I have played that piece, as a way of both giving thanks for its beauty, and also for the beauty of my son. “Masen’s Song” calls out to me each time I see him or hear his voice, and the two complement each other perfectly. My greatest joy was listening to Masen play the piece himself. It's as if it came from him, an extension of his humanity. Sometimes I wonder if it wasn’t my son who sang this strain to me from his mother’s womb; unable to contain the music within him even then. He plays it better than I could ever dream of.

I was acutely aware of her eyes on me, watching my hands as I allowed my son’s song to flow out from my soul reverently, prayerfully. If I wasn’t mistaken, Bella was as touched by this piece as I was, and that surprised me. Others had heard “Masen’s Song”, but it usually garnered the expected polite responses that complimented its beauty or the skill with which it had been played. Never had another soul, besides my son, regarded it with the awe I felt so deeply.

She was overcome with admiration when I revealed that I was the composer. Well, we know that’s not entirely what I believe, but I wondered if she would understand if I told her the whole truth or consider me a lunatic. I really hoped for the first.

The air was heavy with the weight of the moment, and I did what I do best when things are a bit too intense, I laughed. Then I turned my focus onto the vision that was mere steps from me- three, maybe four at the most.

Four steps too far away.

When she admitted that she had been impressed, I did the only thing I could; I used that to my advantage and got closer to her. I practically begged her to play for me. She seemed hesitant, so I tried a different approach and mercilessly teased her. She’d been flirting with me throughout the meeting, but in a sweet way, not at all like the Little League and PTA moms. Those women were downright creeptastic. No, Bella’s flirting was innocent and endearing, and I took a cue from her playbook.

“I showed you mine, will you show me yours, Bella?”

I wasn’t disappointed when she replied, “I’d love to show you mine, Mr. Cullen. I mean, Edward.” No, not disappointed, but entirely turned on.

I counted each step as she moved towards me.

One, two, three, four.

Her heels made the most delicious sound as each step brought her closer to me. I refused to move from the bench, and merely slid over just enough so that she would be forced to sit shoulder to shoulder with me. Our bodies lined up as we sat there- arm to arm, hip to hip, leg to leg. My plan had worked; I was touching this woman, finally.

Now how to get our lips to do the same?

Bella never glanced over at me as she sat and began playing. I recognized Vivaldi instantly. He was one of my favorite composers and this piece in particular was challenging to say the least. I knew she was good, she had to be considering her position, but this was something one rarely has the privilege to witness.

What is this creature doing here in this podunk town, teaching? She doesn’t belong here. She should be sitting on the most renowned stages of the world’s concert halls, playing to houses packed with elite music snobs. Yet, she chooses to be here.

I couldn’t take my eyes off her. It was like I was seeing her for the first time since walking into her classroom, and she was breathtaking. I never wanted her to stop playing. I wanted to spend all of eternity listening to this angel bring beauty into the world’s miserable existence with her music. When her song did end, I had lost all control of my faculties.

I had to revere her, had to pay her the reverence she and her beauty were due. I gently collected her hand and smoothed it open, bowing to kiss her palm as a pilgrim might reverence a relic. This only fed my need to be close to the woman who had moved me like no other had. My free hand moved of its own accord, slowly moving to cover the heart that touched me so deeply. I could feel it raging beneath my touch, urging me to continue in my veneration.

My lips met the inside of her wrist, finding the pulse point there. She slipped her hand out of mine and the loss of her touch was almost painful. Then, that same hand began to trace the lines of the ink that stained my skin. The only visible evidence of the marks that life had left on my soul. They continued until she held my face in their grasp.

I wanted to kiss her, to feel her against me, but the pussy-two-shoes in me wouldn’t dare offend this soul before me. When she leaned in to kiss me my heart hammered to meet the beat of hers, which was still pounding out beneath my hand. Something in me switched as I kissed her back; the hand that rested chastely on her chest shifted to feel the soft flesh of her breast.

So soft.

I moaned into her mouth as I worked and teased the perfection in my hand. Her hands tangled in my hair, her nails scratching and kneading the skin at the base of my scalp.

As much as I wanted this, I needed to know that she was sure that it was what she wanted as well. I broke our kiss and gauged her reaction to what we were doing. The ardent desire and need, coupled with the lust rolling off her in waves was all the assurance I needed.

Our bodies met with one another, pressing our chests together. To think how ecstatic I had been only minutes before at the feel of our arms touching! Bella stripped me of my shirt, throwing it over her shoulder. She paused as she took in the images that were my story and my shield. They had always protected me from the hurt that I had once suffered. Now they were useless; they held no protection against this woman. I was naked and defenseless before her, and unafraid.

I needed her as bare as I was. I worked to free her from her clothes. That damn top had more buttons on it than the space shuttle! Then, after finally getting the thing off her, my efforts were rewarded with- another top?

What the hell? Do we live in upstate New York in the dead of winter and I didn’t get the memo? Why the fuck is this woman dressed in so many damn layers? Fuck me!

I actually growled in my frustration. Bella’s hands were up and over her head in seconds, and I watched the silky top flutter to the floor where its mate lay. I flashed her a smile of thanks, but the sight of her next to me in the hottest black lace bra I’d ever seen was too much.

She gasped when I grabbed her hips and lifted her small frame easily to sit before me on the keyboard. I winced when I heard the notes cry out against the force of her being pushed down on them. I worried that I had been too rough and hurt her. I opened my eyes to be sure she was all right, her kisses as urgent and hungry as my own. She showed no signs of being in pain, but I rubbed and kneaded the flesh of her hips to soothe away any discomfort she may have felt.

The room echoed with sounds of our passion playing the piano, our moans combining with the notes in a chorus. I imagined my hands playing over the sensitive areas of her body like a keyboard. Her thighs, hips, breasts- all were keys that brought forth a deliciously different sound each time I played them. When I reached her breasts all that stood between me and her perfection was the wisp of lace. I could feel the smooth, soft skin beneath the fabric, and she moaned at my touch. Sliding down the straps, the material fell away from her creamy skin, exposing the transcendence of her beauty. I moaned at the vision before me.

“God, Bella, you’re perfect.”

The bra was off in an instant and resting somewhere on the floor of the classroom. I had to feel her against me, feel her heart pounding against my own. I stood and crushed her to me; each movement we made brought a new sound out of the instrument below Bella. I needed more. Damn, I need every part of this vision. I worked her skirt up around her hips, kissing and teasing her sensitive flesh as I did. Her nipples were erect and felt like heaven against my lips and tongue. I slid my hands up her bare legs, over the curve of her calves, the swell of her thighs, over her naked hips, and behind her to her ass- delightfully bare as well thanks to the thong she was wearing. I wondered for a brief moment if she always wore fuck hot lingerie.

Just as I was about to remove the one barrier left between Bella and all that I wanted to do to her, we heard a noise outside the classroom. Her reaction was all the confirmation I needed to know for sure that the doors were still unlocked. Bella hid behind me as we each held our breath, waiting for whoever would walk through that door. Silently I prayed it was not my son returning early. After a few moments, the interruption, whatever the fuck it had been, moved on down the hall. I pressed a reassuring kiss to her swollen lips and moved to lock both doors before returning to the woman who waited perfectly poised on the edge of the most spectacularly imagined fantasy.

I knew the door was a sign that we shouldn't be fooling around in her classroom, but damn if I couldn't help myself. Fuck she was beautiful as she stood there in little more than that sexy lace thong.

I wasted no time picking up where we left off, crushing my lips to hers and working to rid her of her panties. She tried to protest between kisses but I wouldn't have it, countering every excuse she had with a solution; I knew she wanted me as badly as I did her. Our hands never ceased the exploration of the others body and she finally relented when I thrust my hips into her, letting her feel my need for her. What happened next between us was easily one of the most erotic experiences of my life. Who knew not having sex could be so much fun?

As I dressed I watched her move around the room. I was a little shocked when she walked over to her desk and retrieved a backpack of clothes. I was even more shocked to see her trade the hot outfit she had worn for our meeting for casual shorts and... chucks! This was a woman after my own heart. She stuffed her clothes in the bag and collected her things. There was talk of Masen getting some special assistance from a private tutor to help stretch his voice, and Bella offered the names of several very qualified prospects. A plan to see much more of this amazing person formed immediately.

“That won’t be necessary. I’m hoping that you would consider tutoring Masen yourself. I can imagine that you are a busy woman, but I believe that he would benefit best if he continued with your philosophy towards music. I wouldn’t want to send him somewhere else only to confuse what he learns there with the progress you are making in class. Plus, I’d like to see more of you. Will you tutor Masen, Bella?”

I was thrilled when she agreed to twice a week lessons and I knew Masen would be as well. It turned out that we didn’t live all that far away from each other.

We walked to the library to collect Masen and he very sweetly apologized to his beloved teacher. I could completely sympathize with my son’s lost heart. Mine was quickly following. The idea of seeing her twice a week had Masen and me on cloud nine.

We all walked out to the parking lot - there weren’t many cars left, but the beautiful hog that I’d coveted earlier when I pulled into the lot was still there. It shouldn’t have surprised me when Bella announced that it was her bike. Clearly she loved the bike. She mentioned that she’d named it Janis, as in Joplin. It was the perfect shade of blue with white flames emblazoned along the tank. I thought that I’d like to see Bella in that exact shade of blue sometime soon. She climbed on her hog while Masen and I situated ourselves on mine. She called out to us something about holding on tight, and Masen assured her of my fucking stellar driving abilities. Her reply was sharp and cut me to the quick.

“Ahhh. Well, I was talking to your dad. He’s in for the ride of his life.”

That was it. My heart was hers. My heart, that had been locked up tight behind a wall of ink and stone had just surrendered to a spunky, foul mouthed brunette with a love of music and motorcycles. Yep, this could be love.

~oOo~

Chapter 1 Chapter 3