It honestly was a long standing joke between Alice, Rosalie, and I. Mr. Cullen, the Student Teacher who was assigned in our advanced placement English class during our last year of high school was just fucking delectable. We had no shame in our game at trying to bag his ass and get him thrown out of college for inappropriate conduct with a 'practice-student'. He was too hot to be a teacher anyways. High school classrooms were dangerous territory for him. Mr. C surrounded by hormonally charged, attention deprived teenage girls was not smart in the slightest.

We constantly had him saying the word 'literature'. The way his tongue would dart out at the very beginning, and the way his gorgeous lips would pucker, constantly had my mind in the gutter. The dirtiest, filthiest, statutory rape wanting, teacher spanking my ass till it was a picture perfect shade of fuck me pink, gutter you could find.

"What does that say on the board Mr. Cullen? I can't really… uh… I can't read it, it's too small," I would pout as I looked at him through my eyelashes.

"Literature, Isabella. It says literature," he stated, without even looking at me.

"Excuse me?" I waited till he looked up. "Can you please say it slower, you talk so fast." I flashed him my innocent smile.

His dark green eyes searched my face and finally he succumbed to my request and in his velvet voice, spoke sweetly and slowly, "LIT-ER-A-TURE."

I bit down on my lip, and it was quite possible that I had broken the skin. God his mouth was sin.

"Litera-what?" I fought my inner demon and lost- letting my tongue linger for a second too long as I looked him dead in the eyes. Oh he had to know, how could he not know? I was really pushing my luck as I innocently leaned down to grab something out of my bag, giving him an ample view of my lace navy blue brassiere as I asked him to repeat that amazing word again.

If at all possible, his eyes darkened slightly and I felt the wetness pooling between my legs. "LIT-ER-A-TURE." He said even slower as his mouth smiled the crooked smile at me; which I dubbed the 'I will fuck you senseless' smile. I was satisfied. This was our verbal foreplay, if you will, and that was all I ever got. Fucking tease.

What can I say? The man had the will power of Gandhi.

"Oh thank you so much Mr. Cullen." I readjusted my top, slightly amused at my success and slightly shocked as I thought I saw a bulge fighting with the fabric of Mr. C's slacks, and horribly losing. I tried to look again to see if it was really there, but the fucker sat down, and his crotch was out of my view. I guess Mr. C doesn't like to play fair. Oh come on, I showed you mine…

"Anytime Isabella." He said as I saw his hands adjust something underneath the table.

My smirk was officially plastered on my face for the rest of that afternoon. He was my afternoon cock-tail and I loved my happy hour drinking his ass in. If man-candy had a flavor his name would be underneath it and I was dying to have a taste.

Actually, now that I think back, I always looked at his mouth when he spoke. His mouth moved in slow motion, and if I tried hard enough, I could almost imagine the feel of them on my neck as his teeth grazed that sensitive spot at the junction of my neck, back, and shoulder. Fuck.

I always had to make sure I was wearing cotton panties… or else that hour and a half of mouth watching would be quite uncomfortable in synthetics.

He was always in one of those ridiculously expensive Express suits with the ridiculously expensive matching tie. He had bronze colored hair. Not just red, not just brown, not even a reddish brown. It was Bronze. It is so hard to describe: like a mixture of glistening orange, red, gold, and brown strands of hair expertly assembled what is known as 'the hair'. It was always styled to perfection and set in place with some sort of hair product that allowed movement and bounce. Yes. I fucking noticed that shit.

He was tall and lean. I could always see the outline of his perfectly muscular chest through his expensive button up. But what really hook, line, and sinkered me in was his chiseled jaw. Like it had been carved out of damn granite; it was strong, mean, and sexy and I just wanted to bite all up and down along his face.

It was discovered during class one day, as his briefcase was left open, a name tag with that had the unmistakable yellow buffalo in the corner. During his time as a student teacher he was employed at Buffalo Wild Wings as the resident bartender on Wednesday, Friday, and Saturday nights. Score.

I dressed that night in my short, but comfortable, dark jean skirt that hung so low, I had to belt it to keep it in place. I didn't want it riding up, so that I would be giving a show every time I moved. That, paired with my football jersey that had a low cut 'v' and tied it in the back, showing off my toned stomach made me look like a knock-out. I took my long brown hair down from the ponytail and let it fall straight, adding a couple of soft curls at the ends. I didn't want to push it with heels, so I slipped on some white flip-flops that showed off my cute, perfectly manicured toes. A bit of eyeliner, some strawberry lip gloss, and I was ready.

It was exceptionally packed that Wednesday night when a group of us decided to go out and see him in action. We were all meeting there so I didn't really know who was going, and I really didn't care. I was going for one reason and one reason only. Some big game was on, and the high school-ers whose parents allowed them out on weekdays and the college population consisting of frat boys and some groupies from the neighboring 2 universities intermixed as cheers and hoots were heard amongst the chewing of chicken wings.

"Hey Mr. Cullen! Fancy seeing you here." I grinned at him wickedly as I found my way to a bar and sat in a stool. He looked up and was flustered for half a second, after which, his 'Gandhi' look I've grown accustomed to crept onto his face. Damn. He smiled platonically at me and held up a finger signaling for me to wait a moment.

I took this time and drank in a sight that I never had imagined in all of my nights fantasizing about him. He was in a regular gray t shirt with his name tag pinned to the front, and dark washed blue jeans. His normally tame mop had that 'sex hair' feel that made my hand twitch at the thought of running my fingers through it. It was in its natural state. No product, just wild and sexy. If I hadn't known any better, I was in one of my fantasies and I was about to get salted, licked and taken advantage of on the bar in point two seconds.

I had covered the bases with firefighter, police officer and paramedic; basically any type of public service worker there was, including my personal favorite, the auto mechanic.

Why the auto mechanic, you ask? Well first and foremost, they love figuring out how things work; how to make an engine purr at just the right speeds and release a power that was hidden and needed to be coaxed out. They really don't mind getting dirty, they appreciate the details, don't leave any screw unturned, and finally, they are amazing with their hands. They are very hands on. Comes with the profession I guess. And Mr. C, the mechanic, loves finding out what makes me tick.

Right now, he was a college student. I was going to need to remember that for tonight's catharsis, because with his Gandhi-like resolve to ignore my futile advances, I was really going to need it.

The thing is, he was not just any college student.

You know those Calvin Klein pornography photos plastered on the side of buses posing as advertisements? Well there has to be some type of institution, university, or organized crime syndicate somewhere that specializes in that type of education. He perfected the lesson on the smolder look and aced the 'I don't give a shit attitude' while being named valedictorian for looking too damn fuckable for your own good.

It was clear as day the ripples in his abdomen as he twisted and turned to mix drinks and serve beer. The man had a body that I could bounce a coin off of.

"Mr. Cullen, don't work too hard now." Alice called over her shoulder as she walked by winking at me, and making her way back to our booth. We were by the large big screen playing the Bears game and Rosalie was already there, looking over at me and mouthing 'go for it' and nodding her head at Mr. C.

I saw some guys making there way towards the table, two huge guys. Both had football jerseys on, one had a curly mop of blond hair peeking out from under a cowboy hat. On anyone else, it would have looked cheesy, but he pulled off that southern gentleman thing perfectly, well, at least Alice thought so. The other one, the considerably much bigger one, had a laugh that could be heard from across the room, I saw Rose roll her eyes and turn her back to him, calling him something that looked like 'stupid jock'. But he leaned in and whispered something in her ear that caused her to turn around and smile at him. Rosalie doesn't just smile at anyone.

"Isabella, we aren't in school right now, it's just Edward," he said, not looking at me, as he prepared draft beers for the guys sitting at the other end of the bar. I could feel the warmth pooling in my jean skirt as I repositioned myself on the barstool so that I was kneeling on it and leaning my elbows on the bar.

"Ok, but what if I like calling you Mr. Cullen, Edward?" He looked up at me from what he was doing, and slightly smiled before looking back down at the drinks he was expertly mixing.

"Well I guess we aren't in school, so I can't tell you what to do can I?" He walked over to a group of college girls waiting for their stupid fruity sex and the city cosmos that made me want to roll my eyes at them. Skanks. They were shamelessly flirting with him and it made me see red. There were three of them. They were blonde, overly tanned, and overly caked with make-up.

"Edwaard!!" Skank #1 slurred, "I luuuuv it when youuu wurrrkk, you make da bessstest cosmos!"

Skank #2 put her hands on his arms and asked if he was working out.

Skank #3 stood there like a retard and tried to push her chest out and ass back. She pushed her lips out and it really looked like she had been practicing this pose in front of her mirror for hours. She looked like a constipated midget. I actually felt kind of sorry for her.

I didn't even have time to look at his reaction to these bleach blond tramps because I felt a big slimy hand on my lower back twirl and push the bar stool around so I was no more than two inches from some pearly white teeth and smooth tan skin. I would have been slightly turned on if it weren't for the 'creepy' look on his face that made him look like a dirt bag.

"He-ey baby girl." His eyes raked all and down my body and I was sure that I had a look of sheer disgust on my face as I tried to back away from him. His sweaty hands ran up my legs and I almost threw up in my mouth. I leaned back and found myself trapped between him and the bar. Fuck.

"Hey your fucking self." I pulled my ass onto the bar countertop and used my feet to kick his slimy ass off of me. Obviously the guy had a couple drinks, because it didn't take too much for him to stumble and fall backwards into some girls, spilling their drinks. I smirked and hopped down from off the bar, and stalked towards him. I didn't stop until I was standing over him. I spoke loud enough that anyone within a three-foot radius heard me. "Touch me again and your balls will be served on a silver platter and fed to your fucking mother…bitch." No one invades my personal space without my permission. Ever. I was Bella fucking Swan. Police chief's daughter. I'll have your ass thrown in jail so fast your head will be spinning.

I turned around and walked back to my stool at the bar. I was fucking fuming. I felt sorry for the next bitch that even looks at me the wrong way.

And that's when I heard it, and felt his sorry stank breath on my neck. "You fucking skank!" I was silently pleased that he didn't touch me. That's right bitch. I turned my stool once again and saw his whole figure. He was huge, but I didn't let that bother with my resolve.

I looked at him with a bored look on my face, "You. Again? Really? Let's not embarrass ourselves tonight honey." I smiled evilly in his face.

I saw the anger rise into his eyes and I was honestly a little surprised at how much rage I saw. He took a step forward and I heard a crashing of glass coming from behind me and saw a flash of gray and bronze jump the bar and stand between me and the steroid-pumped college student. He backed up close enough to me that my knees touched his ass for half a second, and instinctively I opened my legs and he backed into me

"She said back the fuck off, James. So. Back. The. FUCK. Off." His voice was smooth and controlled, but the venom in his tone was clear. His stance was deadly and I could see the muscles in his back elegantly moving with each shift in his posture. I saw his hands clenching and unclenching into fists. "George!" He yelled to the front of the restaurant, tilting his head up and his hair falling back slightly. I couldn't help but notice how clean he smelled. Like cinnamon and clean laundry. It was sweet and musky. He was just so close, and he was in between my legs. "Get this drunk motherfucker out of here and call his ass a cab." A big burly security guard came and took James away and that was that.

Mr. C slowly turned around and faced me, not moving back an inch, and still in between my legs. He placed his strong arms on either side of my body, his hands clenching the bar behind me. I saw his muscles tense as his green eyes pierced mine. "Isabella." He whispered darkly, and the rest of the bar darkened and I couldn't see anyone else but him. He was dark and angry. I could almost taste the testosterone coming off of his body. "What are you thinking dressing like that to the bar." His voice was strained as his eyes quickly traveled down my body, stopping at my toes and making their way back up.

"What, this old thing?" I tried to sound confident, but my voice was barely a whisper, breathless and almost lightheaded due to his proximity, I couldn't help but be dazzled into submission. "I was hoping you liked it." I looked down and felt like a little girl wanting to be accepted by a boy, I bit my lip and pushed a strand of hair behind my ear as I looked up at him through my eyelashes. I found myself trapped again between a bar and a man, but this time I was so turned on that I was sure he could smell me hot and bothered. I thought I heard a growl come from his chest.

"Get on the bar," his voice spilling with anger and lust in a tone that was clearly saying he wasn't to be disobeyed. His eyes never left mine, as I lifted my ass onto the bar top for the second time this evening. He moved the stool to the side and stepped between my open and waiting legs. "I do like it. Too much." His hands ghosted over my waist and I wanted nothing more in that moment for him to just touch my skin and pull me into his body. Did it get hotter in here? I felt my skin burning and my core aching. God, just touch me already! My eyes were begging him to and I felt my tongue drag over my lips. My eyes closed slightly as I saw his eyes move to my mouth.

I gasped at the loss of proximity to his body as I saw him flip the stool over to the other side of the bar, causing it to land perfectly right side up. He gracefully jumped the bar and called to me. "Isabella. You are staying behind the bar tonight. I'm not letting you out of my sight." I more than happily complied. I turned and he helped me off of the bar. I took my seat against the wall and watched the muscles in his back as he concocted people's preferred brand of poison. I was definitely enjoying the view

Every so often some smart ass would ask how much for a taste of the 'hot little brunette behind the bar'. "She's with me. Hands and eyes off." God. This guy had me wrapped around his pinky, but I would much rather be wrapped around another phallic structure attached to his body.

When the bar slowed down a bit, he went back over by me and leaned on the wall next to where my stool was situated. "Sorry, I just hate seeing these slobs drooling all over you. It is so wrong, and inappropriate. As your teacher, I feel like I have a duty to protect you."

Protect and Serve. Damn it Bella, focus!

"Oh no, I should really be thanking you," I said, testing his reaction. The atmosphere was a bit strained between us. After the incident on the bar, I didn't know if I was going to break his resolve tonight. Although I had effectively broken through his defenses once, I'm sure he called in reinforcements so that the next time wouldn't be so easy.

"You want something to drink?" I looked at him and I'm sure my eyes were twinkling with excitement because he followed with a slightly disapproving tone, "Non-alcoholic of course." I humpfed, disappointed, and settled for a sprite. "Isabella, I'm sure you don't imbibe prematurely, you aren't legal yet."

"Why, Edward, you of all people should know that I am of perfectly legal and consenting age, it's just not legal for me to drink." I treaded lightly on the wire between appropriate and inappropriate. I was enjoying this non-Gandhi, possessive, protective, dark Mr. C too much.

"Still, promise you wont."

"Promise what?" I was confused.

"That you won't drink, until you are 21." His eyes looked straight ahead but I could see the strain in them. His jaw was tight and angry, but his voice was cool and velvet, as always.

"Only if you promise me a drink." He smirked and turned his face toward me.


"So…what would you make me? I don't like fruity drinks. I want something… straight and to the point."

He thought for a second. "A Gimlet"

"A what?"

"A Gimlet", he motioned to his cup and smiled. I smiled back, waiting for him to continue as I watched his lips wrap around the rim of the cup and drink in his brand of poison and I sat there wanting to lick his lips for him. "It is s mostly vodka," I watched him swallow and felt that familiar aching between my legs that only he could elicit, "with a hint of lime to balance the bitterness. It is sophisticated and effective without being obnoxious," he took another sip and I almost drooled, "and certainly not fruity like the shitty Sex and the City cosmos..." He finished his glass and brought the back of his hand to the corner of his mouth, wiping of a bit of liquid that stayed, "and definitely to the point."

He smiled that crooked smile at me and went back to work.

This was close to two and a half years ago and it still made me wet thinking about him.

I was sitting at the James Hotel Bar in Chicago nostalgically reminiscing on his smoldering eyes, as the party for my 21st birthday raged on around me. It made me realize that the closest thing I would get to tasting him was the Gimlet in my hand. That smooth feel as the vodka and lime slid down my throat is just delish. Just like him, it was to the point and effective without being obnoxious. It was exactly like he said.

I felt someone standing behind me, and he was too close. I was officially annoyed and in a bad mood. I had been dreaming about this night for the past two and a half years, and I couldn't even find him to contact him. Damn it.

I was about to turn my stool around again and refuse to dance with some lame fucker who didn't stand a chance. But I felt his hand hold the chair to keep it from swiveling.

"You didn't start without me did you, Isabella?" a disapproving, teasing, dominant voice whispered into that sensitive spot in my neck. I felt like I was dreaming. I was wet already.

I refused to turn around and shatter the dream if it wasn't him. "I've kept my end of the bargain, time to pay up."

I felt his hand wrap around mine, the one holding my drink. He brought the cup to his lips, with my hand still attached, and drank. I felt his muscular chest press into my bare back and I relished the feeling.

I heard him swallow, and I heard the amusement in his voice as he surely recognized the concoction in my cup. "Good Girl, Isabella."

A/N: Review and let me know... Should I continue???