A/N: Ok, so this little one shot has been floating around my head for a few days so I thought I'd just get it out. It was inspired by the Carlward Contest! I am a judge in said contest, so of course, I'm not allowed to enter so I thought I'd just write a little Carlward one shot to placate myself :D.

Go check out the awesome entries in the Carlward contest! http : / fanfiction (dot) net / u / 2705041. Or better still, ENTER the contest! Entries are being accepted until March 11th!

I'm gonna put the link on my profile for those who are too lazy to copy and paste and join up all spaces and change the (dot) to an actual dot, coz I know I usually can't be bothered to do it. LOL! So yeah, link to the Carlward contest is also on my profile.

Now, on to the story! Hope ya like! :)

End of the lecture, most of the students had emptied out and I was packing up my notes when –

"You know that was bullshit, right?"

Turning towards the voice with a frown I was startled to see a boy, from the lecture obviously, standing before my desk.

He had a grin that rivaled the Cheshire cat.

Trouble, I thought.

"Excuse me?"

He dumped his books on the desk and walked around it – towards me – one hand hoisting his backpack up his shoulder.

"The Blake poem," he said, eyes – green eyes I noticed – holding mine in challenge. Grin unwavering.

I lowered my gaze, continuing to pack my briefcase. "I'm sure Blake wouldn't be too pleased with you calling one of his best works, 'bullshit'."

He came ever closer, so close the scent of the shampoo he used in his reddish-brown hair wafted up my nose.

He chuckled. "Not the poem. It's actually one of my favorites. I was talking about the interpretation. You said it was about man destroying nature."

"I said that was one interpretation."

"Yeah, the least plausible and least interesting one."

I stopped packing and looked at him again.

The boy was... ballsy.

Like I said: trouble.

I raised an eyebrow at him. "Ok, so which interpretation would you have preferred I did?"

He smiled; all pearly white teeth and full red lips.

"The one where you talk about the sick rose being a metaphor for innocence and virginity. I mean, c'mon, what's a more obvious symbol of that than a flower?" His voice lowered into a murmur and he leaned in ever closer to me, his unruly hair almost tickling my face. "And then there's the worm that creeps in at night, destroying the delicate rose's crimson bed. How's that for a phallic symbol..."

My face grew hot.

I had no idea why. The boy was giving a very valid interpretation of Blake's, The Sick Rose. It was probably the most obvious interpretation of the poem even...

So I had no idea why I was blushing.

I cleared my throat. Took a step back from his proximity. "Ok. Well, you're free to discuss that interpretation in your seminar, as well as free to choose it for your essay. I wanted to focus more on the Romantic's value of nature in today's lecture, which is why I chose the other interpretation to discuss."

His eyes flickered over my face but he said nothing.

And truthfully, it was unnerving. I picked up my briefcase and made for the exit – and he followed, keeping up with my quick footsteps with his long legs.

"Regardless of your shitty choice in interpretation," he said, turning to me with another grin. "I really enjoyed your lecture, Professor Cullen."

"Thank you. Glad you did." I regarded him for a moment before asking, "What's your name?"

Those pearly whites flashed at me again. "Edward Masen, Sir." He winked. "See you next Tuesday."


I was looking for him, I couldn't lie to myself.

As my eyes roamed the seats in the large lecture hall, drifted over the two hundred students seated in them, I was looking for that unruly, bronze head of hair.

I'd never really paid much attention to my students before. There were too many of them for me to keep track of.

But for some reason I couldn't forget the boy.

And… there he was.

Seated somewhere in the middle, towards the bottom row.

He smiled when our eyes met.


A knock on my office door startled me.

I'd barely gotten out the, 'come in', when the door opened.

And he was standing there, one hand in his pocket, another holding the strap of his backpack.

"Hey, Professor," he said with a sly grin. "Can I talk to you?"

"Sure. What about?"

He took a step into the room and shut the door by leaning back against it.

He smirked. "My essay, of course. What else could I wanna talk to you about?"

His eyebrows rose as I met his eyes.

"Alright." I gestured to the seat opposite me at my desk. "Take a seat."

He sat down in the chair, his backpack in his lap – and looked at me.

I shifted in my seat: leaning back in my chair, crossing and uncrossing my legs, twiddling my thumbs.

Still, he said nothing.

After a long moment of awkward silence, I said, "Well, do you have the essay with you?"

He shook his head as if waking himself up. Smiled. "Sorry, I got distracted for a minute there." He unzipped his bag and pulled out a few sheets of paper. "This is just the first draft, I was wondering if you could take a look at it for me."

When he handed me the essay, he made sure our fingers touched.


"Ok, I'll take a quick look at it for you, but you know I'm not really allowed to help you with the content, right?" I put on my reading glasses. "I can only offer general advice on areas you can improve."

He was staring at me again when I glanced at him from over the top of my glasses.

"That's… fine by me, Sir," he said, still brazenly holding my eyes. "I'll take anything you can give me…"

The boy was flirting with me.

I was sure of it.

I took a deep breath and attempted to read his work – and it was difficult when I could feel his eyes still on me.

It was difficult when my face was burning hot.

"It's very good, Edward." I cleared my throat a little, keeping my focus on the sheets of paper in my hand. "You need to include more background information on Blake; you seemed to only skim over that and it's pretty important. Also, you need to have more…"

I trailed off when I glanced up to find him smirking again.

"Is there something funny?"

"No." He bit his bottom lip. Shuffled a little in his seat. "I just think your glasses really suit you."


My neck was now burning hot too, and I would have loosened my tie and undid the first button of my shirt – if I wasn't certain that that would encourage him.

I tried to give him a stern look. "You're not in here to talk about my glasses, Edward."

He shrugged. "It was a compliment."

"Well, thank you, but I'd rather just stick to talking about the essay."

He didn't reply to that.

"Ok, so… yeah, you need to have more about the Romantic Movement and what it meant to that time period –"

"Are you married, Sir?"


I sighed. "Excuse me?"

"Are you married?"

"No, I'm not. Also, make sure you're formatting your footnotes correctly –"

"Have you got a girlfriend? Or a… boyfriend?"

I removed my glasses and rubbed a hand over my face in frustration.

"Edward, questions about my personal life have nothing to do with your essay."

His green eyes never left my face. "I'm just curious."


He shrugged.

I held out his essay to him. "I've pointed out the areas you need to improve. Feel free to come to me whenever you want, if you need more help."

He hesitated before he took the sheets of paper off me – again his fingers brushing mine on purpose.


"You're welcome." I put on my glasses and looked down at my pile of assignments, though if I said I was really seeing them I'd be lying.

I heard the chair scrape back, heard his backpack zip close, heard the rustle of his clothes as he hoisted it up on his shoulder.

But I didn't dare look at him.

"Thanks for your help, Professor Cullen," he said, his voice now over by the door. "And I'll definitely make sure to err, come to you if I need any more help."

My eyes couldn't help darting up at his blatant innuendo – and I wasn't surprised to find that grin on his handsome face.

And then he winked.


The boy was driving me crazy.

And he was barely doing anything.

He'd sit in one of the bottom rows, in the middle of the lecture hall, so he could easily catch my eye. And whenever he did catch my eye he'd smirk. Or wave. Or poke his tongue out at me.

And I'd completely lose my train of thought.

He didn't come to my office again, but he'd always be one of the very last students to leave the lecture hall after my lecture.

And he'd always murmur a husky, "See you next week, Professor," as he sauntered out.

I was attracted to the boy.

He had a crush on me, that was obvious, and it would get old soon; he'd forget about me as the weeks went on. He'd probably find someone else to crush over.

Besides, he was my student.

And he was only eighteen, at least.

So I really shouldn't have been attracted to him.

But I was.


One evening, I was in the staff parking lot, making my way to my car –

"Hey, Professor."

He was jogging over to me, his loose jeans hanging off his hips, plaid shirt pushed up to his elbows, hair looking like he'd just rolled out of bed – in a sexy way.

I had to close my eyes for a moment.

He was smirking when he reached me.

"This is your car?" he asked, raising his eyebrows at my Mercedes. "Nice."

"Thank you. Was there anything you wanted?"

Wrong question.

His smirk widened and he bit on his lip, eyes slowly trailing down my body in a way that made me feel like I wasn't wearing any clothes. "Oh yeah," he breathed. "There's definitely something I want."

I took a step towards my car and he stepped in front of me.

"Edward, stop it."

"Stop what?"

"You know what."

He pouted, playfully. "Why? You like it, I know you do."

"Nothing can ever happen between us."


"You're my student."

He shrugged. "I can keep a secret."

"Christ." I ran a hand through my hair. "How old are you?"

"Old enough."

"Edward –"

He rolled his eyes. "I'm eighteen. I'll be nineteen in like, a few months. See? Old enough."

"You're my student."

"I don't care." He took a step towards me, his body so close, too close, to mine. Thank goodness the parking lot was practically empty.

"I care," I said. "This is my job. If anyone even sees us like this" – I gestured between our bodies – "I could get in a lot of trouble."

"Ok. Well, then I'll stay away from you when we're on campus so it won't be obvious."

I sighed deeply as I took in his face. He was serious about this.

And what the hell was going on here? I wasn't actually considering starting something with this boy, was I?

Edward glanced around us before discreetly taking my hand in his.

And placing it on the crotch of his jeans.

Where I could feel an erection straining against the fabric.

"I get horny every time I'm in your lectures, or when I talk you. And that time in your office," he murmured, his eyelids growing heavy.

I swallowed. Hard. And tugged my hand out of his grasp. "Stop it."

"I can't help it."

I understood that all too well.

Because there I was, thirty five years old and sporting a rock hard erection of my own. In the parking lot of the place I worked.

And they had become a frequent occurrence.

Every time I was near the boy.

"You want this," he whispered, his hooded eyes boring into mine. "You want me, I know you do. And you have no idea how much I want you."

Oh, I had an idea alright.

I knew the boy would be trouble the minute I set eyes on him.

And I was right.

I glanced around the parking lot.

Saw it was empty.

Didn't even think about the possible consequences of my actions as I told him,

"Come with me."

He didn't even hesitate – opening the passenger side door of my car and sliding in.


His tongue was soft, tentative against mine, and his mouth moved with mine gently, as if he were unsure of what to do with his lips.

He was inexperienced.

Despite his seemingly audacious pursuit of me, the boy was, in fact, shy and inexperienced.

I lifted my lips from his to look at his face.

His cheeks were flushed, his full lips parted, his eyes closed.

I couldn't help brushing my fingers along his smooth face. He had barely any facial hair. "You haven't kissed many people have you?"

He opened his eyes and shook his head.

"Have you kissed anyone before?"

I saw his Adam's apple bob and wanted to lean down and kiss his pale neck.

"Once," he answered. "But it wasn't like this."

"It wasn't like how?"

"It wasn't this good."

I leaned down and pressed my mouth to his again, and his lips were a little firmer then, his tongue a little more sure, more confident.

"Why me?" I murmured against him. "You could find someone your age easily enough."

He shook his head. "I don't want someone my age," he said. "You're hot. And smart. And mature."

I stopped kissing him and leaned back on my leather couch.

"You're my student."

He sighed. "I know. You keep saying."

"So where exactly do you want this to go?"

He shrugged. "I don't know."

I ran a hand through my hair. "Edward, this is… this is crazy…"

His hand drifted down to my groin, grasping my stiff cock through my pants –

And I lost my train of thought.

He squeezed my erection, and when my head fell back against the couch in pleasure his lips were at my neck, kissing, sucking, occasionally nipping.

I grabbed him by the back of his neck, bringing my lips to his again – and this time our kiss was far from slow and gentle.

Our mouths moved quickly, hungrily, tongues merging together, hands roaming everywhere…

He ended up straddling me, his long legs folded on either side of my thighs, his chest pressed against mine.

And he was moving his hips, rubbing, grinding, humping me, the hardness of his cock as it stroked mine a blissful source of friction.

And fuck, the boy was a moaner.

And a loud one at that.

His moans only got louder as he began to reach his climax – and he hadn't even removed his jeans.

Honestly, his inexperience was endearing. And a turn on.

"Professor…" he moaned. "Shit, this feels good."

I smiled, moving my lips down to his neck and sucking at the soft skin there.

He groaned louder.

"You like how that feels?" I asked him.

"Uh huh."

"Are you gonna come?"

"Yes, Sir," he gasped.

And as soon as the words slipped out he stilled against me, his tight grip on my hair doubling until my eyes watered with the sting.

I watched his face as he came: he was flushed, all the way down to his collarbones, and his eyes were closed.

His lips were in a half grin.

He was breathing hard as his orgasm faded, loosening his grip on my hair and slumping against me heavily. I held on to his lean frame, kissed his damp, messy hair.

"Shit," he said, after his breathing had slowed. "I can't believe I just jizzed in my pants."

I chuckled.

"I'm sorry."

"What for?" I asked.

"You didn't get off."

I smiled. "Don't worry about me."

He leaned back so he could look at me. "But you're still hard, I can feel it."

He punctuated his words by shifting his hips against me and I hissed.


Through clenched teeth I muttered, "It'll subside. Just give it a little while."

"Professor –"

"You know, you don't have to call me Professor," I interrupted. "We're not on campus."

"I don't know your name."

"It's Carlisle."

"Carlisle," he repeated, his red mouth pouting in thought. "Hot name. But you know what?"


"I prefer calling you Professor." He grinned. "Now, Professor Cullen, why don't you relax and lemme make you feel good. With my mouth."

I frowned at him. "Have you done that before?"

He nodded.

"I thought you were inexperienced."

His grin widened. "I may have been putting it on a little." He shrugged. "What can I say, I like the role of inexperienced, innocent little student."

I shook my head.


The boy was trouble.