A/N: I wish I could say who this is for, but this person doesn't have an account, she knows who she is. Hope you like this. Tell me how it is.

Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight.

Request: A two sided, Bella. One kinky, and the other a recluse high school girl.

The devil makes us sin, but we like it when we're spinning, in his grin. - Massive Attack

He watches her, her luxurious body sway, lower and lower, her back against the cool metal of pole. Her eyes, dancing, fire within them, red and consuming. The way her lips curve, teasing, and mischievous seductive click of tongue on her teeth. Her hands, fingers, cascade down her skin, smooth, soft supple breasts in her palms. Her long legs, feel worthy thighs, and the womb of heat sleuthed between them.

Oh, how he aches. Pulsing and straining. Hot, mouth dry and breathing shallow. How he needs her. Hands on his knees, she comes before he calls. Slowly, eyes on his, she knows what he wants. Her stance is steady, and without a second thought, she comes to sit on his lap, before she lowers her mouth to his ear. Biting softly, her hand on his trembling throat, she asks with humor in her voice, "Mr. Banner, did you come to see me?"

He doesn't know what to say, instead stutters, and turns to look at her, her hands in his hair, smile and light in her eyes. "B-Bella?" She nods slightly, moving her palm to hold his sagging cheek. He looks like he's seen a ghost, and it makes her want to feel his embrace, arms around her, warm and comforting.

"Didn't recognize me, did you?" She does not feel out of place, far from it, she likes the way he is looking at her, with desire and confusion. She wants to kiss his fears away. "It's alright, I won't bite. Not unless you want me to." He does not speak, he cannot believe the words that are coming out her mouth. Dirty and suggesting. It excites him, and it scares him.

After all those months, imagining, dreaming, of her and him. He hopes this is not an illusion. "Cat got your tongue?" She bites her lip, and giggles, and moves his hand from his thigh to her back, the touch making the hairs on her neck stand. So gentle, and light, unlike how any other man would hold her. Not even the drunk that is her father.

"N-no, I just can't believe.." She watches as his eyes flicker to her face, and then to the small clothing that separates him from the depths of wet warmth, that could bring him pleasure and release, his fantasy to life. But it is wrong, he has to tell himself, he shouldn't think this way, not when she is ready and willing.

She holds a finger to his lips, and his eyes remain on hers, waiting. She grins, and stands from his lap, leaving him in an instant panic, but before he makes a fool of himself, she takes his hand. He follows, his steps hesitant, and guarded. He turns and looks, paranoid that someone will recognize him with her, but no one notices. He has to remember that here, this is normal.

He is risking everything as he trails behind her, past the entrance to backstage, toward a red door, that she unlocks with a key, hidden otherwise under the strap of her panties. He starts to sweat, the heat of the situation getting to him. He wants to tell her no, that they should not be doing this, but there is part of himself that cannot open his mouth.

He is hypnotized when she tells him to sit, the door closing behind her, her back against the wood. The room is dark, and he can only see the outline of her face. "Bella?" He asks, he can only imagine what he looks like. Flustered and submissive. She smiles and slowly, pulls down the straps of her lacey bra down, the pink bringing great contrast to her skin.

"Shh," she whispers, and walks over to him, stopping just in front of his knees, bringing both of his sweaty hands to rest on her thighs. "Relax." Her soft hands, feel small in the balding part of his hair, and he starts to breath heavily, when she lowers herself down onto his lap, taking his left hand and bringing it to her bulging breast, relieving it from the wired cup.

"Just feel." And so he does. The slow rhythm of life that flows in her heart, under the pressure of his palm, her nipple hardening into a soft peak, and he stares as she closes her eyes. She holds his hand harder onto her chest, and she brings his other to her lips, moving the strap of thick lace away, plunging his fingers inside, making her cry out. "Mr. Banner."

He is not sure if he is moving his hand, or if it is she, in and out, the walls of her insides, pulling him back, where he can feel her soft nub shiver. "Please," she pleads, her eyes still closed, and on his own accord, he pushes his fingers farther, until he hits the spot that makes her shake, over and over, diving. His thumb, rubs her clit, taking her to he brink of her release.

When she comes down from her high, he holds her, watching her swallow, her throat thick from the estacy of his touch. Her eyes open, slowly, glazed over and searching. Her abdomen moves, as she tries to catch her breathing, his fingers still inside, moving slightly with each breath she takes.

The next morning, he cannot see her, if he does, they will all know how intimate they were the night before. He shuffles with the papers on his desks, looking up every second or two, waiting until it is her entering the classroom. He wonders where she is, suddenly not caring, even if there are stains on his hand from where her juices milked his fingers, she needs to be here.

The bell rings, echoing in his ears, unforgiving and loud. He turns to write the assignment on the board, and his chalk breaks, when he feels her breath on his ear, "Sorry, I'm late."