Conference Night

The door opened with a creak, her pushing bags inside in front of her. Her heels clacking on the tile floor of the laundry room, her bags falling in a heap onto the floor: lesson plans, binders, and papers to grade spilling everywhere. She heard everything tumble out of the bag but she paid no attention, she'd pick it up later. She stepped out of the heels, relishing the feel of carpet under her aching feet.

She usually never wore heels to school but tonight had been conference night and she'd met with 17 parents of her 19 first graders, two hadn't shown for their scheduled time.

Wiggling her toes and stretching her back, she headed towards the kitchen with still aching feet.

She heated up some leftover pasta and poured a glass of wine while texting him. He wasn't her boyfriend and wasn't just her friend... perhaps friends with benefits? No... that seemed too cheap. He was there when she needed him, even at all hours of the day and night.

He said he'd be over in 20 minutes. Just enough time for her to finish her reheated dinner, down the glass of wine, and take a quick shower. She needed to work out some tension she'd had the past few days.

After a too short, but still relaxing shower, he let himself in through the front door, dropping his keys on the hallway table and finding his way into her bathroom where she was towel drying her hair.

"Long day, Ms. Moore?" he teased, leaning against the doorframe.

She winked at him as she tossed her head upright, missed droplets of water spraying the mirror, her scar glinting in the light.

After a car accident in her teens, she was left with a scar that ran from mid cheek down to her collarbone on the right side. People often commented that she'd be such a beautiful woman if it weren't for that scar.

He knew it bothered her that they said that... as if they inferred that she wasn't beautiful anymore... but she never spoke about it.

That's why she liked teaching the kids... adults stared even after hearing the story... kids asked but once they knew what happened, they didn't stare again. It was almost as if once the mystery was gone, they didn't care anymore. They didn't think the scar made her ugly.

She'd caught him looking at her scar before and he'd been embarrassed but she never said anything about it, was never self-conscious about it. Her accident could have been worse, she reminded herself. She'd been lucky.

Now, with her wet hair around her shoulders, he admired her scar. It was part of her as much as her freckles. He loved that she didn't try to cover them up with make up and didn't use the scar fading cream that her doctor recommended.

"How's the class looking this year?" he asked as she hung up her towel.

She smiled. "Pretty good! I'm getting excited!"

He grinned. "I'm glad you're ready for a new year, Ms. Moore."

She rolled her eyes, still smiling. He watched her finish up her routine: putting mouse in her still wet hair, running her fingers through it, moisturizing her skin.

He stepped behind her, hands on her shoulders, fingers kneading away at the base of her neck. She hung her head and leaned back into it, sighing.

"Make sure you don't work too hard this year," he teased quietly, a smile on his lips.

His fingers worked along her shoulders, to the front of her neck, tracing her scar with his fingertips.

Goosebumps erupted on her skin, tickling his fingers, the skin of her scar slick.

She turned and his hands fell along her sides, resting on her hips.

She leaned up without hesitation, lips on his, her body sliding up along him.

He pulled her closer, her warm body against his, her hands around his neck. She bit at his lip hungrily, her breathing becoming rapid. Her hands pulled him to her. She was always very clear about what she wanted.

He met her pace for pace and then raising her. He nibbled at her bottom lip, making her groan that she couldn't capture his first. His fingers tightened, his hands gripping her harder.

Matching him, her hands pulled at him, drawing him closer, eager.

His hands began to pull at the cut off sweat pants she'd put on after her shower, her skin still damp, the fabric clinging.

Kissing down her neck, he slipped the pants off, licking her collarbone as she stepped out of them, hands on his shoulders for balance. He knew what she wanted.

He looked up at her with a wink as she watched him through a curtain of still damp hair, her eyes already glazed with lust.

Her hands grabbed at the back of his head, pulling him up to her eagerly, tongue hot inside his mouth, wanting more of him as fast as she could.

As his body collided against hers, she pulled his shirt off, hands fumbling at the button on his jeans before his shirt joined hers on the floor.

Stepping out of his shoe, kicking his jeans off, his hands searched her body, feeling her warm skin under her shirt and she was already dragging him towards her bed.

Against the wall to her bedroom, he turned her, hard against the wall, palms flat to catch herself before he was on her, licking and biting the back of her neck.

She turned against him in both defiance and need, mouth searching for his, hands fumbling for his boxers. He chuckled against her lips; she didn't waste any time.

Her panties joined his boxers on the floor quickly, rushing him, begging him. He would have taken longer but her pace forced him to keep up. She'd called him knowing what she wanted and she wanted it now.

His lips were on her neck as her hands fell on his hips, along the hem of his shirt, already wrapping the fabric in her hands to lift it off of him.

As her hands came up mid stomach, his slid under her thighs and lifted her as he slipped inside of her, wet and hot, until he his hips met hers.

She gasped, caught off guard. He smirked. She wanted it and he obliged. It was rare that he could catch her when she wasn't expecting it. He stayed deep, letting her adjust.

She moaned into his shoulder, back bowed, catching her breath and feeling herself stretch to accommodate him so quickly. She tightened, quivering, feeling him throb inside her, making her stifle a groan.

Her hot breath was on his ear, the need still in it. Hands on the backs of her thighs, he drew himself out, making her breathless, and then he slid back in hard, her back against the wall.

Her legs tightened around his waist as her hips tried to keep his pace but he, relentless, kept her pinned against the wall. Their chests pressed together through their shirts, heat radiating from both of them.

The smooth, thickness of him was hot and burning inside her, pushing and pounding. Vaguely, she could feel it ache, but she liked it, her teeth grazing his shoulder.

He groaned and pushed into her again, hips grinding into hers.

He lowered his hands, her feet landing on the floor as he slipped out of her but quickly turned her around and with one hand on her hip and the other on her back, bent her against the wall.

She shuddered with need, aching to feel him slide into her again. Her palms pressed against the wall, bracing herself, ready, wanting.

He slid himself against her, slipping and moving, teasing. He smiled as she groaned, pressing her hips back against him and he let just the tip slip inside.

She moaned, pressing her hips back farther, wanting more. He chuckled, held her hips tight, and obliged.

He pushed into her fast and hard, knocking her braced hands free, her shoulder colliding with the wall. He pulled her back by her hips, pressing farther in her, making her squirm.

He held tight to her hips and he moved with a rhythm that was hard and fast, a groan low in his throat. His right hand moved from her hip to her shoulder, fingers curling around to her scar, slick under his fingers.

Her own hand moved form the wall back to cover his on her hip, pushing back against him, meeting his rhythm.

He heard her breathing and he could tell that she was close, he knew what she wanted.

He reached forward, under her shirt, finding her nipple between his fingers. She groaned, feeling him twist. He knew what she liked.

With another twist, she shuddered, clenching around him, gasping and shaking. He held fast for a moment, letting her have her moment, feeling her grip him tightly, trying to hold his own resolve.

Finally, her breathing subsided and he could feel her spine relax and he throbbed inside her, still ready for his own release, making her quiver.

Her hands came back to rest on the wall, bracing herself as he withdrew and slammed into her again, finding the rhythm that he needed pressing inside her to get his own release.

He pushed hard and fast, leaving her breathless and shaking as she pressed back against him, eager for him to finish as well. She'd never felt him this hard before.

He was so close, so ready, so hard and then there. Gripping her hips tightly, he burst, shuddering, breath ragged.

Just as he, she waited to hear his breathing calm, for his pulse to slow.

Sliding out of her, he chuckled, hand on her shoulder, near her scar, to help her straighten to her feet. She was smiling, thoroughly satisfied.

"So, Ms. Moore," he asked out of breath, "Can I stay the night?"