This is my second fanfic, so pretty please read and review! Also, I'm American so, yea sorry if something doesn't sound right. Not betaed so all mistakes are mine.

Disclaimer-I do not own Sherlock or it's characters.

The Tutor

She stood up from the table, incensed. How dare he?!

"I-I'm afraid I can no longer continue t-to help you if…if you're going to talk to me like this, s-so you need to leave."

He rose slowly from his seat at the table, stepped toward her until his face was inches from hers. She didn't back down.

"See, there it is. That tense bitchiness." He stressed the word with blatant distaste, drawing his brows together causing that distinctive little horizontal crease to form over the bridge of his nose. "You know, all you really need is a good shag. A nice hard cock to alleviate your maladies." He grinned roguishly. "It so happens that I have an adequate one and can easily appease them for you."

The burn in her cheeks got hotter (if that was even possible), spread down her neck into her chest. She was certain she must have been as red as blood. A seething anger washed over her and swallowed her whole. Later she wouldn't remember if she had thought about it first, or had done it on impulse, but she reared her hand back as far as it would go and slapped him as hard as she could, right across his cheek. Immediately she regretted it.

He cut his eyes at her, slowly straightening his head, fervent anger engulfing his features. He was clenching his teeth, made evident by the flickering of the muscles in his jaws. Her hand covered her mouth, as sheer dread settled on her face. Oh God, what have I done? She thought. Shaking her head, she took a tottering step backwards when suddenly he grabbed her wrists and yanked her arms above her head, moving forward, pushing her with his body until she was pressed firmly against the wall by him.

Looking down into her eyes, their noses touching, he said, "That. Was. A. Mistake," in a voice so low and ominous she could feel the vibration through her cotton t-shirt where his chest met with hers.

She scarcely breathed, her heartbeat roaring in her ears, as she gathered up the nerve to resist. She fruitlessly yanked on her arms and wiggled her body in an effort to free herself from him. "Let go of me," she yelled, and stiffened when he deliberately ground his hips against hers sending some sort of jolt through her body. Her mouth fell open, and she forgot how to breathe. What was this feeling? Fear? Perhaps, but it stemmed from her pelvic region, rapidly spreading throughout her body, causing a dull ache between her legs. She'd experienced fear before, on a magnitude beyond measure. Yet, it was nothing like this. She furrowed her brows when he grinned and started to chuckle. His rich, booming voice was sending waves through her, intensifying that strange feeling in her nether region. She wondered what was so funny, then realized he'd known exactly what she was thinking.

"You see? I told you this was all you needed," he said, moving her left wrist over to join the other, grasping both with his left hand so that his right was free. Gently, as if he cared, he ran the backs of his fingers over her cheek and down her jawline and settled on her chin. Caressing her bottom lip with his thumb he said, "Let me show you how delightful it can be." His voice lowered to a near whisper. He nudged her head up with the tips of his fingers underneath her chin and swept a soft kiss across her lips. "Let me relieve you, Molly."

His eyes were hooded and lustrous with desire. This much she understood, and presumed that the fluttering in her stomach had to mean the same was true for her. She absolutely wanted him to kiss her again, but at the moment he seemed hesitant, patiently waiting, his lips a hairs breadth from hers, their labored breaths blending together. She knew what he waited for. Permission to 'relieve' her, but what did that mean? Something sexual, most assuredly, and something she was both curious and frightened of.

Regardless of her college status, she was quite oblivious to the dynamics of sex. Having grown up in a small, bucolic town and attending a strictly non-coed academy, she had been forbidden to study, talk about, or engage in anything having to do with the act before marriage. Her parents had kept a secure leash on her, 'protecting' her from the 'evil' and 'desecration' of the world. After high school graduation, she'd pleaded with them for months to let her attend Oxford, and when they were unyielding in their answer, she'd secretly applied and was admitted. Shortly after her eighteenth birthday she bade them farewell and hastily left their home to start life anew.

That new life ultimately lead her to this point, a quite sticky situation, in which she was unsure of what to say or do. It had been that way since the day they met, sans the innuendo, touching and kissing. She remembered clearly falling all over herself the day he approached her in class.

Microbiology, the rather fascinating study of microorganisms, which she absolutely loved and was Molly's favorite class, was unfortunately a tedious and obscure topic for Mr. Sherlock Holmes whom, not two weeks ago, had approached her and requested her tutelage. He had offered her an extensive amount of money for any inconvenience, money she had desperately needed. She'd reluctantly agreed against her better judgment, something niggling in the back of her mind telling her to run for the hills. How she wished she had listened.

The first few meetings had been tolerable enough, although she was continually aware of his every move, his every breath. She was a bundle of nerves and was always telling nonsensical little jokes to which he would only sympathetically smirk. She found it most difficult to talk and explain things without tripping over her words, stuttering, and making a complete idiot of herself. His responses to those antics were of the same ilk, refined, demure, and sympathetic, albeit genuine, but serving only to exacerbate her discomfiture all the more. And God forbid he inadvertently touch or brush against her in some way! Yet, slowly but surely they'd developed some semblance of rapport and she found that she could look him directly in his beautiful eyes without getting lost and completely losing her wits.

Until today. They had sat down and begun as usual with little tension in the air between them. Shortly afterward, however, she'd picked up on his subtle sarcasm and saw a difference in his cute little smirk. He had leaned back in the chair, a complacent expression on his face, staring at her as if he could see right through to her soul. Perceptive jackass that he was, he very well may have.

"Why are you always so nervous, Molly? Is this typical behavior, or solely affiliated with my presence?"

"Wha-what? I'm, I mean-"

"This is what I'm talking about. You seem to have a difficult time controlling your faculties every time we meet, although you have gotten better over time," she had jerked away when he'd placed his fingers on her hand, "there, you see? Your reactions to me are peculiar indeed. Are you frightened of me, Molly?" His voice had been sultry, velvet.

"N-no. I…I'm-"

"And the stuttering, while it's quite endearing, I do wish you could formulate and complete a simple sentence without it for once. Do you have a boyfriend, Molly?"

She gaped at him then, thrown off completely. "W-what does that have to do-"

"Hmm. I gathered as much. I am also scarcely taking a huge leap here, and assuming that you're untouched, considering your constant rigidity?" He'd exaggerated the word with an equally emphatic facial contortion.

This had infuriated her.

So here they were, at an impasse, Sherlock tolerantly waiting for her to answer him, still holding her arms above her head, pressed against the wall of her flat, his gaze unwavering. A beam of sunlight shone in at just the right angle, highlighting his eyes, turning them into a sea-blue-green and gold. Molly was captivated. How could one's eyes be so many different colors? Her heart hammered in her chest, the fluttering in her stomach grew stronger and stronger, and she knew what the answer was. Her body had already decided it for her.

Smug bastard that he was, she wanted him, desperately wanted to share her first sexual experience with this man. She did not know why. She only knew that he was precisely the right one. Here goes… She took a deep breath, trying futilely to steady her nerves. With a curt nod of her head, she'd either initiated the best experience of her life, or the worst mistake she could ever have made. She latched her hopes onto the former.

It must have been all the confirmation he needed. Immediately he closed the distance between their lips, and moved his over hers so gently and expertly she wondered exactly how many women he'd done this with. She couldn't imagine very many would be so accepting of his eccentric ways.

He halted the kiss shortly, took a breath, flicked his tongue quickly under her top lip, and possessed her mouth again with urgency. Releasing her wrists, he slid his hand down her arm, over her armpit, brushing his thumb down the side of her breast, stopping and holding her at her waist, sending chills all over her body. With the other, he reached behind her head and pulled off the elastic band, letting her hair fall around her shoulders and promptly inserted his fingers between the strands, grasping lightly onto her roots. A guttural moan escaped from him and reverberated right through her and she responded in kind, inching her hands up his chiseled stomach and over his hard chest.

Sherlock ended the kiss, and Molly frowned in protest. He placed his right hand flat on the wall by her head to brace himself, leaning forward. "Are you soaking wet for me, Molly?" he breathed. "Shall I see for myself?" He didn't really expect an answer. He bent down slightly and slipped his hand beneath the hem of her skirt, placed it on her inner thigh and began slowly move upwards while kneading her skin. Giving her a brief kiss, he moved his hand over her core and rubbed her in tiny circles through her sodden underwear. She'd never felt anything so excruciatingly good and she found herself moaning quite loudly.

"Oooh, so, so wet from only kissing?" He chuckled. "Whatever am I to do with you?" With that, he took a step back from her and reached for the bottom of her shirt, whisking it up and over her head. Kneeling down, he did the same with her tiered skirt, leaving her standing insecurely in her bra and panties. She fought the compulsion to cover herself. Sherlock stood up, his gaze roaming over her entirety, and her thoughts took a bad turn. What if he thinks I'm ugly? What if he thinks I'm fat and unattractive? What if he's disgusted by the sight of my nakedness? What if he leaves-?

"God, you're beautiful," he said, and she couldn't hide her sigh of relief. He took her by the hand and asked, "Bedroom?" She indicated the hallway to their right and he quickly marched her inside, closing the door behind them.

She felt her nervousness expanding and wrung her hands together for lack of anything else to do with them. Is this really going to happen? With him? Ohmigod! Soft, warm hands gently clasped onto hers and she looked up into the eyes of the most beautiful man she'd ever seen. He lifted her hands up to his mouth, kissed her knuckles, the backs of her palms, her thumbs, all the while keeping his eyes locked with hers. He then pulled her to him, placing her hands on his chest. He cupped her face, kissed her, and rubbed her cheek with his thumb.

"You've nothing to fear, Molly. Nothing at all. I'm not going to hurt you. I'm not going to leave you. I've wanted nothing more than to be with you since the day I first laid eyes on you. Do not be afraid." He kissed her once more, then stepped around and behind her, unclasped her bra and slipped the straps off of her shoulders. Molly took a deep breath as she watched the bra fall to the floor. Her heart pounded as he stepped in front of her again, his eyes focused on her small breasts. He sucked his bottom lip into his mouth and then slowly released it with his teeth. Coming back to her, he kissed her, passionately this time, inserting his tongue into her mouth, tangling it with hers. She made a small squeak when he put his arms around her waist and lifted her up. He placed her on the bed and crawled on top of her, kissing her with eagerness and gusto. Once he was steadied on his arms, he kissed a line of fire over her jawline and down her neck, where he alternated between licking and sucking and nibbling, making his way to her breast and- Oh God that feels so good!

Molly panted and moaned as Sherlock worked over her breast with his mouth. She arched her back again and again as he suckled and grazed the nipple with his teeth. Her hands were planted in his hair, pulling hard, unable to stop herself. She was experiencing the most exquisite pleasure that she had no idea was possible. Then he moved over and repeated his actions with the other breast, suckling and nipping and licking the skin underneath. It was almost painful, the sensitivity between her thighs where a pressure seemed to be developing and compressing and all she needed was… what? Sherlock knew what. He knew exactly what, and to prove it, his hand went there and he applied just the right amount of pressure, moving his fingers in swift circular motions over her underwear. Right there where she needed it. She arched her back, throwing her head from side to side, her hair spread over her pillows wildly. Something incredible was happening, but there was more, she knew it. And she was close.

"Let go, Molly. Come for me, now." And she did, letting a loud cry escape her mouth, arching her back, bucking her hips as wave after wave of white hot heat coursed through her body. She barely registered Sherlock's movements as he pulled her underwear off and shucked them. He was back on top of her, kissing his way down her stomach as her body finally began to calm. She smiled dreamily feeling more relaxed than she'd ever felt in her life.

Then his tongue was on her clitoris and the shock of it made her squeal. The feeling of his deep laughter formed between her legs. Oh, this was so much better than his fingers through her underwear. So warm and soft. She began to squirm and moan anew, grasping his hair again, calling his name as he flicked his tongue over her mound. He closed his mouth over it and, sucking slightly, he wavered his tongue up and down, side to side, round and round then drew his mouth away, making a sucking sound as her labia slipped from his lips before descending on her swollen flesh again. She was bucking her hips again, as she felt that familiar pressure start to build and spread. Was it possible for that to happen again? Apparently, but she wasn't complaining.

Sherlock slipped his middle finger inside her tight, slick core and slowly moved it in and out, somehow finding a magical spot within that when touched just right, nearly shattered her into pieces. Her moans grew louder and she bucked harder as Sherlock moved his fingers faster, his masterful tongue laving and titillating her clit. She was right on the cusp, teetering the edge, the heat drawing back, condensing once more. Then the dam gave, the heat overflowed, and she was lost in an anatomical conundrum, unable to think or control herself. Only able to ride on the glorious currents of fire sweeping her into oblivion.

When she was once again able to process thought, she glanced down at Sherlock, who was kissing his way back up her stomach while simultaneously massaging a breast. She grabbed him by the head and pulled him up to her, tasted herself on his lips as she kissed him. She could feel his hard length through his trousers, pressed against her center and it made her want him then and now. Still kissing him, she fumbled with the buttons on his shirt, unable yet to master her fingers. Sherlock must have realized this. He ended the kiss and sat back on his haunches. He picked up where she'd left off and quickly had the shirt off and tossed onto the floor somewhere. Then he stood up and never taking his focus from her, unbuckled his belt, undid his trousers and pushed them down his long legs, stepping out of his shoes in the process. She watched him, fascinated by his lean, muscled form, as he slowly pulled down his briefs, and freed his cock. Her eyes widened. Oh my crumpets, how is that going to fit?

"Don't worry, Molly. We will fit perfectly."

How the hell does he do that?

"Your facial expressions are always bounteous indications of what you're thinking, Molly."

"Oh," she said, simply.

"Now you are ashamed. Don't be. You're allowed to be human." He crawled into bed beside her, placed a hand on her cheek and kissed her lips. "If at any time you wish me to stop, simply say the word and I will."

She nodded and he moved over her and positioned himself on one elbow. He used his other hand to take hold of hers and put it between them.

"Touch me, Molly."

Peering between them, she wrapped her hand around his width, heard a sharp intake of air when she stroked him slightly.

"This is what you do to me every day, Molly," he said as she continued to stroke him, softly. "I've only to think of you, and this reaction befalls me. This is the command you wield over me."

At that breathless confession, Molly was emboldened. She smiled, showing her white teeth. Giggled, "Good to know," she said. Still holding him, she guided him to her entrance and he gently pushed inside. She gasped at the feel of him filling her, stretching her. She decided it was only slightly painful. When he reached the barrier that was proof of her innocence he stopped. Looking at her with a question in his eyes. She understood and nodded her consent.

"Hold on to me," he said, and she wrapped her arms around his neck as he kissed her vigorously, in what, she assumed, was an effort to keep her mind off the pain that she was about to endure.

He thrust his hips hard, and searing pain ripped through her as her maidenhead was torn away and replaced with his manhood, filling her to the hilt. She cried out into his mouth at the sharp, burning pain. He froze for a moment, letting her body get used to the intrusion, kissing her fiercely until she relaxed her muscles. She framed his face in her hands and pulled his lips from hers so that they could look into each other's eyes as he slowly began to move. There was only slight discomfort at first and Molly soon found herself moving with him, relishing in the feel of him inside her, gliding in and out. He was mumbling sweet words in her ear as his thrusts became more urgent, harder. That sweet burn was filling her once again and she dug her nails into his back. He sucked in air between his teeth then brought his lips to hers.

"Molly," he moaned. "Come with me." He pounded into her now and they were both yelling in satiating delight. The condensed ball of fire was growing stronger until finally exploding, breaking her into a million pieces. Sherlock gave one maddening thrust and was lost in his own release, spilling his seed inside her. She felt him shuddering as she held him in her arms and she decided that she never wanted to let him go, knew she never could.

Moments later, as the afternoon sun cast golden light into the room, they lay on her bed, Molly's head on Sherlock's chest, his arm wrapped around her shoulders.

"Sherlock?"

"Yes, Molly?"

"What are we doing?"

"Well, some would call it laying in bed. Others would call it lying in bed. I prefer the latter, correct vernacular."

She pinched his nipple playfully. "You know that's not what I mean, Sherlock," she said, giggling. "What I mean is, are we together now? As a couple? Or…or is this just…a once-only thing, or…?"

"Molly, I assure you this isn't a one-time thing. Are we a couple? One would assume so, don't you think?" He moved some stray hair off of her face and looked into her eyes.

"Okay. I'm sorry for hitting you."

"I believe the activity we've just participated in would effectively demonstrate that I've forgiven you for that, wouldn't it?"

She popped his nipple this time, laughing. He jerked at the sting, then grabbed her arms and flipped on top of her, holding her wrists by the sides of her head.

"Molly, you'll find that I quite like it when you hit me, I'm afraid. So from this point on, you're mine to goad until you lose your temper so that I can ravish you over and over again."

She laughed, "Also good to know."

He kissed her then, slipped himself inside her, and they made love into the wee hours of dawn.