A/N: This chapter is a long time coming, I've been wanting to write it for three years and finally was able to get it done for those who are still interested in reading more. So, I had this idea in my head about how I wanted to continue this story, but when I actually started writing it, another idea formed, and you will probably be able to see why once you start reading this chapter. I was unable to ignore the two possible scenarios I had for this story and wanted to experiment and write them out. Turns out I love both scenarios, and everyone I've talked to about this has told me to go for both versions, and they are my go-to peeps, so I will be posting the other version shortly. With that being said, the other version will be mostly the same, except for the last 1/3rd of the chapter, where I throw in a different twist. There're both similar tropes I suppose, but one's more taboo than the other. I don't want to give too much away, so I'm leaving it at that. There will be a part 3 for each scenario or maybe more if the muse is up to it.

Emma hastily tugs on her boots and grabs her jacket, quietly sneaking through the bedroom door before shutting it with a soft click. Silent steps are a lost cause as she walks carefully over the floor, the wood panels creaking underneath her feet. With her jacket dangling in her hand, she manages to leave the apartment without making too much noise, shutting the front door behind her. She tugs her jacket on, pulling her hair from underneath the squeaky leather fabric and letting it fall down her back. She practically runs down the three flights of stairs to discourage any thoughts of going back.

As she pushes past the door, a rush of frigid air hits her face, instantly sending shivers down Emma's spine, and her nipples stiffen beneath her cotton bra. Her steps are languid but quick, as she makes her way across the lawn and reaches her destination in the parking lot before the sun starts to rise. She can still feel Killian's touch on every inch of her skin, she can still smell his cologne and taste him on her lips, her body still buzzing with delight, despite the chill of the air.

Emma grabs her helmet, pulls it on and hops on her motorcycle before looking back at the apartment building. A pang of regret courses through her, and somehow, it's not because of her evening with her ridiculously handsome client, but because she's doing what she does best—running away.

Zooming out of the parking lot, she heads back home with an ache inside her, and not just the satisfied one settled in her core.

Entering the small, two bedroom apartment in the same fashion she had left the handsome stranger's house—is he a stranger, though, if she knows his name and fucked his brains out?

Her friend, Mary Margaret, is passed out on the couch with the glow of the TV as the only source of light. Emma glances at the clock; it's just past five in the morning. Normally Emma is home by two at the latest because she chooses her own hours since she's an independent contractor, not an employee, but obviously, tonight was different because of one British man in particular. The thought of him instantly makes her tremble… in the best way possible, her skin still tingling from his touch.

Emma tugs off her boots, quietly sneaks across the carpeted floor and deposits her keys on the kitchen table, which is cluttered with a stack of textbooks, a backpack and an open laptop.

"Crap," Emma mutters under her breath. She'd completely forgotten today is Henry's first day of Middle School and her first day of college. Emma screws her eyes shut in regret. How the fuck did these things slip her mind?

Emma opens her eyes and sighs as she closes the MacBook and heads down the hall, quietly approaching the door which is plastered with an Avengers poster. The guilt creeps up inside her, a large lump forming in her throat as she slowly cracks open the door. She had really screwed up. Lonely stripper and single mom throwing herself at the first handsome man she actually may have feelings for when she was supposed to be getting rest so she could take her son to school and start taking classes to finally improve their situation for good. Instead, she had fucked some stranger because he was gorgeous and had an accent that made her melt. What was she thinking?

Stepping inside her son's room to check on him, she can hear him breathing softly as he sleeps. She walks over quietly and drops a kiss to his temple, running a hand through his hair as she watches him admiringly for a few moments before leaving his room. Gently shutting the door with a soft click, Emma traipses down the hall toward the living room again.

"You're home late."

The sleep laden voice startles Emma and she places a hand to her heart and sighs in relief when she realizes it's only Mary Margaret.

"Later than normal, I mean," the pixy cut brunette adds, speaking through a big yawn as she stretches her limbs.

"Oh… uh yeah… sorry, I just…" Emma stammers, not knowing how to respond. "I wasn't expecting to be out so late." She bites her bottom lip, hoping Mary Margaret isn't too pissed at her. She wasn't expecting her friend to be awake yet; whenever Mary Margaret comes over to babysit, she spends the night on the couch and returns to her place in the morning, which isn't too far, considering they're next door neighbors. Emma also wasn't expecting to fuck one of her clients, nor was she expecting to fall asleep in his bed afterward.

Mary Margaret waves off her words as she sits up. "Please, don't apologize, you know I don't mind sleeping over. I'm just curious as to where you were, at this hour." She reaches over the end table and switches on the lamp, her lips curving into a slow simper as she pats the cushion next to her.

Emma walks over, taking a seat and reclining back, trying to seem nonchalant as she gives Mary Margaret a lame excuse. "I was hungry so I stopped at the diner to grab a bite to eat."

"And it took you all night?" Mary Margaret questions with a raised brow, scrutinizing her friend skeptically. "Were you eating all the food in the diner?"

Emma sighs in exasperation, and in all honesty, she's too tired to argue with anyone right now. "Fine, I stopped at a friend's house, okay?"

Mary Margaret's eyebrows raise higher toward her hairline. "A friend's house? At two in the morning?"

"No, actually I got out at midnight. Remember I was leaving early since school starts today?" Emma asks. She herself obviously hadn't remembered why she originally had wanted to leave early because she was anxious to get to Killian's house. She stands up and tries to escape to the kitchen to grab something to eat before she crawls into bed to get a couple of hours of shut-eye and has to take Henry to school, but the sound of Mary Margaret's voice draws her back.

"Oh no, you're not going to leave me hanging," Mary Margaret chides her. "Who is he?"

Dammit.

Why does her friend have to be so perceptive? Perhaps Emma has rubbed off on her a bit. It's bad enough she's rubbed off on her son. He is the most perceptive kid she knows.

Emma spins around, sighing once more. "He's a friend I met at work."

Mary Margaret nods, seeming to accept her answer. "Sooooo, he's a client you slept with after you gave him a private dance…" she conjectures with a sly smirk.

"How did you—" Emma begins to ask, but pauses and stares at her friend with a dropped jaw, completely dumbfounded.

"Emma, come on, I've known you for three years, you don't have any friends, besides me."

Emma frowns at Mary Margaret for the brutal reminder of that fact and grumbles in frustration. "Fine, I slept with one of my clients... which I have never done before… I had one night of self-indulgence for the first time in ten years. Is that a crime?"

Mary Margaret stands from the couch, shaking her head as she walks toward her. "Of course not, I'm not judging you, Em, you know I never would. In fact, I am all for you doing something for Emma once in a while. Lord knows you deserve it. I just don't know why you have to keep it from me."

Emma's eyes flicker with apology, casting toward the floor in shame as she fidgets with her fingers. "I'm sorry, I'm just tired and didn't really want to have a discussion about it at five in the morning. I have to get Henry ready for school soon."

Mary Margaret approaches her, placing her hands on Emma's shoulders, causing Emma to lift her eyes. "Let me take him, you need to get some rest."

Emma shakes her head. "No, that's okay, I want to take Henry to school, especially since it's his first day of Middle School. I don't like to miss bonding time with my son."

"Yes, but you're tired, I'm guessing you didn't get any sleep at your friend's house?" she inquires with a smirk.

Emma offers a small smile in return, blush coloring her cheeks. "I got a few hours."

Mary Margaret lifts her brows, hazel eyes buzzing with curiosity. "So, you just got up and left while he was still sleeping?"

Emma nods. "I really didn't want to have the awkward morning-after conversation and have to tell him I can't see him again if he asks for my number."

Confusion washes over Mary Margaret's features as Emma turns and walks away, attempting her trek to the kitchen once more. Her friend follows her, though, leaning against the archway of the kitchen with her arms crossed over her chest as Emma opens the refrigerator, looking for something to eat. "And why can't you see him again?"

Emma sighs, and not only at Mary Margaret's insistence to poke her until she cracks and spills what her friend most likely already suspects, but also at the fact that even though Emma's hungry, nothing really sounds appetizing to her. She closes the refrigerator door with a huff, turning to look at Mary Margaret with her hand still gripping the handle of the fridge. "Well, for one, he's a customer. It's my number one rule, I don't date customers, I shouldn't have even slept with him."

"But why is it a rule? You're an independent contractor, so it's not like you can get fired for it."

Emma narrows her eyes, releasing the handle and planting her hands on her hips. "Let me ask you something, do you sleep with your clients?"

"No, but I work in insurance," Mary Margaret answers, confused by the question.

"What difference does it make what you do for a living? You flirt with clients to get business don't you?"

"Well yeah… but that doesn't mean I want to sleep with them."

"Then why should I want to sleep with my clients? Just because I'm friendly and flirty with them doesn't mean I want to sleep with them. Most of the men who pay good money are there because they're lonely and can't get action elsewhere. Those are not men who make my job fun or enjoyable. Killian was the exception, the one out of a million clients I've danced for. I put the rule in place, not because the urge to sleep with my clients is too tempting, but because it keeps me from getting attached to anyone. It keeps me from getting hurt."

Mary Margaret nods and gives Emma a knowing smile. "You're just protecting yourself."

"It's not just about protecting myself, it's about protecting Henry," she retorts defensively. "Besides, our life is good the way it is, why add a guy to the mix?"

"Because you might be happy?"

The statement hits Emma like a ton of bricks, making her heart squeeze painfully in her chest. "I am happy," she claims. But who is she kidding? Henry makes her happy of course, but she's always felt like there was something missing in her life. In their lives.

"You know, Emma, that wall of yours… it may keep out pain," Mary Margaret shrugs, tilting her head, "but it also may keep out love."

Emma stares at her friend, not knowing quite how to respond. Instead, she goes to the pantry trying not to admit her friend is right.

"Okay, well… was he good in bed at least?"

Emma instantly blushes at the question, a smile overtaking her lips as her eyes scan over her options on the pantry shelves.

"So, that's a yes?"

It's a hell yes , but Emma can't tell her friend that. "It was fine," she answers nonchalantly, grabbing a pack of cinnamon pop tarts from the box.

"Oh, come on, Em, who are you trying to fool? Just tell me."

Emma sighs and closes the pantry door. "He's handsome and has a British accent..." she grins from ear to ear, her cheeks radiating with heat as she strides over to the toaster, "and frankly, he's the best sex I ever had," she confesses honestly, shooting Mary Margaret a glance. "Happy now?"

Mary Margaret grins and nods. "Yep, that's all I needed to know."

Except it's not, and they both know it.

Emma rolls her eyes warms up the pop tarts in the toaster, sharing one with Mary Margaret and munching on the cinnamon flavored pastry while indulging Mary Margaret with more details about her night with the handsome Brit.

After Mary Margaret leaves, Emma is able to nap in her own bed for about an hour before she's being shaken awake by her ten-year-old son.

"Mom, it's time to get up."

Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she slowly opens her eyes, seeing Henry standing there in his school clothes, his teeth brushed and hair combed.

Emma groans and looks at her alarm clock. It's 7 am. She must've shut her alarm off and fell back asleep. "I'm up, kid." She pushes herself out of bed, and he leaves to let her get dressed. She throws on some clothes before starting some coffee and making breakfast, both of them eating at the breakfast table. She hopes he doesn't suspect anything about last night. She hopes he doesn't know how late she'd returned home, and if he does, thankfully he doesn't say anything about it.

Emma grabs her keys and purse, and takes Henry to school in her yellow bug. She'd prefer her bike because it's not a painful reminder of the man she had lost and how they had met, but she'd get chastised by judgy parents for showing up to school on a motorcycle with her son. They'd say it's too dangerous and say she's a bad mom; if only they knew what she does for a living, then they'd really give her an earful. It's why she always shows up to the strip club on her motorcycle rather than in her yellow bug—so no one recognizes the vehicle as Henry's Mom's and wonders why she's there.

Her son knows what she does for a living, she'd brought him to work when he was younger, and Ruby and the other dancers had watched him in the dressing room while Emma danced. It's not an ideal job, but it pays the bills. It's definitely better than dragging her son from one homeless shelter to another like she had done after Henry was born, when she was living on the streets.

She had been working late one night when his father had died in a fire that destroyed the small house they had struggled to afford. They had no home insurance, so Emma was only left with a big hole in her heart and a baby growing inside her belly. At the time, she thought about giving her son up for adoption, but honestly, keeping him was the best decision she's ever made. And since she did, it certainly hasn't been easy, but she has never once regretted it.

She would do absolutely anything to make sure he always has a roof over his head (and not the hood of her Volkswagen), hot meals served to him at the kitchen table and a warm bed to crawl into at night. Her job as an exotic dancer allows her to provide all of those things and more for her son, so she is not ashamed of what she does, nor will she apologize for it. Besides, she is hoping to get something better in the future, which is why she's starting college today.

"Have fun on your first day of Middle School, kid," Emma tells him as she pulls up in front of the school and ruffles a hand through his curly brown hair.

"I'll try, thanks, Mom. Have fun on your first day of college." He leans over and kisses her cheek. "Get some more sleep before your class, you look tired."

Emma smiles at him sweetly. "Good to know, thanks," she laughs, dropping a kiss to his forehead. "Love you, kid."

"Love you too, Mom."

Emma watches him as he catches up with two of his buddies and walks in with them before she pulls away. She contemplates trying to get some more sleep, but instead, she goes home and takes a well-needed shower, washing the night away while trying not to think about the hot British man and their steamy night of passion. But she fails miserably, because God , she wants to be with him again, wants him inside her again, ramming his gorgeous cock inside her over and over again until she's pleading and panting as he fucks her into oblivion.

She shudders, the memories of how he'd felt inside of her flooding her mind. She swears the man literally came from her fantasies. She just couldn't resist him after she had seen him in the private room sitting before her in that chair, waiting for her with lust filled eyes. Then she had straddled his lap, dry humping him into the next dimension. She had stopped before things had gone too far, but all of her ambitions had gone out the window the next night when he had kissed her breasts. She had kissed him back and allowed him to touch her, which is something rare; she never lets any of her customers put their hands on her. But she had felt a connection between them which was more than physical. He had lost his wife, which hit her hard emotionally because she too had lost someone. She had lost her boyfriend and Henry's father.

The experience in the private room with Killian had been otherworldly. She had never experienced pleasure like that before, and they hadn't even had sex at that point. Just the feel of his hard cock through his pants and his fingers deep in her cunt, while she rode him, was enough to give her mind-numbing pleasure.

She bites her bottom lip, feeling the familiar heat building up inside her. Emma cannot resist the temptation any longer and slips her fingers between her thighs while her other hand strokes her breasts, making her nipples stiffen under her touch. His name pours from her lips as she comes fast and hard in her hand.

Killian curses to himself as he drives slowly behind heavy traffic. He remembers why he normally prefers to leave early for work when school is back in session because the streets are always packed with school buses and speedy cars full of young, boisterous college students. But the rather late night with the gorgeous blonde had made him hit the snooze button of his alarm far too many times after he had realized she was gone from his bed. He was disappointed, if he were being honest, and had tried to fall asleep to forget about the ache he felt without her. It didn't bloody work, and had, in fact, worsened when he had eventually dragged himself out of bed and looked around his lonely apartment.

Pulling into his parking spot at work, he scrambles out of his vehicle, grabbing his briefcase and Starbucks coffee, walking briskly as he hopes to make it by the skin of his teeth, which he does.

Emma scans her school schedule another twenty times to verify which building her first class is in and what room number as she makes her way across campus with her book bag slung over her shoulder. Whenever she glances up to see where she's going, she feels so old as the young students around her hurry to their destinations. Even though Emma is only twenty-eight, she feels out of place. But maybe it's not the age difference that irks her, and instead, the fact that she is perhaps a little bitter; when she was their age she was working two full-time jobs and taking care of a baby on her own. But again, she doesn't regret her choice of keeping Henry, she only hopes she can continue giving him everything he needs. She's here because she'd like to accomplish that in a different way than having to shake her ass in strange men's faces. She hopes to get a basic college education and then sign up for a premedical program. She hopes to do something with her life, other than just being a mother, as satisfying as it is, and a stripper, as satisfying as it's not. She wants her son to be proud of her and not have to tell his friends and teachers he was late for school because his mother was out, stripping until the wee hours of the night where men of all types grope her while shoving cash down her tits and inside her g-string.

Emma makes it to class with time to spare and finds a seat. Before she had arrived, she thought she would feel uncomfortable being surrounded by fellow students who are much younger than her, but instead, they are too involved in chit chat with their peers to really care how old she is, and though some throw her a casual glance, they aren't smiling at her creepily or imagining what she looks like completely naked. And it's rather refreshing being surrounded by seemingly innocent youth when normally she's surrounded by old, drunk men trying to feel her up.

She takes an aisle seat near the front of the classroom, next to a young girl, probably eighteen, who greets her with a friendly smile and a shy "hello."

"Hi," Emma returns and gets settled in her seat, taking out her MacBook, prepared to take notes. She looks at the clock as the minute hand moves to the hour mark. Emma waits with bated breath, excited about her first day of college, but also a bit nervous. She's not really sure what to expect, she'd barely finished high school before she had Henry, and that was ten years ago.

"Sorry, I'm a tad late, I forget how busy the traffic gets in this town during the fall semester."

Emma's eyes dart to the front of the room when the familiar British accent fills the lecture hall, and she must be hearing things because there is no way her professor is…

Oh fuck.

Emma has to keep her jaw from dropping to the floor as she gapes at her professor. He is the same man who had visited the strip club the last couple of nights. The same man she had given a lap dance. The same man who had given her several orgasms last night, and who's been in her head all morning, who's been inside her.

"My name is Killian Jones, but you can call me Killian," he says with a heart-stopping grin and a small twinkle in his eyes as he sets down his briefcase and coffee on the desk and adjusts his tie. "Welcome to English 101."

Emma slumps in her chair, hoping to hide from him, but to her dismay, he starts calling off names from the roll call sheet. Since Emma's last name starts with an s, she has time to think about whether she wants to flee the classroom and sign up for a different class or stay. But she knows she can't because this is a required General Education class and she has to take it to be eligible for higher level courses. And it's the only time slot available. So, it's either drop the class and wait until next semester to take it, delaying classes she could be taking next semester, or she forgets about her night with the professor standing at the front of the class, the one with smoldering blue eyes, disheveled sex hair and a shy grin. Emma gulps when he calls off the name Ken Stuart. She cowers behind her Macbook, and when she peeks around her computer, she sees his expression transform as he lifts his eyes and scans the lecture hall, his face paling. Blinking a few times, he studies the attendance sheet in his hand once more.

"Emma Swan?" he utters, his voice cracking.

Shit.

There's no way out of this now. Slowly Emma sits up in her chair and reluctantly raises her hand. "Here."

Killian lifts his eyes, immediately spotting her. His mouth falls open in shock, and Emma blushes profusely under his gaze. She grows warm just staring at him, and as much as she hates to admit it, he's had an effect on her, and she is scared to act on her feelings for him again, afraid what it might turn into. But really, this whole situation is a blessing in disguise since it's forbidden for professors to sleep with their students.

Killian—Mr. Jones ascends the steps, passing out papers, and when he approaches her row, the smell of his cologne wafts over her, and the desire sparks in his eyes when he looks at her, making her skin hot. In a matter of no time, she is musing how fantastic it would be for the professor to fuck her on his desk after the other students leave. But she knows she has to stop thinking like that. She had signed up for classes to learn, not to fuck the professor.

"Thank you," Emma murmurs as he hands her the syllabi, she takes one and passes the rest of the sheets down the row.

Killian winks at her, speaking quietly in her ear. "The pleasure's all mine, love."

Emma trembles, her face flushed as he grins and walks away, leaving her with a baffled look on her face. Of all her classes, she had not been looking forward to English; the subject has never been her strong suit, but still, she wants to do her best, without being distracted by handsome professors.

As Mr. Jones goes over the syllabus with the class, Emma tries to focus on what he's saying, but instead, she's focusing on his mouth and how it had felt pressed to hers and all the secret places of her body. As his tongue darts out, skimming over his lips when he turns the page, her entire body grows warm at the memories flooding her mind. The things he had done to her with that tongue of his, that smooth British lilt, how it reverberates straight to her belly and how he'd spoken to her with his sultry voice and dirty talk are all very distracting. She shakes it off, instantly banishing any thoughts from her mind which aren't related to her son or school, or at least the learning part of school.

The professor casually glances at her every so often, so she turns to her computer screen each time, trying to avoid eye contact with him.

When class is finally over, Emma gathers her things and scrambles out of the room while other students approach him. No longer distracted by his dangerous good looks, she makes up her mind and decides she does not want or need a man in her life, nor does she have time for one. She needs to take care of her son, she needs to focus on school and she needs to do those things without distractions. For the first time in her life, she decides not to run and to instead face her challenges head-on. She will not let some English professor keep her from doing what she needs to do to achieve her goals. She will continue to show up for his classes, but she will not let him distract her. No matter how pretty he is, how much he has already affected her or how good he is in bed.

She and Henry are in a good place, finally. They don't need anyone else in their lives right now. Stripping is already a heavy secret for Henry to have weighing on his shoulders. She certainly can't tell her son about her professor if she and Killian ever became a thing.

Henry is too much of a priority. No matter how much she longs for someone else in her life, she has to admit to herself that she just doesn't have the room for it. There is a huge void in her heart, sure, but she shares her heart with her son, and right now he is enough to fill that void as long as he is happy and healthy. That's all that matters to her.

Emma peers down at the syllabus in her hands, scanning over the professor's office hours. Tomorrow, she thinks to herself. Tomorrow she will march into his office and set the record straight without having to worry about other students hearing their conversation. Their relationship, or whatever it is, can go no further than what has happened so far. He was a one-time thing and now he is her professor and nothing more. That's all he can be to her. No matter how much she craves for more.