Chapter 14

I ride my bike up Manchu's driveway, pulling to a stop behind where he's parked, obviously having just finished a ride of his own. He looks especially sexy with his helmet and riding gear on, and when he removes his helmet I see that he has his black bandanna on underneath, making him even sexier. He takes his gloves off and places them on the seat before looking up at me and flashing me his gorgeous smile.

I pull my helmet off and jump off my bike quickly, immediately starting to laugh as I walk to where he is. Attached to his bike is a sidecar, and in it is one goggle-sporting Roscoe.

"Oh my god, that's probably the cutest thing I've ever seen." I bend over to pet Roscoe, who looks as happy as a bulldog can, with his tongue hanging out the side of his mouth. He's got a leather vest on that matches Manchu's, emblem on the back and everything.

"He loves it. Can't get enough." He grins and takes Roscoe's goggles off before releasing him from his harness. The dog lumbers out and walks to the porch.

I think Manchu is about to lean in and kiss me hello, but he moves instead to pick up his helmet and gloves, and starts walking to the house.

After we all file in, Manchu gets Roscoe fresh water and asks me if I mind if he takes a shower.

My eyebrows wiggle and he laughs, telling me he really wants to get clean and all I'll do is make him dirtier.

I fake pout and sit at the counter in the kitchen, watching as he takes off his vest. "What is that emblem on the back of your vest? I've never seen it before." I've become fairly knowledgeable of all the different bike clubs and associations in the area. I assume it's from wherever he lived previously.

I watch as Manchu walks to his wine rack, grabbing a bottle near the top. He puts it down in front of me on the counter, and I recognize the symbol on the bottle as being the same.

"You put an emblem from a wine bottle on your vest?" I ask, confused.

"This wine is from Volturi Vineyards in Italy. My family's vineyard. It's our family crest."

"You own a vineyard." I state, blankly. Of course he does.

"Well, my family does. I don't get over there much anymore or have anything to do with it, really. My father runs the stateside aspect. I've been hoping to return soon." He grabs an opener and a glass, and proceeds to pour. "I should let it breathe a bit, but go ahead. Try it." He slides the glass to me and I take a sip.

"Delicious."

"This is our most popular Shiraz." He takes a sip from my glass and licks his lips.

"I noticed a picture in the hall, of you and Rose with I assume your father. Where is your mother?"

"That's one question." He says, smirking at me while holding up a finger.

I roll my eyes at him and push my bangs away. "Fine."

"My mother, unfortunately, died right before I graduated. The doctors said it was heart failure, but I know it was more; it was from a broken heart. She was never the same after Margaret. She gave up and didn't take care of herself."

"That must make you angry. That she left the three of you behind." I feel a certain kinship in his revelation, my mother not caring about Emmett and I enough after my father died, instead throwing herself into her religious fanaticism and ultimate deterioration.

"I don't blame her. Losing a child, regardless of how many others you have, takes a part of you away. I've seen it plenty. Do you know how high the divorce rate is after a child dies? She survived the best she could."

"Where is your father now?" Manchu lightens the mood by holding up a second finger, which earns him a sigh of exasperation.

"My dad still has his house over in Belle Meade. Rose lives there. He's gone half the year to Italy for business, so it works for them. He's actually due in next week for a while. I'm excited to see him."

I furrow my brow in question. "Emmett told me you were new to the area. I assumed you moved here from out of state."

"I lived in Chicago for a while, after finishing med school and then did a stint in a hospital there. After that, I went to Africa for six months with Doctors Without Borders."

I think of the picture in the hallway of Manchu, smiling and surrounded by what I know now to be African children. My heart swells, and I fight back the urge to tear up from the sheer beauty of him. I listen as he continues.

"I moved back to Nashville, but had an apartment about thirty minutes away in Springfield. I just bought this house a few months ago. So technically, I am new to the area." He smirks and leaves me to shower. "Make yourself at home."

After he goes upstairs, I refill my glass and walk around the kitchen, looking at the fancy equipment and snooping through the glass in the cupboards to see what kind of dishes he has. I find a powder room and laundry room, which are combined like you find in a lot of older homes.

He isn't gone long, and when he returns he's wearing an old Northwestern T-shirt and a pair of cargo shorts, the sight enough to make me moan.

"What was that?" He asks me, narrowing his eyes and grinning.

"Nothing. I didn't say anything."

"You moaned."

"I did not, you're full of shit." I swallow some wine, hoping he doesn't notice the color of my face.

"Half Pint, I think I know what your moans sound like." He rubs his hand over his chest like he does when he's proud of himself.

"Whatever. Is that why I'm here, to be the brunt of your biting wit?" I complain, but smile behind my glass.

"I don't think it's my wit that will be biting tonight." He pours himself a glass of wine and leans his elbows on the counter, watching me as I lean back on his sink.

"Oh no?" I try to appear nonchalant, but I like the idea of him marking and bruising me.

"No. My mouth will be. Biting and licking and chewing."

"Chewing?" I wrinkle my nose at the weird description.

"Yes, chewing." He grins and reaches for his cordless phone. "On pizza, I'm starving. What do you like on yours?"

"Uh, I thought we weren't going to be partaking in food together."

He looks at me and a flash of exhaustion crosses his face. "It's just a pizza, Half Pint. Not a marriage proposal." He snaps at me.

Ouch. I feel like I've been reprimanded.

He sees me tense up, and his face softens. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to lash out at you. I'm trying to abide by this arbitrary 'too personal' thing you've set up, but I want to eat a pizza and I figured you were hungry. Can't we just have a bite to eat without it being something that goes against these rules of yours?"

I think about the lines I've drawn around whatever it is we're doing here. It's almost like if I give in on eating or sleepovers, I'm admitting that I've started to develop feelings for him. I take the easy way out, and just agree.

"Yes, of course. Pepperoni."

He walks to me and puts his arms on my shoulders. "I am sorry. I've been stressed and it's not your fault."

I nod, upset with myself that my increasingly questionable need for a non-relationship has possibly made the situation between us tense. "I'm sorry too. I take things to the extreme, I know."

He kisses my forehead and removes his arms. "Pepperoni you say? Are olives ok too?" Manchu takes a step back and looks at the phone, ready to dial.

"Sure." I feel relief that the semi argument is over, but I can't get rid of the feeling that we've just hit the tip of the iceberg on an issue to be called Titanic.

I'm sweaty and trying to catch my breath when I hear a phone ringing across the room.

I'm lying on Manchu's floor surrounded by those big pillows that he graciously pulled from the bed once he was done fucking me against the wall. It's where I landed and was too tired to move.

He gets up quickly and I watch his ass upside down as he walks to his dresser to answer it as Dr. Cullen. It must be the hospital. He listens for a moment before putting his hand over the microphone, telling me he needs a few minutes.

I get up, wanting to give him some privacy and make my way to the bathroom, once again envious of the shower. I make a mental note to get in there soon.

Returning to the bedroom, I see he's sitting on the bed, still on the phone, so I smile and make my way to his walk-in closet, and run my hands over his suits. I see a white shirt hanging loosely from a hanger and put it on, not wanting to disturb the ones that are obviously freshly dry-cleaned.

As I'm about to walk back out, I see a red tie hanging from the tie rack, it's knot already in place, like he couldn't bother untying it correctly before pulling it over his head. I slip it on and arrange it so it hangs between my breasts, at the opening of the shirt that I've buttoned only at the bottom.

I walk out and he's got his head in his hand, leaning on his knee, so I leave the bedroom with the intent of getting more wine in the kitchen.

I find a treat for Roscoe, figuring he's been a good boy while locked downstairs again. I spend some time with him, rubbing his head and playing with a squeaky toy near his bed.

I refill my glass and walk through the entryway, towards the formal living room. It really is pristinely neat and I'm glad my house was dark last night so he couldn't see the state it's in. He must employ a cleaning service. Also, there are no boxes to be found anywhere, which makes me feel like a real slouch, since he's lived here less time than I've lived in mine.

The room is beautifully furnished, if not a bit on the stuffy side. It's obvious he lives more on the other side of the house, in the big family room/kitchen area. The walls in here are a sage green with artwork and sculpture on the shelves, and the windows have the same curtains as in the family room.

I walk through the space towards the intriguing staircase at the back, the four steps leading down to a smaller hallway. I find another full bathroom, and looking in another doorway, find some weights, a treadmill, and a punching bag. The thought of Manchu sweaty and boxing makes me smile. I'll have to ask if I can watch him someday.

I near the end of the hall where the last door stands, and debate opening it. It's slightly ajar, so I put my foot on it and push gently. "Oops." I say, as it swings open.

It's clearly a home office; dark wood and leather furniture making it look like a stately study. I can picture men with cigars gathered around and drinking brandy out of crystal glasses. There's a huge desk sitting in front of the window that overlooks the backyard.

I walk around the perimeter, which has bookcases rising up to the ceiling, intermittently spaced with walls holding artwork between them, giving it a striped effect.

The first bookcase on the wall farthest from the desk holds a slew of novels, ranging in subject from mysteries and crime to biographies. I can see where he gets all of his material to speak with Mimi. I pass the gap containing a beautiful painting of a Midwestern cornfield and move to the second bookcase, which contains very serious looking medical tomes. Titles like 'Oxford Textbook of Oncology' and 'Principals of Pediatric Oncology' stick out when I graze my hand over their bindings.

I make my way further into the room, about to check out the third bookcase closest to the big desk, before stopping short at the space where I expect another painting to hang.

This wall holds a different type of art; a wild mass of chaotic color.

Construction paper snowflakes intertwine with cheerful handmade cards and drawings, notes and tissue paper flowers dot sporadically around the setting. All of it obviously the handiwork of Manchu's patients. There are many drawings of a man in green scrubs, and it makes me smile. There are dozens of photographs of children, some obviously undergoing treatment and some that look cancer free.

I open some of the cards with my finger, reading misspelled words of thanks and love. My eyes well up at the thought of how many lives he's touched.

"So you found my shrine, huh?"

I startle and look behind me at Manchu, leaning casually against the doorframe, dressed only in loose black pants tied at the waist. They hang dangerously low, and show the V in the muscles that lead down to the part of him that is well defined, even through the relaxed fabric.

"Yes, sorry. They love you a lot."

"No, I mean it's my shrine to them." He walks and stands next to me, looking at the wall. I turn my attention from him and look over the artwork, trying to imagine what he feels when he gazes upon it.

"It's wonderful. All of these lives you've saved."

"Not all." I look at him and a shadow of sadness crosses his features. I wonder if the call he took had to do with Kayla.

"Tell me." I whisper, trying to convey that I want him to feel free to share the happiness and the sadness with me.

He swallows, and traces a picture of an elephant with his finger, the signature reading 'Derek'. "Lymphoblastic leukemia, March 2010. He loved baseball."

He slides to a paper heart, with the words 'I love Dr. Cullen' written in purple marker. "Annie, Rhabdomyosarcoma, October this past year. She had a crush on me." He glances at me and smiles a sad smile.

I wonder at the fact that he's sharing difficult things, Rose's words of him not letting people close ringing through my head.

His mood shifts and he points to a picture of a mother and father flanked by three kids and a dog, and points to the girl in the middle, she appears to be about sixteen. "Becky, in remission from Hodgkin's lymphoma for a year now."

"That's great."

"It is." I feel him slide his arm around my waist and he pulls me into his side.

After a few moments of looking at the wall, I apologize. "Sorry if I was snooping. Oh, and I gave Roscoe a treat, hope that was ok."

Manchu takes my wine from me and takes a sip, before moving to the desk and sitting in his chair. "It's fine. I've told you to make yourself at home." He leans back and looks at me over the rim of the glass. "Cute tie."

I look down, remembering what I'm wearing. "I wanted to see what the appeal of menswear was."

"And?"

I shrug. "Looks better on you." I finger the end of the tie with one hand.

"I beg to differ." Manchu rakes his eyes over the opening in the shirt where the tie lays, and crooks his finger at me, beckoning me closer.

I walk the three feet to him slowly, swaying my body and perching my hip on the side of the desk. His fingers pull at the shirt, silently asking me to move in front of him. I stand between his desk and where he's pushed his chair back, and notice the erection in his pants. I quirk an eyebrow at him, and he just looks back at me with a smug look on his face.

"Have a seat." He motions for me to sit on his desk so I shuffle my body up, crossing my legs at the ankle. His eyes drink me in for a moment, his fingers rubbing the hair on his chin, before leaning towards me and unbuttoning the shirt I'm wearing slowly. I watch his face as he parts the material, placing the shirttails on either side of me. His hands nudge my knees and I spread them, fully exposing myself to him.

"Fucking beautiful. La tua fica รจ fottutamente bella." He smirks at me when he sees my eyes burn at his phrase.

"What did you say?" I whisper, my skin vibrating at the way his hands stroke my thighs gently while spreading them further.

"Your pussy is fucking beautiful."

I suck a breath in and he hovers over me, inhaling my scent and circling his thumbs on the inside of my thighs. He lets out a moan as he sees me clench my pussy, but surprises me when he leans back in his chair.

"Touch yourself."

I've never done this before in front of someone. Sure, I touched myself watching his neighbors, but he was behind me. He's right in front of me now, wanting me to put on a show. The thought excites me, and makes me feel deliciously dirty.

I tease him a bit, my hand skimming my breast as I lean back on the desk with the other. My fingers tweak my nipple, and I let out a soft 'oh', before taking my palm and running it over the nub, squeezing and playing with my breast.

"I love your curves. Your body is perfect. Soft and voluptuous." He shifts in his seat and takes another sip of wine, his eyes never leaving my hand, which has begun to trail down to between my legs.

Before landing on my pussy, I take my fingers and gently rake them across the skin right above, making my hips move a little in their own impatience.

Manchu reaches out and takes my left foot and places it on the arm of his chair, before doing the same with the other. He leans back again, and this time, his own hand rubs against his cock, extended in the thin fabric. I watch him rub for a bit, and when he grasps himself through the material, I bring my fingers to my pussy, first rubbing the clit and then moving down to touch the wet folds.

"Fuck, yes." He says, his eyes dark as he watches me play with myself, taunting my clit with two fingers before rubbing in a circle.

"Inside." His eyes shoot to mine and it's a direct order. My fingers follow his command and I whimper as I feel my own finger enter me. I drop my head back at the sensation, my long hair brushing the papers on his desk. I continue fingering myself until I feel his mouth on me and I snap my head up to look.

His tongue is joining my fingers, licking and sucking at my opening. I move to rub my clit again, and his tongue replaces them, delving deep inside, lapping the sides of my pussy.

Abruptly, he leans back again and a slow smile spreads over my face as I see him untying the drawstring of his pants, pulling out his massive cock. His hand starts stroking and I'm mesmerized by the up and down movement, by the skin being manipulated and turning red.

I start to rub faster, and our combined moans permeate the air. I'm breathing heavy, watching him pleasure himself while I'm still working at my own orgasm.

"I don't know if I should watch your beautiful face or your glorious cunt when you come." He says, his voice husky and needy while jerking his hand over his shaft. He darts his hand out and swipes it on my pussy, transferring my wetness to his cock as he resumes stroking.

"Oh god, I'm going to come." I pant, feeling my orgasm fast approaching. I rub my clit fast while my hips writhe on the desk, getting closer and closer until finally I feel the muscles contract and waves of pleasure flood my body.

"Fuck!" Manchu shouts out at the sight of my pussy clenching on my fingers, the sway of my hips extending the feeling my hand is still delivering. His hand speeds up, and he's watching me watch him.

"Oh that was beautiful, baby. I'd watch you come all day." His voice is throaty, hitching with his quick movements. I can tell he's close.

"Come on me." I reply, a little surprised at myself, but I can't think of anything I want more in that moment. "Come on my tits."

He stands quickly, and moves the tie over my shoulder. His hips thrust and his hand continues moving, until he leans closer and gives his shaft two long strokes, his warm come suddenly spurting out of him and landing all over my chest in thick ropes.

He continues stroking a moment, his head hanging down and his chest heaving. I look down at my own chest, covered in him, and he pulls some tissues from a box on the desk to wipe me off.

"I'm proud of you." He says while reaching for more tissues.

"Cause I took it like a champ?" I grin.

"No," He smiles at me and discards the tissues, before leaning in for a kiss. "Because you asked for it."

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From the planetblue Archive of Awesome Fic List:

The Tutor by ItzMegan73

New student Bella Swan needs to break out of her shy exterior and her guidance counselor has the answer: tutoring. And Bella is too new to know she shouldn't want to tutor Edward Cullen.

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