Ride by kris salvador

http://www.fanfiction.net/s/6253744/1/

Prelude Part I

XXX

I'm not what most people would call a horny girl.

I've only had sex with my boyfriend, and I have had only one in my entire life.
I've never gone out of my way to look for sex. I do look at porn, but only out of
boredom, and the times I actually masturbate are few and far between. However,
during my first year in college, I did something that few girls would think could
actually happen, and even fewer girls would've imagined doing.

It was during summer after my freshman year at Evergreen State College in
Tacoma. My father, police chief of rainy Forks, deemed it absolutely necessary for
me to take up Law, Justice or Public Policy so I could be a productive member of
society. Yeah, go Geoducks! I'd just split up with my first (and only) boyfriend
and there was no one, not one, who'd piqued my interest. .

One Monday morning, Rosalie Hale, the greatest bitch in the entire universe who
was unfortunately also my roommate, came home indignant. Abso-fucking-lutely
furious. She told me that her boyfriend got into a fight at the Tukwila station on
their way back from Seattle because some fucker had the gall to feel her up, and
then blamed the rocking motion of the train. Of course, boyfriend #567, a jock
named Emmett, wouldn't stand for it. The men got into a fistfight that ended up
with all three of them being sent to the security office for a lengthy discussion.
She was relating the entire occurrence, blow-by-blow, about how the two men
grunted and beat each other to a pulp (which I suspect turned her on) but at the
mention of Emmett's bulging muscles for the nth time, I zoned out.

It was only later when I started thinking about it that a strange idea crept into
my head. I don't know why, but somehow the idea of being groped in a train
resonated with me. I imagined what it would be like to be felt up by a complete
stranger in a carriage full of people. A rough hand on the curve of my ass,

running inside my thigh... I thought, I can wear a skirt over one of those knitted
pants with buttcheek holes. I was wet before I knew it. The next day, I kept
imagining some guy's hand on my ass, on my breasts, between my legs. I
fidgeted in class, rubbing my legs together, trying in vain to relieve the tension.
As soon as I got back to the dorm, I went online to look for train grope videos
and pictures. Most of them were from Japan for some weird reason (they all
looked staged, but I digress.) I masturbated myself into a frenzy. I remembered
coming three times that night and not getting any work done. But it did the trick
and I didn't think of it again until several weeks later.

It was the furthest thing on my mind.

It was on a Friday when I found myself on the commuter train, alone, on my way
to Seattle for a night out with some friends. I rarely go out, as I wasn't the kind
of girl who goes hunting for fresh meat. Most of the time, I didn't have to. I
wasn't as pretty as Rosalie but boys did find me somewhat attractive. I've been
out on dates, not as many as Rosalie, and some of these gentlemen have actually
tried to get into my pants. It's only because I didn't like them enough, or wasn't
turned on in anyway, or fucking frigid (as one of them had spat at me,) that I
and my bits remained dry throughout the school year. Anyway, I was on the
commuter train, and there were quite a lot of people as it was a Friday evening.
The crush of bodies pressed against me brought Rosalie's story to my mind, and I
immediately found myself getting wet. The idea seemed so hot and exciting and I
couldn't stop myself. I imagined someone's hand wandering all over my body,
and I almost wished that someone WOULD do it. No one did, and I spent the
entire journey horny as hell. I got off in King St. Station in Seattle and
masturbated inside the train station lavatory.

From that time, I started considering doing it seriously - provoking someone into
groping me. Over the next few weeks, I found myself thinking idly of doing it until
I was actually planning the entire thing. I surprised even myself, but by then
curiosity and lust and the long dry spell had gotten the better of me.

I started wearing tight jeans and tops with deep cleavages, squeezed my smallish
breasts into wonder bras, curled my lashes and smeared my lips in red. I
practiced a come-hither look inside the privacy of the bathroom, pranced around
in fuck me heels and planned and plotted my adventures. In the past, I've always
made it a point to cover myself up when I traveled by train, bus and otherwise. I
grew up in Forks, with only a staid, square father to raise me and besides, it was
always raining in Forks. Always wet and cold and clammy.

I started taking the Seattle-Tacoma train on Friday evenings, during rush hours
when the trains would be most jam packed. But I found that no matter how
sluttily I dressed, no one would do it. It only made me very frustrated. And very,
very horny. Masturbating didn't do it for me anymore, even if I did it in different
train stations. The thought of asking one of my friends to grope me weirded me
out. Yeah, go figure.

Then, it happened. Summer was nearly over and I was on my way back from
Seattle where I'd taken an internship at one of the police stations. I'd decided at
the beginning of summer that I wasn't staying in Forks and declared to Charlie
that I needed experience if I was to be an effective law enforcer some day.
Charlie didn't like it but his instincts warred with the pride that his little girl was
going to uphold his legacy so she might as well start early. Eventually, pride won.

I'd taken the 7PM train from Seattle to Tacoma that day.

Now, I'm a small girl, almost 5'4" in heels so all I could see in a crowded train
were the backs and chests of people pressing in around me. There wasn't enough
room for me to move my arms, or my legs, or even to get myself into a
comfortable standing position. All around me I could smell the sweat of people,
mostly men, tired from their day's work. I realized most of them seemed to be
going to Auburn. Coal miners, from the looks of them. Tall, muscular men.
Rough. They weren't exactly what I'd call smooth and charming. Still, I didn't find
them repulsive and for some reason, the thought of one of them, or even two,
groping me turned me on. I was dressed in one of my more adventurous outfits –
clunky Docs, short skirt over torn leggings (with two big holes over my ass and a
slit in front, just as I wanted). The ensemble was uncomfortable, and cold, too,
as I'd worn no panties but it made a point. Some of the men eyed me like candy,
almost like they could see under my skirt and smell my pussy. I knew then that it
was only a matter of time before someone's hand started exploring my body.

Nothing happened at first, and the train pulled into the next stop after I got in. A
fresh crush of people pushed their way into the train and we were all crammed
inside the carriage like packed sardines. The train started again, a singsong voice
announcing the next station and the lights dimmed. I was starting to wonder
whether all my efforts at sluttiness were never going to be worth it all, when I felt
it. A hand on my ass. The man was going about it nonchalantly, brushing his
hand against my ass every time the train jostled. The way he did it couldn't
disguise the fact that he was touching me on purpose. My heart started to beat
faster, and I could feel myself starting to get wet.

I tried to turn my head to see how the guy looked, but it was too cramped and I
couldn't turn around completely to get a good look. My left side was pressed
almost flat against the wall of the train. He was right behind me, facing the same
direction as I was, his wandering left hand well hidden from other commuters.
The man in front and on my right side had both their backs turned on us so it was
like I was in a cocoon on my own, surrounded by men. One of them with a
wandering hand. I could smell somewhat expensive aftershave, but then that
could have been from any of the other people on the train. The hand on my ass
was a little rough, so that suggested that he was not a stranger to manual labor.
We went on that way for a few minutes. The train was slow-going, what with it
being packed so full of people. I felt more daring now, as the lust started to
course through my veins. I pressed my ass against his hand, and reached down
behind me to pull him closer against me.

As if it mattered.

With so many people on the train, we were as close as two people could possibly
be and not be on top of each other. He was wearing slacks and they felt
surprisingly unwrinkled. He didn't feel like he was one of the miners but I didn't
care. He was obviously male, and I was willing to fuck anyone with a penis at that
point. My hand had brushed the front of his pants and I'd felt his cock twitch
against the material slightly. He was tall, too tall for me, and as though he could
read my mind, I felt him bend a knee to slouch a little, bringing his cock closer to
my ass. I felt him squeeze my ass firmly, and then he leaned his face close to my
ear, his stubble touching my cheek, and whispered, "You like it?"

And damn if his voice didn't make my pussy drip. Damn if his stubble, hard and
prickly, didn't make me shiver.

He didn't sound like a miner at all but what did I know? I thought he sounded like
a singer, like he was used to making his words loud and clear. I closed my eyes,
just focusing on the sensation of his hands on my ass. I didn't want to look at
him, afraid that if I looked at his face then I might just get turned off and the

fantasy would ruin itself. So I focused on the sensations and let him and my
imagination do the work.

I murmured a soft but intelligible "Mmmmmm." It was the most I could do
without letting it turn into an outright whimper.

I pressed myself harder against him. I could feel his cock poking at me through
the soft material of his pants. His hand slipped under my short skirt and he
sucked in a surprised breath when he encountered skin. He began kneading my
ass, not just stroking it, but rolling it about, teasing the soft, pliant flesh. He was
crushing it in his hand, squeezing it hard enough that I wondered if it would leave
a mark. I breathed in and out as unobtrusively as I could. He was getting excited
as well, his breathing getting ragged. Then he whispered. He told me, murmuring
in tones so low I had to strain to hear it, about how nastily sexy I was, how soft
my ass was, and what a dirty and horny girl I was. Normally I would have
slapped anyone who tried to say that to me, but fuck if it didn't turn me on all the
more. He slid his hand between my legs, and groaned, motherfucker, as he found
that his fingers found my dripping, freshly-shaven pussy. I tried to spread my
legs as wide as the limited space could allow but there was just no doing it. I
clutched at the strap of my sling bag, adjusting it strategically over his hand.

"I bet you taste delicious," he said and my bits tingled as I imagined him eating
me, his teeth nipping my clit, sucking me, his tongue plunging inside my wet,
hairless pussy.

He started running his finger up and down my slit, tracing the line of it slowly,
applying enough pressure to feel good but not enough to penetrate me. God, he
was such a tease. He sure knew what he was doing. I couldn't help but gasp
when he slid his finger inside though. His finger was long, a little rough and the
friction was enough to drive me insane. He started sliding it in and out slowly but
as deep as it would go. I almost clutched at the man's back in front of me. I
didn't know how I managed to stop myself from moaning out load. He pumped
his finger in and out, in and out, faster and faster. I was thankful that the train
masked the wet slurping sounds I'm sure that my dripping pussy was making. It
was stroking almost the entire insides of my pussy, sliding against my clit, his
knuckle brushing up against the ridge of my opening.

It was fantastic, fan-fucking-tastic. His finger was wet and slippery from my
juices. He would plunge it inside and then wiggle it around a bit, trying to work it
as deep as it would go, trying to touch everything inside me, touching me in ways
no one ever had before. Then he would pull it out, drag it against my clit, and
then slide it in again. I couldn't take it anymore. I started to moan softly, my
breath coming out from my mouth in quick succession. I was leaning backwards
on him for support. My legs were trembling from the pleasure. Had he pulled
away, I would have collapsed onto the floor. He was moaning softly into my ear.
And it was too much, just too much so that I knew, as well as he did, that we had
to stop. If not, we'd have fucked each other right then and there. He withdrew his
fingers quietly and I felt my entire body rebel, my insides crying out for his touch.
It didn't take him long. It was as if he couldn't take his hands off me. His left
crept inside my shirt this time and for once, I'm glad that I'd worn something
loose enough to disguise a hand groping underneath. He reached inside my shirt
and into my bra. He took my left nipple in between two fingers and rolled it
around, teasing it to delicate hardness. He pinched it softly, tweaking it, and then
kneading the whole of my left breast in his hand.

Then without warning, he plunged his hand into my skirt and my leggings under
it, going straight for my pussy. He started finger-fucking me in earnest, just in
and out, in and out, fast and hard. His hand rubbed my clit hard, while it pistoned

in and out of my tight, wet, hot pussy and it was insane, so fucking insane.
Pleasure, hot and cold, raced all over my body. I didn't know where to
concentrate, whether on his long finger fucking me, his breaths, ragged and crazy
in my ear or the fact that I'm about to cum in a train full of people. I pressed my
ass against his hard cock, grinding it. He pushed against me and I knew he must
be dying to ram it inside me. And I wanted him, motherfuckinggod, yes, I wanted
him.

We didn't have to wait long before we both got our wishes.

Prelude Part 2

XXX

I couldn't take it anymore. I had to fuck him. With a monumental amount of
effort, I turned to face him, wrapping my arms around his body, my head just
reaching up to his chin. No one paid us any attention. My knees were shaking,
and my heart was beating so fast I was sure it was going to break out of my
chest. I breathed in his scent, spicy, with the lingering cigarette scent of a long
time smoker, by turns revolting and strangely arousing. I brought my lips up to
his jaw, his stubble rasping on my skin.

"Where?" He smiled then. Fuck. I hoped he'd brushed his teeth. As if I cared if he
didn't. At that point, it didn't matter if he was a freak, a psycho, or whatever. I
wanted him.

"Let's get off at the next station," I said, pun intended, and he smiled again. He
pressed his agreement, his cock hard against my stomach. I closed my eyes and
focused on that sensation. I was tempted to just bend over and let him take me
right there on the train. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Motherfucker. My phone was vibrating, interrupting my mental tirade. I pulled it
out of my bag. Rosalie was looking for me. "Where are you?" the message read.
"Emergency. Won't be home tonight." My hands were shaking as I typed it in.
Fuck. Was I that horny? Did I want this strange man to fuck me? Fuck. Yes I did.
I wanted his cock, the big, hard stick he was grinding against me.

Sumner station rolled along, an eternity later. My clit was throbbing and my
leggings were soaked and I bet everyone could smell me then. He pulled me off
of the train, and out of the station. I knew the town, I've been here a couple of
times but a twinge of uneasiness passed through me for a second. I did not know
this man and this was cold county, with lots of isolated places to dump a body.
His hand was gripping my arm, his fingers digging into my flesh as he pulled me
trough the thinning crowd.

He stopped. "Know a place?"

I should have asked back: "Are you going to kill me?" But when I looked at him,
really looked at him, that didn't sound appropriate at all. He had the greenest
eyes I've ever seen and under the week-old stubble lurked a strong, striking face.
High cheekbones, full lips that made me forget about the yellowing teeth. Tats
crawled up to his neck and I tried to imagine what the rest of his body looked like
but couldn't, overwhelmed by a renewed surge of lust. I made the pretense of
thinking for a minute, and as soon as I nodded, he started walking again,
dragging me towards the direction I just pointed.

"Knights Inn," I'd said. "Couple of blocks away."

"You have money?"

Hmmmm, so I was paying. I went to the inn's main office to check us in, leaving
him at the parking lot. Even in the early evening, I was the only guest in the
lobby.

XXX

Fuck.

I only had a twenty on me, enough to get me to Tacoma where Carlisle's driver
was picking me up. The inn was worth at least $45.

"You have money?" She'd better, or else she was getting fucked against the
nearest wall. She nodded, looking at me like she was ready to eat me alive.
Goddamn, the girl was horny. She'd better be 18, too, at least, or else I'd be
going straight back to where I just came from. Fucking a minor is a sure violation
of my parole. I'd been granted freedom to travel out of state for "family reasons"
only because Carlisle, my uncle, was friends with the chief of police of some
godforsaken town called Forks. Even the name sounded lame. Dad picked it out
as it was as far as it could be from Chicago. He thought the distance would do me
good, keep me out of trouble. Guess trouble has its own way of finding me.

When I'd first seen her inside the train, she'd barely piqued my interest. A small,
pretty brunette with a tight ass and small tits. Looked way too young. But when
she started making eyes at every asshole who happened to look her way, I knew
then that she was asking for it. Begging. And I hadn't had a woman for
sometime, prison and my cockblocking father had seen to that. When I stood
behind her, and caught a whiff of her wet pussy, I was a goner.

She made her way back to me, after checking us in some rundown inn. The
balding, fat old man behind the desk probably assumed she was checking in
alone.

"Last cabin to the left." I could hear the breathless moan under her words. I gave
her my best smile.

Even before the door closed, her lips were on mine and my hand between her
legs. I had my finger under her skirt, through the obscene cut of her leggings,
digging deep into her pussy. She moaned, grinding herself into my hand. We fell
into bed, our mouths never disengaging. Slow and sensual be damned. The girl
was possessed, primal, almost bestial, begging to be fucked. To be taken like an
animal. To be ridden hard, and fast. I didn't bother taking her clothes off
completely. The clasp of my pants wouldn't come off, so she helped me, her
fingers unsteady. Finally, she was able to pull my pants down and my cock
sprang free, hard and standing proudly to attention. Her eyes flickered
momentarily in surprise at my thick, tangled pubic hair and I almost laughed out
loud. I probably shouldn't tell her only pansies shave in prison.

I tore at her leggings and tossed them onto the floor.

"Spread 'em, sweetheart."

She spread herself wide, as wide as she could go and I positioned myself against
her pussy. I slid it in slowly and fuck if I didn't nearly cream on the spot. It had
been too fucking long. No one touched my cock the entire time I was in prison,
save for the puta Ernesta, who I thought was clean enough, and who screamed
puñeta! puñeta! as she came. This girl, however, was so tight, like her pussy
hadn't been used for a while. She's no virgin, that much I knew, but damn if she
didn't feel like one.

"Ohgodohgodohgod...," she whimpered, nonstop, as I ploughed into her. I was
hung, my cock a little on the large size, and it was a chore getting pussies ready
for it. But the girl was so wet that I slid in smoothly, as deep as I could go in one,
sure stroke.

"Ahhhhhhhhhh..." So good. Damn, who do I have to thank for my fucking luck? I
pulled out, before sliding in again, picking up a little speed... I slid out, slap my
cock against her clit. Her moans became high pitched mewing. "Like that, huh?"

I pulled her closer, slung her legs over my shoulders and rammed myself into her
so hard my balls slapped against her ass.

She screamed her first orgasm. Ahhhhs and fucks, stifled inside the train, tore
themselves from her mouth with a passion. I kept going. In. Out. Thrust. Thrust.
Thrust. Her body shook, her words became incoherent and she writhed in
pleasure, like a hyena possessed. So fucking sweet.

My cock filled her up completely, her pussy walls contracting at every thrust,
stimulating every single nerve-ending. She moaned and screamed obscenities at
me, and I grunted and groaned back, loving her for that moment, loving the
pleasure she was giving me with abandon. The feeling of freedom, of anonymity,
of being primal, of having a wild fuck with a wild girl.

I pulled her up, suspended her on air until my cock was almost all the way out,
(she was a light little thing) and pushed her down on me. Rough, hard. Again and
again. At one point my cock slipped out of her pussy, making a wet, sloppy noise.
She reached down between my legs, grabbed at it greedily and put it in again.

"Don't stop. Don't stop. Don't fucking stop. Don't stop fucking."

I didn't. I dropped her to the bed, her head lolling and pulled her tight against my
crotch. She crossed her legs across my ass, pulling me even deeper. Goddammit.
Impatient little bitch. I fucked her faster, harder than I'd ever fucked anyone
before. Even the putas in prison didn't warrant this abuse, this bestiality. Each
ram earned a scream. Each scream, a fuck. She pushed herself up, impatient that
I wasn't cumming yet. She bit my neck, I squeezed her ass. She tugged on my
earlobes with her teeth, her nails digging painfully into my shoulders. Then...she
scratched my back. Deep, drawing blood.

"FUCK!" My entire world dissolved into her slick, tight pussy.

My hips gave way and I collapsed into her, burying my face in her neck. I was
about to cum, I was cumming. I thrust like a madman, ungraceful and
uncoordinated. She lifted her hips up, taking my cock deepdeepdeep inside her,
our crotches pressed against each other skin-to-skin. She contracted her vagina
muscles, squeezed and..

"FUCK!" Stars danced across my eyes and I grabbed her hips so hard I knew she
was going to have bruises in the morning. Fuck if I didn't come so much, so hard.
Spasms wracked me as hot spurts, hot streams of ropey, white cum streamed
from my cock, filling her pussy.

I wanted to shout puñeta as Ernesta would have done. Puñeta. Puñeta. Fuck,
fuck, fuck. It was so good. So fucking good.

I held on, as long as I could, savoring the feeling of her pussy caressing my cock
as she rode out her own orgasm. I slid it out before I could crush her flat on the
bed and lay down beside her, speechless. She was sprawled on her back and
staring up at the ceiling, glassy-eyed. She was still fully clothed from the waist

up. Below, though, was another story. She was wet and slick between her legs,
her pussy abused and purple-pinkish. My cum, mixed with her juices, soaked the
cheap, cotton sheet underneath. I was still wearing my shirt, missing only my
pants and underwear. Her shirt somehow came open, and her breasts were
poking through, her nipples hard. Her legs were still shaking, as were mine. We
were both panting, out of breath.

Fuck if she wasn't the most fantastic fuck of the century. Fuck if her pussy wasn't
the tightest pussy I'd ever fucked my entire fucking life. I wanted to fuck her
from behind, I wanted to fuck her ass, her mouth, every open orifice. Standing
up, spread eagled, upside down on the stained brown sofa. After I eat her.
Jesusfuckingchrist. The thought of eating her sweet, young pussy was enough to
enliven my limp cock.

She turned to me and gave me a wide smile. "Wanna take a shower?"

XXX

I'd never been this horny, so in need that I'd throw everything, caution,
propriety, everything, to the wind, and let myself be taken in a cheap motel by a
stranger I picked up on a train. But damn if he wasn't worth every fucking second
of my lost sanity. He'd been so willing, crazed even, and it made me feel
powerful, knowing someone could want me that much.

I, Isabella Fucking Swan, made a stranger cum so hard he nearly collapsed.

I looked at him and gave him a grin. "Wanna take a shower?"

He grinned back, fatigue be damned. He stood up, pulling me with him into the
bathroom.

The warm water splashed against me, soothing my abused muscles a little. It
didn't take long to have his hands on me, like he couldn't help himself. He
grabbed the inn's small soap in his large hands and started caressing my breast
with it.

"Mmmmm, that feels good," I murmured.

He soaped his own chest and pulled me closer. He started going up and down my
body, the soap slick and wet. He stroked my pussy with the soap and lathered up
a thick creamy foam and I couldn't help but moan, horny little whore that I am.
Fuck if it didn't feel so good.

As I was savoring the sensation, he stopped and gave me the soap, ordering me
to soap his entire body. I obeyed him like a child and started stroking him,
staying long on his rapidly hardening cock, partly in fascination (how the fuck did
he get that thing inside me) and partly making sure it was cleaned thoroughly. I
was sure he was going to ask for a blow job. He was a man, wasn't he? He turned
the shower on full blast, rinsing us both. He started licking my neck, his warm
tongue dragging long and hard on my skin. I was wet again before I even had the
chance to catch my breath. I moaned, egging him on, and he pushed me against
the wall and sucked on a nipple. Hard. I bit back a scream. It hurt so fucking
good. Then he went lower and attacked, yes, attacked my pussy. There was no
other word for it. Teeth, lips, tongue. Sucking, biting, licking. He threw my right
leg over his shoulder and shiiiiiiiiiit. I came right away. He sucked harder. On and
on until I couldn't take it anymore. I couldn't breath, I was barely standing. I
pulled on his head and told him to stop.

"My turn," I said.

He stood up, took his cock in his hand and pointed it at me.

"Suck it, sweetheart."

I obediently knelt before him, intent on giving him the blowjob of his life. A good
deed shouldn't go unrewarded, I decided, and boy, did he fucking love his prize.
He moaned, and grunted, hissed and baby-ed me several times. I licked his balls,
fingered his ass, ran my tongue on the spot where the sun didn't shine. It was
impossible for me to take the entire length of his cock into my mouth so I lollipop
licked him. Up and down his shaft. He was cut, making it easier for me to swirl
my tongue on the head. After several minutes of sucking and licking, he asked
me to stand and bend towards the shower. Without warning, he plunged his big,
hard cock into me. I screamed. He liked it. He started thrusting, his thighs
making loud slapping sounds against my ass. I could hear his cock slide in and
out, my pussy making slurping noises at his thrusts. I loved it. I fucking loved it.
It didn't take me long to cum again. He followed soon after.

We spent the rest of the shower stroking, petting, kissing each other lazily until
the water ran cold and we had to get out of the bathroom. We went to bed naked
and soon fell asleep, completely spent.

I woke up, a few hours before dawn and found the stranger still sleeping. I
dressed quietly and prepared to check out, my bravado and sense of adventure
leaving me completely. I didn't want him to wake, too scared he'd ask for my
number or my name. I didn't want to know his. I crept out of the room and
closed the door quietly.

I gave the manager another day's pay for the room just in case he needed it. I'd
been tempted to leave money on the dresser, he seemed to need some help, but
didn't want him to think I was paying him.

I got on the first train to Tacoma, keeping my eyes down and staying as far away
from people as possible. I'd drop by my dorm, see Rosalie, and maybe go home
to Forks for a few days. Hibernate. I needed it, after that surreal adventure.

I'd satisfied a craving, a curiosity. I'd had a fantasy fulfilled and it was good. So
good I didn't think anything or anyone could ever top it.

But for all its worth, I didn't think I was going to repeat the experience. Once is
enough.

I didn't know how wrong I'd be.

XXX

XXX

The girl had tiptoed around the room, trying to be as unobtrusive as possible as
she made her escape. She'd had her fill and was running, probably scared shitless
that I'd ask for her name or number.

Tough luck. She could run but she's not going to make it far.

I already knew who she was. It wasn't my fault that she left her bag lying
around, too dazed after a mind blowing fuck. She really shouldn't have brought
along her ID, either. Lucky for her, I wasn't some deranged psycho who'd stalk
her and her tight, little pussy. Not yet, anyway.

Ms. Isabella Marie Swan was 18, thankfuckinggod. Freshman at Evergreen
Geofuckingducks College. Listed a dormitory as her current address and Forks,
interestingly, as her hometown. A criminal laws student but she had a copy of
Jack Kerouac's On the Road with her. Been read over and over, from the looks of
it. Just a small town girl who's bored with her life and looking for adventure. No
wonder she'd tasted so sweet.

I got up, an hour after she left. No use chasing after her, I'd only spook her if I
did. I wanted to lie around on the bed where we fucked, smell her on the sheets
and pillows but I needed to make a phone call to Forks and make up some excuse
why I wasn't able to make it to Tacoma last night.

"Check out. Last cabin to the left," I smiled at the receptionist who did a double
take when she saw me. Mrs. Banner, her nameplate said. Obviously, the ledger
showed a girl's name, not a man's, and she drew her own conclusions.

"Ah, yes," she said, her high pitched nasal twang effectively ruining my morning,
"last cottage to the left, yes, yes."

She looked at her ledger again.

"It says here you're booked until tomorrow."

"Oh." I didn't have to feign surprise, "I forgot. I had a terrible headache last night
so my friend thought I needed rest. It's gone now, I just needed some fresh air. I
don't want to put you in an awkward position but would you mind terribly if I just
withdrew her deposit? I want to give it back to her."

I whispered the last part conspiratorially, and gave her a smile. I needed the
money, I can only go so far with twenty bucks. Besides, I haven't eaten breakfast
or even dinner the night before and fucking always made me hungry.

Mrs. Banner giggled under her breath, dazzled, and promptly gave me $45.

"Can I..?" I motioned to the public phones.

"Of course. Here, you might need these." She handed me some coins and,
dearfuckinggod, giggled again. The woman gave me the wrong kind of shivers.

"Hello?" Esme answered after the first ring, her high voice high and strained.

"Hey, Aunt Esme," I said, as if fatigued. "Sorry I wasn't able to make it last night
– "

"Edward!" She screeched, abusing my poor ears further. "Where are you? Are
you all right? We've been so worried."

"I'm fine. I'm in Sumner. Couldn't make it last night, killer headache."

"Where in Sumner?"

I told her, concocting some bullshit story.

"Stay where you are and Carlisle will get you. He's in Tacoma right now, trying to
track you down...hold on for a moment, will you? I have to call him."

She placed me on hold and I could hear her talk to Carlisle on another phone. In
less than a minute, she was back.

"Wait there, he's coming to get you," she said. "Thank goodness someone took
pity on you. I told your father, he should've given you some money or at least
one of his cards. What if you had an accident? What if you got hungry?"

That's my good aunt Esme, always thinking what's best for me. She'd been one
of my piano mentors and was as strict as mentors went. But outside my lessons,
she was the most doting aunt. She was also the reason I was being exiled to
Forks. She and her goddamned idea that I could go back to playing the piano and
become the methodical player that I once was.

"Send him to me," she'd pleaded to my father a few months before I was
released from prison. "I'll take care of him."

Yes, people thought I was a fucking genius once. I was a piano prodigy, trained
by an exacting aunt and mother, both concert pianists themselves. But I stopped
playing the day we buried my mother. Stopped being anything but a pain in the
ass to my father – big shot, multimillionaire Anthony Cullen, brother of goody
two-shoes, small town doctor Carlisle Cullen. Yeah, brother-brother married
sisters. Not much for variety, them Cullens. I was fifteen then.

I'd love to say that rebelled because my father was an asshole or because he
wasn't a good Dad or that he cheated on my mother and that he let me suffer, he
neglected me, abandoned me – all those sob stories teenagers made as poor
excuses to justify their crappy, pathetic lives. But that would be lying. My father
was so far from the stereotype that it made me laugh my ass off when people
assumed I had a fucked up childhood when they realized how messed up I was.
My parents loved me and I never wanted for anything. My father's
preoccupations, my mother's death or even my highly disciplined and demanding
childhood, had nothing to do with who I became – a high class car thief.

I turned to a life of crime because I wanted to, because I fucking liked it. Because
I got so bored with playing the piano and getting everything I want, having
everything I needed given to me with a silver spoon. Violating and stealing cars
gave me the release that I couldn't find anywhere else. The rush, the speed, the
proximity to danger and possibility of being caught. Earning my own keep, with
my own hands and brain. I turned grand theft auto into an art. I was fucking
brilliant at it.

Until Tanya, that bitch.

Esme was still at it, moments later – asking me if I was hungry, if I'd already
eaten, going on about how unfair it was that my father made me commute and
so on and yeah, poor me. If only she knew.

"Aunt Esme, I have to go. I only have a few more coins left." I jiggled the handle
and scraped a coin against the receiver, mimicking a faulty connection.

"Stay there, wait for your uncle. Eat something, let Carlisle pay for it later." She
delivered the last instructions in rapid fire and I put the phone back in its cradle
before she'd done.

Carlisle arrived, less than an hour later. Cool and striking, he's one of those men
who carried themselves with effortless authority.

When I was younger, everyone said that I took after him the most. Quiet,
reserved, extremely organized. He would've been one of the most sought after
surgeons in LA, if they hadn't moved to Forks after Aunt Esme "retired" from
being a concert pianist. Like me, her passion for the piano waned after my
mother died.

I gave Carlisle the same bullshit story I gave Esme. He merely nodded, not
saying anything, and I had a distinct feeling that he didn't believe a single word I
said. He opened the door to his red Audi A8, new but still a piece of shit, and
mouthed a sorry as he pointed me to the passenger seat. I wasn't allowed to
drive. It was one of the conditions of my parole. Not that I wanted to drive his
red piece of crap anyway.

Carlisle saw me eyeing his Audi with distaste and smiled.

"I have something better waiting for you at home," he said, "but you can only
drive it within town limits."

Why the fuck should I drive at all then? But I only nodded. "No problem."

All my licenses, real and fake, had been canceled years ago and it would take at
least a year of good behavior before I could get a good one again.

"Alice has been looking forward to seeing you again. We managed to discourage
her from throwing you a welcome party but she insisted on a formal dinner."

Alice, their only daughter, my only cousin. Again, all I said was "no problem."
Wearing a monkey suit wouldn't kill me.

After that, Carlisle was silent and that reminded me why I liked the man. He
didn't hover, he didn't waste words but I knew a lot went on inside his mind. He'd
taken in my appearance, the fact that I seemed well rested, the idiotic grin I had
every once in a while. Goddammit. I was still thinking about the girl. She really
got to me. It had been five hours already and I still couldn't get her out of my
fucking mind.

"I take it you had a good night," Carlisle commented wryly and I nearly
snickered. Good was an understatement.

Soon, we were "home" and I was getting mobbed by Esme and Alice. Esme
wanted me to see the cottage behind the house right away. It's small but private,
she said. With a large piano room, just like I'd had at home years ago. It was
also near enough to the main house so I didn't have to worry about
housekeeping, food and shit like that. She told she'd been tuning the piano, that
it had been years since she'd played a complete piece, etc etc. It took everything
in me not to yawn.

Alice twittered and squealed in a whiny, teenage voice beside her, going on about
how swell it was that I was finally there and how fab everything was and how the
girls of Forks would love me.

"Let's see about that, squirt." If I wasn't mistaken, she'd be in high school,
probably fucking some jock behind her parents back.

Fortunately, Carlisle sensed my restlessness and pulled me away, leading me to
the back of the house.

That's where I saw it. A 2010 Sportster Forty-Eight Harley Davidson. Vivid black
with steel black laced wheels.

"Esme remodeled it a couple of months ago," Carlisle said. "I really hope you're
going to like it here."

"It's fine," I said, going around the motorbike, skimming my fingers over the
main body. Almost immediately, I pictured little Ms. Swan on it. Orgasmically

naked, her sweet tits thrust out, her tight, little pussy pressing against the cool,
smooth steel.

"I meant the house, Edward." Carlisle was smiling slightly.

"Of course," I smiled back. "The house is nice."

Fucking pink nice but I wasn't going to start a war over it.

"I'll leave you to it. Drop by the main house as soon as you're settled in. After
lunch, we can have you registered at the police station."

Like some fucking pedo, I grimaced. I was still classified a threat to society and
private property, despite having served more than two-thirds of my sentence.
Eight fucking years I was in prison, eight whole years wasted while my empire lay
in ruins, all my hard work going nowhere. But it also gave me eight years to plot
how I was going to rebuild it from the ground. Better this time. Stronger, more
impenetrable.

I couldn't wait to start stealing cars again.

XXX

What the fuck!

I ducked into the records section, behind rows of thick police folders, before he
can see me.

I'd arrived in Forks earlier, had breakfast with Charlie and showed up at the
police station after lunch. It always made Charlie happy when I helped with his
cases, so I made it a point to drop in every now and then. It was the only thing
we had in common and I made it a point to involve myself over the years. Being
around the station gave me a deep and lasting appreciation for police work.
Charlie wasn't a particularly demonstrative man but I've never resented him for
it. I didn't say it to him often, I doubt if I said it to him after I grew out of my
toddler years, but I love him as a daughter and I've always worked on being
someone he could be proud of.

So there I was, being the good daughter and all-around citizen, when Dr. Carlisle
Cullen, the man who I've crushed on since I was nine, walked in. Behind him
walked another person, a man whose resemblance to him was so striking that it
took me only just a second to guess who he was.

Edward Fucking Cullen, his infamous criminal nephew. The same man I picked up
in the train and allowed to fuck me silly. Holymotherfuckinggod.

The man was a living legend. Young, rich, charming. A piano prodigy who turned
to crime. Rumor had it that the death of his mother unhinged him. It was just
partying, booze and girls galore at first. Then came drugs and more drugs and he
got tired of that, too.

He set up theft rings and organized robberies in Los Angeles and New York,
within celebrity circles, socialites, the old rich and their hangers on. People who
had things that they didn't need or deserve. He stole the most expensive cars,
with price tags of a million dollars and more. Bugatti Veyros, Ferraris and
Porches. Rumor has it that he stole some of the cars himself, using sophisticated
tools he invented. His closest associates were rich boys like him, who he kept in
touch with from an undisclosed office in Chicago. For four years, he'd never
shown his face or told anyone his name. The police ran in circles trying to locate

and ID him. He was invincible, untouchable. A freaking genius. Until he took in a
girl who turned out to be an undercover FBI agent. Rumor also had it that he was
wildly in love with her, and that he had felt so betrayed that he tried to kill her in
the end.

I'd studied his case, looked at his teenage photographs when I first heard Dad
was going to oversee his parole. But I'd never entertained a thought about how
he was going to look ten years later. Of all the men inside that train... I knew he
wasn't a miner, I knew he didn't belong there. But I should have at least
suspected that he'd been in prison when I first saw the tattoos all over his body.

But who would've thought the great Edward Cullen would take the train? That
he'd fingerfuck a horny girl inside it? That we'd end up in a room for a wild fuck
without asking each other's names? How could anyone expect me to be capable
of any thought when his cock was so deep inside me I thought I'd burst?

I peeked through the folders and watched him go inside Charlie's office with Dr.
Cullen. He had a brown leather jacket over a white batman shirt and jeans that
shaped his ass. He'd obviously showered. Shaved too but then forgot to comb his
hair. There it was, sticking in all directions and it made me wonder how it would
feel to run my hands through it, how he and his sex hair would look between my
legs...

Fuck. The station was no place for wet, wild fantasies. It only had one bathroom
and I couldn't go home to indulge myself. Not until after I'd finished what I'd
volunteered to do.

It seemed like an eternity later when Dr. Cullen and his nephew got out from
Charlie's office. It was probably less than an hour but my overactive imagination
was protesting loudly at being confined.

Four hours later, I was done.

"Dad?" I peeked into his office. Charlie was talking to an officer but stopped and
turned to me.

"Yeah?"

"I'm done. I'll see you at home later?"

"Sorry, hun," he gave me a face. "We're shorthanded until midnight."

And that was the story of Charlie's life. For as long as I could remember, the
Forks' police force had always been shorthanded and Charlie, good cop that he is,
always filled in. Disappointment showed on his face. I was just visiting and I
knew he was also looking forward to having one of our comfortable dinners.

"That's all right. I'll go have dinner with Lou at the diner." Another familiar ritual.
When Charlie couldn't take care of me, others did. Lou fed me, police officers
took me to games, field trips and their families and wives hosted my birthday
parties. I played with their kids, had fun with their cousins. It wasn't like I was
left alone to fend for myself. And then there's Uncle Billy and Jake who were like
a second family to me. Ugh. Jake. We'd been friends since we were in diapers
and made the mistake of falling in love and fucking each other in high school.
Now we were barely speaking.

"Sorry, honey," Charlie said again.

"Want me to bring home some pie for later? We can have a midnight snack."

"That would be great." He beamed and I beamed back at him. A midnight snack it
is then.

It was raining slightly when I left the station but I didn't mind. I had my favorite
yellow jacket on, with a hood so large that it covered half my face. It was
shapeless, but who cares? I'd turned down offers to drive me to Lou's (in a police
cruiser, yaggh) deciding to go for a walk instead. I needed to clear my head,
think how I was going to deal with Edward Cullen. Besides, Lou's place was just
half an hour walk away.

I was halfway to the diner when I heard it. A low, humming sound. The muffler
was obviously on, but the sound was unmistakable. Two pistons, but only one
pin. If it wasn't a Harley behind me, then Jake didn't teach me enough about
motorcycles.

I walked a little faster, not looking back. Whoever it was better not make the
mistake of harassing the chief of police's daughter. Everybody knew who I was
and I wasn't exactly defenseless. Charlie had seen to that.

The rider stopped for a while. The sound of the idle engine uncharacteristically
loud in the early evening rain. Pop-pop...pop-pop...pop-pop. Only Harleys made
that uneven sound.

Fuck you, fucker.

The rider gunned the engine and cruised the bike to cut into my path. I knew,
right then, who it was. I knew even before he slid back his helmet's visor and
peered down at me with green laughing eyes.

I glared at him, not particularly happy. I wasn't ready to deal with him yet.

"What do you want?"

He took off his helmet in response and with a grin, offered it to me.

"Wanna go for a ride?"

XXX

XXX

"Wanna go for a ride?"

"Are you out of your fucking mind?" This was Forks, for fuck's sake. Everyone
knew me in this town. Little Isabella Swan, the apple of her father's eyes was not
the horny girl who picked up strange ex-convicts on trains and fucked like crazy.
I wasn't about to upset that image by consorting with the town's newest ex-
criminal. "Get out of my way."

He was at least a foot taller than I was and a hell lot bigger. We were in between
houses but if I shouted loud enough, somebody was bound to hear me.

"Relax, I'm just asking you out for a ride. This monster's big enough for two." He
patted the bike, his voice cajoling.

Just a ride, my ass. He might be a fantastic lay but he was also a sociopath, with
a personality bordering on narcissistic. The psychiatrist who tested him during his
trial didn't call him a clinical nutcase but there had been a general consensus that
something was definitely wrong with his head.

"Fuck off."

He laughed, sending shivers down my spine. "Did you know Chief Swan had a
picture of his daughter on his desk? A very pretty, very sweet girl. He didn't want
to brag when Carlisle asked after her, not with me in the same room, but he did
anyway. Told us an earful about his Bella. Told us she was inside the station, too,
helping with a case. He didn't offer to introduce me, which was a little rude of
him. But he doesn't need to, does he? I already know her quite well, too well, in
fact."

He was leering, the motherfucker. "Are you blackmailing me?"

"Blackmailing you? For what? For something fathers have no business knowing
about their daughters?"

It was ridiculous but I honestly didn't know if he was joking or not.

"If I come with you, will you leave me alone?"

He laughed again and the sound went straight directly to my crotch, firing up my
belly.

"Get on the bike, sweetheart. Now."

The tone turned harder, less cajoling, and I shivered again. I should've ignored
him. I should've walked away and never looked back. But I didn't. Instead of
backing off, I stepped forward and an irrational urge to mount him and stick my
tongue down his throat nearly overwhelmed me.

Something was obviously very, very wrong with me.

Blocking the voice that told me to run, I took the offered helmet and strapped it
over my head. I mounted the Harley and wrapped my arms around him like a
dutiful little girl.

He turned to look down at me, his eyes on my lips, and murmured, "Any place
you wanna go?"

"Turn left at the next corner." The street led to a back road to La Push, a long
stretch of rough asphalt with no speed limit. He gunned the engine several times
and the passenger seat vibrated, sending tremors directly into me, making me
instantly wet. Goddammit.

"Hold on tight."

The machine between my legs hummed, slowly driving me crazy. I sought to
relieve the tension, rocking onto the seat but the vibrations just shot right into
me, massaging my clit, doubling my frustrations.

I clutched at his jacket, holding on to him tightly. The muscles of his stomach
flexed under my hand as he pressed back.

Hmmmm... time for some tit for fucking tat, sweetheart. I moved a hand up,
found the zipper of his jacket and pulled it open. I slipped both hands inside,
brushing my hands over his nipples, already hard and taut under his shirt. He
stepped on the gas in response. The bike accelerated and the tremors between
my legs intensified, like a vibrator turned on high speed. I wanted to whimper,
but I knew he'd hear me over the wind.

I pressed myself harder against him, squeezing my breasts against his leather-
clad back, grinding my crotch against his ass, rubbing my legs against his. I
wanted more contact, more friction. But I knew this ride was for him and I would
only have my relief if I could make him stop on the road.

Fuck me, then, if I couldn't make him stop.

I slid my hand lower, covering his crotch and squeezed. He sucked in a breath
and shifted, rubbing himself into my hand.

Good boy. I found the button of his jeans and he shifted again, giving me space
so I could loosen the next few buttons. I could feel his cock throb with his
heartbeat under his jeans, straining to be freed. I reached inside and his cock
sprang from his boxers, erect and hard. The skin felt soft and dry and I started
caressing him, jerking him off in small, circular motions.

"Harder, sweetheart," he groaned loudly over the wind, throwing his head back
and leaning against me. The bike started to wobble, careening onto the side
where the road was rough and uneven. We bounced on the seats, rocking against
each other. I wrapped both my hands on his cock and gripped him tighter, jerking
him faster. I straightened my knees slightly to reach up to his neck, not letting go
of his cock or stopping my ministrations. His eyes were focused on the road, his
hands gripping the handlebars tightly. He was intent on getting us back over the
asphalt and maintaining speed, but he was already breathing raggedly, his
heartbeat wild and erratic. I could feel mine beat in tandem to his and fuck me if
I wasn't close. My pussy was starting to contract from sheer exhilaration and my
panties were already damp. It was getting too frustrating. We had too many
layers between us. I unstrapped the helmet, took it off and threw it to the side of
the road. With the wind on his hair and mine, I sucked on his neck, earning a
groan and a "fuck, sweetheart." But the fucker didn't stop, didn't even slow
down. The bike flew over the asphalt at a steady speed. Without thinking, I sank
my teeth into his shoulder.

"FUCK!" he yelled as he came and the bike wobbled and jerked, skidding unto the
edge of the road dangerously. We'd been going fast, way too fast, and he was
losing control of the machine fast. He turned the bike to head for the trees and
we plunged deep into the undergrowth.

I held on to him and screamed. It was fucking insane.

XXX

She was a perfect fit behind me, small but snug. Her tits against my back, her
pussy against my ass, her hands jerking me off like a joystick. I pushed the
Harley towards its maximum speed, courting danger and gambling with our lives.
The rush was more intense than anything I've ever experienced, more
exhilarating than the hardest car heist I'd pulled. The wind, the speed, the wild
girl behind me who was intent on making me cum so I would stop on the road
and fuck her. Her hands, her mouth, her body wrapped around my back was
killing me slowly, excruciatingly. I held off, intent on prolonging the torture but
she was horny and impatient and I've never wanted anyone as much I wanted
her. The need turned into a craving, bordering on a dangerous addiction. Before I
could stop myself, I was cumming in her hands.

"FUCK!"

Before I lost total control of the bike and crashed us to our deaths, I swerved and
drove us right into the trees, dodging the undergrowth. I searched for a clearing,

anywhere where we could stop and I could fuck her ten ways to Sunday. She was
screaming behind me, holding on to my cum-slick cock for dear life.

"You're fucking crazy!" I yelled at her.

"So are you!" She yelled back.

It was sheer, utter madness.

Every sensation was magnified. Every breath, exhilarating. I started laughing.
After a moment, she joined in. We laughed and she squealed and yelled
hysterically as we bounced against the seat and against each other.

We were still laughing when I chanced on a clearing and brought the bike to a full
stop.

Then I wasn't.

"No, no, no...," she fought me off as I tore through her clothes, "don't ruin the
jacket." She unzipped her jacket as I pulled down her jeans and panties, wanting
her naked as fast as possible. I went straight for her pussy before she could get
her shirt off, preliminaries be damned. She gasped and stretched out, holding on
to the handlebars behind her before she could fall off. I had her draped over the
Harley, her back against the gas tank, her ass held firmly by the bike's curved
seat. The bike was on a kickstand but I'd left the engine on idle, the vibrations
shaking her back, her ass, her pussy. I pushed her shirt up her tits surged into
the cool air and I bent down for a taste. Sweet, so fucking sweet. She looked
glorious, debauched, wanton. Waiting for more, begging to be fucked and ridden.

And ride her I did. Hard, deep and fast. Her hands on the handlebars, her legs on
the air, I banged into her, grunting, groaning, telling her how fucking sweet she
was, how good she felt. She took to thrusting back, ensuring she had every inch
of me inside her. It didn't take long for an orgasm to hit her and she moaned a
long, drawn-out fuck as she shook and quivered. I followed a minute later.

I pulled her up, our crotches still joined and rode out a mutual orgasm. She
slumped against me, exhausted.

"Poor baby."

She looked up at my words and smiled in a daze. Even after a rough fuck, she
looked innocent. I leaned down and gave her a long, overdue kiss.

We stayed in that uncomfortable position, silent and tired, until it became too
cold.

"Take me back," she said, minutes later.

She was silent on the ride back, her hands behaved and still. She couldn't be
worrying about Chief Swan. We'd been gone less than an hour so nobody
would've noticed her absence. She told me to stop a few meters away from the
diner, intent on not being seen with me.

She swung her legs off, dismounting the bike.

"Listen...," she started, fidgeting, looking at the toes of her shoes. "I don't think
we should see each other."

I laughed. Funny, that was the farthest thing on my mind. "Why not?

"I don't think it's a good idea."

"It doesn't have to be a good idea."

"Look," her tone hardened. "Just stay away from me, ok?"

She stalked off and didn't look back. There was something off with the way she
said it, like an undisguised fear. She couldn't be that worried about the town or
her father knowing that she fancied an ex-con. Nobody needed to know how we
first met. Nobody even needed to know that she was seeing me at all. I had no
problems with being discreet.

But whatever it was could wait. I had things to do before I could start anything
with her. I needed to call up someone first, set-up a meeting long overdue by
eight years. Then I had to show Carlisle and Esme, and even Chief of fucking
Forks Swan that I was a reformed motherfucker.

One thing was clear, though. Nothing and no one was going to keep me away
from her.

XXX

XXX

Two weeks, two whole fucking weeks and I was pulling my hair out in frustration
and indecision. I'd told the motherfucker to fuck off but why am I so goddamn
angry that he hasn't called me at all?

There was something seriously wrong with me.

For the longest time, I thought it was something else. When I was with Jake, I
had that little problem of not reaching an orgasm, of being a little frigid. Being in
high school with a horny boyfriend, my hormones should have gone wild. We
should have been humping each other every day. I should've mastered the art of
teenage sex by the time I graduated.

But I didn't. I couldn't even get horny, excited and wet enough. When Jake
started looking for pussy elsewhere, I didn't blame him. It was humiliating and it
hurt even months after but it was the sad, fucking truth. I was a passive lover
who couldn't come and make my partner come. I never hid it from Jake that I
wasn't the average slutty girlfriend. I told him over and over that it wasn't about
him, that I just needed some time to "warm up" first, that maybe if he didn't fuck
me everyday I'd learn to miss him so much I'd dry hump him the moment he
came into my room. But he was a man, he told me. A man who had needs, like
sticking his dick into the next available vagina.

After Jake, I didn't avoid sex but I didn't go looking for it, either. There was
nobody interesting enough to fuck, anyway. Jake not only embarrassed and hurt
me, he also left my confidence in my own sexuality in tatters.

Up until that time in the train with Edward Cullen. And the inn after. And in the
woods. And every fucking minute since.

It scared me. It was easier to accept that I was frigid. That I would never be able
to please a man and keep him for the long haul. That no one could arouse me,
tease me and bring me to orgasm so effortlessly and that I couldn't make a man
cum just as easily in return. I'd been proven wrong. I had not only satisfied a
virtual stranger, I'd made him cum, over and over. He'd returned the favor in
spades and I'd enjoyed it. Too much, in fact, that for a second, I was willing to

embarrass my father by being known as a slut who was willing to fuck and be
fucked by a random stranger.

And that was very, very wrong. Because that was my mother, not me.

Renee, the one who brought me into this world, was the town slut. She was
known for her appetites, for spreading her legs for any man who happened to
move in or drop by the sleepy town of Forks. She entertained half the men of the
town, before and after marrying a nice, young policeman. My father was the last
to know of her predilections. She left us, thankfuckinggod, when I was two. I
never had to deal with her outside of her reputation.

Maybe I was blowing everything out of proportion but I should never have done
what I did on the train. I should never have whetted a latent appetite. What if
what I felt about being groped wasn't a one time thing? What if I inherited
Renee's slut genes? What if I was a nymphomaniac like her? What if I'd only
repressed the craving, the addiction to fucking by convincing myself that I was
frigid? Jake hadn't pushed. He was the missionary-position type. What if I only
picked him because I wasn't really attracted to him sexually and that had made
him safe?

Even now, I missed him. I missed fucking him. I missed Edward Fucking Cullen,
even though I really didn't know who he was outside his criminal file.

Something was definitely wrong with me. How else could I still feel his cock inside
me, pumping in and out of my pussy, days, even two weeks later? Any random
memory could get me wet so fast that thinking about him was almost a disabling
affliction. When I rode my own hand or the trusty hand shower, all I needed to
see was his face above me, frozen in the throes of orgasm and I'd cum. Hard and
sometimes, not so silently. Rosalie had taken to calling me out on it, bitching
about how loud I was in the mornings (and late nights, too) and that I should just
find a man and fuck his brains out.

I could tell her that I already found him. And I could tell myself that I wouldn't
fuck him to prove that I wasn't like my mother. But that would be lying.

XXX

The brown sedan had been parked behind Forks' supermarket for more than ten
minutes, its engine idling. After a while, its headlights flashed. Once. And then
twice.

I made my way towards it, braving the torrential rain, and slipped into the
passenger seat. The car was an ugly piece of shit from the outside but inside, it
was a veritable nightmare. The seat was sagging in the middle and the fading
gray corduroy covers rasped against the back of my arms as I tried to get myself
comfortable. The black dashboard looked old and hideous. Worse, the car smelled
of old cigarettes and faint vomit.

"Took you long enough," I told the man behind the wheel, not bothering to hide
my grimace. He merely smirked in response. He was supposed to arrive an hour
earlier. I'd called him two weeks before, soon after Bella left Forks. I could've
talked to him over the phone or through encrypted channels instead of pulling
him out from whichever cave he'd hidden himself in. But I wanted to see him.
Eight years had been too fucking long and it might be a while before I had the
chance to see him again.

"Hard to come by trusty sedans these days," the man answered. "But I can see
the reason why you specifically asked for it." He was looking around the parking

lot with a slightly bemused expression. Rows and rows of outdated Chevrolets,
rusty old buckets and machines littered the lot.

"You can't bring a Ferrari into this hick town without raising a red flag."

"I can see that," he chuckled, backing from the parking lot and pulling into the
town's main street smoothly. "Good to see you again, boss."

"Cut the boss crap, Jasper."

Jasper laughed. "Yes, boss."

He was looking good, better than I'd anticipated. His hair had grown long, his
face leaner, more mature. Grew a few feet taller, too. The only thing that was the
same were his eyes, peering into the windshield a little too brightly. He was just a
kid when I last saw him, more than eight years ago. I was barely more than a kid
myself when the FBI hauled my ass to jail.

Jasper Whitlock was not only the brother I never had, he was also my silent and
undiscovered partner. Son of Peter Whitlock, owner of one of the Pentagon's
biggest industrial partners, and a close friend to brothers Anthony and Carlisle.
His father had always indulged him, giving him the best and latest equipment to
play with to compensate for his lack of attention. On his own, he learned to
access the highest lines of communications.

Jasper was a dreamer, prone to flights of fancy, diagnosed with Aspergers when
he was eight. When he talked about his latest obsessions, everyone took him for
granted. Everyone, except me. I was nearly fifteen and Jasper, merely thirteen,
when we first came up with the crazy idea of stealing cars by using rival gangs in
Chicago and exporting them to China, recalibrated beyond recognition. We
started a partnership, conducted remotely through secure lines. All we needed
was a few million dollars and an army of minions whose efficiency and loyalty we
bought and paid for. Every now and then, we'd spend a few free weeks together.
To avoid suspicion, we met only when our parents met – on vacations in the
Bahamas, Christmases at the Hampton's, skiing season in Switzerland. Using
proxies, decoys and false identities, we built an empire based on gang loyalties,
the underworld's deadly competition and the rich's unbridled greed and lust for
shiny, new toys.

When my mother died, our operations went into full swing. I planned and mostly
executed. He stayed in hotel rooms and covered everything else –
communications, surveillance, intelligence and counterintelligence and when
needed it, extraction operations. He was wily, extremely smart and rarely wrong.
But more than that, he was fanatically loyal. He also had the social graces of a
raccoon.

"I didn't think you'd call so soon," Jasper said, bringing me back from my
musings.

"Yeah, well, I found a phone."

"Which I checked," he turned to me for a moment, "for security purposes. It lists
it's owner as one Isabella Swan. Did you know that she's the daughter of your
parole officer?"

"Yes, I know."

"What were you doing with her?" he asked. "You want her address? Her new
phone number, house number, her friends and professor's number? Wanna know
where she went yesterday, the other day? What she ate last night?"

"Fuck, Jas, you had her checked out?" The idea of someone, even if it was just
Jasper, spying on Bella was strangely upsetting.

"I don't want you going back to jail, Edward."

"How the fuck did you come up with that?"

"I pulled all her records for the last two months. She uses her student card when
she rides the train and it showed that she was on the train at the same time you
were on Friday the 14th. She stopped at the same station as you did and later
was in Forks at the same hours as you were," he said tonelessly. "You called me
sometime after she was seen leaving for Tacoma and the phone was
disconnected later. Beep...beep...beep. Dead signal. She reported the phone
missing the day after and applied for a new one which she got within the week.
She either dropped it and you happened on it, which is unlikely unless you were
stalking her, or you stole it...when you were stalking her. Simple. "

There was nothing simple about it and I could tell that it was making him really
nervous.

"I did not steal it." Bella had actually dropped it. It had slipped out from her
jacket in the woods and she'd completely forgotten about it when she'd left in a
huff. I should've thrown it into the nearest ditch right away but it was Bella's and
I was reluctant to part with it.

"I just want you to be careful," Jasper said. "I don't want another Tanya to
happen to you."

"I didn't call you to talk about Tanya." I didn't want a fight five minutes after
seeing him again but he was starting to piss me off.

"No, you called me because you wanted to resume operations," he said, going
straight to the point. "I know it's been eight years and we're probably at the
bottom of the FBI list right now but they are still watching you."

"That's why you will have to do the scouting," I answered, having no need for
small talk either. "They won't expect me to move right away, not when I'm stuck
in Forks with my aunt and uncle and the entire fucking town breathing down my
neck."

"I don't do scouting," he shook his head. "I don't assemble teams, find targets or
do the planning. That has always been your thing. I'm not good at it, I'll only get
caught."

"You won't," I said, and added."You didn't."

It was a cheap shot, to use the years that I'd protected him as leverage to get his
cooperation. For eight years, I'd kept his identity a secret. Throughout the trial, I
didn't breath a word about his involvement, not even when I ended up serving
more jail time than I should have. I deflected all leads the FBI had that could've
implicated him – lying through my teeth, fucking with the polygraphs, staging
stunts that got me beaten up or sent to isolation, messing with everyone's head,
including mine. Nobody believed that I could orchestrate simultaneous robberies
all by myself but they had no suspects, no leads, no motive. Jasper had been in
Europe with his father when Tanya set up the trap and shit hit the fan. Even if he

hadn't been, I'd hidden him so deep inside the network that no one would be able
to find him without inside information.

But I didn't cover for him because I wanted him to owe me. I did it because I
knew he wouldn't survive a day in jail.

Jasper could shake his head all he wanted but I knew that he wasn't going to say
no.

"Trust me, Jasper, I had eight years to prepare for this. I know exactly what I'm
doing."

"I trust you, Eddie, I always have," he said, reverting to a childhood nickname I
hadn't heard for a long time. "I don't trust myself."

"That shouldn't be a problem." I reached out and mussed his hair like I did a long
time ago. "Just think of it as a reverse you and me. You go out, I watch your
back. I'll be with you every step of the way. It'll be fun!"

He was far from being convinced.

"How about we forget about it for now? Let's just drive like we used to, without a
care in the world."

Jasper snorted. "When was the last time we drove without a care, Eddie? Just tell
me where you want to go."

I never could fool him, even when we were kids. "Tacoma."

"Where in Tacoma?"

I grinned at him. "I thought you said you had the address."

His eyes widened, his body turned rigid as he turned to me and sputtered. "You
had me fly all the way from DC so you could stalk a girl?"

"I'm not allowed to drive," I said, still grinning. "Who else would I call?"

"You bastard," he said, shaking his head, telling me that he was in the middle of
a project, one that the Pentagon had been harassing him for for weeks, etc etc.
But I could see that he was smiling despite himself, happy that I thought of
calling him and no one else. "What about Ernesta?"

"What about her?"

"She's still somewhat your wife until after the divorce is finalized. You were
willing to fake a marriage in exchange for fake conjugal visits just so you could
stick your dick into a hole."

"Did you just say dick?" I roared. Jasper could be very, very amusing sometimes.
He was a trained Southern gentleman who'd rather say penis instead of dick,
female genitalia instead of pussy. He was someone who pulled out chairs for
ladies, opened doors, fucking stood up when one of the fat tenors left the table.
He didn't curse, didn't drink, didn't whore around. His only recreation was
smoking weed, which he took pride in like he was some fucking connoisseur.
"Who've you been talking to, boy?"

"She wants to see you," Jasper grimaced, "one last time."

"I'm not touching that whore anymore. Pay her, get her as far away from me as
possible."

"She's not a whore, Edward. She's Gen. Gustavo Hernandez' daughter and if he'd
known what you'd been doing to her, he'd kill you. I don't know why she worships
your sorry ass."

"Because we pay for her nasty cocaine habit, that's why." Of course, I knew who
her father was. General Hernandez, head of the fucking allied forces in
Afghanistan. "Get her off my dick, Jasper. Take care of it personally."

"Personally?" He snickered. "Oh, I see. This is about the policeman's daughter,
isn't it? You want to sweep your dirt under the rug, make everyone go away, so
you can pose as the reformed ex-con, not the dirtbag that you really are. You're
playing with fire, Edward."

Goddammit, why couldn't he just shut the fuck up? Why couldn't he be wrong this
time? I was going to get burned, I knew that. Isabella Swan had a bad side but
she was inherently a good girl. Was she going to be worth the price? Would she
survive after I'd done with her? Would I?

"I like fire," I said, "and we're not discussing her anymore."

He fell silent, like he was bound to do when people told him to shut up. I felt
guilty about it but dammit, I didn't want a fight so soon after seeing him. There'd
be plenty of time for that later. We hadn't even started talking about what
happened with Tanya yet.

An hour later, we pulled up in front of a two-storey building and Jasper killed the
engine. He took out a scanner and turned it on. A red light blinked, showing
someone's location.

"She's in her room, alone, number 216. That would be...second floor, third
window to the right."

I looked up. Fluorescent light streamed from the window. Even without Jasper's
tracker, I knew where she'd be. It was a Tuesday night and like all good
students, she'd be up studying. "Did you bring the climbing equipment?"

"In the back," Jasper answered. "How did you know you were going to need it?"

"Just a guess," I answered. It wasn't much of a stretch. Evergreen was a small
college, with low-rise buildings. She's a sophomore so she wouldn't have one of
the most accessible rooms reserved for juniors and seniors but she wouldn't have
the worst room, either. So second or third floor it was. Simple.

The light in the next window, smaller and a bit higher, switched on. A bathroom.
Bingo.

I took the climbing equipment and rapped on Jasper's window. "Wait for me. This
won't take long."

Eight years of prison exercise had its advantages. A few sure steps and I was in
her room. She and her roommate hadn't locked their windows.

I looked around and took everything in. The room looked like any other dorm
room. Generic, decrepit, boring. The bathroom and the few scattered pieces of
furniture were the only things that distinguished it from a larger prison cell.

The shower was loud inside the bathroom but over the sound of the water, I
could hear something else distinctly.

Moaning. Low sounds of need and want. Fuck. I was hard in an instant.

I rapped on the door. The moaning stopped but not the shower.

"Just a minute," she called out. I counted to three and knocked again. She turned
off the water and moved around the bathroom.

I pounded on the door, harder this time. Goddammit, she was taking her own
sweet time.

"Dammit, Rose!" She threw the door open. "I said just a min–"

She stopped in her tracks, her mouth open. All she had on was a little, fluffy
towel around her chest. Water dripped from her hair to the floor but some stayed
on her skin. She looked innocent and sweet and so fucking beautiful.

I had her back flat against the wall in one second, my mouth on hers, stifling her
scream. My hand pulled at her hair, the other clawed at the towel. I didn't know
what she was saying when I started biting her, licking and sucking the drops of
water on her neck, her shoulders, down to her tits. Maybe it was a wait, or
"easy," or a string of nice, colorful curses. I didn't care.

The first taste of her skin, so delicious and so, so good, had brought me to a
frenzy. I was shaking, my hands unsteady as I pulled on my own clothes, trying
to be as close to her as possible. I wanted more, needed more. The craving which
had been there all along bloomed into a searing pain.

After two weeks of staying away, I couldn't take it anymore.

"Let me fuck you," I heard myself beg. "Please, Isabella, let me fuck you."

XXX

XXX

I let him. After days of rationalization and denial, I did.

He was shaking badly, his fingers unsteady. "Let me fuck you," he'd begged.
"Please."

I helped him out of his jeans and his boxers. I guided his cock and held on when
fucked me like a madman. My legs shook, my knees buckled, my back and ass
stung as the bathroom tiles, cracked and neglected over the years, pressed and
cut through my skin. He pulled on my hair, bit and licked and sucked. I told him
to take it easy, wait... easy...easy. He was beyond hearing, beyond restraint,
beyond any control.

I loved every fucking second of it. Every brutal, unrestrained thrust. I loved how
he begged, needy and desperate. I loved how his torn shirt lay on the floor, its
buttons scattered to all corners of the bathroom. I loved how he couldn't pull
down his own fucking jeans, how he shook as he bit and growled and grunted and
said fuck over and over. I didn't mind how he'd pushed me against the wall,
banging my head against the tiles, his fingers digging into my ass. All that
counted was how his cock felt inside me and I was cumming hard and fast.

It was only later when he'd slumped and I'd slid to the floor that I'd realized what
happened. I had let a man fuck me like nothing else mattered. I wasn't worried

about unnecessary complications. I'd gotten my contraceptive shots at the
student clinic regularly. Maybe he was dirty but who worried about that? Yes, it
was his fault as he'd rudely interrupted a nice session with Mr. Handshower and
yes, he'd asked and said please, but what if it wasn't him who barged into the
bathroom? What if it was some other man? Would I have let some other stranger
fuck me? Jesusfuckingchrist, what if it was Emmett?

Worries about stranger sex aside, the fact that I was naked inside the bathroom,
alone with a certified psychopath was even more disturbing. Edward Cullen was
no ordinary stranger. He was an unpredictable man who lived his life on the edge,
a juvenile delinquent who'd shown no remorse for his crimes. Sure, he'd never
killed or hurt someone personally. He'd only stolen possessions which seemed
frivolous and extravagant to the ordinary citizen and his records showed that he
was a principled sociopath who held himself to high standards and lofty ideals.
But he was still insane and dangerous, capable of doing the most irrational things
if not handled properly.

Rosalie was with Emmett and won't be back until Thursday. If he decided to keep
me here, against my will or abduct me, it would take at least a day and a half
until someone noticed I was missing. Maybe someone, anyone, saw him come in.
"How'd you get in?"

"Window," he answered. "Lock them next time."

Fuck. I shivered, suddenly very, very cold. I pulled my knees up to my chest, my
muscles protesting. My back fucking hurt.

He moved, pulling up his jeans and sat behind me, his legs to my side. He pushed
my hair over my shoulder and pushed me forward gently, baring my back.
Fingers started exploring the scratches, the telltale color of blooming bruises on
my hips. Butterfly touches skimmed over my skin, gentle and comforting. I tried
not to wince.

"I think you should leave now."

Instead of answering, I felt his lips touch where his hands had been, his tongue
laving against the scratches. Gentle, lingering licks replaced his fingers, from my
shoulders to my neck, licking the blood from the cuts, alarming and disturbing
and so incredibly erotic.

"Please," I breathed out, terrified not at his perversity but at the desperate need
that he seemed to invoke inside me with the slightest effort. He didn't stop but
kept on licking, nibbling, his arms going around my knees. I forced myself to
keep still, not to ask for more.

"Come to the house on Sunday," he murmured and I shook my head. Sunday
was Carlisle's birthday.

For years, Charlie and I went to Carlisle's birthdays. His parties have always been
the talk of the town. They held glamor and celebrity and gave everyone not only
the opportunity to bask in the affection and attention of Forks' version of royalty
but also the chance to ogle famous people who'd come to Forks in droves to
celebrate with the Cullens. Artists, musicians, big names in business and the
entertainment world would arrive in town with their limousines and perfumed
hosiery, dazzling and wowing the glamor-starved population. It was also the only
time that Esme Cullen played to the crowd.

For the first time, I made my excuses. I had an exam coming up, I'd told Esme
when she personally called her invitation. We were so looking forward to have

you, darling, she'd said, not hiding her disappointment. So was I, actually. But I
didn't want to risk a public confrontation.

"Did Esme send you?"

He laughed quietly against my neck. "No one sent me."

"Why are you here, Edward?" I've never called him by his name before and it
sounded strange coming from me. He must have realized it as well because he
stopped and twisted me so my back rested against one of his legs and I was
facing to his right. He touched my cheek, my face, my lips and watched his own
fingers tease and test with strange intensity. His hand moved lower, tracing
curves and angles, slowly bringing up the heat again.

"I missed you," he answered simply, admitting to something I'd never say out
loud. "I missed these," he said as he cupped a breast, turning it over his hands
gently, his eyes following his fingers as he rolled a nipple, sore from his crazed
suckling, "and this," another hand snaked between my legs to cover my wet
pussy, a finger brushing over my clit. "I missed all of you."

The words were spoken low, murmured in fascination and my toes curled, every
nerve in my body screamed and tingled. I closed my eyes and tried to focus on
his wandering hands but I knew that a threat was coming. Sociopaths were
known to be outwardly charming and temporarily devoted to their sexual
conquests, but deep down, they're hostile and domineering.

But instead of a cliché warning, he merely repeated his request.

"Come to the house on Sunday."

The scenarios I built in my mind crumbled.

"Why?" I already made it clear that I didn't want to be seen anywhere near him.

"I have a surprise for you."

A tremor of excitement ran through me and I clamped down on it. He was not to
be trusted for even a second. "What are you up to?"

He smiled, green eyes bright and indulgent. "You'll see."

After he left, I stayed on the bathroom floor for minutes, too weak to stand.
Something was up, and despite the incomprehensible excitement I felt, I was
prepared not to like it.

XXX

I left her sitting on the floor, knees pulled up together, feet apart, her pussy
bared to me between her legs. The image should tide me over until Sunday. I
went out the way I came in, scaling the wall of the dormitory.

Jasper had rolled down the windows of the Corolla and was sitting on the
passenger seat, barefoot, knees drawn to his chest. Holding a bong in plain sight.

I slid into the driver's seat and turned the key he'd left dangling in the ignition.
The engine sputtered to life and purred a low and harsh sound.

"I thought you weren't allowed to drive," Jasper said when I pulled out and drove
us out of the college.

"You going to rat me out?"

"Me? Rat you out?" He laughed, high as a kite. "Ridiculous."

It was fucking ridiculous. As ridiculous as pursuing a girl who was clearly on the
other side of the fence. Jasper was right about Bella being another Tanya. Only
this time, I held all the cards. It wasn't like the time with Tanya whom I didn't
know, didn't even suspect, was a conniving, lying bitch up until she handcuffed
me in front of twenty FBI agents. It had stung like hell, having someone fool me
completely. Ernesta, the general's daughter, had paid for Tanya's sins. Bella
would be my revenge.

It was barely midnight when we left the college, so I had at least a few hours
with Jasper before I needed to go back to Forks and pretend I never left. I
stopped by a convenience store, bought a bottle of whiskey and a pack of
cigarettes. Jasper was silent, lost in the smoke of his own musings. I drove
towards the port of Tacoma, careful not to overspeed. I pulled into a deserted
part of the highway, close enough to the Pacific, and got out of the car. Jasper
followed and we both stared out to the inky blackness that was the sea.

When we were kids, we'd dreamed and planned of what we were going to be and
what we were going to do when we "grew up." How we were going to pull the
hardest, most complicated heists and robberies together. We didn't care about
money or fame. All I cared about was the rush and all Jasper cared about was
how he could outsmart everyone.

So there we were, on a deserted beach in the middle of the night, not exactly
"grown up" but able to share a drink as legal adults for the first time. I offered
him the bottle of whiskey.

"Can't drink," Jasper slurred out. "Have to drive you back."

"Call Remus." Remus, a deaf-mute, was Jasper's personal butler, father, mother,
personal assistant all rolled into one. He'd taken care of Jasper since he was a
baby. "Have him pick you up. I'll drive this piece of crap over a cliff somewhere
and take the bus back to Forks."

That way he could stay as high as he wanted and I could indulge in a little
destruction and go back to my pink little cottage wasted. I cracked the whiskey
bottle open and took a long swig.

"Fuck!" The liquid burned through my throat and into my belly as I sputtered.
Whiskey was always in short supply in prison, making my life almost alcohol-free
for the last eight years. Jasper started laughing, pointing to my buttonless and
now wet shirt.

"Wuss," he chortled and years of absence vanished as I joined in.

"I'll do it," Jasper said minutes later, after he'd had his fun. "Just tell me what to
do."

I knew he would. "Call Garrett. He's in Minneapolis."

"Garrett Henderson?" He asked, surprised. Garrett was one of our first operators.
"He deals with diamonds now. Doesn't want to touch a car for the rest of his life."

"Who said anything about cars?" I smiled at him.

"You didn't," he nodded slowly, the idea slowly dawning on him. He stood up and
began walking around the Corolla, switching from the bong to smoking a joint.

He'd always loved working out what I was thinking. The fewer the clues, the
better. "Why diamonds?"

"Does it matter?"

It could be diamonds, paintings, federal gold, Siamese cats. It didn't matter what
was stolen as long as the game was set rolling.

"I can see the advantage...," he stopped and smoked some more. "Diamonds are
small, easier to dispose and –"

"They require a special method of stealing completely different from auto theft," I
supplied.

"Plus they're a better unit for exchange."

I raised the whiskey bottle to him in salute. "We start with Garrett, hit several
targets simultaneously, get everyone excited. When everyone's paid for and
settled down, we go after Veyrons."

"You won't find a lot of them." Jasper knew his cars as well as I did. Priced at a
steep $1.7 million each, there were less than a hundred of the latest Bugatti
Veyron sold in the world. "And no market. Too rare."

"Not in the US, no."

"You're thinking Europe?" He asked and I shook my head. "Russia? Latin
America? Asia?" He stopped and grimaced. "Canada?"

"Middle East."

"Oh!" I knew he'd find the idea novel. "Hence, the diamonds. Smart."

Middle East was where the rich had the most money to spend, where the stakes
were highest and most dangerous. But they don't have the most dollar-friendly
economies so yes, hence the diamonds.

"Contact the Volturi, negotiate our terms. Don't accept anything below 65% and
we get to pick our team."

The Volturi, one of the oldest international mafias, was based in Italy. "We're not
operating locally?"

"In case you haven't noticed, the US economy is in the dumps," I said. "Besides,
American cars suck."

He laughed and we were in familiar grounds once again. He was thirteen when
his father gave him a custom-built Maseratti for his birthday, unwittingly prodding
us into our life of crime. We tested it around the estate our families had rented in
Nordhom for that summer, drove it across the Germany-Netherlands border,
speeding, laughing, having the time of our lives as only spoiled rich boys could.
Remus rode on the back seat as the only adult proxy, mutely screaming his
disapproval and terror.

Damn if it didn't feel good back then. Damn if I didn't want to feel it again. What
I wouldn't do to have that kind of machine under me, speeding over the highway,
preferably with a dozen police cars on my tail. That time would come again, I'd
make sure of it.

"You brought me something?"

"Oh, yeah, I forgot." Jasper goes to the side of the car and comes back with
something that resembled an extremely thin cellphone. "Use this."

"What does it do?"

"Just about everything," he grinned and proceeded to tell me every function and
feature in detail. Touchscreen, untraceable, undetectable, cable, radio and
internet access, latest encryptions, access to private, police and military
networks, records and CCTVs, mapping and satellite imaging and tracking. It was
as he said, it did everything. He talked and I listened. He gesticulated as he
explained abstract concepts and bounced around when a topic excited him.

"Does it come with a missile launch system?" I asked when he stopped to catch a
stray thought, staring at the sea for several minutes.

"Do you want it to have one?" He laughed, enjoying his own joke, and started
again, happy that somebody whom his father hadn't paid and who was not
beholden to his family was listening to him, interested in what he had to say. He
excitedly launched an explanation on the latest AES logarithms, his latest projects
for the Pentagon, this and that and such.

I listened and watched as he reverted to the thirteen year boy that I knew.
Detailing a gadget for several minutes, describing it over and over before moving
on to another topic. I remembered the time when he was completely obsessed
with car batteries, when he'd talk about them for hours on end – how lithium-ion
batteries are more efficient compared to lead-acid batteries long before such
innovations were made, how amperes could be upped in conventional batteries,
arguing against Peukert's Law and on and on and on. As we grew older, his
obsessions took on a firmer direction and he became obsessed with comgadgets
and supercomputers. Cars, however, remained his first love.

It saddened me when I realized how isolated he must have been after I went to
prison. I was not only the only person who really listened to him, I was perhaps
the only one who saw and appreciated his brilliance. I let him talk intermittently,
our conversation going to wherever he wanted it to go, huddled inside the
hideous sedan when it became too cold outside, until the skies started to turn
pink and the waves receded from the shore.

"Did I bore you?" He asked, hours later.

I laughed and told him to shut up. The whiskey had been long gone, and along
with it, my buzz. It occurred to me suddenly that we deserved an indulgence, one
that we haven't had for a long, long time.

"How about you come and visit me after you're done in Italy?" I offered.

"Really?" He jumped at the chance, excited, before frowning. "In Forks? Is that
wise?"

I'd strictly forbidden him to see me during the trial and visit me the entire time I
was in prison to avoid contamination. We managed to maintain lines and carried
on our correspondence mainly through Ernesta who smuggled information and
gizmos between her ample breasts and ass.

"All you need is a proper cover."

And I had just the right one in mind.

He was still frowning, trying to work out my motives. "Why?"

"I want you to meet my cousin, Alice."

XXX

XXX

"You look good, honey."

"So do you, Dad."

It was one of the few times Charlie dressed up and he looked every inch the
debonair stud a lot of ladies at the station panted after. I knew I wasn't supposed
to know that, but wives gossiped, kids teased, and even Lou got the vapors every
once in a while.

It was almost seven; time for us to get going to the Cullen mansion for Carlisle's
birthday. I'd called Esme myself a few days ago and rescinded my excuses,
deciding to face what Edward had in store for me. Esme had been overjoyed at
my turn-around.

I did start the entire affair, after all. If I hadn't been so fucking horny that day on
the train, I wouldn't have seduced Edward Cullen. He never would have met me
outside Forks' shiny shindigs. My life would have gone on like it had been before:
dry, safe, and boring. He would have found another toy to play with. I wasn't an
idiot. I knew what he was and what he wanted. I knew what would happen
eventually: I'd be used, probably at some point abused, and if I wasn't careful, I
could get seriously hurt.

At the entrance to the Cullen house, Charlie and I went through the same
rigmarole as we had in previous years. Guests would mill about near the door,
clustered into small exclusive groups. The staff and waiters would bob and weave
between them. The clique to the left was Mr. and Mrs. Mayor and his menagerie
of political staff. To the right was the infamous conductor from LA. He was
surrounded with people of his kind: pianists, violinists and the like. At the back of
the room, I spotted Mr. Popularity, strutting his ass for Forks spoiled brats. They
included Ms. Jessica Stanley, whom I was good friends with in middle school.

Looking around, I noticed all the girls looked powdered and pretty, making me
feel dowdy and insignificant in my blue baby doll dress and modest heels.

Charlie and I went further into the house, eyeing its sweeping staircase and
ornate chandeliers. Like the years before, Esme's piano was on full display at one
side of the great hall. But it wasn't the only thing hogging everyone's attention.
Another piano, as grand and shiny as Esme's, sat next to it.

There was much talk about it and I caught the tail-end of a hushed conversation.
It appeared that Edward Cullen, heir to the Masen-Cullen crown, was going to
play.

As the evening wore on, Edward was nowhere to be seen and slowly, I began to
relax. It was only after dinner when I saw him and my breath caught in my
throat. Damn if the fucker didn't look good. Dressed in a dark tuxedo, he looked
every inch the dark prince his detractors had called him. Broad shoulders, his hair
was wild as ever, but swept in a way that invited fingers to run through it.

Fuck his hair. All I could think about was his cock.

Esme wasted no time announcing his presence, and an expectant hush fell over
the room as he made his grand re-entry to polite society. All eyes, some furtive,

some openly appraising, were on him. After her short introduction, she
introduced the piece they were going to play. Mozart's Sonata in D for four
hands, Allegro con Spirito, Mozart's only composition written exclusively for two
pianos. The crowd applauded with barely concealed excitement.

Edward looked towards the audience and for a moment, I hovered between
wanting him to find me and running for cover. He looked straight ahead and
bowed.

Aunt and nephew played, starting with a strong introduction. Four hands – twenty
fingers – flew over the ivory and black keys in a galloping fashion. They created
an intricate, bouncy melody. Esme was in her element. She was graceful and
smiling while glancing over at her nephew every once in a while to anticipate,
throw, and catch a series of notes and movements. Edward played with simple
and disciplined movements, his elbows flaring as he kept up with the brisk and
melodious beat.

Allegro con spirito.

It was elegantly simple and beautifully infectious. Despite myself, I was buoyed
by the music. It was apparent that Edward was setting the pace; his aunt happily
playing along with him. After a few minutes they brought the piece to a close,
raising their hands in the air before playing the last jubilant notes.

Applause erupted in the room, bringing tears to Esme eyes. She reached out for
Edward, and hand in hand, they bowed to an adoring crowd. Carlisle joined them,
Alice in tow and the royal tableau was complete. The king, the queen, the pink
princess and the black prince... The latter, of course, was conquering polite
society with ridiculous ease. Edward Cullen, the ex-convict and sociopath being
adored, worshiped even, despite his transgressions. I looked at Charlie and had a
feeling he was probably thinking the same thing.

This world, where Edward Cullen belonged, was another world where crimes were
forgiven in the name of beauty and art. We were nothing but plebs who watched
from the sidelines. In the end, the rich and powerful protected their own-
excusing their crimes, even when the law did not.

I slipped my hand into the crook of Charlie's arm and gave him a smile. It was
during times like this that I could feel my solidarity and affection for him acutely.
It was apparent where I belonged. He gave my hand a squeeze and smiled back.

"It seems like we're going to have a rare treat tonight. As everyone knows, it's
been a while since Edward played in public," Esme said, while indulgent laughter
ran through the crowd.

"Tonight, Edward wants to play a new composition. It's something he started
writing after he arrived here in our quiet little corner of the world. Edward is my
and Elizabeth's pride and joy, and it is my greatest honor to present you with a
rare Cullen piece. It's called..." Esme stopped, looking toward Edward. "What's
the name of your piece, darling?"

Edward had shrugged his coat off while Esme was speaking, leaving him in a crisp
white tuxedo shirt. He turned and smiled at his aunt as soon as he heard his
name, rolling his sleeves to the elbow, flaunting the tattoos he'd gotten in prison.

He scanned the room that was collectively holding its breath in hushed
expectation.

"Ride," he announced, as his eyes locked on me.

XXX

I loved playing the piano. I loved the tinkling of the keys and how each note was
a sound of its own, and when combined with others, it would become a harmony,
creating the richest, most diverse tones in music. If played properly, one could
coax the widest range of melodies like one could from a woman's body – from the
gentlest moans to the loudest screams. I stopped playing, not because I hated it,
but because I saw no purpose for it. It made no sense until I'd ridden the train
from Seattle to Tacoma and met a horny, sexy girl.

I could deny it, but the fact was little Ms. Swan might well have been the sole
driving force behind my renewed interest in music; that and her sweet little
pussy. It was keeping me awake at night. I had to find other uses for my hands
as the skin on my cock was starting to chafe from too much wanking.

I shouldn't have teased her with the title, but I couldn't resist. I gave a bow that
was meant just for her.

Only for you, my dirty, horny, sexy, wild girl.

I started slow and drowsy, seductive and disarming, like a girl innocently begging
to be fucked. The tone picked up after a finger hit a key hard, and then sliding
over the board to create a darkly playful and capricious melody. The repressed
tone took on a more urgent beat, like lust mounting anonymously and the melody
picked up again – not unlike what transpired on the train, on the bed, and inside
the shower.

The tempo dominated, creating a rhythm, like my cock burying itself deep into
her cunt, thrusting, and pulling... faster and faster, becoming turbulent and
jubilant at the same time before falling, ebbing into post-orgasm then sleep. No
sooner than the last note faded, the melody would begin its journey again, with
an ever-increasing energy and pianistic bravura, underpinned by a low hum like a
motorcycle purring.

My fingers flew over the keys, creating wild resounding notes. The strings inside
the piano quivered as I played the keyboard, hard, taut and stretched. Tonic and
dominant harmonies alternated like moans and grunts; fucks and pleasure. There
wasn't a moment of calm, no cadenza ad lib, only a whirlwind of sound, of want,
of pure unadulterated lust and need. Movement and pleasure played with an
overwhelming crescendo of prestissimo octaves, ascending then descending like
sure and steady thrusts as I played the entire range of the keyboard as sure as I
played her body. Then finally...finally, I let the piece dissolve into its wild,
orgasmic conclusion.

I stood up after the last note, breathing raggedly like I'd just jerked off in front of
a hundred people. The crowd came to its feet with me.

Applause erupted, loud and celebratory. I could hear the shouts of bravo over the
sound of hands clapping. The cheers and whispers of awe almost made me laugh
out loud. Everything was so fucking easy. My mother's old cronies, my dad's
business associates, and other people I hadn't seen for eight fucking years were
patting me on the back and giving me air kisses. I could understand Esme and
Carlisle, even loony little Alice, for their enthusiasm. They'd had to endure the
humiliation of being related to me for eight years while these idiots took turns
reviling me.

There was only one person in the entire crowd who knew what it meant. And she
wasn't even clapping.

She was looking at me, slack jawed – horrified disbelief written on her face. All I
wanted to do was shout to her.

Yes, I fucking dared.

Yes, I'd just played a song to the entire goddamned room illustrating how much I
loved fucking you.

I didn't give a fuck that her father was in the room, clapping heartily. If he'd
known what it was all about, he'd string me up by my balls.

She turned to him for a second, said something, and then left the room abruptly.

"That was marvelous...marvelous, Edward."

"Thank you." I gritted my teeth, forcing myself not to backhand whoever had said
it. Why can't people say a word just once? It's always wonderful,
wonderful...beautiful, beautiful.

Fuck you...fuck you all.

Esme was silent, too choked up to speak while Alice bounced beside her. The last
three weeks had been the first time I'd played since my mother, and the first
time I played the piece with Esme. Mozart was always reserved for my mother
and Esme to play. Allegro con spirito. Lively with spirit. Much like my mother was.
It was almost unthinkable to play it now, but I felt like I stopped missing
Elizabeth Masen-Cullen, my mother, teacher and friend, while I played it.

"I'm pretty sure that wasn't for me," Carlisle said, clapping me on the back. My
uncle was a smart man. I only laughed and returned the gesture.

"Can you excuse me for a minute?" I turned to everyone and made sweeping
gestures towards the gardens. "I'm just going to get some air."

I needed a smoke and a good fuck. Getting the former was easy enough.

Jasper's gizmo was useful with short range tracking as well as long range. I
turned it on, searching for her.

She was sitting behind the wheel of a bucket of rust like she'd decided to make a
run for it, and then decided against it.

"You didn't like my surprise." She looked up, startled. Amazing how I could've
thought she was uninteresting at first. Long lashes, pink baby cheeks, face of an
angel, and lips that were made for sucking cock. Not to mention the small, tight
body under the blue baby doll dress.

"No, it was...fantastic." Lame, but I'd take it. It was still better than all the
bullshit heaped on me earlier.

"Don't act so impressed on my account," I teased.

She laughed nervously and watched me light up. I could see the soft mounds of
her breasts rise up and down under her dress as she breathed. She started
drumming her fingers on the steering wheel, restless. She'd stop, then bite her
lip or her thumb. My cock followed those little distracting movements with close
attention.

"How does it feel? To be good at everything?"

"Boring." Fame was uninspiring. "Wanna go back inside?"

Not that I wanted to, but I was almost sure her truck didn't have air-conditioning.
She shook her head no again, thank fucking god.

"If you insist on being in the dark with me, can we move somewhere more
comfortable?" Her truck was a hideous piece of crap. Somebody should've had
the mercy to driving it off a cliff; or set it on fire. "I'd prefer somewhere without
the threat of being cut and contracting tetanus."

Her fingers stopped tapping as she turned to me, offended. "Fuck you."

I laughed. "Yes, please."

I opened the driver's door, intent on prying her out. She was sitting primly with
her knees together, feet apart; tense and rigid. She was toying with the hem of
her dress, her thumb and forefinger balling the stray threads together.

The sight of her bare knees was enough to drive me crazy. I wanted to lick the
skin peeking out from under the skirt. I wanted to bunch her dress around her
waist. I wanted to twist her panties to the side and bury my tongue inside her
pussy. Jesus fucking christ. I wanted her...

"Get down, love. It's too cold out here."

After a few moments, she got out of the truck and I casually led her away from
the main house. I couldn't risk bringing her to the pink hell that was my room.
Somebody might look for me there. Besides, there were dozens of cars around us
with unlocked doors or windows, all presumed safe inside the gates of the Cullen
mansion. They were ready for the taking...not that I would. There was nothing
worth stealing among the sorry lot. At the far end of one lane, hidden from the
view, I spotted a fairly new BMW; dark, heavily tinted, with tall and spacious
backseats.

Bingo.

I couldn't wait to get her inside it and me, inside her.

I opened the door to the back seat, slid in, pulling her in with me. She landed on
my lap, her skirt riding higher, with her tantalizing knees in full view. I put my
hand on one knee and squeezed. She tensed, pressing her legs closer, and then
tried to scramble out. The car rocked. Fuck.

"Keep still, dammit."

"Jesus, whose car is this?"

"Fuck if I know," I whispered near her ear before sucking on the tip of her lobe.
Wasting no time, I slipped my hand under her skirt, moving it up and down her
bare thigh. Her legs were smooth like she'd just waxed. She squirmed, pressing
her ass on my already hard cock. I stroked up and down her silky skin toward the
waistband of her panties and reached under the fabric to cup and rub her mound.
Soft fuzz has already grown over it, her slit warm and slippery. I cocked a finger.

"Edward!" She arched her back and my middle finger slipped in effortlessly,
instead of out.

"Shhh..." I covered her mouth with my hand, holding her against me, working my
finger into her pussy, before inserting another one. She bucked again, rocking the
car.

"Shhhh, quiet down." She was already breathing rapidly, her tits thrust against
her thin cotton bra. My cock was straining against my pants, begging to be
released but she wasn't that wet yet and if I fucked her before she was ready,
she wouldn't be able to walk.

My fingers pressed hard inside her, playing a melody that made her body hum,
murmuring how I'd love to eat her. Lick her... make her come in my mouth. How
sweet and tight she was...how my cock loved her tight little pussy. How I wanted
to squeeze her tits, to bite and suckle...how I loved fucking her, and how I'd like
to fuck her, hard...rough...and fast...

In no time, she was moaning softly against my hand, riding my fingers with little
hip thrusts. My cock was so hard it was painful. I loosened my hand over her
mouth and inserted one finger for her to suck on and bite. "Good?"

"Edward, please..." Moany, breathy, needy.

"Please what, baby?"

I could say it was her fault for being so fucking hot and horny, but in less a
minute I had her panties off, her skirt bunched around her waist, and flat on her
back. I was tonguing her sweet pussy, licking her clean as she gushed softly and
gently on my face. She mewled and hissed and called me fucking names while I
loosened my pants. I jerked myself off while she came...again...and again...and
again.

"My turn." I straightened her on the seat and climbed on top of her, pushing her
knees to her chest before straightening them against my shoulders. She planted
both feet on the interior of the vehicle as I pulled her pelvis up to meet mine. I
eased my cock in slowly...bit by bit into her wet, slick pussy. She arched and
moaned, holding on to the side door begging me to fuck her. Ram into her. Give
it to her good and hard.

Fuck me...fuck me...fuck me...oh Edward, Edward...Edward, don't stop...don't
stop...

My dirty, dirty girl.

She bent her knees while pushing against the roof of the car. With a powerful
thrust of her legs, she took my cock deep inside her.

Fuck, if I didn't forget to breathe for a moment.

I didn't know how we managed the next few minutes without attracting serious
attention. I wasn't sure how a rocking car escaped the watchful eye of the
security Carlisle had hired to keep an eye on the grounds, or how the grunts and
moans and my dirty girl's screams of pleasure failed to have them looking for the
murder. After several minutes she'd quieted down and the intense feeling of
wanting to stay inside her for as long as I could began to ease a little. Only then
were she and I able to stand next to each other without rutting like sheep.

"You really know how to make a girl feel special," she said, looking at the BMW,
deducing that it was probably one of the guests' cars. "I'm not an idiot, you
know."

"I never said you were."

"I know what you are," she said. It made me laugh a little. I doubt if she had the
slightest idea what I was capable of, or how wide my appetites were, and what I
could possibly do to her.

"I know what you want," she continued, "and I know what happens after."

I lit up and watched her as I blew smoke into the cool night air. She wasn't
nervous, fidgeting or scared. She was looking at me with quiet determination.

"What about what you want?" I never gave promises and somehow, I knew she
wasn't looking for one.

"I don't know what I want." The poor girl; she wanted to stay away from me but
couldn't. Much like I couldn't stay away from her.

"Tell you what," I said, rolling a half smoked cigarette between my fingers. "How
about we take it easy for a while? You have exams, right?" I had a million things
to do too, especially with Jasper in Italy and Garrett working on assembling the
new team. I needed all my wits around me.

"Take it easy?" She frowned. "We don't have anything to take easy. We fuck,
that's all."

"Call it whatever you want."

"Look, Edward, you're fantastic and I like the way you make me feel..."

She stopped, but I could have told her what she wanted to say. I felt the same
way. She made me feel alive, delirious even. Like a drug, she made me forget
everything else.

"But?"

"But I don't think it's going to work."

It's already working, I wanted to tell her. There was no way out as far as I was
concerned. I was a selfish creature and I'd happily indulge in my obsessions, no
matter how dangerous or self-destructing they might be.

"Let's just enjoy it, then."

She was silent, weighing my words. As long as I stayed hidden in the
background, there'd be no catch. She could indulge herself with me and I with
her as long as we both wanted. Simple.

"Go back inside, your father will be wondering where you are."

She went in and a couple of minutes later, I wandered back into the party.

Father and daughter were saying their goodbyes to Carlisle and Esme when I
decided to make my presence known. I strolled to them casually just as they
were turning for the door.

"Oh," Esme called them back. "I forgot to introduce you two. Bella, darling, come
meet our dear Edward."

"Edward, this is Bella, Chief Swan's daughter."

I looked at her coolly, uninterestedly, as she gazed back at me with back
stiffening in tension.

"Pleased to meet you, Bella." I brought her hand to my lips where it lingered,
loving the tense, then horrified look on her face. Her father cleared his throat
beside her and after a grunted hello, they were off. Gone from the mansion and
my life.

At least for a while...

XXX

Chapter 8

XXX

It was going to be one of those long days where everything sucked. From
midmorning onwards, I was stuck in the library doing a paper on Colton Harris-
Moore, the "barefoot bandit." It was due for my next class and I haven't even
made a dent at the hundreds of files I needed to go through.

Moore, an enfant terrible, was quite the romantic figure. He stole five small
aircraft, a boat and two cars, and was a suspect in the burglaries of at least 100
private residences - all before turning eighteen. His first offense was when he was
twelve. He had three more by the time he turned 13. But for all his notoriety,
Moore never did anything that actually harmed anyone. He stole things people
didn't really need and he left everyone alone.

Funny, he sounded so much like someone I knew.

Without meaning to, my mind drifted to his case. Over the last few days, I'd
pulled everything the police and courts had on Edward Cullen: reports,
transcripts, and sworn statements; all made available using Charlie's clearance.
Edward was as fascinating as a criminal as he was in the flesh. The network he'd
built in such a short a time was staggering; his control over it was nothing short
of spectacular. No one went against him, not even after his arrest. Granted he'd
had millions of dollars at his fingertips and he'd spent it liberally, buying the
underworld's loyalty with cash. If he'd been given a few more years, he would've
been invincible; a virtual mafia all by himself.

My attention shifted to his trial transcripts which I had tucked under one of my
books. I'd been reading them on and off, and more than a dozen questions had
already jumped out at me. He was tried and sentenced for two robberies. One in
L.A. and another in New York, but the trial was peppered with references to other
states and places outside the U.S. Then there was the mysterious, but unproven
accomplice, the circumstances surrounding his arrest, and his relationship to
Tanya Denali who, it turned out, was a good five years older than he was.

I wondered if he'd tell me if I asked for the details outright. It would be such a
great opportunity to see how he worked and to get into the mind of a master
criminal.

The curiosity was starting to eat at me again, and before I could give in to the
urge of picking up from where I'd left off reading, I gathered the trial papers
briskly into my bag. I shut my laptop and decided to leave the library. I would
just have to think of an excuse for why I hadn't finished my Moore paper.

I seriously needed to focus. Since Carlisle's birthday, I'd been distracted in my
classes, and short-tempered with my friends. I'd even snapped at Rosalie, which
is something I'd never done before. If I didn't pull myself together, something
was bound to give. Like my grades, or my dignity if I didn't stop myself in time
and go to him crawling, begging for his cock.

I needed coffee; it was either that, or get laid. Coffee was easier so I went to the
nearest stand and stood in line.

My phone rang just when I was nearly at the counter.

"Hello?"

There was heavy breathing on the line, like in movies where a stalker breathes
into the phone to get himself off. Geez. Just what I fucking ordered.

I snapped my phone shut, but it rang again. Again, I hung up.

And again...

"Look, perv, whoever you are, do not attempt to call this number again or I'll
have you-"

"Have me what?"

The low, sleepy drawl stopped me in my tracks. "Edward?"

"Are you expecting someone else?" His voice was soft and breathy, like he'd just
woken up. It went straight to my crotch before my brain registered it was already
almost lunch. What the fuck was he doing in bed?

"What do you want?" I didn't mean to be gruff, but he hadn't called at all and
frankly, I'd been chaffing at his last seemingly casual dismissal. Besides, I
couldn't think of any reason why he'd call me in the middle of a busy school day,
unless he was in trouble. Or sick; maybe that's why he was breathing like a
pervert.

"Mmm... you..." What the fuck? My concern flew out of the window. The bastard
really was jerking off just as I first thought. An image assaulted me, unbidden:
Edward on a big bed, his head thrown back against the pillows, eyes half-closed,
legs spread out. His cock, hard and angry. His hand wrapped around it, pumping
himself to the rhythm of my breathing. I could hear him lick his lips before
murmuring "suck it, baby...yeah, just like that..." as if I was there, mouth
wrapped around his cock, head bobbing between his legs. I stopped breathing,
stunned.

"Stay on the line," he pant-pleaded. "Please, sweetheart."

It must have been the please or the sweetheart, but I didn't hang up. I left the
stand without getting my coffee and looked for somewhere to sit. My knees were
threatening to give out. I realized, to my dismay, that I'd do almost anything
when he used that breathy, needy voice. I stayed on the line, listening to his
slow, quick gasps, his murmurs as he pleasured himself, his breath hitching every
once in a while.

I could hear him drink something, the sound of ice cubes tinkling as he tilted the
liquid into his mouth. I imagined his throat clenching and unclenching as he
gulped it down; whiskey or maybe rum. Something hard, like the way he fucked.
Damn if that didn't make me hot. I closed my eyes, swallowing thickly. I could
feel colour creep into my face and down my neck as my heart began to beat
faster, the moisture between my thighs gathering. Fuck, he only needed to
breath and I was there.

I heard rustling, like he'd shifted into another position before exhaling a choked
cry, and my breath hitched. He'd heard it which caused his own breathing to sped
up. The rustling became louder, like his movements were getting wilder. I knew

that he was close when he starting groaning. There were quick and desperate
"ahhs," along with ragged breathing. I gripped my phone, almost snapping it in
half just before he gritted out a pained "fuck" over the line. He stayed on for
several more minutes, until his breathing, and mine, evened out.

"Thanks, sweetheart." There was relief in his voice like he'd really, really needed
that. I sat there on a bench in a busy pathway, speechless. My eyes had glazed
over and my mouth hung open like a dying fish. I heard him take another
mouthful of whatever he was drinking, savouring it with a hearty moan.

Before I could say anything, he hung up. No bye, or call you later. I was left
horny, frustrated and so, so wet.

The selfish jerk! I didn't even get the cursory phone sex dialogue. Wasn't I
supposed to touch myself, too? I couldn't, of course. If he was the savvy thinker
everyone made him out to be, he'd assume that I was somewhere crowded and
that I couldn't do anything while I listened to him wank. If he wanted phone sex,
he should've had the manners to reciprocate.

I still came spectacularly on my fingers that night.

The next day he called again, then intermittently after that. It was always during
busy hours of the day, or while I was in a crowded place: during lunch, in the
middle of a study session, inside the library... He was taunting me; teasing,
making sure that I had to wait until my classes were over before I could get off.

Some nights, I'd come satisfactorily and the intense craving would fade into a
dull, aching throb between my legs. Others, only barely before I'd drift into
restless sleep dreaming of huge penises. I'd wake up horny, frustrated and ready
to bite everyone's head off. I knew what he was doing. He was working me up,
making me hungry for more.

Fuck, if it wasn't working.

I considered alternatives to scratch the itch. Fucking other men was out of the
question as I simply didn't have the urge nor the energy to preen myself even for
a friendly date. Besides, who needed other men when Edward Cullen was on the
line?

After much deliberation, I settled for a toy. Swallowing my own embarrassment, I
made a purchase online and prayed that nobody would find out. I was racking up
my number of potentially embarrassing secrets. I knew that pretty soon, one, or
all of them, would see the light of day and bite me in the ass.

The toy helped, though, if only a little.

The day after exams, Rosalie asked me to join her and Emmett for a night out
with some friends. I'd been up to my neck with cases, papers and reports.
Inwardly, I was puking at my impression of being a good girl so I said yes.

Surprisingly, I had a good time. It was liberating to be with friends and not think
of anything or anyone else. So when everyone paired off and left me to myself, I
didn't feel left out or pressured into picking up the nearest, remotely-interesting
guy. I just said my goodbyes, thanking everyone for a pleasant time and made
my way back to the dormitory.

To get back faster, I cut across campus right past the fraternity houses where
some loud and rowdy parties were being held. I didn't think much of them and
was surprised when I ran into someone just when I was turning into a deserted

stretch of the road. The street was dimly lit, but I knew him so I wasn't overly
concerned. James Carter used to date Rosalie. He half-swayed into my path,
blocking me.

"What's a pretty little thing like you doing out so late?"

Christ, could someone give him a more original line? "Fuck off, James."

He laughed. "Hey, I know you! Tough-as-nails Bella Swan. How have you been?"

"Fine."

"You know, I've always been curious about you," he slurred, draping a drunken
arm around my shoulders. "Rosalie told me you didn't get around much, but I bet
you're just a hellcat in bed, aren't you Bella Swan?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?" I shrugged him off, starting to get uncomfortable.
He was big, but he was also drunk and clumsy so I could easily take him. I
reached into my bag casually and wrapped my fingers around my trusty old
butterfly knife.

"So, what'll it take to get you to suck my cock?"

At least he was direct. I paused, as if considering. An extra large penis, a dirty
mouth, a penchant for stealing cars...nope-

"Nothing you have," I said. The creep just laughed again.

I'm not sure how everything happened after that. It was all over so fast. One
minute James was talking about his cock. The next moment, he was flying into
the air as the bumper of a dark SUV connected painfully with his ass. Not hard,
but enough to bounce him against the windshield. The SUV reversed and
swerved, throwing him to the ground. James was up in a second, shouting, and
cursing the motherfucker who ran him over, but whoever it was only gunned the
engine harder. The stupid fucker didn't even realize he was going to get run over
again. I pushed him to the side just as the driver accelerated, knowing
instinctively he wasn't going to hit a girl.

More specifically, he wasn't going to hit me.

XXX

The wheels screeched to a full stop, the bumper mere inches from her knees. All I
wanted to do was to lay her across mine and spank her. I wasn't going to kill the
motherfucker. If I'd wanted to, he'd be dead, but there was no need for fucking
heroics.

I wasn't some knight in a shining fucking armour. It was apparent by the way
she'd been standing that she hadn't felt threatened, just creeped out. She'd her
hand inside her bag, around a bottle of Mace, maybe, or something more
hardcore, like a knife. She didn't need my help, but I ran the creep over, just the
same. It wasn't even his fault I was so pissed off. I'd just had a long, tiring week
and he just happened to be there feeling up my girl.

Funny how he scrambled out of the way after she pushed him; fucking coward.

I wasn't even supposed to be in Tacoma. I was supposed to be in Seattle picking
up Jasper at the airport so I could introduce him to my hick family. But fuck if
seeing her worked up and pissed off wasn't worth the little detour. Just seeing
her, tense and breathing fire was already making me feel better.

She was absolutely livid at my little prank.

If only I had a few minutes more to spare, I'd yank her in and spank her for real.
Then have a quick fuck inside the car and a long, drawn-out one on the hood,
right there on the fucking street. I could barely restrain myself.

I've had years of experience and could cope with months of self-deprivation, but
the past few weeks had been pure fucking hell. If only I didn't have so much to
do, I'd be climbing to her room every night, even if only to smell her panties. But
first runs rarely go as planned. Especially with someone too fucking nice like
Jasper at the helm. Then the fucking FBI just had to interfere. First, they arrested
Randall, one of my original team just when Jasper was getting to him. Then, they
spooked Garrett. On top of it all, they awarded the bitch Tanya with a Medal of
Valour for infiltrating some ring in some hell-hole in New Mexico.

I'd been pissed off for days and now I'd damn well pissed my girl off, too. It
would've been just right for an angry fuck-fest.

Pity. I'd just have to put that thought on hold or else Jasper was going to start
running around the airport like a headless chicken. The dork could be so inflexible
and irrational at times. If something didn't go the way he laid things out, like me
picking him up at the airport right on fucking time, I wasn't going to hear the end
of it.

I left, leaving my girl simmering with rage. There was going to be hell to pay
later.

Jasper was shuffling his feet, looking neglected and pathetic on the sidewalk
when I saw him. I pulled into the lane beside him, late by a mere five minutes.
Behind him was a mountain of luggage; boxes of different sizes, cases, crates. He
traveled worse than any girl I knew.

"You planning on raiding a small country?" The pile was huge.

He turned, as if seeing his things for the first time. "It's your equipment."

I probably needed it, too. It had been a pain following everything through the
small gizmo he'd given me weeks before.

"Did you manage to pull Randall out?" Jasper asked as soon as we crammed
everything inside the SUV. As soon as he was seated, he started playing with a
rectangular device that looked like a recorder...or a detonating device.

"Working on it."

He laughed. "Slowpoke."

I was, decidedly, as slow as a snail. It took me days to do what I could have
accomplished in hours eight years ago. Simple things like setting up false flags
and springing a team member from jail.

"At least I didn't have to call in Irina and Kate to clean up my mess."

"Aro was playing hard-ass," Jasper reasoned.

It couldn't be helped. Jasper just wasn't the negotiator I wanted him to be. In the
thick of the talks, I had to call in Irina and Katrina "Kate" Deveyrenko to smooth
things out. I'd originally thought of sending the sisters right away, but I wanted
to see if Jasper could take it.

He couldn't.

So into the mess went Irina and Kate, two of my most savvy negotiators. The
sisters were so dedicated to their missions that they'd fuck their way through a
phalanx of men and women to get me what I wanted. Within three days, they'd
hammered out an agreement with the Volturi, giving us up to 70% of proceeds of
each car successfully resold.

"We're using them from now on," I told him, while Jasper sighed in
disappointment, mumbling a series of apologies and "I-told-you's."

"Shut up, all right? So what if you don't have enough sleaze to negotiate with the
fuckers? Means there's still hope for you yet."

"Kate thought it was funny you wanted to give them half."

"They deserve it."

"They said they would do it for free." Jasper said, and looked at me accusingly
like I'd done something cruel just because I got freebies. All this time, Jasper
refused to look at the seedy, unsavoury part of what we were doing. He'd closed
himself off with his gizmos and gadgets, refusing to recognize that people get
used and abused to stay ahead of the game.

"They're not doing it for me, Jas." Irina and Kate did it for themselves. "Did you
send them to Romania?"

"They're with Stephan and Vlad now."

"And Liam?"

"Bloody happy to bloody hear from the boss," he said, in an awful imitation of
Liam's thick brogue. "Siobhan and Maggie, too."

It was something nobody would've expected of a car theft ring. When I started
out, most of my "colleagues" were not only of the same age as me, a good
number of them were girls. Smart, pretty daughters of family friends and
acquaintances, all bored with their lives in one way or the other. All easily trained
and willing to jump into whatever I threw them in, and fuck whoever I told them
to. They'd all grown into gorgeous, self-made women while I was away.

"Zafrina and Senna?"

"All ready to go."

Excellent. The rest of the ring would be no harder to reactivate. Lucia and Maria
in Mexico, Alistair and Charles in Norway, even Amun and Bejamin in Egypt,
where most of the deals would be taking place. We'd just have to work double
time on the U.S. team. With Randall in FBI custody and Garrett jittery, that left
only Mary, Peter and Charlotte. We were going to need two more at least.

"You have someone in mind?" It was amazing how Jasper could tell what I was
thinking.

"I'll let you decide if she can hack it."

We switched seats just outside Forks' limits. I didn't want to risk a violation of my
parole. The vehicle really was Jasper's, anyway. I detested SUVs, even ifit was a
BMW.

Jasper grew jumpy as we neared the mansion. He'd always been wary of meeting
people, even those he'd known his whole life. Tough. He would just have to learn
to tolerate Esme.

"Jasper! How long has it been?" Esme was on hand to welcome us. A snug
embrace and a kiss to each cheek. Jasper endured it well – not cringing or shying
away. He disliked being touched.

"Uh, too long?" He wasn't even stuttering. Not yet.

"Come in, darling," Esme pulled him into the house. "Alice! Come meet our
guest."

Alice was sitting at the bottom of the stairs, probably under orders not to go
elsewhere until she met "Edward's friend." She stood up and eyed Jasper with the
frankness of a sixteen-year old.

The dork was looking everywhere except her.

"What do you have there?" Alice asked him, not very wisely.

"What? Where?"

"In your hand."

"Oh, this?" Jasper held up the device, a small gizmo he'd been fiddling with the
entire ride from Seattle. "It's a voice recognition device. I put in voice patterns of
people I talk to and added SPLICE to the recognition system so when they talk,
the device can talk back or tell them what they want to know according to who
they are and their needs. And oh, SPLICE means Stereo based Piecewise Linear
Compensation for Environment. It's an algorithm-"

"Jasper," I shook his shoulder, interrupting his toneless lecture before he could
launch into a discussion of voice to text applications in high-performance aircrafts
and helicopters. "How about we first put your things –"

"How does it work?" The girl actually interrupted me.

"Like this," Jasper turned to me. "Edward, say something."

"Uh, hello?" Dork.

"You're late, Edward," the device chirped in the disemboweled voice of an airport
announcer.

"Cool," Alice laughed and miracle of miracles, Jasper laughed with her.

He reached out to Alice, shyly offering her the gadget. "You want to try it?"

Not exactly what I was hoping for, but close.

XXX

XXX

I had it all planned out.

It all seemed pretty easy in theory. All I had to do was scale eight feet of the
back fence of a certain mansion. I'd been to aerial recon with Charlie several
times so I knew where the weak parts of the fence were. Once in, I only needed

to break into a small, slightly pink cottage Esme had talked about for months. It
shouldn't be much of a hassle.

It seemed pretty logical, too. Exams were over and everyone was out relaxing,
drinking and God knows what else. I resolved to go home to Forks to face
Edward. He did say we'd see each other after exams and I was done with waiting.

For the first time in my life, I deliberately lied to my father. I called him up, told
him I was going to Kingston with some friends for the weekend and that we were
going hiking, of all things. Charlie didn't even stop to wonder why I was going.
Next to fishing, I abhorred hiking and camping and everything that had to do with
the great outdoors. Charlie only told me to enjoy myself, to take care, check my
gear, blah blah blah.

Rosalie, tired of my bitchiness, covered for me. I packed an overnight bag, got
hold of some ropes and took the early evening bus trip home.

Scaling the wall and getting inside the cottage was easy enough. Figuring out
what to do next was harder. Especially since Edward was nowhere to be found.

The cottage wasn't even a "cottage" in the traditional sense. It was more of a
small, specialized house. The small living room led to a small kitchen to one side
and farther back was a door. Curiosity led me towards it.

It was a bedroom, with a large bed and crisp sheets. But it wasn't the bed that
caught my attention. It was the long table on one side of the wall. On it were
computers, lots of them, makine the room look more like a control room than a
bedroom.

Before I could get inside, I heard two voices, both male. Fuck. I wasn't expecting
him to have company. I expected him to be alone, preferably pining for me in the
privacy of his bedroom. Just like I'd been doing for the past three days since he
left me, mouth hanging open, in the middle of the street after he'd just run
James over.

Obviously, he hadn't felt the same compulsion because here he was, laughing and
joking with somebody I'd never seen before. A friend? One of his associates?
Maybe the owner of the computers?

They were nearly inside when I remembered the other door I'd seen when I came
in and dashed towards it. I figured it was a safer option than the bedroom.
Wrong. The room seemed more lived-in than the bedroom. Books cluttered the
floor, with a small but well-stocked bar on one side. In the middle stood a grand
piano and behind it, a large couch. Damn. I could imagine him sprawled on it, a
glass in one hand, the phone wedged between his shoulder and ear, whispering
dirty things while his other hand stroked and pumped his cock. This was where he
called me from, torturing me with his words, his breathing, for his own pleasure.

The devil himself walked in and turned on the lights a few minutes later. I shrank
back into the corner, wondering why I was hiding. I came here to be seen, not to
cower in semi-darkness waiting to be caught.

He went directly to the bar and fixed himself a drink. He drank whatever it was in
one gulp, chuckled quietly, and spoke.

"Are you going to hide there all night?"

What the hell?

He turned to the corner where I was sulking and grinned.

"Couldn't wait, huh?"

Rage overwhelmed me. For three fucking days, I hadn't been able to sleep
properly, thinking over how crazy he was and how much crazier I was for wanting
him despite it. I knew that I was nothing but a toy for him but I'd be fucked if I
didn't get something in return. Like a little respect, a little consideration.

I stepped from the shadows, marched up to him and threw the first punch. Pain
shot through my arm after my fist connected with his jaw. Damn, it hurt. But fuck
if it wasn't supremely satisfying to see him stagger a step backwards, astonished
shock on his face. I brought up my other hand, hitting him on the other side. I
didn't know what possessed me to think that hitting him would solve anything but
I was too angry, too frustrated and humiliated. All I wanted was for him to have
matching, shiny bruises on each side of his pretty face in the morning.

Two more blows and he caught my wrist in mid-swing and twisted. He pivoted,
using my momentum, and I found myself crashing against the wall. His face
hovered near mine, one hand holding my wrist while the other braced my other
arm against the wall. I was trapped but it would be so easy to throw him off. All I
had to do was connect my knee to his groin and wait for that painful shriek.

I didn't.

I wasn't prepared for what I saw. His face was flushed, his pupils so dilated that
his eyes were almost completely black. His heart thrummed in tune to my ragged
breaths and it was hot...God, it was so hot that I suddenly wanted him off me but
at the same time, I didn't. I was acutely aware of the length of his body against
mine, of his cock pressing against my stomach. I wanted him around me, against
me, inside me.

"My turn," he growled, freeing my arm so he could wrap his hand around my
neck. I could feel long fingers on my skin, tilting my head to one side. He leaned
down and flicked his tongue on exposed skin. I closed my eyes and let myself
feel. Lips replaced tongue and I couldn't help but hiss as he tasted me; skin and
sweat and heaving breaths.

"Stay still."

Even if I wanted to, I couldn't move. A hand around my neck held me firmly in
place and I could feel his hand tighten a little every time I squirmed. His other
hand fumbled with the button of my jeans, shoving them down roughly as his
other hand pinned me to the wall.

"Look at me...look at me before I fuck you...look at me..."

He was rough and merciless, squeezing and rubbing me through my panties.
Somewhere at the back of my mind, I knew I needed it, too. The violence, the
rage, the frenzy. It was something we'd both shared and craved from the
beginning. On that train, at that Inn when we were nothing but two strangers
with an incomprehensible need.

I gasped as he thrust a finger in, and then another, pumping in and out, his face
close to mine as he watched the pressure build inside me agonizingly.

I came screaming, splintering against his hand. He smiled in wicked triumph. He
shoved my panties down, fumbled with his own jeans and shoved them down just

as carelessly as he did with mine. Without warning, he rammed his cock into me.
It was so hard I was left breathless, my body tensing in shock.

"Breathe...," he gritted out. "Breathe, dammit."

He started moving, roughly at first before becoming gentler, slower. He shifted
his hand to the back of my neck, smoothing hair out of the way.

Then the kisses began...

The endearments...

The caresses...

The murmurs telling me that I felt so good...so tight and wet and he wanted to
fuck me so bad...panting and groaning against my mouth and my neck.

That it was so fucking good.

Slowly, I adjusted to him, clinging to his shoulders as he started to fuck me
mercilessly against the wall. I sank deeper and deeper into the sensations until
there was nothing but him inside me, his mouth, his tongue, his lips and his
voice. I came again and slumped against him, drained of what was left of my
energy.

I thought that would be it but I was wrong. He brought me to the couch I'd been
eyeing earlier and lowered me. He stripped me of my clothes before he began
stripping out of his own.

Then it began in earnest: the steady, relentless fucking. On my back, legs over
his shoulders, against the couch, on my stomach, on the side, on my knees,
above him, below him, my back turned to him, me facing him.

Slow until I groaned my release, hard until I squealed in pleasure. When he'd
came, he'd pull out, his mouth replacing his cock. He would fuck me with his
tongue or his fingers until he was ready again.

I lost track of time after a while.

"No, no more..." The pressure was rising again with him inside me and if I came
one more time, I was certain I'd break.

"Oh, God..."

XXX

"Just one more," I told her. "One more, baby."

She tried to scramble off the couch but I pinned her down, keeping my thrusts at
a slow, steady pace.

"Shhh...shhh..."

"Oh, God..oh, God..." She writhed as I sucked on nipples, sensitive from the
abuse I'd administered to her body, strung out from cumming too many times.

"So good..."

"Too much...oh, God...Edward!"

"Breathe, baby, breathe..."

"Can't...take...it..."

"Let go..."

She bucked and squealed when she came again, nearly falling off the couch. She
was shaking and quivering but I didn't stop, I couldn't break rhythm.

"We're doing this my way, all right?"

I doubted if she wanted another aftermath like this. There would be no more
waiting, no more wanking like a deranged monkey while the other was on the
phone. No more climbing over fences and hanging about in the dark. She'd come
when I wanted her and I'd be wherever she wanted me.

She nodded and moaned her agreement into my mouth. I figured she'd say yes
to anything just to get me off her.

"One more...just one more..." She started to shake her head and I pulled on her
hair, tilting her face. Her eyes were half-closed, glazed with delirious pleasure.
Her lips were slightly parted as she gasped with each thrust. Her skin glowed
from exertion, her hair a wild cloud on her head.

Gorgeous, just fucking gorgeous.

"God, I missed you..."

"Liar..."

I knew then that if I hadn't met her on the train, I would've met her somewhere
at some point and I would've hounded her ass. It would've just taken us a little
longer but we'd end up where we were – tangled in my sheets, on my couch, with
my cock deep inside her.

I knew she was tired and if I didn't finish soon, she was going to fall asleep while
I fucked her. I rode her faster, my thrusts quickening, my hands squeezing her
tits.

The moment I came, I wanted to fuck her again.

"Mmmtired..." she mumbled, shifting, shoving me away. I shifted with her,
moulding her little frame into mine. I wasn't going anywhere.

To avoid crushing her, I pulled her over to my side. She ended up half-sprawled
over me, my cock still deep inside her. She really was tired. I knew she hadn't
been sleeping well but dammit, I was nowhere near satiated. I started to pump
into her, watching my cock, slick with her cum, slide in and out.

"Edward...," she sighed, pouty and exasperated.

"Yeah?"

"Wanna sleep..."

Fine. She didn't have to be awake, anyway. I rolled her to her back and went
down on her, licking and sucking her pussy at my leisure. After a while, she
started squirming again, murmuring weak curses. They only spurred me on.

"Go away," she mumbled and rolled onto her stomach, burrowing far into the
couch, her tight, little ass on full display. It was like she was taunting me.

"Goddammit!" She yelped in surprise when I bit the curve of her ass. She
growled, slapped and shoved me, cursing me to an early grave while I tried to
subdue her. But she let me gather her up after a short fight and curled her body
against mine once again. We both groaned as I slid into her .

"You're insatiable," she grumbled but moaned when I started thrusting deep
inside her. It was her fucking fault that I couldn't get enough of her.

"I'll let you sleep...later..."

Finding the right rhythm became easier, building the pressure that much faster.

My hand was to her hair, her tongue in my mouth, swallowing the fucks and her
yeah's and so good's. She thought it was bullshit when I told her she was
beautiful, that I couldn't get enough of her, that she felt so good I could fuck her
all night. She'd snorted at what she thought were absurdities.

I came just as another orgasm hit her, clinging to her as I rode it out. She
collapsed and rolled over like a sack of potatoes on the couch as soon as I was
done. I stayed inside her for a couple of minutes more, kissing her shoulders
down to her arms, sucking on her fingers until she complained again and told me
to go fuck myself for a while.

Reluctantly, I rolled away to let her sleep.

I was fucking starving, anyway, and I needed to see what Jasper was up to. I'd
give her two hours, tops.

She was fast asleep before I could put my pants back on.

XXX

Chapter 10

XXX

I found Jasper inside the bedroom, headphones on. He'd declared the room his as
soon as he'd arrived, so I was forced to bunk in the piano room, sleeping on the
couch.

I tapped him on the shoulder and sighed. "Thought you wanted to work in the
kitchen?"

He stood up abruptly, went out of the room and pointed to a device discreetly
mounted above the piano room's door frame.

Right, the neutralizer.

When turned on, it picked up whatever was played inside the room, like
recordings of disjointed piano playing when I was supposed to be practicing but
was monitoring Jasper's negotiations instead. Otherwise, it functioned as an anti-
bugging device, filling unregulated frequencies within the 200 meter radius with
static.

Damn. I'd forgotten to turn it off. It would've picked up every sound of the porn-
fest.

"Sorry 'bout that."

Jasper just rolled his eyes and went back to what he was doing.

"Did she see this?" Jasper motioned at the computers.

"Probably." Admittedly, I should be more worried. She'd be suspicious, but what
would a bunch of monitors and computers prove? "Don't worry about it."

I could always tell her it was Jasper's. We were packing it all up, anyway, and
moving it to a more secure place when he left.

"Can you ring Carmen for me, please? I need something."

Jasper pointed me to a computer and pressed in a series of keys. A moment
later, a striking brunette appeared onscreen.

"Hey kiddo," she greeted.

"Hey, darlin'."

Carmen Gonzalez was my go-to girl. A lawyer by profession, she'd taken care of
most of the things I needed. Eleazar, her husband, was a private banker and took
care of all my finances. Both have been with me since the start.

"It's about time you rang. We're a little piqued you didn't call us as soon as you
got out of that hellhole."

"You know the rules, no girly gossip until Mr. Whiz here secures everything."

"Yeah, yeah," she dismissed. "Jasper already filled us in, and Eleazar's completing
the rest of the transactions right now. Everything should be in place in a couple of
days. You need anything else?"

"As a matter of fact, yes..."

"Just say the magic word."

"I need a house in Tacoma, near Evergreen College. Not too big, but fully
staffed," I told her. "Please."

"When do you want it?"

"Tomorrow."

She looked at me, and damn if I couldn't see the reproachful look in her eyes. We
hadn't even started our operations yet. So, the urgent request could only mean
one thing: a girl was involved. But if she gave me the same lecture Jasper did
about the fucked-up way I handled my previous affair, I was going to blow
something up. Thankfully, she kept her recriminations to herself.

"You're going to need security, a driver and household staff on call. I'll contact
the Giancana brothers. They have people you've used before. They're very
professional and extremely discreet. Anything else?"

"No, that's all, thank you."

A manicured eyebrow went up. "No flowers delivered to her doorstep every day?
No standby jet for a quick trip to nowhere? Closed restaurants so you can have
dinner in peace? You're becoming a scrooge in your old age, Edward."

I laughed. If I so much as sent a bunch of flowers to Bella's doorstep, she'd shoot
me. "This one's different."

That earned me another pointed look. Once upon a time I'd declared Tanya as
"different," too.

I said nothing more and Carmen let it go.

"Your L.A. trip is shaping up nicely, by the way. The L.A. Philharmonic already
sent a formal letter to the Washington State Department of Corrections
requesting your "innovative" and "contemporary" ass for a solo performance,"
she smirked. "It should go through next week."

Esme had been getting a lot of inquiries and requests of the same nature lately.
"Ride," my extremely private piece, had apparently made the rounds and I was
starting to become something of a curiosity in artists' circles; a reformed virtuoso
coming in from a life of crime. Nothing could be more ridiculous, but I'd jumped
on the chance as it couldn't have come at a better time.

"I've arranged for the necessary security and made reservations for the Ritz's
Club Lounge on the 23rd floor for the entire night," she added. "Who do you want
in?"

"Everyone."

"Everyone?" She leaned back, surprised, but managed not to contradict me.

My inner circle was automatically on any guest list I was in. But I'd never allowed
them to socialize in public before, preferring to invite one or two at a time. I
wanted them all out now. The L.A. performance would be something of a coming-
out party, eight years after my conviction. It would send the FBI's hounds into a
spin.

"You do realize that the statutes of your case allow for the reopening or a filing of
a new case should there be new evidence to support any claim."

"I'm well aware of that."

I could almost hear her questions and fears. Her what if's, but she managed to
stop herself from asking them out loud. It was just as well, I'd never been known
for explaining myself.

"Can you have my papers say that I should to be accompanied by my parole
officer?"

"I could, but that would be a highly unusual condition," Carmen asked, frowning.
"Isn't he Chief of Police there? Babysitting an ex-convict would be below his
station."

"He is." And it was, but fuck if I cared. A formal affair like a performance
necessitated an escort. Chief Swan would have to take someone with him and
chances were, he'd take his daughter. "Make it happen, Mina."

"All right," she said, still frowning. "By the way, Jasper already purged your fake
marriage from all your records so there's no trace of it anywhere."

"Good." I knew that Bella had been snooping around lately, using her father's
clearance no less. In fact, I knew a lot of things about her: where she usually ate
her lunch, what time she went to the library, what toys she'd purchased online. I
even knew what time she'd arrived in Forks, the exact minute she'd scaled the
wall and broke into my little pink hell of a house.

I wasn't too sure what to think of it. She was fast becoming quite a distraction,
just as Jasper had predicted. Damn if I could stop myself, though.

A small movement diverted me back to the screen. A little girl was climbing into
Carmen's lap, her hands randomly pressing on the keyboard. It was one hell of a
funny thing to watch – Carmen shushing, while the imp payed her no attention. I
knew that she and Eleazar had started a family, that they had two girls and that
they were the world to them. If not for their dogged loyalty, they would've turned
me down and their backs to a life of crime once and for all.

Everyone really did grow up while I was away.

"You look good, old girl."

"You too, boss."

"I'll see you and Eleazar in L.A."

I closed the connection and turned to Jasper.

"Want a sandwich?"

"Donut," he replied, handing me his cup for a coffee refill without taking his eyes
off the screen of his computer. Apparently, I'd become his personal maid.

I went to the kitchen to get him his fucking donut.

"By the way," he called to me. "I've asked Alice out tomorrow."

"Good."

I didn't want anyone in the house.

XXX

It was already daylight when I woke up. For a moment, I couldn't remember
where I was, and it fucking hurt to move. I was naked, on a couch, in a room
that reeked of sex and cigarettes. I must have passed out sometime during the
night.

At some point, Edward had awoken me and "one more" became three more. He
made me drink something spicy, some sort of tea, to wake me up. It tasted like
shit and I couldn't remember how I managed to keep it down. Time blurred, but I
remembered the sensations sharpening after that.

Looking around, I found him standing by the window. He was smoking, staring at
the rain outside. He looked so pensive; I wondered what he was thinking.

"What time is it?" He snapped to attention at my question, crushed his cigarette
out and sauntered to where I was.

"Ten," he said, snagging a small bottle of oil on top of the mini-bar on his way.
"Turn over."

I flinched as he touched me and every muscle protested as I did as I was told. He
poured oil into his hands and started rubbing it on my shoulders, back, ass, then
reached inside my thighs. The oil warmed my skin as his hands gently soothed
my sore muscles.

Slowly, I began to relax again, lulled by his touch. I would've probably fallen
asleep if my stomach hadn't rumbled reminding me that I hadn't eaten for more
than 12 hours.

"Up," he pulled me off the couch slowly. "You need to eat."

"Where are my clothes?"

"Outside."

"I'm not eating naked."

He just laughed.

"Can I at least have my shirt back?"

He went out of the room and came back with one of his. The fabric rasped
painfully against my nipples, making me wish I'd listened to him and remained
unclothed.

He watched me eat, which was unnerving.

"Don't you have better things to do?"

"No."

"I want a shower."

He laughed again. "Later, when you can walk."

He gave me the same spicy tea I remembered him forcing into me during the
night.

"What is it?"

"Sex potion," he answered, matter-of-fact. The tea flew all over him, the couch,
and over my shirt as I sputtered.

He laughed harder and told me it was ginger, turmeric, cloves and green tea – an
anti-inflammation concoction for sore muscles.

"The triads swear by it."

He fed me, clothed me, watched me as I took a bath. He asked stupid, random
questions; like what color I liked, foods I wanted, furniture I liked having around.
Books, music, courses, when my birthday was, what it was like growing up
without a mother.

I answered all his questions and asked mine – about his mom, playing the piano,
growing up in isolation, and how it was in prison. I steered clear of his criminal
activities, lest he noticed I knew a lot of things and gave myself away. He
answered all my questions with a self-deprecating humor; sometimes wistfully,
with a touch of lingering sadness, and sometimes with the mirth of a five-year
old.

It was oddly comforting, lying on the couch, trading harmless, innocent stories of
our childhoods like there was nothing beyond the four walls of the room.
Sometimes, he'd drift off in the middle of a memory and the silence would stretch
until he'd find his footing again, or start on a new story. Sometimes, he'd just let
me talk and talk and talk.

Sex was out, but apparently kissing wasn't. Neither was groping or squeezing or
rubbing his hard-on over his pants or under his boxers. He'd place my hand over
his cock, squeeze and pump himself through my fingers until he'd groan, curse
and back away before things got out of control.

He'd pace around, smoke or drown a shot or two of whiskey. At times, he'd stand
by the window and stare outside, lost in memories he didn't want me to know.
Sometimes, he'd play the piano half-naked, fast and furious, alternately filling the
room with discord and comical rhythm. He'd tell me it was Petrouchka or some
other insanely vigorous dance that no doubt commanded mastery and superior
technique. Petrouchka, he said, was a puppet that came to life through a spell
and started to feel human emotions. He fell in love with a ballerina and tried to
win her over but couldn't.

I listened to him as he practiced, watched the tatts on his back and arms ripple
as he pounded on the piano with restrained passion. He'd turn to me to say "I
played this when I was seven" or ask me if I knew a particular piece. Sometimes
his face would take on an expression of unbreakable concentration, not unlike
when he was coming. I sat on the couch, captivated by his private performances.

Things went on like that the entire first day I stayed with him and well into the
second.

As the hours went by, I realized, with a sinking feeling, how easy it would be to
fall for him. He was intelligent and funny; charming and attentive. A little cocky
and frisky, but generally nice.

Maybe if I'd met him before he started stealing cars – at school or somewhere
else. Maybe if he was a student, like me, or someone who worked nearby; if he
was a miner on that train full of miners or just Edward Cullen, Esme's nephew
and Alice's cousin.

It would be too easy.

But he was Edward Fucking Cullen, master criminal; and I was Isabella Marie
Swan, the police chief's daughter. No matter how romantic the movies made bad
boy/good girl romances, I knew they almost always ended in disasters.

It was unthinkable and a little humiliating, but it was me who broke first.

I knelt between his legs and sucked his cock when he was in the middle of
practising Petrouchka's first movement. The veins on his neck stood out as his
fingers pressed on the keys with impressive precision as my hands and mouth
worked on him. Aside from an occasional muttered, "Oh, Jesus," his hands kept
on the rhythm of the music until that last moment when he was falling, coming
apart, and all ten fingers crashed onto the keys in a jarring and horrendous
sound.

He gasped a ragged, "Oh, God, I love you," as he came into my mouth.

Yeah, right.

I've heard that before. I wasn't stupid. People like him, with extensive experience
and easy charm, could afford to be careless with their affection. He probably just
ran out of things to say.

But he did haul me up to kiss me deeply, before proceeding to demonstrate
exceptional control by not ramming himself into me and humping me right then
and there.

Instead, he was considerate, gentle and infuriatingly slow. He tortured me with
his hands and his mouth, made me feel beautiful with his words. He fucked me
deliberately, stretching out the agony until I begged for release.

I came spectacularly, right there, against the piano.

He didn't stop with one, though. We carried on throughout the afternoon and into
the night. Less wild and gentler than before, but equally intense; like we were
both saving up for the days ahead and it was a challenge for him to make me
come over and over. He loved to watch me break into pieces, while he hushed
and murmured silly things to keep me going.

He asked me, sometime in the early evening, if I liked watching him, too. I said
yes, because I did. I loved it when he'd arch against me, ramming his cock as far
as it could go. His face would contort in passion; his mouth open, eyes
closed...and he'd say fuck with each thrust.

Fuck...fuck...fuck...fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

Sometime before dawn of the third day, I woke him up and asked him if he could
walk me out. If I didn't get out of the room then, I would've stayed for the entire
week.

For a long moment, he didn't speak.

"I'll walk to the bus station," I said.

"No," he answered curtly. For the first time, I detected irritation on his voice. "I'll
have someone drive you back."

I didn't dare say no.

He went out of the room as I put on my clothes and gathered my things. I looked
around, trying to remember each detail; the piano, the couch, the bar to the
right. Some things could never be replicated. He came to the door a bit later and
together, we left. We cut across the mansion's lawn in silence, went through the
gate which was miraculously unlocked. He led me across the street, towards the
nearest curb where a dark, heavily-tinted car waited. A man, monstrous in size
and appearance, came out from the driver's seat as we neared it.

"Derrick." Edward called out to him coolly.

"Sir." The man nodded back. It was obvious they were previously acquainted.

He opened the car's back door and kissed me. His mouth lingered on mine as I
clung to him, uncaring if Derrick the driver was watching. He broke away, shoved
me gently into the car and kissed me one more time.

"Go, before I stop you."

The door closed and the car pulled away. I turned to watch him stand alone at
the curb, feeling unexpectedly guilty for leaving.

The car turned a corner and he disappeared from my view.

XXX

XXX

Jasper was the only person I could stand having around when I was in a foul
mood. He was impervious of everything I did in general and placidly accepted my
flaws and crimes. But there were times when he could be such an annoying little
shit.

An hour after Bella left me standing on the curb like an idiot, he came into the
kitchen where I was eating. He took one look at me scowling and dishevelled, and
chuckled.

If he said anything about me looking like hell, I was going to strangle him.

He didn't.

His first words were: "I bet you a hundred thousand dollars I can sneak you
inside the Pentagon."

"Why the fuck would I want to sneak into the Pentagon?"

"Two hundred," he offered, ignoring my grouchiness.

"Bet you three, you can't."

"You're on."

Most of our pranks started as careless, expensive bets before they spiralled into
full-blown offenses.

When Jasper was 10, I bet him a hundred dollars he couldn't hack into his dad's
computer and steal his credit card numbers.

When I was 12, he bet me a thousand that I couldn't steal Mme. Delarue's purse,
a distant aunt of his who'd constantly pestered me for a piano performance.

When he was 12, I bet him he couldn't get into the CNN's private CCTV
mainframe and get us live footage of a pretty co-ed I happened to like, and who
was working there as an intern.

When I was almost 15, he bet me five-hundred thousand I couldn't steal a Jaguar
so I could race his Maseratti on Germany's back roads.

For the right price or for no real reason at all, the answer had always been the
same: "You're on."

Until the latest wager.

I'd made the bet that night he drove me to Tacoma, the first time we saw each
other after eight long years.

"I bet you my own ass I can steal all the latest Bugatti Veyrons within two weeks
and ship them all to Dubai under the FBI and Interpol's fucking noses."

The Veyron 16.4 sports cars were a special edition, priced at $2.5 million each.
They reached speeds up to 268 mph, and were the fastest cars on the planet. So
far, there were only 20 of them on the market, spread over nine states and three
continents.

Jasper refused at first. The cars were too rare, he reasoned, and their theft would
attract too much attention. I'd be on the FBI's list of suspects automatically. So
would he and everyone I was going to talk to, call, or even just share the air in

the following weeks. It would expose half our network and those closest to us to
suspicion.

Moreover, it would take an army of burglars, operatives and highly skilled drivers
to carry out on-the-ground surveillance, large-scale diversions and actual thefts.

There was no "hot-wiring" a Bugatti. Duplicate keys would've to be acquired from
unsuspecting dealers or the originals would've have to be stolen through break-
ins. Once the drivers have the keys, the exposed cars could be driven away
quietly. Those under lock and key would've to be burglared, their latest tracking
systems disabled and round-the-clock security disarmed. With the paranoia the
thefts were sure to generate, getting to the last Veyron would make sneaking into
the Pentagon seem like a walk in the park.

Once the cars were in costudy, they'd have to be flown to Maastricht and
Antwerp, where the Volturi waited with master forgers to give the cars their "new
identities." From there, they'd be shipped to Dubai and sneaked into any point in
the Middle East.

It was like playing the piano to a live orchestra. Everything had to be done with
infallible precision.

"Remember Tim Ellis? Ferrari Testarossa, 2009," Jasper spoke, pulling me out
from my thoughts.

"The Ellis who got caught speeding in Switzerland?"

He nodded. "He was fined a million dollars."

"Fucking idiot."

"And Boyd Mayfied ran his Volvo into the lake –"

"Jasper," I interrupted him. "It's too early to talk about idiots. Let's talk about
something else."

I was sleep-deprived, over-stimulated, and strangely angry.

"Like what?"

"Like how did it go yesterday?"

He looked at me blankly. "Yesterday?"

"When you went out with Alice."

"Oh, right." He smiled. "We went bird watching."

I groaned. Birds were one of Jasper's latent all-time obsessions and nothing was
more boring than a walking Wikipedia of birds.

"Did you know that they have the black-footed Albatross and pink-footed
shearwaters here? We saw a family of shearwaters, but they flew by so quickly.
We had to wait an hour for more family to show up."

Another hour. Christ-fucking-almighty. He probably talked Alice's ear off about
migratory patterns and strange mating habits of Northeastern birds the entire
time.

"We dropped by her school later and sat on the library steps," he continued.

"Really?"

"It was fun." He smiled. "There was a game and we watched people."

"They're not people, they're fucking teenagers."

"Like the policeman's daughter."

Fuck, he just had to get that in.

Fortunately, he didn't say anything more. We ate in silence, me gnawing on my
second sandwich while he pushed around fruity loops in his bowl. He had to settle
for the last box of cereal as I'd eaten my way through the pantry for the past two
days. He gave up after a while, dumping everything into the sink and was about
to go back to his room when someone knocked on the door.

"Jasper, someone's at the door."

"Yes." He made no move towards it.

"Jasper, get the door."

He shuffled to the door, opened it and stared. Damn, I should have said "get the
door and let who-ever-the-fuck it is in."

"Hey." It was Alice.

"Hey," Alice greeted him back and shouted a greeting to me in the kitchen.

I said "hey" and tried to be as quiet and unobtrusive as I could.

"Thanks for yesterday," Alice spoke first. "I didn't know you knew so much about
birds."

Jasper didn't invite her in so they talked with him inside and Alice outside.

"Yeah," he answered, shuffling his feet. "I liked it when we watched people, too."

"Listen, I'm having some friends over later if you wanna come over..."

"Oh..."

"They're people, you know, you might want to...watch them?"

Jasper didn't answer right away. Parties tended to upset him: the noise, the
questions, and the inability of the guests to withstand his longwinded, one-sided
conversations.

"But if not, you know, that's fine."

"No, I want to go but I-I-I d-d-on't think I can."

"It's okay, if you're busy -"

"No, I'm not busy."

"It's no big deal, really. It's just a little party for some friends. Edward's not going
either, so..."

"When?"

"Around six?"

He exhaled a breath. "Okay."

"Look, it's no pressure. I'll just come around and knock and if you can, you can."

He nodded again and breathed out another painful "okay."

...

At quarter to five, he was ready. Shirt tucked in, hair combed neatly, shiny shoes
with matching socks. He sat on the couch unmoving for a full hour, watching the
hands of the clock turn.

At quarter to six, Alice knocked. He didn't answer. Alice called out, knocked again
and when there was no answer, turned away and went back to the mansion.

I came out of the piano room when she left and found Jasper slumped against the
door. He was holding his head with both his hands, visibly upset.A

"Don't laugh," he said, turning to me angrily. "Don't you dare laugh at me."

I didn't, already knowing what it was like to have a bad day. Some things just
couldn't be rushed, no matter how much you wanted to.

The next morning, he woke up early, marched to the mansion and waited 30
minutes in the cold until Alice showed up on her way to school. He said
something, probably an apology for the night before, then turned his back to her
abruptly and started walking back to the cottage. Alice followed him at a slower
pace.

"I want to show you something."

They went into the kitchen where Jasper had spread out his gizmos. He'd fussed
over them for hours since dawn.

"Say hi."

"Um, hi?"

"Good morning, Alice." The SPLICE-generated voice greeted her.

"Oh, it's your SPLICE."

"Do you know about automatic segmentation of speech?"

"It's what you do, right? It's what happens to the recorded voices when...uh, you
put them through the machine and the machine recognizes it and it answers you
back?"

"It's hard with current generation speech dictation. Most recognition devices
avoid it directly, so I used the g2p system. You know, the g2p system is based on
the Induction Decision Tree mechanism and is trained on the first Fonilex
pronunciation database. Each phoneme is predicted based on a vector of 10
variables: the grapheme under consideration, a context of four left and four right
graphemes and the last decoded phoneme or what is commonly known as
feedback..."

"Yes," she nodded politely, interjecting an "uh huh" here and there into Jasper's
long monologue. "I kinda get that."

"You can dictate your papers and notes or record your teachers, the SPLICE can
turn it to text. I put auditory character recognition to your specific acoustic cues
or use it vice versa."

"My what?"

"Your specific acoustic...I mean your voice," he stopped, deflated after a long,
hurried speech. "I-I made it for you."

"Oh, that's sweet," she said and smiled. "Thank you, I'm sure I'll love it."

"You're welcome," he gave out a pleased laugh. "Did I talk too much?"

"A little, yeah," Alice laughed. "But it's all right."

"I talk too much when I get excited. It's what I do."

"No, no," Alice said, laying a hand on his arm. "It's all right, really."

"Can I drive you to school?"

"Huh?"

Suddenly, I sympathised with the girl. I knew Jasper well, but even I have a hard
time following him sometimes.

"I don't know," Alice hesitated. "Someone will have to pick me up later and I do
have a car. Maybe next time?"

"I'll pick you up," Jasper offered. "We can go watch the birds again."

"Oh!" She caught on finally, that in a roundabout way, he was asking her out.
"Are we going to take your car?"

"Yes." Jasper was overjoyed, but I was probably the only person who knew that.
"Yes, we are."

...

He came back later in a really, really good mood.

"She wants to go to Princeton to be a writer."

"It's what brats do," I told him, "Go to college and become writers that no one
reads."

"I've never been to college," he said with a wistful tone.

Neither had I for obvious reasons, or in any kind of institution with teachers and
other kids. A long line of private tutors filled in for my education. In that sense,
Jasper and I were the same. We were both social outcasts floating in wealth since
birth. My father made a last ditch effort when I was spiralling out of control and
hired a fresh graduate as a new tutor after my mother died. Her name was
Tanya, who turned out to be an undercover agent, and she taught me more than
what he'd paid her for.

"You like her."

He gave a sigh. "She's your cousin, Eddie."

"So?" I shrugged. "You're Jasper. If you look at it from my point of view, it would
be fucking incestuous, so don't."

I was so full of shit. The truth was, I wanted him out of my hair. Something could
go wrong and I had to prepare for the possibility that I might need to disappear
and leave him on his own again. Remus had served him well, but a deaf-mute
who was in his twilight years wouldn't last. He needed someone young; someone
who'd hopefully outlive him.

Someone like Alice.

She'd be perfect. Born and bred in a stable, boring environment. Great dad, cool
mom- a happy, average childhood. Fucking normal, something we've both never
been. She'd outgrow the giddy, annoying stage soon enough.

Jasper would be every bit worth her while, if he managed to pull his act together.

They went out every day after that to watch the birds. They'd come back to the
cottage, and sit around for a while. Alice would let Jasper ramble until it was time
to eat and they'd both go to the mansion for dinner. Sometimes, I went with
them or hung out when they were around. Most times I avoided them.

Thank fucking God I did, because I didn't want to be in the room for this
conversation.

"Were you excited?" Jasper asked Alice after another bird watching "date."

"What?"

"Sexually," he stammered, "When we were watching the birds."

I had to rein it in lest they notice the partially open door but I could've died
laughing.

"Uhm..." Alice was probably wondering if it was a joke or not. "I don't – no, not
really?"

"Because I was when I held your hand, and I wondered if you were, too."

For a long while, no one spoke and nothing moved.

"So," Alice said and I could hear her stand, "Thank you for driving me back. I
think I'm going to go now."

I could see her go to the front door and open it.

"Did I upset you? When I said that I was sexually excited?"

"No, no – I mean, yes," Alice gave a short, embarrassed laugh. "I don't know?"

"It's funny?"

"No, no, I just didn't expect it."

"I'm sorry. I don't know what people are thinking unless they tell me," he said.
When Alice didn't say anything..."Like now?"

"Oh, sorry. Okay, let's try this again," she said, taking a deep breath. "I don't
think it's funny. It's kinda...cute."

Unfortunately for Alice, Jasper was on a roll. "I have Aspergers, it's something on
the autism spectrum. I'm different from other people. I say things that other
people think are inappropriate, but its how I feel."

"I know, Edward told us."

"The only person I can really understand is Edward because his mind works
similar to mine," he explained. "I can work out what he's thinking even if he says
one thing and then does another. He's not really honest that way. Like he tells
me what not to say and what to do, so I don't get into trouble. "

Alice laughed again. "I assume he isn't, having been in jail and all, but he is my
only cousin so no Edward bashing?"

"Right," Jasper conceded. "No Edward bashing."

As much as he could help it, anyway.

"Will you consider having sex with me?"

To her credit, Alice didn't laugh. "Can I think about it?"

"Tomorrow?"

"Yes, I'll think about it tomorrow."

"Thank you."

Even through the walls, I could feel Jasper beam.

…...

Alice caught on fast. She paid attention to how I broke Jasper's monologues
without offending him, how to listen and steer one conversation into the next.
Before long, they were talking fine on their own and having actual two-way
conversations.

Once, I caught them kissing. Apparently, she'd given him a book on Northeastern
birds and the dork was so tongue-tied he couldn't get the words out properly and
acted on instinct. I studiously stayed away from the kitchen when they were
around after that.

Then I made the mistake of asking Jasper how things were going. I shouldn't
have because then he'd have to ask me how things were going with me.

And things were not going well.

I'd reined in every instinct to go after Bella when she left. I didn't call, tease or
make unexpected trips to Tacoma to see her. We were in the middle of planning
one of the most complicated heists we'd ever thought of, and I figured that if I
didn't speak her name out loud I'd forget she existed. That if I lost myself in
blueprints and layouts and Jasper's techno world, I wouldn't remember how she
smelled, how she felt, or how she giggled when she told "Charlie stories."

I was fucking kidding myself.

"I don't know what you're planning," Jasper said. "But whatever it is can't good.
What happened with Tanya will happen again."

"No, it won't. Tanya was a bitch."

"Stop saying that word." It upset him when I referred to women crudely. "She
was just doing her job."

"So you're on her side now, is that it?"

"She's an FBI agent. It was her job to catch you so stop blaming her. You went to
jail because you fell for her too fast and you were careless."

"Oh yeah? And how many times did I have to save my own ass because of your
fuck-ups?"

"I may have gotten you into trouble before, but I never got you into jail," he shot
back. "What I'm saying is that it's dangerous, hanging around someone who's so
different from us, who'll never understand – ."

"Different from us? Because she doesn't have pedigree like some fucking poodle?
Because she's just a lowly policeman's daughter? You're a fucking snob, Jasper."

He shook his head. "You're going to hurt her, Eddie."

And that was the crux of the matter. For some reason, Jasper felt protective of
the girls who'd taken me on, including the worst ones. Girls whose names and
faces I couldn't even remember: Ernesta, Irina, Kate, and even Tanya.

"How would you know? What do you know about women, anyway? You can't even
talk to Alice properly."

It was a low blow and I was an asshole. I apologized the day after.

The day came when it was time for him to go. I wanted him near the Volturi so
we could monitor the deals they'd been getting for the cars. He also needed to
set up a secure monitoring base as far away from me as he could. We packed up
his things and made sure nothing was left in the cottage. It would be the first
place the FBI would search once our operations started.

Save for the few missing pieces, everything was almost ready.

Alice drove him to the airport. Carlisle had refused to allow her at first, but
relented after Esme and Alice ganged up on him, saying she'd be fine driving on
her own so far away from home. Jasper and Alice hadn't kept their budding
relationship a secret and it was a credit to Carlisle and Esme's graciousness that
they accepted Jasper so easily. Just the same, I had Derrick tail them.

The day after Jasper left, Alice came to see me.

"I know what you're doing," she announced as soon as she came in.

"One moment," I told her and motioned for her to go, wait for me in the kitchen
as I went to put the neutralizer in effect.

"So," I said, joining her at the table, "what am I doing?"

XXX

~*~

The silver coupe had been parked in front of the library for the last hour and
people were starting to notice it, drawn by the Alfa Romeo badge on its nose.
They were naturally curious as it wasn't everyday that a rare Italian sports car
made an appearance in boring, old Evergreen.

The coupe's front lights flashed, expressing the driver's impatience. I'd been
staring at it from my seat on the second floor of the library the entire time,
childishly prolonging the driver's wait. If he'd expected me to jump at his
command when he finally decided to make an appearance, he had another thing
coming. He'd managed to ignore me for more than a week. Waiting an hour or so
while I doodled wouldn't kill him.

It's not that I expected much from him. God help him if he started calling me
again, left me messages or other saccharine crap. If he'd come a few days
earlier, I would've turned my back and walked away without giving him a glance.
I needed some time to think and frankly, my body needed a break. It had taken
days before I could move without discomfort.

He'd been shrewd and stayed away; maybe even a little too long. He would
probably know when I'd stop feeling so raw.

He said nothing when I decided to join him, sliding into the car half an hour later.
He just revved the engine and pulled away from the lot, tires screeching. It was
only when we hit the open road that I realized he was going too fast, taking me
away from Evergreen.

"Where are we going?" I demanded. "I have classes tomorrow."

It was Wednesday and I couldn't afford to miss the rest of the week.

"You'll see."

Less than 20 minutes later, he turned the car into the driveway of a sprawling
brownstone. He was out of his seat in a shot, pulling me out of the car within a
few seconds. Gripping my hand, he pulled me into the house, through a long
hallway and into a semi-circular living room with glass walls. Towards the right
was a modern kitchen with a table set for two. A coffee machine was percolating
on the counter, as if someone had just been there and magically disappeared as
soon as we arrived. The house looked cozy and warm, either from being lived in
or it had been painstakingly made to look that way.

But it wasn't the domestic ambiance that held my attention. It was the view of
the Bay beyond the glass walls. Open French doors led to a deck where one could
view the ocean stretched out as far as I could see – a wide expanse of blue –
dotted by an occasional yacht that strayed from a nearby bay.

"Whose house is this?"

"Mine," he answered, pulling me towards a series of doors to the left of the
kitchen.

"What do you mean yours?"

He kicked a door open and pushed me into a bedroom with glass walls with the
same view of the bay. "It means I bought it."

"No, no, dammit," I squirmed away from his grasp. "I meant how? Why?"

"You said you like blue."

"What?" What did I have to do with it? And who the hell buys a house based upon
color?

"Can we talk about it later?" he asked as he dropped onto the bed, pulling me on
top of him. "Right now, I just really, really need to fuck you."

He didn't bother undressing me completely; he just pushed my clothes out of the
way, removing anything that was inconvenient and not bothering with the rest.
He sucked, bit and licked, concentrating on getting me wet and ready. He hushed
me when I asked questions, swallowing my words with his mouth. He told me I
felt so good, that he missed me, missed fucking me and that he shouldn't have
stayed away so long. He groped and fondled all the right places, squeezing with
the right pressure with his hands alternately forceful and gentle. God, he was
good. In no time, he had me squirming against him, my questions temporarily
forgotten.

Soon I was flat on my back with my calves resting on his shoulders, he thrust his
cock into me in one stroke, filling me to the hilt. The invasion took my breath
away but every nerve in my body welcomed him. Pulses of pleasure spread from
my pussy and down to the tips of my toes and fingers. He felt so good – too
good.

I must have blanked out for a moment as the next thing I knew he was
smoothing my hair out of my face, crooning, "Did that feel good, baby?"

He moved my legs down onto his arms so he could bend forward and kiss and
suck on my lips. Snagging a pillow, he slid it under my pelvis, positioning me so
he could hit me from another angle. I wrapped my arms around his back and held
on for the ride as he started fucking me into the mattress. After he'd made sure I
had my fix, his movements became careless and selfish.

"Oh, God..."

"Shhhh...shhhh..." He could sense that I was close to another climax as he
thrusted faster. "Almost there, baby, almost there."

Pleasure crashed over me with each impact and I could hear myself urge him on.
He twisted suddenly and a look of near-agony appeared on his face as his own
climax struck. He shuddered for a long time, not breathing, before collapsing
beside me.

/xxx\\

"So, why did you?" I asked him, minutes later, when I remembered how to
breathe

"Why did I what?" He was sprawled beside me, breathing as heavily.

"Stay away."

He turned to face me. "Isn't that what you wanted?" When I didn't answer, he
added quietly, "I thought so."

And there it was; the slight tightening of the jaw, the imperceptible thinning of
the lips. He was angry, pissed off that I hadn't wanted him around. He'd been
angry when I left, when I suggested I walk to the bus station as if he'd let me out
just like that. He'd told me we were doing it "his way," and there'd be "no more"
of this and that. I'd thought nothing of it then, just incoherent phrases and
threats in the throes of passion. I couldn't help but think that he wanted
something more than an occasional fuck, something less fleeting.

I was right and the house confirmed my suspicions. I had no doubt that if I
looked around, I would see things that I told him I liked. He'd thought of it then,
back when he was asking me all those inane questions. It was near enough to

Evergreen that he could come in anytime without breaking my routine but far
enough from Forks to escape interference from his family.

He wanted me to take him on as a lover; and I wasn't sure I was ready for that. I
didn't even know what I was doing with him.

"What did you tell Dr. Cullen?"

"Nothing," he said, rolling me to my side so my back was to his chest. "Dr. Cullen
thinks I'm in Seattle, doing what every convict dreams of doing every night."

"And what would that be?"

"Eating pussy," he laughed lowly, bringing his mouth to my neck. He started
nibbling his way down my back, while his wandering hands cupped my crotch and
a lazy finger began rubbing my clit. "But why would I go there when I have
one...delicious...pussy... right here."

Edward had a one-track mind coupled with nimble fingers and a wicked mouth. I
didn't stand a chance.

By midnight, he'd fallen asleep. I stayed awake, despite my exhaustion, unable to
switch off my mind. I couldn't shake the peculiarity of my surroundings, made
even more unfamiliar by its purpose.

Moonlight streamed through the windows, bouncing shadows around the room
and over the bed, creating an eerie play on the tattoos on the man who was
sprawled beside me. From the start, his marks have always fascinated me. Up
close, they were absolutely captivating. Cathedral walls, windows and doors
covered every inch of his upper body, front and back. The image was littered with
battling angels and demons, extending down his left arm, meeting the ink on his
wrist. The details were obviously from a complete design and not random images
thrown together. There was a sense of balance in it, neatness I wouldn't have
attributed to images so violent. His right arm was remarkably bare, except for
three galloping stallions racing around his bicep.

It was the Ferrari badge, slightly modified. I skimmed my fingers over it but
pulled back when he squirmed, suddenly awake. He caught my hand, and placed
it, palm down, on his chest.

"Go on."

Emboldened, I straddled him and let my hands do the investigating. On closer
inspection, there were hidden details on cathedral windows and doors that
seemed incongruous – like the entwined letters E and A on his right chest.

"Who's A?"

"Not whoever you think it is," he smiled wryly.

"What's this?" I asked as I slid a hand over a stylized eye peeking from the back
of his right shoulder.

"Eye of Huros," he answered. "It's supposed to give protection from being
stabbed in the back."

"And this?" I questioned as my hands slid across his chest, then across his nipple
to the detailed rose on the left pectoral.

He hummed and told me to do it again before he would answer. "Russian mafia
crest, kept me from being killed in my sleep."

To the left of his stomach, between two angels, sat a black cat. I remembered
seeing another one so I turned him over. Another cat, same color but smaller, sat
on an angel's robes on his back.

"Pussy cats," he joked before adding, "are prison code for thief."

My hands stilled. Two cats. Two thieves...interesting.

"Why'd you do it? Why'd you steal those cars?" It was out before I could stop
myself. I'd vowed I'd never bring up his criminal past with him. It scared me that
if I did, he'd somehow make me understand.

"Because I could."

It wasn't really an answer but it got me thinking. It was all a harmless game to
him, one he did out of boredom; like getting a full upper body tattoo or maybe
even getting a lover.

"Stop over thinking it, sweetheart," he murmured, snapping me out of my
thoughts.

I got off him and he automatically shifted so I lay facing him, his arms around
me.

That was another thing. I was "sweetheart" from the first time he met me, except
when he was fucking me.

"Do you call all your girls sweetheart?"

He grinned. "Only those I met on trains."

"Why?" I asked. I never really understood some couples' fondness for pet names,
but oddly, his didn't grate on my nerves. The only other person whose
endearments sounded natural was Charlie.

He was silent, seemingly thinking the reasons over for himself for a long while.

"Seems appropriate," he answered. Then he grinned again, like he'd just thought
of something, and grabbed my hands. "I should get it inked in somewhere.
Maybe here..," he brought my hand to his inner thigh. "Or here," he smiled
wickedly as he cupped his balls with my hands. "It would hurt like fuck but it'd be
worth it."

He really was incorrigible.

He wrapped my hand around his cock and started pumping, murmuring that if he
did get the tatt, I could kiss it better, wrap my lips around it and ohhh...that feels
good, baby. He grew bolder, asking me to suck his cock, 'cause it hurt...like
now...please?

When he begged, he was irresistible.

The next morning, he dropped me off in front of my building and told me to wear
a dress on Friday.

I didn't.

When Friday came, I finished up early and waited for him in my dormitory,
wearing the same small skirt over torn leggings I'd worn when we'd first met.

At dusk, he came around with a new car. It was a low slung orange coupe with a
CCX badge. A Koenigsegg. I'd done my homework and started to familiarize
myself with the small, fast cars that he seemed to have a taste for. I also
checked if his driving privileges had been restored, just to be sure. They had. As
soon as I got in the passenger seat, I saw why he'd made the switch. The CCX
was larger, more spacious than the Alfa Romeo. From my research, I'd also
gathered that it was faster.

Only a few miles from Evergreen, he turned the car into a secluded part of the
road and fucked me. He didn't waste his breath on sweet nothings. Not that I
needed to hear them. I had no illusions that he'd only wanted to see my legs
when he asked that I wear a dress. The leggings were easy to tear, the short
skirt easily pushed up but movement still wasn't easy. The CCX might be a bit
wider but the interior still made for an awkward tangle of arms, knees and elbows
as he scrambled to get me in position.

He didn't care about the discomfort of the cramped quarters. What he cared
about was getting his cock into me as quickly as possible. He flipped me on my
hands and knees so I straddled the seat and rammed himself into me as soon as
I was ready.

There were no caresses, no whispered endearments. He was silent except for his
grunts as he fucked me from behind. He had an arm around my waist, another
around my shoulders to keep me in place as he drove his cock into me hard, over
and over. He pushed the passenger door open to anchor one of his feet on the
ground, rocking the car from the side. His cock pulsed as he neared his release
and I knew he'd have one of his spectacular orgasms.

"Scream," he gritted out and I did, just like I screamed later, when he turned the
car and spun it around in nausea-inducing and chaotic circles. He whooped and
laughed over the roar of the engine, high on testosterone and adrenaline, as we
skidded and bumped on sharp curves and bends, overtaking dozens of cars in
less than a minute. I cursed and swore that I was never, ever getting into a car
with him again, while he thoroughly enjoyed my terror.

I drove us home–technically. I kept my hands on the steering wheel while his feet
pressed on the pedals. I leaned on him as he kept his hands under my torn
clothes, his cock buried deep inside me.

We barely made it to the front door.

The next morning, he called Derrick to pick us up and drive us to Forks. He
dropped me three blocks away from Charlie's house with a quick kiss and the
same slight, imperceptible fit of anger.

He picked me up at the same spot on Sunday afternoon.

Our schedule for meeting each other went on like that for the next week and the
one after that. Wednesdays, Fridays, Sundays. As soon as I came out of class or
half-finished an assignment, he'd be there. He seemed to know exactly where I
was every minute, and what I'd been doing the minute before. The moment I
stepped into his car, everything would shift and I'd become the girl whose main
preoccupation was to fuck him and be fucked by him...in any place, on any
surface, at any time.

I became acquainted with the many facets of Edward Cullen. He was always
ravenous after rounds of sex. He snored after a mind-blowing blowjob. He liked
to have his back rubbed and liked all things slippery. He also had no
compunction, whatsoever, about fucking a sleeping girl. He could speak flawless
Italian and possibly a host of other languages.

I found out the last one accidentally, when I wandered out of the bedroom one
morning, naked. At first, I didn't see that there was a woman cooking in the
kitchen and another throwing the doors open, airing out the entire house. I'd
walked out, oblivious, until I was in the middle of the living room and the two
women were gaping at me; partly in amusement, partly in shock. It must have
been absolutely hilarious how I ran/stumbled back to the bedroom. I woke
Edward up and told him there were strangers in the house. He only laughed and
told me it's "just Renata and Chelsea" and that they did "things for him." He'd put
on his clothes then and talked to them at the door. I listened to them talk in rapid
Italian, understanding a word here and there, as the older woman apologized for
spooking the "signorina" and Edward laughed and told them it was all right.

In my embarrassment, I didn't leave the room until they were both gone.

Aside from that single indiscretion, my life as the good daughter and Edward's
lover remained firmly separated. There was an invisible line, one I could step
over the moment I got out of his car and walked away from the world he created
for both of us. When I wasn't with him, I studied and hung out with my friends,
doing what was expected of a college sophomore. On weekends, I went home to
Charlie.

I thought it was a pretty good set-up. I was, as they say, having my cake and
eating it, too. But I foolishly forgot who I was dealing with. I also forgot that I
wasn't the only Swan involved in Edward's life.

On the third weekend that he dropped me off, I came home, pleasantly surprised
to catch Charlie in the house. He was in an amazingly good mood, and I
wondered, suspiciously, if there was something going on with him that I didn't
know about. Perhaps he was seeing somebody secretly, just as I was but it
turned out later that wasn't the case.

"Remember when we used to talk about going somewhere where the sun actually
shines?" he asked me after I remarked that Forks must be remarkably quiet since
he could afford a free Saturday.

"Yeah," I chuckled, remembering. It had always been our dream to go
somewhere not cold all the time. "But I think I might be too old for Disneyland
now."

"Well, we might still get to go some place warm," he said. "The Washington State
Police just gave me a pass for L.A."

"Really? When?"

"We leave Sunday night and stay there up to Tuesday afternoon."

"We?"

"Two tickets." He grinned, waving two envelopes in the air. "What do you think?
We haven't done anything together, not since you moved so far away."

"C'mon, Dad," I said, "Tacoma's less than a two-hour drive from here."

"Yeah," he answered, a little wistful. "But it's still not the same as when you were
always around and...you know..."

I knew what he was thinking. He was thinking that we were starting to drift
away; that I was really growing up and that someday soon, I'd meet someone,
get married or move to the other side of the country for good to do whatever.
Then he'd be nothing but an old man, patiently waiting for brief visits from his
only daughter.

"So what do you think?"

The guilt weighed heavily on me. My father was asking me to go with him on one
of the rare times of his life that he actually got out of Forks and all I could think
was "but it's a Sunday!" Sunday was an Edward day.

"Sure, why not?" I said and smiled at him. Edward could go fuck himself for a
night. "Three days? We can go to Universal Studios."

"We could."

"Why'd they give you a few days off suddenly? That some sort of a pre-
retirement bonus?"

"I'm not that old, honey," he said, laughing. "It's for something else. The Cullen
boy is performing in L.A. and they want me to go with him so I can turn him over
to the L.A. Department. It's kind of silly, actually, since he only has a few days
left to finish on his parole, but what the heck. Do you want me to talk to your
professors to give you a leave of absence for a couple of days?"

Charlie didn't notice it but his words washed over me like cold water. Edward was
going to L.A. on Sunday. Not only that, he was going to be escorted by my
father.

We'd been together plenty of times, had covered plenty of ground not related to
sex, but not once had he mentioned this to me. Not a single word, not even when
he'd pushed me out of the car earlier, telling me to "be a good girl and run home
to daddy." Then I remembered something. He didn't say he'd pick me up on
Sunday. I'd just assumed, like I'd assumed all those days that he'd come around
because he'd be unable to stay away. My heart sank. Was this his way of putting
me in my place? Or was he taunting me with the things I couldn't have and
couldn't be as long as we kept our affair secret?

Either way, I shouldn't go . If Edward had wanted me there, he would've told me.
But if he'd told me, I probably wouldn't go.

"No," I answered Charlie belatedly. "I mean, I'll take care of school."

It was already too late . I'd already said yes to Charlie.

O_O

LA, Part 1

It was, without doubt, her. From the mezzanine, I could make out her familiar
figure – the curve of her neck down to the swell of her breasts, to the flare of her
hips. I was too far away to catch her scent but I didn't need to be near her to
summon the mouth watering smell of lilacs and lipstick and something that was
distinctly her.

It was just as well. I doubted if I could have controlled myself if I'd gone any
closer, as I'd never seen her in anything so insanely sexy before. Her minis and
torn leggings had been undeniably hot but this...this was something else. The
dress she wore clung to her young, supple figure, her breasts rising provocatively
above the low rise of the sleeveless slip of a garment. Dark blue satin clung to
her in a perfect symmetry of motion, flowing around her body like the froth of
waves on the ocean . The color emphasized the paleness of her skin, and the
delicate shadows of her collarbones. The hair that was piled atop her head, only
to cascade down from the pearl clips that secured the mass of loose curls in
place, touched her skin in an intimate brush of softness, closer than any man
would dare. The delicate curve of her ankles, wrapped in the flimsy straps of the
dark blue sandals with the four inch spike heels . . .

All I could see for a moment were those heels digging painfully into my back, her
legs wrapped around my hips, her head thrown back, her cries loud as she
moaned with each thrust...yes...yes...yes...

My cock twitched as images of her coming filtered through my brain. If not for a
dozen cops milling in the lobby, I would've hauled her to the nearest dark corner
and fucked her. Damn Carmen. If only she hadn't invited an entire L.A.P.D.
squadron, so that Charlie Swan wouldn't feel too ill at ease in a shindig with L.A.'s
snottiest, I would have had my way with his one and only daughter.

Said daughter looked around, as if sensing that she was being watched. A light
blush rose on her cheeks and her lips...those gorgeous lips that sucked my cock
whenever I managed to sweet talk her into it. Her tongue darted out and I
groaned quietly. Fuck, having her near and not being able to touch her was
absolute torture. But if I went any closer, there'd be more to pay than just torn
dresses and wet pants. I'd be breaking open our dirty, little secret.

She stood in a corner all by herself, holding a glass of wine, looking strangely lost
and vulnerable. I knew she wanted to run. She was still unsure if she should be
here at all. For a brief second, the need to reassure her nearly overwhelmed me.
I wanted to touch her lips with mine and tell her how much I wanted her with me.
Fuck the consequences. She'd let me, anyway. She'd make it difficult, sure. She'd
stiffen and try to pull away but I could hold her elbows and pull her to me and
she'd forget, like I'd already forgotten, that there were people around us.

She could deny it, but the fact was I could make her do anything. There were
times when she'd grow almost as horny as I was and would get off with a touch,
a kiss, the right press of my body on hers. She'd been growing bolder, more
confident of her body, willing to exercise her control over me. Before I'd dropped
her off that Saturday, she'd been impatient, horny beyond belief, and had even
made the first move. Fuck if she didn't blow me away.

XXX

"Fuck me."

I stared into the brilliant eyes that glowed at me through a half-closed haze of
lust, wondering if I heard her correctly. Lying flat on my back, unable to draw
anything more than shallow breaths, I could smell her as she positioned herself
above me, braced with one hand on her knees, her other hand slipping down her
body, between her legs, a harsh moan tumbling from her lips as her fingers slid
into her pussy. I shuddered at the squelching sound as she pumped her fingers in
and out a few times before bringing her hand back up, her fingers glistening in
the moonlight filtering through the windows. Staring at her hand for a few

seconds in complete fascination, she laughed unsteadily, her tongue darting out
to lick the moisture from her fingers.

I nearly came on the spot. I grabbed her hand and dragged it to my lips, sucking
her fingers into my mouth greedily.

She laughed again, rising up on her knees, reaching down with her free hand to
grasp my cock in her hand, only to lower herself on to me. The sensation of my
cock's head slipping between folds of slick, hot skin was too much, too wicked,
too overwhelming. A throaty sound, almost like a purr but not quite, escaped her
as she rose up then down, again and again, each time only taking the head into
her before pulling away.

"Tell me . . .," I urged her as she played with me, "tell me what you want?"

"I want you," she said, her body shaking, quivering, "all the way...inside me..."

A groan escaped me when she squeezed me tight, my body jerking in violent
reaction. She laughed softly, pleased at her undisputed control over me, and
began to lower herself onto me once more.

Letting go of her hand, I grabbed her hips, jerked her down as hard as I could.
Her scream echoed in the thickening air, her body convulsing above me as her
orgasm took her. Breasts heaving, body quaking, pussy tightening around me, it
was too much for me. The first swells of cum shot out of me and into her, in
waves of pleasure so intense that it almost hurt. Dazed, disoriented, unable to do
anything as my mind struggled to keep up with my body, I couldn't move for a
long moment.

Her breaths were little more than gasps. All too soon, she pushed herself up on
her knees once more, our bodies separating with an obnoxious pop of wet flesh
separating as the suction was released. She scooted down my legs as my orgasm
dripped down my cock, down my balls, only to catch the mess with the heat of
her tongue, the sound of her slurping electric in the room.

I moaned, begging her not to stop, urging her to take me deeper, suck me
harder...Fuck, baby, just like that... I leaned up on my elbows, fascinated as I
watched her bathe me with her mouth. Sucking one of my balls into her mouth,
she rolled her tongue over it, and I fell back on the bed, overwhelmed by the
sensations but urging her to prolong the torture.

"You're still hard," she murmured, idly jacking me off with both of her hands.
"Why is that?"

"Why do you think?" I ground out.

Her answer was a soft laugh as she scooted forward to position herself again. She
closed her eyes, sliding the tightness of her pussy down over me in one fluid
motion. I urged her to grasp her heels in her hands and thrust out her hips,
grinding them against me. Her back arched, thrusting her tits into the air. Rising
and falling, creating a slow rhythm that increased with the sound of her
breathing—panting, moaning, begging, and taking. I stared at the gorgeous swell
of her breasts, mesmerized, as they bounced up and down with the graceful
motions of her body.

"Mmmmore," I groaned and moaned as I fought for restraint that I just didn't
possess. "Unngghhh. . ."

"Like this?" she smiled, ramming herself hard on me, pleased at my near-
incoherence.

I grunted my agreement, but the sound rapidly turned into a whimper when she
pulled away from me, crawling up over me to grasp the headboard. I managed to
snag one of her nipples into my mouth, drawing it in deep and hard. Her body
shivered as her scent exploded around me once more, and I bit down gently,
prolonging her pleasure as I pinched her other nipple between thumb and index
finger.

She was so deep in the midst of her orgasm, her beautiful face contorted in an
expression that bordered on pain as her pleasure intensified, that she didn't seem
to notice when I rolled out from under her, positioned myself behind her, lifted
her ass just a little higher to position her to receive me. Her pussy gave no
resistance at all—she was too wet, too ready. With a growl, I jerked back on her
hips as I thrust forward, savoring the liquid warmth that surrounded me as she
opened and closed on me.

"Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God . . ." She moaned, shoving her body against mine,
meeting me somewhere in the middle as I pumped frantically, in sync w her
groans.

I was losing myself, damned if I wasn't. She was still tight, even after hours of
fucking. I held myself off so she could come again, but her wild movements were
pushing me to the brink. The undulation of her body, an involuntary ripple of
shivers, was making it impossible for me to stave off an orgasm. It was as
though everything within her was reaching for me, grasping, pulling. She gasped
out my name, her body taut as she struggled for a control that just wasn't there.
Grasping her hips, I jerked her back hard. She screamed, over and over, her
voice calling out to me, calling out to God, alternately praying, swearing, until her
words became nonsense.

I could feel it deep inside my balls, the absolute torture right before the end. The
tingle, the tightening, the swelling, the surging. Jerking her back hard, grinding
my hips against her ass, I held her there, pumping her hard. She screamed,
cried, laughed as her body exploded, and I closed my eyes and called out her
name as the world exploded in blinding light. . .

XXX

The mere memory was almost enough to drive me out from my hiding place
straight to where she was but I held myself in check. She wouldn't like it. She'd
be pissed off that I didn't tell her about the trip. I purposely kept silent because I
knew that if I said anything, she would've made up a hundred and one excuses
not to come. Goading her before she had the chance to give me hell would send
me straight to the fucking dog house.

Damn if she wasn't fantastic when pissed, though. Her nostrils would flare just
the tiniest bit while she'd press her lips together in a tight line as she leveled a
scowl at me. She'd look at me like she couldn't decide between screaming at me
or giving in to that urge to smack me in the face. I couldn't care less which option
she chose. Either way, she'd make quite a ruckus – the policeman's daughter
screaming at the featured pianist. How deliciously scandalous would that be?

If she'd paying attention to what I'd been saying and doing all this time, she'd
know I wanted her here. If I had my way, she'd be with me at every
performance, looking at me with those gorgeous brown eyes, awestruck and
mesmerized. If she was forced to listen to every performance, she'd see that I
could be someone beyond the fantastic lay she saw me as.

If I got lucky, I'd get my cock sucked. My playing the piano strangely turned her
on and I just didn't have enough time to play for her as much as I wanted to.

If I got luckier, she'd start acknowledging the fact that I was more to her than a
regular fuck. I didn't mind her discretion and her adamant refusal to go public.
What we did between the sheets was no one's business but our own.

But the extent she to which she was keeping the affair on a fuck-only basis was
becoming ridiculous. I was fine when she completely snubbed me when we were
apart. Being clingy, or clung to, just wasn't her thing. She abhorred all displays of
affection, refused to have things done for her and would absolutely retch if I did
anything remotely romantic.

That would've been fine with me if she didn't take her self-imposed detachment a
little too seriously. She kept me at arm's length even when we were together –
always keeping her emotions in check, avoiding questions that could lead to a
discussion of what the fuck we were doing. She ignored my gestures, refused my
gifts and just about every little thing that I did and said that could get her more
involved. I knew she was just being smart but fuck if it wasn't getting on my
nerves.

She suspected something was off even though I'd been careful to keep her away
from anything that would stand out as a clue to my and Jasper's illegal activities.
The house, the cars – I could, and did, explain them all easily. I was a rich brat,
wasn't' I? I had more money than God, if that was possible, and I had the right to
spend it on whatever, whoever I wanted. So far, she'd grudgingly accepted my
half-assed explanations.

"If you stare any harder, you'll bore a hole into her dress," an amused voice, low
and teasing, quipped beside me.

I turned to the speaker, surprised at the intrusion. "Kate! I didn't think you could
make it."

Kate Deveyrenko smirked as she accepted my embrace, her distinct perfume
wafting towards my nostrils. "Did you really think I'd miss the comeback of the
great Edward Cullen?"

"Is Irina here?"

"Of course, everyone's here," she said and she was right – from daughters and
sons of dignitaries and Forbes Top 100, to the glittering world of movies and
television and the seedy and murky underworld of just about every city in the
country. The opera house was packed, and not just with people. She should
know, she'd probably fucked half of them.

"The more, the merrier." Let the FBI sort them all out.

"I can see now why you wanted us all here. Irina and I had to pull a lot of strings
to get everyone to this circus. Luckily, most of them can't say no to a piece of
Russian pussy." She laughed prettily, her crude words in sharp contrast to her
demure demeanor. "When the Veyrons start disappearing tonight, everyone here
will be suspect. There'll be too many of us then and combing through the guest
list would take them at least two weeks, just enough time to for you to move.
You're an evil genius, Edward."

"Why, thank you, Ms. Deveyrenko," I told her, bowing theatrically, "but you know
I wouldn't have come this far without your illustrious organization. If not for you,
I would've been dead on my second day in prison."

"You give us too much credit," she purred and brought her hand to my arm in a
gentle caress. "But I'm glad we sent Sergei to look after you while you were
inside that nasty place. The Russian mafia code still has a few uses, if only to
protect inmates. He was a good cellmate, yes? He got you the tattoo and
perfected your Russian." A sour expression crossed her face. "If not for that
woman Tanya, you wouldn't have been there in the first place."

It was a well known fact in my close circle of friends that the sisters and Tanya
hated each other with a mutual passion. At some point, their animosity became
so unmanageable that I'd asked the sisters to stop seeing me as Tanya would
have a fit that lasted for days when I so much as glanced their way. I thought it
was only within her rights to do so, as unofficially, she was considered my
girlfriend then. Little did I know that she only wanted me to herself as she'd been
setting up the trap for my arrest. Needless to say, the sisters hated her all the
more.

"We'd have taken care of her a long time ago, if you'd only asked us to," Kate
said, her hand creeping from my arm to the waistband of my pants, making no
secret of what she wanted to do. In the past I would've been all over her in a
flash. No man could resist the Deveyrenko advance, including me. I couldn't
count the number of times I'd panted after her and her sister and got my fill. But
curiously, I couldn't muster a spark of interest as her hands moved downwards,
her sweet, perfumed body moving closer until she was pressed against me in the
shadows, my cock hard against her hand. She purred again but the sound that I'd
found absolutely enthralling before only served to deflate my hard-on. The body
pressed against me felt different, the scent of her hair different, her size, her purr
– everything was different and suddenly, I didn't want her close.

She was in the process of sliding down to her knees, her fingers deftly
unbuttoning my pants, when I caught her and pulled her up gently. "That's all in
the past now, Kate."

Her eyes widened and one of her brows raised in tentative confusion, probably
unsure which one I meant – my refusal to have Tanya offed or my lust for her. It
was both.

She regarded me for a long moment, until a light came into her eyes.

"I see...," she said. "You'd rather suffer through the next hour with a severe case
of blue balls than let me help you."

"I've had worse."

She narrowed her eyes. "You really don't want me to. Why's that?"

I shrugged. "We don't have time, I'm due back onstage in the next few minutes."

"That's a lame excuse to tell a lady, Edward," she smiled, amused at the bald lie.
"Not that I claim to be one."

"And how would you know I'm not telling the truth?"

"Because, my dear lover," she smirked, "You're hard as a rock but your blood
does not rush to your cock when I do this..." She rubbed me through my pants.
"You breathe evenly, your pulse does not quicken, I can see nothing in you that
says you want me touching you. You are too polite to refuse me because, after
all, didn't we have the wildest fun before? You and me; you and 'Rina; then you
and me and 'Rina together."

I laughed again, because she was right on all counts. "Those were the days, eh?"

"You turn me down even if you're just about to burst in your very expensive
pants, which means only one thing."

"And what would that be?"

"It means that you, Edward Cullen, are absolutely besotted with someone else
and I'd bet both my tits that it's that pretty little thing you were dying to eat
earlier. She has your cock firmly wrapped around her little fingers, whether she
knows it or not, so that the mere thought of my mouth wrapped around it makes
you feel guilty...like you're giving away something that's already hers."

"Maybe," I laughed again to cover a groan, imaging Bella's fingers wrapped
around my cock. "Wanna find out?"

"Bah, you are such an arrogant bastard," she laughed, her words contrasting with
the indulgent expression on her face. "As if you could fool me. I've met others
like you...men who'd get turned off by the smell of pussy other than their
golubushka. Is her pussy nice and sweet? Delicious?"

If we hadn't been hiding in the dark, probably being spied on by a dozen agents,
I would've laughed out loud.

"Oh, Katie, I've missed you and your obsession with pussy."

"And cocks," she conceded, breaking out into giggles. "Don't forget that I am as
enthralled with cocks, including yours."

She slipped her arms around me in an easy, affectionate embrace. It was funny,
how she'd always been more a friend than a lover.

"So how many did we get?" She was asking how many agents had us under
surveillance.

"Fifty inside, fifty outside and around the hotel," I answered her, quoting Jasper's
estimates. A hundred FBI agents, drawn to the fray like sharks drawn to the
scent of blood.

"Should I warn the others?"

"Fuck, no," I told her, "let the FBI have their fun. Just don't let the Giancanas sit
too close to your minions or we'll have a bloodbath on our hands."

She snorted, an indelicate sound coming from a very delicate girl. "Every one's
been uncharacteristically well behaved, unlike you. Are you sure you don't need
any help?"

"I might actually need some," I said, thinking of a way out of the hole I'd dug
myself in. Bella was going to be more difficult than usual and I didn't have the
time to get into her good graces before I could get into her pants, or under her
slip of a dress. "Think you can get the pretty little thing to my room?"

"Honey, I could get anyone, anywhere," she purred again. "And what do I get in
return?"

I laughed, knowing her predilections. "This one's mine, Kate, so no touching."

"Not even a little kiss?"

As much as the thought of seeing the two of them kissing was tempting, I
doubted if Bella would find the idea appealing.

"Not today." Not ever, probably.

"Fine," she pursed her lips, unaccustomed to being denied twice. "Tell me who's
getting the first car instead."

"Take a wild guess."

"I can't," she said. "All of your women are here so she's probably someone new
who I haven't met before."

"How'd you know she's a she?"

"Because it's always a girl, Edward, who gets the first ride in your schemes."

Of course, it was. Only she wasn't mine but Jasper's. Said girl had convinced me
of her grim determination and I had absolute faith in her. I trained her myself.
She was a quick study, almost a natural. After all, we shared an awful lot of
genes.

"You'll see," I told her, prefering to keep her identity as another secret. It was too
dangerous to disclose her, too close to home. Besides, Jasper would kill me if I
jeopardized her first foray into what was becoming a family business.

Remembering her misguided loyalty, I could almost hear her say again.

I know what you're doing.

Of course, she did. Jasper and I had left enough crumbs for her to follow, the rest
she figured out for herself. What can I say? She might look flighty at first but she
was smart. We shared the same blood, didn't we?

I gave her the first car to boost because it was the easiest. She'd convincingly
feigned an upset stomach at the last minute when we were leaving the mansion,
conveniently missing my performance. From the time we left, she'd pretend to
stay in her room, aided by Renata and Claudia, temps I sent over to cover up for
her. She'd slip away from the mansion easily, get picked up by Derrick at the
nearest corner, fly to Texas in a private, chartered plane where Garrett, the
diamond thief, would meet her. From there, they'd go to Galveston where I first
saw some idiot nearly run his Veyron into a lake.

Galveston, Texas. More than three hours away by plane. I couldn't possibly be
there while I was out partying hard in L.A. Before I'm done with my last piece,
she would be quietly and very easily driving away our first Veyron. Jasper had
fussed over the preparations for days, leaving no detail to chance. Everything
was perfect, and as far as I could tell, running smoothly. I'd no doubt Jasper
would be bursting into the dressing room in hysterics at something as irrelevant
as a traffic light giving the wrong signal.

By midnight, she'd arrive at a pre-planned destination where a truck would be on
hand to transport the car to the nearest port. She'd board a plane and fly to
another state, a timezone away. By noon the next day, she'd call her mother to
say she'd miraculously recovered from stomach flu and beg to be allowed to fly to
L.A. where we were staying for the rest of the week. Her mother would refuse.
Her leave of absence only covered two days and she had classes the next day –
classes she wouldn't be attending as she'd be too busy assisting with the other
heists. She'd call again the next day, a call traceable to the mansion in Forks with

a little help from Jasper's astounding skills, placing her nowhere near the scene of
her crimes.

"Poor Alice," I thought with a smirk. She'd be somewhere near the target Veyron
just about now, casing the area with sweaty palms and a racing heart. In less
than an hour, she'd be behind the wheel, feeling an exhiliration that she'd never
felt before in her entire life. Poor Alice, indeed. Jasper and I were a lot younger,
with far less experience and no back-up when we boosted our first super cars.

The next day, another Veyron would disappear. Then three more. A pattern would
emerge on the fourth day, when it would be apparent that a ring was targeting a
special type of Veyron. The FBI would be called in but it would be too late. By
that time, a total of ten Veyrons would've disappeared and would be at sea,
making their way to Belgium.

Getting to half of the targets before the alarm is sounded wasn't bad. Making the
FBI run around in circles for the next half was going to be worth the hassle.

"Penny for your thoughts...," I heard Kate's voice beside me, faint and
questioning. She probably thought I'd zoned out again.

I hadn't. I was, instead, raptly following what was going on in the lobby.

A woman had walked in and even at a distance, I knew who she was instinctively
as I'd been expecting her. Tanya Denali was, after all, considered the "Cullen
expert." She cut quite a figure, tall and imposing, as she entered the area with
purposeful strides, going straight to where the police officers, including Charlie
Swan, were congregating. She started talking quietly, occasionally glancing
around as if looking for something. Or someone. She'd know I'd have the group
watched.

The agent was standing close to Bella, and Bella was looking at her with a
puzzled, curious stare. It wouldn't take her long to figure out who the woman
was, and draw her own conclusions.

The strange calm washed over me as another part of the plan slid into place. The
game just cranked a notch higher.

I grasped Kate's arm and led her away before she could see the other woman and
launch into another hateful diatribe.

"On second thoughts," I told her, as I pulled her back with me towards the
dressing rooms, "just bring her to me after the performance."

"You poor thing," she shook her head at me in mock pity, oblivious of what I just
witnessed. "This one's really got you by the balls, huh?"

I kept silent as I led her away. I suppose Bella did have my balls in her small,
talented hands. I haven't been able to think of anyone else since the first time I
met her.

O_O

The performance was over, and we were out of the concert hall then, the low
growl of humanity teaming around us. Instead of a quick and casual goodbye,
Charlie stood talking with the L.A. cops while I waited for him at a distance. Even
from afar, I knew what was going on, what he was about to say when he joined
me minutes later.

"Bella, honey, can you wait for me at the hotel? I have to back with the guys to
their station," Charlie said, grimacing in apology for another unexpected
cancellation. It was our last night in L.A. and we'd planned to go to a little
restaurant near the hotel to cap our unexpected trip so he was trying to show
proper disappointment. But try as he might, he couldn't hide the excitement in
his voice completely. It wasn't everyday he was invited to a big city operation.

"Sure, don't worry about it," I assured him. We were in L.A. on official police
business. It was almost a miracle that he wasn't called in for duty on the first
day. "I'll just order room service or something."

He kissed me on the cheek, still apologetic. "I'll call you as soon as I get back,
okay? Maybe we can still have a late dinner."

I doubted it, but nodded all the same. Something that involved the FBI and the
local police force was bound to take time.

It wasn't that hard to miss that something was up. There were at least a dozen
agents in the lobby alone, probably more tucked in the shadows and outside the
concert hall At first, I thought they were security detail for VIPs in attendance so
I purposely dismissed the possibility that they were there to keep Edward in
check..

But then, Agent Denali walked in, erasing any doubt that somehow, Edward
Cullen was the target.

Tanya Denali, the woman who successfully trapped Edward Cullen, was far from
what I imagined her to be. I wouldn't even have known it was her if I hadn't been
standing close to Charlie's group and heard her introduce herself simply, even
brusquely, as "Denali."

Tall and blonde, she exuded a confidence and feminine grace unmarred by the
generic pantsuit she wore and the telltale bulge of a firearm on her hip. Her face
had the barest hint of make-up, but that only served to highlight how naturally
beautiful she was.

She spoke briefly but with authority to the cops in the lobby, before leaving with
two agents close on her heels. Cool and calm, she came across as someone
efficient, someone who got the job done, an admirable trait given she was
working inside a predominantly man's world.

In another time and another place, I would've liked her.

But at that moment, all I could feel was an irrational panic. Damn Edward. What
the fuck was he doing? Whatever it was, it was alarming enough for the FBI to
throw Denali, a compromised agent, into his path again. What was he thinking?
He couldn't possibly be aiming to go back to prison again.

Unless that was what he wanted all along, to lure Tanya Denali into the open. The
thought was more unsettling than I cared to admit.

I've told him before, I wasn't stupid. I knew exactly what I was getting into when
I allowed myself to get carried away. My distance was deliberate, I didn't want to
get caught up in his criminal past. I figured I could just turn a blind eye if
something like this happened. Or I could just walk away, with as much of my
dignity intact.

Whenever I stopped and considered the implications of our fling—which was what
we were having, more or less—I know it's a mistake, one that could only end

badly. We've done too much, too soon, and we're in too deep to go back. I wasn't
ready to trust him and he hasn't done anything that could've redeemed himself.

But I wasn't ready to give him up yet, even if I was damned sure I'll be kicked to
the curb whenever he's done with me.

So I did the most sensible thing, given the circumstances. As soon as the police
car taking Charlie disappeared in traffic, I turned my back and went into the
concert hall to look for answers.

Slipping into the hall proved to be easy. The lobby and two main entrances were
filled with people – musicians carrying their instruments, security and staff all
scurrying to what sounded like the beginnings of a party down one corridor. They
were understandably in high spirits as the performance was a rousing success.
Cutting through the crowd, I made my way to the back of the stage, towards a
hallway that I assumed led to the dressing rooms.

The crowd was starting to thin out around the back and I was about to turn down
one of the corridors when a guard blocked my way, stopping my progress.
"Excuse me, Miss, but this area's restricted."

"She's with me," a woman's voice, a soft-alto that strangely sounded like a
purring feline, intervened smoothly. Where she came from, I had no idea. She
showed her backstage pass to the guard and before I could ask who she was, she
looped her arm around mine and pulled me into the restricted corridor. "Come
along, darling."

Her grip on my arm was firm under the gossamer sleeves of her dress, belying a
strength under the fragile, waif-like demeanor. She pulled me past the hallway
and into another corridor with a series of doors.

"I'm sorry, do I know you?"

"Let's just say we share a mutual friend," she purred again. She was almost a
foot taller than I was, with dark hair and blood red lips. Eastern European or
Russian, judging from her accent.

At the end of the hall, she opened a door and pulled me into a dimly lit room.

"Here we are," she announced gaily to the seemingly empty dressing room.
Letting me go, she went straight to the dresser where a bottle of whiskey and
some paper cups were conveniently located, poured herself a drink and turned to
me. "Would you care for a drink?"

"No, thank you," I declined politely.

"Suit yourself, darling." She downed her drink smoothly, covering the burn of the
liquor with a soft giggle and I was starting to wonder about the sanity of letting
myself get dragged around by a stranger when I heard a low chuckle.

"That was fast." There was no mistaking the voice.

"Pfft," the other girl said, "I didn't do anything. She was wandering in the corridor
like a lost puppy."

I hadn't seen him right away as he was leaning against the farthest wall, half-
hidden by the shadows. Straightening his frame, he came into the light and
suddenly all I could think about was just how tall he was, how broad his
shoulders were. . . and how perfectly he matched the other woman.

He was different. He seemed distant and aloof, far from the sex-fiend that I
knew. Standing off to the side, with the light at the back of his head, I couldn't
rightly see his eyes to guess what he was thinking but I could sense tension
lurking beneath the carefully constructed calm.

"Thank you, Kate," he told the other girl, leaning towards her to buss her on the
cheek. "I owe you."

"So you do," she answered with the same lazy purr, "you can thank me later. And
before you can kick me out, I'm going. See you at the club, lover."

'Lover?'

So that's what she meant when she said we "shared a friend."

"Kate" winked at him and wiggled her fingers at me before going out the door,
leaving me with an unsettled feeling that I had stumbled into something I'd
rather not know. First Tanya Denali, and then this. I didn't know if I should be
insulted to be introduced so casually to the other women in his life.

"Did you know that you show your emotions so openly on your face?"

As much as the unwanted information rankled, I didn't come looking for him to
talk about the women he'd fucked, past or present. Especially when he had the
gall to be amused about it.

"What's going on?"

He shrugged, "Kate's an old friend."

Yeah, well, whatever.

"I mean, why is this place surrounded by FBI?"

"Oh, that one," he said. "That's nothing."

I hated how easily he lied.

Technically, he wasn't even lying, just deflecting a direct question but the effect
was the same. It should've stopped me, like it did the previous times I started to
ask him about the things he did, but not this time.

Taking a deep breath, I tried again. "You're not in trouble, are you?"

"If I was, don't worry about it, you'll have plenty of time to jump off the boat."

"Don't be stupid. Whatever it is has nothing to do with me."

"You mean you've never thought that if the FBI came sniffing around, there's a
good chance they'd find you out? Hooking up with a known criminal, that wouldn't
look so good on your resume, wouldn't it?"

'What the hell?' "If I cared about some fucking resume, I wouldn't be here.I'd be
back in fucking Forks, not caring what happened to your ass."

"You didn't come for me, you came for your father – "

"Who is out there right now with the FBI, waiting for you to pull something
dragging him into this really necessary?"

"You wouldn't have come if not for him."

No, I wouldn't have. If he asked, I would've refused. If he'd warned me, I
would've thought of a hundred excuses not to come. It took a moment before I
realized that he wasn't bitter about it, only a little resigned.

"Don't worry about Charlie," he said. "He's going to be fine. The FBI's just
checking on the guest list."

"The guest list?"

"Most of my… friends were in the audience."

"You mean your associates."

He gave me a thin smile. "Suspected associates and no, some of them are
friends. I do have some. Would you like to meet them?"

For what? As what? But in an instant, I understood the meaning of the invitation.
He was trying to draw me into his world. I'd already seen him out in the open,
surrounded by people of his kind. Now he wanted me to see another side, one
that's not easily accessible to anyone.

Not even the FBI.

I should refuse but I couldn't help it. The curious part of me, the part who pored
over his files, was screaming to say yes, the offer was too good to pass up. But
another part realized what it meant, what I was going to concede if I agreed to
be seen in public with him.

"One night...that's all I ask, just one night. Your secret will be safe."

He always knew the right words to say. Damn him.

"Fine, one night. . ."

XXX

We went to the 23rd floor of a ritzy hotel, across a hallway lined with red maple
wood paneling lit by Swarovski crystal lighting. From the outside of the huge
cedar doors, I'd have thought we'd be going into a sedate sitting room where old
men smoked cigars and swilled brandy, complete with a softly lit backdrop and
classsical music playing unobstrusively in the background.

It wasn't a sedate sitting room..It wasn't even a room at all but a tightly-packed
concert club; with flashing lights, elevated bars and a band playing on the center.
Spanning half the floor of the hotel, it was one of those hip places celebrities and
socialites frequented and it teemed with beautiful faces; some famous, some
vaguely familiar. Throbbing music permeated every inch of the place, pulsating in
the cold air wafting through the large air vents like a living, breathing organism.
The lingering smoke of the marijuana cloud immediately assaulted my senses the
moment we entered the "club" and it clung to my nostrils despite my efforts to
shake it off.

People swamped Edward as soon as he was spotted and I shrank back to the
shadows, thankful for the diversion. I made my way to one of the bars, intent on
staying out of the limelight for the entire night.

Unfortunately, that wasn't why I was there in the first place.

"Glad you could make it,"a familiar purring voice piped up beside me and as
annoyed as I was earlier, I was grateful for a familiar presence. Sort of familiar,

anyway. Kate sat on the stool next to mine and ordered a drink. "Edward asked
me to look out for you. And no, no need to introduce yourself. We already know
who you are, darling."

'We?' It was going to be some night.

I ordered whiskey, straight up. I wasn't much of a drinker but one look around
the place told me I wasn't going to survive if I didn't get a little wasted. The
bartender set a glass on the bar and I downed the contents in one gulp,
grimacing as the burn slid down my throat. Almost immediately, I felt the effects
of the alcohol in my system, spreading warmth all over my body and blanking my
mind.

I asked for another.

By the time I was on my third drink, I was relaxed enough to engage Kate in
small talk. It was only then that the introductions began.

An older man, Peter, and a woman Kate introduced as Mina came first. Then a
pair of brothers came by to chat and after them, two girls – sisters – with the
shocking red hair of their Irish ancestors, and their brother. A woman came who
bore a strong resemblance to Kate came over and chatted for a while. Irina, she
introduced herself. They'd wander to the bar, in ones or twos, stare at me
unobstrusively and exchange pleasantries. It was a relatively small circle, I
realized, and if hadn't drank too much, too soon, I would've remembered
everyone's faces and what they talked about.

The whole time I was being "introduced" to his friends – as archaic as that
sounded – Edward stayed away. It was close to an hour later that I saw him
again.

He was standing at the far end of the room, talking to a man with blond, tousled
hair. The man was younger than those I've seen, and he almost never looked up
from the device he had in his hands. Apparently, I wasn't going to be introduced
to this one, specific friend.

Finding him almost as soon as I did, Kate finished her drink and rose from her
seat, her babysitting duties over.

"Remember, darling, he's all yours," she told me before leaving, bussing me on
the cheek in a detached, yet friendly way. "You take good care of him for us."

I opened my mouth to say something back, only to realize I didn't know what to
make out of her request. She left, and I was surprised to find myself wishing she
wouldn't go yet. Maybe it was because of her odd request that I found myself
liking her despite my initial misgivings.

As if he could feel me looking at him, the said "shared friend" looked up and
found me instantly. Green eyes looked at me from across the room, tinged by the
haze of smoke that lent a dream-like quality to the entire place.

He cut through the crowd, seemingly obliviously to the people around him.
Someone shoved a nearly full bottle of Jack Daniels in his hand and he slugged it
down in one fluid gulp, handing the bottle back without breaking his stride.
Shrugging off those who were trying to get his attention, he moved through the
crowd without deviation, the heavy beat of the drum goading him further,
drawing him closer . . .

I watched him, mesmerized. It was almost like the first time, only stronger, more
desperate. This time, we weren't strangers anymore. We knew each other as
intimately as we knew ourselves yet the mystery remained.

"He's all yours..." Kate's words echoed in my mind and yes, he was. He needed
me as desperately as I wanted him, however irrational that was.

One night, he said, just one night and I'd agreed.

Fuck being sensible.

Taking in a lungful of marijuana smoke, I slid down from the stool and started to
make my way towards him. Meeting him in the middle of undulating and gyrating
bodies,

For an instant, an eternity, I was blind. Edward tasted like whisky, and smoke
and him, and for a moment, I'm flying, dancing without feet.

"Let's get out of here," I told him as I tried to catch my breath.

He nodded once and without a word, pulled me through the crowd and outside
the thick, cedar doors. The sound of the party stopped abruptly as the doors
closed behind us and we were in the chandelier-lit hallways before I could even
blink. The first elevator we chanced upon opened at our approach, miraculously
empty.

His zipper was down and I was sucking him even before the doors closed behind
us. I was clumsy, my motions jerky, but it didn't matter. He came almost
immediately, staggering away from me as his semen arced into the air—leaving a
mess on the floor. Leaning heavily against the wall as his breathing came,
stunted and shallow, he closed his eyes for just a moment.

The elevator doors opened into a suite and without ceremony, he dragged me to
the nearest bed. He was gentle, but firm as he pushed me down, shedding his
clothes messily. I scooted back on the bed, kicking off my heels but he had other
ideas.

He fell to his knees beside the bed, grasping my legs behind my knees and
dragged and spread my legs. He tore away my panties and buried his tongue
deep inside me, shocking me into my first orgasm. He showed no mercy, licking
and sucking my pussy, even as I begged him...

'Wait...Gimme a minute...Jesus...Fuck!'

Grasping my knees, he turned me over so I lay face down on the bed and spread
me wide. The position blinded me, as I couldn't see what he was up to right
away. He puIled me up, had me on my hands and knees and opened me further.
Lifting my ass, his tongue flicked out and a roughened cry spilled from me . . .

'Oh, God... ' An absolute shocking, undeniable pleasure, rocked through me. . .

A growl slipped from him as he crawled above me, positioning his cock against
my pussy. He was inside in one stroke, the crack of flesh slapping against flesh
making a harsh sound in the still air as he started to move. My body convulsed
around him, my pussy tightening and tensing as another orgasm rocked me a
mere few seconds later .

Grasping at the sheets, I ground my ass against him as he reached around,
stroked my clit with deft fingers as he pumped his cock into me, the sound of his

thighs slapping into my ass loud in the air. The ache between my legs and my
belly spiralled into acute pain as my body raced to the next release. . .

"H-harder," I whispered, arching back to meet his thrusts, my body trembling
under the firm hold he had on my hips. Breaking out in a sweat, I felt the
beginnings of another, more powerful orgasm. I gasped, the abrupt whispers
echoing in my head like gunfire.

Harder...harder...harder...harder. . . Fuck.

I felt him gather my hair into his fist without breaking rhythm and with one
powerful thrust of his hips, he pulled – hard. I sobbed, and wailed, but he was
relentless, pounding into me over and over.

"Oh, God."

The harsh throb of his cock inside me signaled the rapid approach of his release;
and he started to groan – low and steady – as he warded off his own orgasm,
holding his own body hostage as he tried to last longer. I pushed myself up,
reaching back to latch blindly on his hair and he tumbled forward, bearing me
down against the bed. I braced my knees against the mattress, fucking him back
as hard as he was driving into me, meeting his thrusts with my own. My screams
echoed off the walls, my fingers clenched around fistfuls of the sheets as he
latched and sucked at the curve of my throat and gently, but firmly, sank his
teeth without breaking skin….

I lost track of how many times I came from then. Nothing mattered, except his
cock inside me; his mouth on my skin; his growls, groans and curses.

At the last moment, he reared up, grasping my hips so hard that was sure to
leave marks in the morning, and shook – long and hard – losing himself in the
frenzy.

He collapsed against me, thrashing and incoherent, his body convulsing from the
force of his orgasm. His cock jerked wildly inside me; his hips thrusting as he
groaned like he was dying. I spread my hands so he could twine his fingers with
mine and held on as he rode out his release.

After what seemed like forever, he rolled over, dragging me with him, flush
against his side, his cock still deep inside me. The moment felt so right, so
perfect, despite the slight thickness that gathered around the edges of my
consciousness and the beginnings of an ache borne out of worn-out muscles.

His breathing was still ragged, and he groaned softly when I shifted to the side,
his cock sliding out. He was still hard, god knows how, and I knew damn well he
could easily go another round or two. But I was tired, exhausted, and if he
wanted to go another, he'd just have to do all the work.

He just smiled when I told him just that.

His body seemed to meld against mine when he lay down, and I heaved a sigh as
he kissed my lips, my cheek, my eyes and held me close. It was a couple of
seconds when I realized he was humming softly, his fingers pressing on my skin
like unseen keys as they kept to the tune. It was slow and gentle, unlike most of
the pieces I've heard him play.

"You were great out there. . ." I whispered, remembering how he played earlier.
Save for his soft humming, the room was suddenly, completely silent.

"Yeah?" he asked, smiling sleepily against my skin.

"Yeah." I nodded, stifling a yawn as a comfortable lethargy ebbed over me as he
continued to drum his fingers to the silent tune.

"Thanks for coming," he whispered back.

"You're welcome," I answered, fighting sleep as my eyes drifted closed seemingly
of their own accord . "Although you really should've told me first."

"Next time."

"Next time?"

I heard him murmur something in response, but I was slipping and I couldn't
make out his reply.

`I'll ask in the morning.' I thought as the last strands of coherence grew taut
then broke.

XXX

Four days later, I was back in Forks, the memories of that night receding to the
back of my mind, like a surreal, hallucinogenic dream. I'd woken up the next
morning, alone and naked inside the room. There was a change of clothes on the
bedside table, alongside a note that instructed me to call a number whenever I
was ready to go. Edward later sent a message telling me that he'd be staying in
L.A. for the rest of the week and that he'd see me on Sunday.

Luckily, Charlie was delayed at the station until midmorning, giving me enough
time to wash off the residue of the night and organize my thoughts into a
semblance of order. I'd gone straight to Tacoma that same day to catch up on my
classes. Edward had sent a message later that he'd be staying in L.A. for the rest
of the week and that he'd see me on Sunday.

Chalking it up as just one of those extraordinary nights born out of drinking too
much, I thought nothing of it again. That is, until I went to visit Charlie at his
station on Sunday morning and saw the place swarming with FBI agents.

"What's going on?" I whispered to Sherry, the station's youngest officer, trying
not to gawk at the agents.

"Something to do with that hunk of a man who came here months ago. You
remember him, right? Dr. Cullen's nephew," she said dreamily before adding,
"your Dad's with some agents inside the conference room."

A cold dread rose from the pit of my stomach, instinctively knowing something
was about to go wrong. Slowly, I walked towards the door and leaned close. From
outside, I could hear a voice giving out details of a party involving close to a
hundred people.

"It's a possible ruse, we've known him to use his performances as a cover," the
voice was saying. "He mixes socialites, celebrities and heirs to lead us in a wild
goose chase and tie our hands. The guest list is long and exclusive, and we have
to be very careful when dealing with these people. If we so much as breath some
of their names, we'd be slapped with a suit as big as Texas."

"We're trying to confirm who came and what's going on," the voice continued,
"we figured we'd start with someone."

"This girl," A projector whirled and there was a sudden shuffle in the seats, like
everyone just sat up to attention. "She was with him the entire time. They were
spotted going out of the hall to the limo. She was seen with him later, at the club
at The Ritz where they disappeared. She and Cullen were the only ones we didn't
see leave the club after the party broke up at close to 4AM. It's highly likely that
they left before and stayed in one of the suites as agents failed to spot them
leave the building, not through the known exits, anyway. A helicopter was
reported to have made an emergency landing on the hotel's pad at dawn but
there were no records of any passengers when it landed on a nearby airstrip so
we have actually no idea who and where the girl went – "

I turned the doorknob, stepped in and stilled …

The photograph on the whiteboard showed a grainy picture of a couple, framed
by a familiar back door. Another photo flashed of the same man shielding the girl,
his white tuxedo shirt in bright contrast to the dark background, his face
unmarred by the shadows.

'Holymotherfuckinggod.'

It was Edward and he was holding me, shielding my face so that only a portion of
his black tuxedo jacket and felt hat showed. He'd insisted I put on his jacket
before we went out of the dressing room and topped it with a felt hat. It felt
vaguely silly, then, and I'd laughed, thinking it was a joke.

A wave of nausea shot through me and I struggled to keep my breakfast in.

'He'd known...the whole time...'

It really shoudn't have surprised me. Edward was too meticulous to take anything
for granted. He knew, as much as I did, that time would come that we'd be found
out and the little secret world would come crashing down around us. But not even
in my wildest dreams did I imagine it would come down this way; not with a
dozen FBI agents hunting me down and half of Fork's police force looking on.

Stunned, I looked on as a succession of photos continued; all grainy, all without a
clear shot of my face and I prayed like I've never prayed before that there were
no photos, or God forbid, a videos of us inside the elevator.

"These photos were the only ones we were able to secure. As is Cullen's standard
procedure, he'd had security footages from the hotel they went to later were
erased before we got hold of them."

Whatever relief I felt was shortlived.

"We have no way of knowing how long they've known each other," the man
continued talking. "But it's not too far off to think that he met her somewhere
close, as we haven't monitored him leaving the Washington area in the past few
months. It is also possible that he's been seeing her on the side. Cullen is known
for not staying in the same place twice so we're looking for possible areas,
rendezvous places, anywhere they could've been spotted."

'He doesn't stay in one place twice? But – the house, the cars, the visits– it's
been routine for weeks...'

"We've pegged her as about 18 years old or even younger," the man continued,
"probably a student so we'll scout around colleges and some high schools.
Brunette, 5-2. According to our sources, it would seem that none of the coven
know her so chances are, she's an outsider."

"The coven?" someone asked.

"Cullen's coven, his tightly-knit band of pedigree friends who've sworn him
eternal allegiance and absolute secrecy. He's known them all since childhood.
Together, they cut across all financial and economic activities – oil, real estate,
mining, shipping, stock markets, air travel, you name it. A complete empire unto
itself, or rather, a complete crime organization. With the exception of last
Monday's party, they'd never been seen together in one place, and rumors are
he's never let anyone into the circle who didn't grow up with him. If we want to
have a peek at what Cullen is up to, this girl is our best shot.

We're asking you to look out for her. She's the only girl we could find that
Cullen's hooked up with since his release and he's known for being obsessive with
his conquests, when and if he's not busy plotting his next heist. It's not
farfetched that the girl will show up here in Forks, if she hasn't already, and when
she does, we want you to notify us immediately and put her on round-the-clock
surveillance."

'Jesus fucking Christ.'

"Do not approach or apprehend her. Knowing Cullen, he'd have prepared for the
possibility that we'd find her so he'll have her watched at all times. We need to
get her some place he can't get to her before we talk to her."

'Get me some place to talk to me? To do what? Turn against him? And why the
hell would he have me watched at all times?' I wasn't someone like Tanya Denali.
It wasn't like he didn't know who I was.

'Unless he knew this would happen...'

The cold dread blossomed further, as the realization that I was totally screwed
from both sides hit me. At the back of my mind, I knew it was my own doing that
landed me right in the middle of the mess. I shouldn't have gone to L.A. I
shouldn't have gone looking for him in his dressing room, either. I should've
refused when he asked me to go to the club with him. I could've but I didn't.

Too late. The moment I'd dreaded had come. Charlie was bound to find out
sooner or later and if I kept my silence, things would look worse than they
already were.

It was then or never.

Most of the officers and agents hadn't paid me any attention since I stepped into
the room, probably thinking I was a junior officer or a secretary. So I stepped
forward, right where most of them could see me and choked out: "That's me."

Charlie looked up from his seat, noticing me for the first time. Glancing round, he
smiled apologetically at my interruption and stood up. "Oh, hey. Um, this is my
daughter, Bella, she helps around sometimes. . . excuse us... Are you looking for
a file?"

"Yes – I mean, no –"

It was so hard to stand there and breath in the sudden, stunned silence.
Everyone was looking at me wondering if they'd heard me right, staring at me
with dumbfounded expressions. Brunette, 5-2, young, a student – I was a perfect
match. Everyone stared – except Charlie, who didn't seem to have heard what I
just said or maybe he did but refused to listen to it because the thought was
ridiculous, downright absurd.

He stood up and as he neared me, gingerly reached for my forehead with the
instinct of a devoted parent. "Are you all right? You look pale."

I shook my head, then nodded, my guts twisting as the cold noose of self-
recriminations closed around my neck.

"Dad, the girl they're looking for," I told him, bracing myself for the blowback, "is
me."

XXX

XXX

"That's me."

Bella's voice came through, choked but defiant, as she faced her father and FBI
agents in the conference room inside Fork's small police station. I'd been listening
to their conversation through a small device that Jasper gave me. Not only did it
give me direct access to all his networks, it also featured a channel that was
constantly tuned into Bella's phone. Whether her phone was turned on or not, a
powerful mike picked up several conversations around her at any given time.
Voice recognition software automatically isolated and cleaned up her voice to
make it easier for me to follow. Luckily, she took the thing everywhere, as per
her father's rules.

"I didn't know who he was!"

She'd been arguing with the chief inside his office, ignoring the other agents'
questions.

"Did you arrange to meet him in L.A.?"

"No! I didn't even know he was going until you told me. Dad, please, you have to
believe me."

An agent cut in. "How did you meet him, Ms. Swan?"

"We met on the train going to Tacoma.. .he was just some guy..."

Just some guy she fucked without asking his name, some guy she continued
seeing even after she found out, some guy she kept as her dirty, little secret.
She'd done nothing wrong, but she should've realized that sleeping with me
would be a crime in itself.

"Dad, I was going to tell you."

The excuse sounded pathetic, even more so across digital lines.

"Chief Swan, can we talk to your daughter alone?"

A man's voice rasped through the lines, grave and familiar.

Yes, Charlie, let them use the conference room. That would make it easier for me
to follow as Jasper had a tap on the room's CCTV there.

A door opened, then closed, and I switched on a channel.

Two agents, both male, sat across from Bella in the white, rectangular room with
bare furniture. The door had barely closed when the questions began.

"Ms. Swan, how long have you known Edward Cullen? What is the nature of your
relationship? How many times have you seen him? Where did you go? What did
you do?

Why didn't you inform anyone of your relationship?

Edward Cullen is a psychopath, he looks for your weakness and exploits it to
manipulate you, make you do what he wants...

….glib and superficial, egocentric and grandiose, lacking in remorse, guilt and
empathy, will be deceitful and manipulative...

Yes, yes, and yes. They were telling Bella things she already knew. She'd read
my files from beginning to end and knew what she was getting into. The agent
wasn't aware of it but he was riling her up, his questions seemingly dampening
her impulsive decisions.

I'm not a suspect, am I?

No, of course not.

A woman appeared on screen and sat across from Bella, her back to the camera.
I didn't need to see her face to know who she was.

"Bella, my name is Tanya. I know this must be awkward for you but we need to
ask you these questions."

"Yeah. . .sure."

"I understand why you kept your affair with Cullen a secret."

She opened a folder and started laying out pictures.

"Have you seen this man?"

"That – that's Derrick, he picks me up when Edward can't."

A short pause as Tanya glanced at the other agent. Bella wouldn't have noticed it
but I could almost see the tension rise inside the room.

"Bella, this man's real name is Felix Accardo and he's a hitman for the Giancana
family in Chicago."

"What?"

Out came other pictures, images they let Bella see and confirm. Mina, Peter,
Kate, Irina and the others.

Have you ever seen or met them before last Monday's party?

No.

Have you met others?

No, just Derrick ...and the women who came to clean the house and cook.

House? What house?

And so it went, with the FBI stumbling on one secret after another as Bella
unwittingly revealed more. Carlisle's birthday, the visits to Evergreen, the cars,
the house in Tacoma. The agents were relentless, leaving no question unasked,

even the most uncomfortable. Every now and then, her tone would falter slightly,
answering questions warily.

The cars, what kinds were they?

A Romeo, a Koenigsegg – small, fast ones.

No Veyrons?

No, no Veyrons. Why do you ask?

They really didn't think I'd drive a stolen car so soon, didn't they?

"Ten Veyrons have been stolen in the span of ten days and the jobs have Edward
Cullen's signature written all over the them. No signs of forced entry, security
cameras tampered and scrambled making it impossible to pinpoint the exact time
of the theft, powdered bleach all over the place, spoiling any chance to recover
any DNA. We've never gotten around to revealing his MO to the public so either
he has an extremely well-informed copycat or he's stealing again, which is highly
probable given his activities for the past week. This is where you come in, Ms.
Swan, as it would appear that you were the only other person he was in contact
with before he went to L.A."

I knew that the bleach was the first thing they'd notice, but I couldn't resist the
taunt. Where's the fun in stealing if no one was trying to catch you?

I have no idea what you're talking about.

So you're saying you met him for sex? Just sex?

The questions got more abrasive, less friendly, when the agents realized they
weren't going to get anything from her. Tanya stayed in the background and I
knew that by then, they were sufficiently baffled by the inconsistencies.

After a while, I took off my earphones and punched in Jasper's number. So far,
the FBI's questions were all standard, confirming the fact that they knew nothing
I didn't want them to know.

Two beeps and the connection went through. Nobody answered, and there was
no sound except for the whirl and beeps of the machines in the background
before Jasper appeared on screen.

"Are you getting everything?"

A thoughtful hmmm, a slight shuffle as Jasper pulled his knees up to his chest as
was his normal thinking position. "She's going to figure out you set her up."

"I took precautions to hide her identity, it was her decision to out herself."

"Incidentals. You brought her to LA when you knew we'd be watched and stuck
her in a crowd where she'd stand out. Even if we secured all the hotel cameras,
there were hundreds of personal phones in that area that night. Someone would
have captured her and it would've been just a matter of time before the FBI got a
visual that was clear enough to identify her. She'd be right to assume that, and
outing herself is a pre-emptive move to avoid more suspicion."

"She's a very smart girl."

"She's also a dead end," Jasper continued, as if I'd said nothing. "The FBI won't
get anything useful from her, except confirm what they already know so –"
Jasper stopped, frowning. "The point of exposing her would be... to expose her."

"About time, too."

"And...you wanted her to know in a roundabout way to see how she'd react to the
information..."

" – with which the FBI is doing an excellent job."

"And you wanted her to confuse them, as the information she's supplying them is
inconsistent with your profile, making it harder for them to anticipate your next
move."

I laughed. "People change."

"No, they don't," Jasper disagreed. "Not you."

Not me, I agreed silently.

"Mina already sent your lawyers from Seattle," Jasper said. All throughout he'd
spoken in a flat, disapproving tone. "Two of them are on their way to the station
right now."

"Call them off, tell them to stay close but not to interfere. I'll handle this."

Jasper was silent and I could see that he was still frowning.

"You're going in yourself." A half-statement, half-question.

"I'm not leaving her to the wolves, I'm not that big an asshole."

"You might not be but by going in yourself and pulling her out, you're going to
undermine her credibility as a potential witness."

"That, too." They're going to wonder if she alerted me, if she'd played them all
along.

"You're going to taint her."

"With strokes so black they wouldn't think of going near her again."

Jasper sighed. "That still doesn't make you less of an ass."

Between him and Bella, I was just going to get used to being called an ass for the
rest of my life.

"How many agents are at the station right now?"

"About twelve."

"Only twelve? We must be losing our touch.."

"There could be more, but I can't be sure."

"You can't?"

"No, I can't. I'm not God, Eddie."

"Really?" I grinned at him. He was always at his crankiest when he couldn't figure
out everything right away. "I could've sworn you were."

He shook his head but I could see him smile slightly.

XXX

From the outside, it looked like it was just another ordinary day in Forks' only
police precinct. But inside, a palpable tension was in the air as officers waited as
the drama involving one of their own unfolded right under their very noses.

The agents in the lobby barely gave me a glance when I walked in. Newbies, I
suppose. I passed by three more before an agent recognized me. He stopped
talking to a police officer mid-sentence, straightening his back in incredulous
surprise.

"Agent Clearwater," I greeted him, trying to keep myself from smirking. "Been a
long time."

Eight years ago, the FBI managed to snare me by inserting a pretty girl into my
network. The officer in-charge of the whole operation had been a midlevel
bureaucrat who had an axe to grind against rich boys he thought didn't deserve
the life they'd been living. He'd managed to hit the jackpot with me. From then
on, Agent Harry Clearwater had taken care of highly specialized cases. It was a
given that he'd head the operation against me once I resumed operations.

Surprise gave way to hostility as the agent recovered. Clearwater and his team
had pushed for heavier penalties for my conviction, arguing that I was a danger
to society for corrupting minors, conveniently overlooking the fact that I was a
minor myself. They moved to try me as an adult by saying that my crimes were
adult in scope and that my age was a mere technicality. My battery of lawyers –
the best money could buy – didn't think so. In the end, I was given a less
stringent sentence.

"Edward Cullen...," his voice was loud enough to carry across the room, and
activity ceased in the immediate vicinity. "What brings you here?"

"I live around here." I gave him a tight smile. "Shouldn't I be asking you that
question?"

He was silent for a time, probably weighing his options. He knew he couldn't pull
me in for questioning without the threat of a harassment suit. If he so much as
touched my arm, I'd have my lawyers crawling up his ass and that would
effectively hamper his investigation.

"Cut the bullshit, Cullen," he said, "you know why."

"Do I? I was thinking maybe you just missed me."

He wasn't amused. In fact, he looked like he wanted to gut me and string my
insides in the open. "Ten highly-priced cars, gone in the blink of an eye. Where
are you keeping them?"

Fourteen cars, I corrected him silently, soon to be fifteen.

"You really think I'm going to answer that?"

"No," he said. "No, you won't. But I'll be upfront on this, because we might be
seeing more of each other pretty soon. We've managed to get a print from one of

the crime scenes and when that goes through, it'll be back to the big house for
you."

A print? I breathed in deeply to keep in a snicker. Just who was he kidding? All
my drivers were equipped with special gloves and nobody would be stupid
enough to leave a fucking print.

"Really?" I managed to sound neutral. "Good luck, then. Maybe this time, you'd
actually do some real investigating and not resort to recruiting pretty, young
things to do your hard work for you."

He opened his mouth, realized what I meant, then blinked. I could almost hear
him wondering how I could possibly have known, running down people who
could've alerted me to their investigation.

Did he really think I'd be as ill-prepared for them as I'd been eight years ago?
That he could pull the same stunt and I'd let them? No, this time they were going
to watch the remaining cars disappear one by one and wring their hands
helplessly because there wouldn't be anything they could do about it. I wasn't
going to give them the slightest reason so that they could pull me in, but they
were going to know. What's more, they were going to watch the one and only
chance of getting information walk out of the station with me.

"She's a good girl, Cullen."

"She is, so I suggest you stop harassing her."

The game was over before it even began.

"You didn't get away with it last time, how do you think you're going to get away
with it now?"

Oh, I will, I definitely will, and you can fucking watch me do it.

Out loud, I merely smiled. "Are you done questioning my girlfriend? She has
classes early tomorrow. Or maybe you prefer that I call my lawyers and let them
handle this?"

XXX

"You okay?"

She jumped at my voice as she hadn't seen me lurking in a corner to wait for her.
She looked tired, her face pinched from being under interrogation for several
hours. I knew the feeling, having been through several myself.

"What are you doing here?" she hissed, glancing around as if people were
watching. They were.

"Thought you might need some help."

"They're looking for you."

"I know," I told her, grabbing her elbow gently to lead her out of the precinct.
"C'mon, we'll talk in the car."

She looked like she'd refused at first, but allowed me to pull her through the
station after a slight hesitation. It might have been disconcerting for her, to be
questioned inside the station she practically grew up in. She waited until we were
out of the station's line of sight before speaking.

"The things they asked me...," she started. "They told me..."

"I know."

"What?"

"I heard everything."

"Huh?"

"Hacked through the CCTV."

A muffled curse, a hand raked through hair. Somehow, she must've harbored the
hope that it wasn't true. "So its –"

"All true, yes."

"Fuck..." she breathed in sharply. "Stop, stop the car."

I turned into a secluded area, parked the car and killed the engine. This was
going to take a while.

She closed her eyes and breathed deeply as she tried to calm herself and keep
anger at bay – at me, at herself for not figuring things out sooner. She bent
down, put her head against her knees, and breathed in and out, trying not to
hyperventilate. Straighten up, bend down, sit up again. Start to fidget – bounce
her knees, pull her fingers through her hair.

I let her be, sat beside her in silence, preparing myself to ride out her anger.

"How many have you taken?"

I didn't pretend to misunderstand. "Fifteen."

Another curse. "How many more?"

"Five."

"Jesus..." She dropped her hands to her lap and started rubbing her knees out of
sheer frustration. Her skirt hiked up, and I could see her knees framed – white
lacy skirt above, brown suede boots below.

Damn.

"You're not going to –"

Go through with it? "I am."

Goddammit, her skirt was up, showing midthigh. Flushed cheeks, heavy
breathing, slight trembling, hair all messed up – it made me want to hike her
skirt higher, pull down her panties and bury myself in her, fuck her into the seat
until she clawed against my skin and came screaming my name.

Fuck.

"Goddammit," she said again and I breathed in and out with her.

"Everything's going to be fine."

"No, it's not. Everything is not going to be fine. Everything was fine before but
now it's not fine." She spoke in controlled tones, her rage close to the surface.

"Nothing is going to touch you."

"Touch me?" She looked at me like I just lost my mind. "It just did. Do you have
any idea what it was like to sit there, admit that I've been fuck buddies with a
prime suspect? Having Charlie know I'd been fucking his parolee behind his back,
with dozens of officers listening in? Touch me? Are you insane?"

I let her rage.

"How'd you keep track?"

Ah, yes, that one. She'd heard from the briefing that I was keeping an eye on her
the entire time but probably refused to believe it at first. By now, it would have
been pretty obvious that I was.

"Phone."

"But I changed phones – "

"Twice, I know. Then you'd come to the house and –"

"Leave them lying around," she finished my sentence. "Dammit."

"Damn," she said again, punctuating the word with a hard thump on the
dashboard. "Damn, damn, damn, dammit."

She thought she had everything under control. Poor baby.

"Listen, things are going to be all right. They're just going to be rough for a while
-"

"Rough?" She gave a bitter laugh before settling in against the seat with a
frustrated sigh. "I had everything planned out. Since I was a kid, I'd always
known what I wanted to be, what I wanted to do...then you come along
and...and... ruin everything."

Well, I couldn't argue with that.

"Just because you can't keep yourself from stealing."

Stealing...such an ugly word.

"They're just cars, sweetheart." Shiny, pretty baubles people put inside their
garages and drive around for kicks. After I...get them, their owners forget about
them and buy the next "hot" thing.

"Just cars?" she said, her voice rising. "They're not just cars, people pay millions
for them."

And people who pay millions for toys have millions more in the bank, inside their
dressers, in fucking Switzerland. It wouldn't cause a dent, I wanted to tell her,
just to rile her further. She really was pretty fucking sexy when angry.

"You know what? You're an idiot, that's what you are. Aren't you supposed to be
a fucking genius? What if they catch you?"

"They won't." I wanted to say something more reassuring but I knew that
whatever I said would sound like bullshit. "I promise they won't. Everything is
under control. Trust me on this."

"Jesus...goddammit...trust you...do I have a choice?"

"You did," I told her. When she first stepped out and announced herself, when
her father asked her the first question, when the agents started to detail my
crimes. She'd had plenty of choices, but she turned them down, one by one. "But
not anymore."

She'd made her decision. Frankly, I suspected she made it sometime ago, before
L.A. I just had to make sure.

"Why don't we go somewhere? Go eat pie or something."

She looked at me as if I'd just suggested killing her best friend. "Are you fucking
serious?"

She was so panicked that she was missing a lot of things.

"Listen," I tried to keep my voice even, "by now, half of Forks would've known
your fall from grace and my involvement." She cursed me again. "The FBI is
going to hound you, maybe put a detail on you, but they will not preposition to
you again, not if they want to avoid a lawsuit on their heads. Your father is not
going to talk to you, not today, maybe not even tomorrow but he will, eventually.
What's done is done and there is nothing you or I can do about it now so buckle
up, sweetheart, because this is going to take a while."

She glared at me, like she wanted to deck me for suggesting such a thing, then
for being right about it. What was coming was going to be painful, at least for
her, but the world wasn't going to end because of a minor indiscretion. The
sooner she faced things head-on, the better.

I suggested Lou's, as most people there knew her and there was nowhere else to
go.

"It would be pretty romantic," I told her, giving her a smile. "A childhood haunt
for our first date."

She looked at me like I just soiled myself.

We went through the motions. I opened her door, opened the diner's door like
the upright young man that I wasn't. If Jasper was watching, he would have
snickered himself to death. Bella, on the other hand, was trying to tone down her
glare by keeping her head down, opting instead to clench and unclench her fists
and I knew, without being a mind reader, that she was imagining decking me
with it.

"Bella, honey!" A handsome, black woman in her thirties greeted her with an
exuberant hug. "Haven't seen you around for a while. College keeping you busy,
huh?" She turned to me, a welcoming smile on her face and I figured Bella hadn't
brought anyone with her to the diner for some time. "And who might this young
man be?"

"This is – "

"Edward," I butted in, as smoothly as I could, extending a hand for a shake.
"Edward Cullen."

"Cullen...Dr. Cullen's nephew?" An eyebrow rose in vague surprise and the smile
turned into something wary. I liked her immediately. "The – "

" – car thief, yes. Ex-thief, actually," I supplied, with an emphasis on the ex,
while shaking her hand firmly.

"So you say," she returned, neither amused nor impressed. "So, Edward Cullen,
what brings you here to this side of town?"

"Well," I started sheepishly. "I've been in town for several months now and I
heard you have some really good pie. It would be a shame if I didn't get to try
it."

I looked at Bella as if indicating from whom I'd heard the town trivia, stepped
closer to her and nudged her with familiarity. Lou followed my actions with a
raised brow and Bella was forced to give her a wan smile.

"I see...," Lou caught on my drift. "Well, in that case, you're in luck. We've just
had a batch out of the oven." She turned to Bella, unaware of the glare that was
sent my way. "You go sit in your booth, honey, and I'll bring you two some of
that pie."

I followed her to the booth and sat next to her. She shifted to the far end of the
table, putting herself as far away as she could from me. She was still sulking, her
pretty little mouth pulled into a pout, reminding me of her semi tantrums and fits.

"How am I going to talk to Charlie again?" she said quietly, before resting her
forehead on the table.

"Give him time, he'll come around."

"And how would you know?" she turned to me, her anger flaring again.

"Because he's your dad, not some FBI lackey."

From what I'd seen, Chief Swan was a decent man, a doting father who'd do
anything for his only daughter. Much like my mother had been or my dad. It was
one thing Bella and I had in common. We'd both been raised in emotionally-
stable families, even if it would appear differently at times.

Besides, I was tempted to tell her, she'd been telling the truth, or what she
thought was the truth, and had enough guts to come out with it in the open
despite the unavoidable disappointment. That should count for something in
Charlie Swan's eyes..

"I should've told him from the start," Bella said, hanging her head in misery. "He
would have understood."

I stopped myself from telling her that no, Chief Swan probably wouldn't have.
Fathers were rightfully protective of their daughters when it came to me,
especially the good ones. But Chief Swan wouldn't have had the heart to tell her
"no," either, so he would've remained ambivalent with her choice at best, and
uncooperative at worst. Either way, he would've willingly suffered my presence in
his daughter's life – and pants – in silence.

But this was a fuck-up of her own making, the consequence of her own misguided
decision, and it was in everyone's best interests that it should play out as
intended. She had to come to terms with the fact that she'd crossed the line
beyond narrow career dreams and raising 2.4 kids in houses with white picket
fences, even if she hadn't completely abdicated on her upright citizen and model
daughter ways. Chief Swan had to grapple with the fact that his daughter would
probably never be like he was as she was never like him in the first place. She
had his best qualities – grounded, methodical, loyal to a fault – but she also had
her own – passionate, wild, even reckless. With me, she could be both.

I didn't dare touch her anywhere except her hair, smoothing out the wisps and
tendrils that fell on her face, giving her the little space the dining booth afforded
her. She'd flinch and swatted my hand away but didn't kick me out, although
she'd give me a look that said she really, really wanted to. As much as she hated
me at the moment, I was the only one who understood what was happening. She
needed me there, even if all I could do was tell her something her mind refused
to understand.

It's going to be all right.

I said it over and over, as sincerely as I could. There was little else I could do.

At some point, she calmed herself long enough to look at me with less derision
and anger and I knew she was trying to think again. But all she did was give me
a jerky nod and turned to the diner's glass windows, preferring the nothingness
outside instead of the comfort I was trying to give her.

She sat in silence, – sad, angry, scared, conflicted and miserable. I could almost
hear the wheels in her brain turn – mentally rearranging her world according to
importance – putting Charlie first, her extended family, her friends, the FBI and
everyone else. She'd put me last, knowing instinctively that I was the least of her
worries.

I would've put my arms around her if I wasn't sure she would bite my head off.

So I let her brood and sulk, while I ate the rapidly cooling pie. It really was good,
just like she said. The place warm and cozy, the air heavy with the scent of newly
baked pie. Except for an odd head or two, most people in the diner had stared
their fill and had gone back to minding their own business, leaving us alone.

All in all, things couldn't have turned out any better than I expected them to.
Granted, Bella wasn't talking to me but she also wasn't telling me to scram and
stick my dick somewhere else.

Which was just as well, since I wasn't going anywhere.

XXX

XXX

"Long day?" Edward asked me as soon as I got inside the car. It was back to the
Alfa Romeo, and the car stuck out like a sore thumb in the student's parking lot.

I answered with a grunt. "Long" is an understatement. Getting up at dawn to a
cranky room mate who spent a full hour in the bathroom while I had to keep my
pee in; rushing through breakfast after I remembered that I had to be at the
library to work on an overdue paper; three hours of listening to boring accounts
of garden-type killers in the nineteenth century; two hours of exams I'd studied
for the entire night only to find the simplest, most idiotic questions – all the while
resenting the fact that it was Wednesday.

I had so much to do on a Wednesday. Shitloads of shit so I really shouldn't be
taking off to nowhere just three days from the beginning of the week. I had a
routine. I had deadlines. I needed to be at a class early on Thursday but I'd never
be able to drag myself out of a bed with him in it. But if I didn't show up at the
parking lot at four pm like he'd told me to, I'd be fucking horny and miserable by
Thursday; and horny plus miserable wasn't a good combination. I'd be cranky
and distracted and at some point, I'd pick a fight with Rosalie. I'd end up
miserable for the rest of the week.

There was no point in pretending that everything would be perfectly fine if I said
no and he left me in front of my building and went back to Forks or wherever he
went between our trysts. Or wasn't it our trysts that were in between something?
A fleeting distraction to relieve the boredom of being stuck in idyllic-but-glamour-
challenged Forks?

Fuck it, fuck him. I'd just had the shittiest of days and was in no shape to
contemplate the meaning of what we were doing.

"Headache," I told him, half-expecting to get booted out of the car. Wasn't that
the most overused excuse against sex? I have a headache so I can't be bothered
to suck your dick?

He said nothing. Instead, he pulled out from the lot, turned off the music he'd
been listening to and with a free hand, adjusted my seat so I could recline and
rest my head more comfortably.

"You want to eat something?" he asked as soon as we hit the highway and I
wanted to tell him something cranky, or annoying, or whatever. But he looked so
concerned, blast him, that I almost felt guilty for not being in shape.

"Pizza?"

I would've said pie, as lemon pie always seemed to put me in a better mood
every time I felt cranky. I'd had pie after some really shitty days since
kindergarten, but I could hardly ask him for something so childish. Besides, who
eats pie for dinner? Hence, pizza it was. Then I remembered that dinner was
usually already prepared when we arrived. I was about to tell him not to bother
but he was already on the phone, talking to someone.

"Can you scrap dinner?...no, just put them away and have some pizza sent
over.." So he had someone cook something, probably fancy, and I just went and
had it trashed, which kind of made me feel more guilty. "And can you have
Chelsea bring over some pie?...no, lemon...yes, that'll do..."

It was unsettling how he knew exactly what to do from the bits and pieces of
information that I'd told him when we were lucid. It was more unsettling that I
was starting to expect it from him.

He was silent throughout the drive and it was oddly comfortable, even though he
still drove like a bat out of hell. Once in the house, he led me to the bedroom and
told me to lie down. There was no pressure, no stress, no unwarranted groping.
Just him, me and the soothing sound of the sea drifting in from the open
windows.

I lay down on the bed – our bed – which amazingly smelled like him, as if he'd
lain down there recently.

"Try to relax," he told me, moving around the room. "Pizza won't be here for a
while."

Lulled by his scent on the sheets, I was starting to do just what he ordered when
the cloying smell of alcohol reached me. Opening my eyes, I saw him sitting next
to me in bed, holding a black case with what looked like Chinese inscriptions.
Inside the case were needles so thin they could easily fit inside a hypodermic
needle.

Alarmed, I sat up and moved away to the other side of the bed abruptly, adding a
couple of jackhammers to the pounding inside my head. "What are those?"

"Needles."

"I could see that. What're they for?"

"Acupuncture, for relieving stress and headaches."

They were also pointy, sharp and looked really, really painful.

"I don't like needles," I told him, keeping my voice steady. "Don't like" was mild
to describe what I felt at seeing the damned things. I was fucking scared of them.

He pulled one – almost four inches in length – and showed it to me. The bronze
needle glinted against the afternoon sun menacingly.

"It'll take just one teeny, tiny needle to cure your headache."

"Get that thing away from me."

"It's painless," he cajoled, "you won't feel a thing."

A horrible image of myself with needles sticking out of my head, like a human
porcupine with metal spikes, flashed through my terrorized brain.

"No way."

"I've done this before, it's safe."

Said the man who refused to drive under a hundred kilometers per hour.

"I don't like needles."

"You don't have to like them. Just sit back," he patted the spot next to him, "and
relax."

"No."

There was no way he was talking me into this.

"It won't hurt, I promise. All you'll feel is a little pinch as the needle goes in."

If he thought that telling me it wouldn't hurt as it "went in" was going to calm
me, he was dead wrong.

"Dammit, I said I don't like them."

He laughed, amused.

"All right, all right," he said and put the needle back inside the case. "Not now."

"Not ever," I clarified. What if he sticks one in my head while I'm sleeping? He
didn't have any qualms sticking his cock inside me while I was barely awake, why
not a teeny, tiny needle?

"I promise I won't stick one in you while you're sleeping," he said, smirking. "Just
sit down and try to relax, you're making your headache worse."

He was right but I'd be damned if I gave him an inch. "Put those things away
first."

He laughed again, raised his hands and made an exaggerated show of closing the
case and putting it inside one of the side table drawers.

"There. Now will you get back here and lie down?"

Only when I was sure he wouldn't pull one on me did I go near him. He sat at the
edge of the bed and took my hand, turned it over and squeezing gently. I was
starting to think that it was kind of sweet – but ultimately useless – of him to
hold my hand against a headache when he held his thumb and forefinger against
the spot between my thumb and forefinger and gave a hard, painful pinch.

"Aw, you jerk, that hurts!"

"Hush...this won't take long."

"What are you doing?"

"Acupressure...not as fast as with needles, but it'll work."

"It hurts, dammit."

"It's supposed to hurt, unlike when done with the needles...is it easing?"

It was, damn him. I could barely feel my head pounding due to the dull pain on
my hand."That's because you're pinching me too hard."

He laughed again. "I am not pinching you."

He wasn't, just pressing the area near my palm firmly– the adductor policis – he
told me.

"It's connected to the radial artery, the one the keeps your pulse beating, it'll
send signals to have blood rushed to the brain."

Divert the flow of energy, yada, yada, yada. It wasn't that I didn't want to hear
him explain but I was too busy trying to decide if the pain in my hand was more
preferable to the pain in my head.

Amazingly, the throbbing began to ease a little."How do you know these things?"

"Read about it here and there," he shrugged. "It's just basic acupuncture, nothing
fancy. There were some books about it in the prison library and some of the guys
managed to make needles from guitar strings."

"Really?" It would be just like him – to learn something entirely new and strange
for the sake of it. "Who did you practise it on? Your Russian cellmate?"

"Sergei? Fuck, no."He laughed out loud, obviously finding the thought ludicrous
but didn't explain to me why. "I practiced on myself."

"Wasn't that dangerous?"

"Not really. It's not that hard. All you have to know is where the meridians and
acupuncture points are, insert the needles, play with them for a while – "

"Play with needles? While they're stuck in you?" That didn't sound very scientific.
In fact, it sounded downright insane.

"It's based on traditional Eastern philosophy, not on evidence-based science or
modern anatomy but it's quick and it works. I could hardly run to the warden
every time I had a splitting headache, might be mistaken for a sissy."

I could just imagine, pretty rich boy like him. So he had headaches, which
explained the need for needles in prison, but I bet he hadn't kept them strictly for
medical purposes.

"I didn't kill anyone with them," he chuckled, as if he could read my mind. "The
wardens would've confiscated them if they knew I had them."

I gave him a look that said I rest my case.

"You know, some of the points have very specific uses," he told me, rolling me so
I faced down, lying on my stomach. "Keep still."

"No – no needles..."

He laughed again. "Scaredy-cat."

The bed dipped as he climbed in and it didn't take long before fingertips began
applying steady, moderate pressure between the base of my neck down to my
shoulders. Bit by bit, I started to relax, feeling my headache start to melt away.

"Good?"

I managed to mumble my appreciation, burrowing further into the pillows,
allowing him to twist me like a rag doll as he reached for the hem of my shirt and
puledl it over my head. His fingers were soothing, keeping in tune with my
breathing. He continued to talk, about points and pressure and whatever and I
was just starting to drift away in contented bliss, lulled by his hands and his
voice, when I felt it – a bare, whispery kiss on my neck, punctuated with a firm
press on the base of my spine. I jolted, as if electrocuted, as a different sensation
overrode the pain in my head. Blood rushed downwards and I was suddenly,
very, very, awake.

It felt something like the rush when he sucked a breast and suddenly bit on a
nipple – part pain, part surprise, pure sensation – only more intense as it was
unexpected.

"What-"

"Shhh..." A hand pushed me down, holding me in place as he worked his fingers
deeper. "Relax."

So I lay there, on my stomach, intensely curious.

His hands landed on my shoulders again, and proceeded to press and knead
methodically, and my eyes to rolled in pure, unadulterated pleasure. He pulled off
my pants, leaving me in my undies. Fingers slid down to my back, down to my
ass, searching – and finding – the little pressure points with ease. My body
hummed from the attention but I didn't dare move an inch. Seemingly
unresponsive, I let myself drown in a little solipsistic world of pleasure, keeping
my eyes closed and my body slack.

Hands and fingers did the work with almost clinical precision, working out kinks
and knots I didn't know I had, pushing me into a comfortable, languid zone where
my body floated in relaxed bliss. But just when I start to drift off to sleep, he'd
press on a point and jolt me again. Tongue and lips would follow, drumming out
an almost imperceptible intensification, until, finally, a long, ragged moan
escaped me.

"How's the headache?" He breathed heavily against my ear, his voice husky.

I dragged myself to the surface and gave him an incoherent 'mmmm-hmmmm,'
giving him no outward signals that I was close, his mere touch setting off a
barrage of sensations enough to shut down half of my brain. His hands continued
to stroke, caress, press and knead, from my ass to the soles of my feet and up
again, teasing the inside of my thighs. Then, as if by accident, his knuckles
brushed on the side of my clit, above my panties. Once, and then again, pressing
down a little. I opened my legs, giving him wider access. He breathed in sharply
as he encountered wetness, before slipping his hand under the fabric and
inserting a finger –

"Fuck, you're so wet," he groaned before shifting, lying next to me so my back
was slightly against his. He put an arm around my shoulder, holding me in place.
His other hand remained on my pussy and without missing a beat, he slipped in a
digit. His fingers started to fuck me as his mouth latched on to the base of my
neck. Two, then three digits, keeping to the rhythm of my tremors. His leg
trapped mine, pinning me to the bed so I couldn't move.

Unable to stop my body from shaking, I whimpered. "Oh, God..."

"Shhh..."

I knew what he was doing, what he was capable of...build up the exhilarating,
almost painful pressure until it became almost a force that could knock me out.

"Edward...," I pleaded.

His only answer was to suck harder, hold on tighter. His fingers inside me,
steadily building the pressure until I all but begged him to fuck me.

"Oh, God."

He dropped the arm holding me against his chest, groped for a spot below my
navel, somewhere near my hipbone, and with two of his fingers, pressed down.

Hard.

I bucked, a wordless scream tearing from my mouth. Bolts of electricity coursed
through my body, burning paths from my pussy to my lungs, my head, to the tips
of my toes and fingers. For the longest moment, I couldn't breath, couldn't move
as I drowned in an overload of sensations. I started shaking, and couldn't stop. I
burned, from inside out, excruciating sensations my mind fail to describe.

Just when I thought my lungs would burst, my instincts kicked in. Flailing an arm,
I managed to break his hold and screamed as tremors wracked my entire body.

Oh, God...oh, my God, oh God, oh, God...oh, my God...

Seconds, minutes passed before I could control my body. It was only when I
stopped shaking that I realized his hands were no longer on me and that save for
my breathing, everything was quiet and strangely still.

I turned to him and saw that he was rolled to his back, like the wind had just
been knocked out of him.

"Edward?"

Eyes squeezed tight, he looked like he was in so much pain.

Fuck. Did I hit him that hard?

"Pants..," he gritted out, "pants..."

He was rock hard. Rock. Hard. With shaking fingers, I zipped him out, springing
him from the confines of his jeans. His cock stood out, its veins throbbing angrily.
I loved his cock. It's incredible and unique and had always pleased me, but this
time it was just a little different. He rammed it into me with hesitation or apology.
There was no give, no flexibility. He was so focused that when he fucked me I
was immediately riding that wave between pleasure and pain. His swollen head
was pounding into me and I didn't even bother to hold my screams in.

"Like that, baby?"

"Want it hard?"

"That feel good?"

"Faster?"

"Fucking good, yeah?"

"Gonna fuck you hard..."

When he cummed, I watched his his face contort in pain and pleasure. Hissing
and cursing, his fingers dug deep into my shoulders as I writhed and cried and
trashed under him.

He didn't pull out, even after his cock stopped pumping cum. He just shifted
slightly to pull his shirt over his head before kicking his pants out of the way.

Without missing a beat, he started rocking to a lazy, steady tempo, rebuilding the
pressure from the high. He'd done it before; fuck me steadily without breaking.
He could cum twice, even thrice without pulling out, driving me crazy.

It's just like dancing, he'd told me once. It's all in the leading.

His hands groped with purpose, his fingers finding their way on sensitive places.
The base of the throat, between breasts, behind the knee. He hiked my legs
higher, bringing ankles against his shoulders, pressing that spot at the base of
the sole, sending signals from sensitized points to my brain and I drowned in
mindless pleasure. He kept asking me to change positions – on my back, riding
him, behind me, riding him again, on my back again, doggy style with my head
and shoulders down low.

I didn't even know how many times I came. I did know that I gushed so much
that I soaked him and the sheets under us. When he came I felt it so deep inside
me I thought I would explode from the impact.

When it was over, I lay quietly beside him with my legs trembling, my throat
hoarse from screaming, my body slick with sweat, cum and saliva.

"You okay, baby?"

"I'm good," I croaked. Apart from my throat, I felt fine, even a little energized.

He tucked me under his chin and let me semi-sprawl against him. Earlier on, it
had been quite a surprise to discover that Edward Cullen, criminal genius, was a
shameless cuddler. He favored certain positions, the ones where he could slip his
cock into me the easiest and rock himself into a frenzy. It wasn't unusual to wake
up in the morning and find him inside me, groaning and moaning to himself how

fucking good I felt, how goddamned tight, how he loved fucking me and would I
like some fucking breakfast?

"Tired?" I smirked at him when his breathing started to normalize. It had never
happened before, him dropping off before me.

"A little," he lied, obviously exhausted. "But that was good, yeah?"

It was better than good. It was fucking amazing and if I wasn't sure he'd take it
as a brazen invitation to start fucking again, I would've told him that. So I lay
there instead, lightly touching him – his cheeks, the slight stubble on his jaw, his
lips, through his hair and behind his ears – lulling him to sleep. He started to nod
off at some point and I was about to roll out of bed and look for something to eat
when he jerked himself awake and stopped me.

"Stay," he told me. "Please."

I told him I was just going to get something to eat, as I didn't know what
happened to the pizza he ordered but a tug, another please, and I was back in
bed with him.

"I've never seen you sleep," I mused when his eyes drifted shut after a few
minutes.

"I don't," he answered, taking a deep breath and moving his legs against mine,
shifting for a more comfortable position. "Not when I'm with you."

"That's ridiculous."

He just laughed again and with eyes closed, began rubbing himself all over me.

"How could I sleep with this around?" he purred, gently kneading my breasts,
before dropping his hands to my ass. His lips started moving down, burning a
trail on my neck, finding a nipple then the other, nipping, sucking...gently at first
then harder and harder until I cried out, my back arching.

"Dammit, Edward!"

He loved leaving marks all over my body, loved to make me squirm and giggle
under him while he did. Most times, he'd suck and bite when I was awake but it
wasn't a surprise to wake up some mornings to find bite marks I couldn't
remember him making.

"Stop fucking around."

Limbs and legs and elbows sufficiently entwined, he stopped moving, pinning me
under him. Looking at our bodies, I wondered how far I'd come from the
insecure, frigid "bitch" I'd been so convinced I was. He made me forget all my
insecurities when we're together, the glaring imperfections that almost always
came to the fore when I was in a room full of people with my clothes on. Naked
with him, I felt completely comfortable, confident...sexy.

I didn't realize I was staring at him until he laughed down at me, boyish and
carefee, like he knew exactly what I was thinking and was daring me to say
it...say it out loud.

Sometimes, I hated how perceptive he was.

"What?"

"Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?"

He'd asked me this before and I'd always refused to answer. Nakedness I could
handle. Dirty talk I liked. But compliments without the moaning and cursing?
Nothing made me more uncomfortable.

I looked away, feeling a different kind of burn. If he noticed the sudden mood
shift, he didn't comment on it, only chuckled and burrowed into my neck again.
The moment was broken, which was just as well. It never did anyone any good to
try to rationalize about things that didn't make sense. There were other more
urgent things to think about...like what kind of other perverse and unscientific
methods he could possibly come up with if I stayed every night.

"You know, you could've just given me an Advil." I told him. I would never have
consented to all that pressing and pinching if I wasn't so squeamish about
needles. Somehow, the jerk had tricked me into something again.

He started to laugh, low and delicious, his body sending tremors against my
oversensitive skin.

"I know," he conceded, "but where would've been the fun in that?"

"You are such an ass."

"So I've been told," he snorted. "Although under less pleasant circumstances."

He could be so goddamned charming when he was being cocky that it was
impossible to even pretend to be grouchy with him.

"So...pressure points...I assume you have them," I said.

He lifted his head at my words, suddenly very awake.

"I do, yeah," he answered, looking at me intently. "I found them myself."

"Really?"

"Wanna know where they are?"

He looked so hopeful it was hard to even tease him that I didn't.

"I thought you were tired."

He shook his head, once, then twice, more vigorously.

"Not anymore."

XXX

XXX

Charlie was furious. I didn't only make a fool out of myself, I made a fool out of
him.

"What we're you thinking?" he'd asked.

To be honest, I was thinking I could get away with it – scratch an itch without
harming anyone, except maybe myself. I'd tried to wheedle my way out of his
anger, telling him I'd planned on saying something to him before the Feds blew
everything out of proportion. He'd given me a level stare then, and told me he
knew me well enough to know that if I didn't tell me at the first instance, then I

had no intention of telling him at all. He then proceeded to deconstruct my
reasons, pointing out how faulty each of my decisions had been, grounding my
excuses with logic and common sense. He was relentless without being cruel,
exacting the whens and wheres of my relationship with Edward far better than
the Feds ever did. He skipped the sordid parts, thank fucking God, as I didn't
know if I could be able to bring myself to tell him. When it came to the part when
I tried to explain to him that I just didn't want to do what Mom did, he'd all but
exploded.

"I raised you, Isabella. Not Renee, not anyone else. What has she got to do with
anything?"

I'd hung my head in shame as I ran out of excuses.

"I know you'd be responsible and protect yourself but...Edward Cullen? Bella, the
man is a sociopath. He's not like the petty lowlifes we have here in Forks."

Yes, Edward Cullen was unstable, unhinged, completely unsalvageable. But then,
so was I. How else could I explain the things I've done with him, and for him, so
far? There were so many times I could have said no, refused his games and
innuendo, but I didn't. No, I couldn't lay everything out on him. I knew he'd
never be that upright, law-abiding citizen every parent wanted their little girls to
end up with. Sociopaths didn't change overnight. They didn't change, period. In a
way, I was a willing accomplice.

"It worries me that you'd find his sort of life attractive."

I didn't, I'd assured Charlie. It wasn't Edward's lifestyle that fascinated me, it was
the man himself. We were polar opposites, given our backgrounds and the worlds
we moved in, and I had no intention of trading mine for his. But strip away all the
externalities, we were frighteningly similar – our wants and needs, our
predilections.

Charlie hadn't liked it but there was nothing he could do. What was done was
done. I didn't commit any crime, except sleep with a man who didn't have his
trust. That, per se, wasn't so much of an affront, either. Charlie had always
trusted me to make my own decisions, even the wrong ones. But the least I could
have done was be honest about it, as he'd always been with me.

He didn't say out loud but his anger came from how hurt he was. The humiliation
he could stand, the disappointment he could get over. But it would take a while
before he could forget the fact that I didn't trust him enough with something so
important. Instead, I shut him out, dismissed his opinion by not asking for it and
treated him as someone who didn't know and wouldn't understand. That, for him,
was my ultimate betrayal. He was my father first. Being cop came in a distant
second.

I couldn't tell him enough how sorry I was.

Dealing with Edward was less complicated.

"Fix it, fix this," I'd told him at the diner. "Until you do, don't touch me, don't talk
to me, don't even come near me."

I was in enough trouble on my own. I refused to be dragged further into his.

He'd merely smiled, then, and told me that he wouldn't be around much, in any
case. He'd been invited by the New York Philharmonic for several performances,
he'd said, so he was packing his bags that same day. He would've told me at L.A

but he got distracted and there wasn't enough time. He would've loved to have
me with him but he understood that it would take more than a couple of skipped
classes to fly to the other side of the continent. He'd miss me, that's for sure, but
a few weeks apart wouldn't be so bad. It would do us good to have things blow
over for a while. He understood I needed a little space to digest what he'd just
dropped on me. It would give Charlie some time, too, to get used to the fact that
we were together, without rubbing our "involvement" in his face.

He was, of course, lying. I'd find out later that New York hosted several Veyrons
and his stint with the orchestra coincided neatly with the timetable he'd set on
boosting them.

It didn't matter. I told myself he wasn't my problem. I could've told the FBI what
I knew but who was I kidding? They probably knew as much as I did already.
Besides, I've no doubt the Feds would've alerted all remaining Veyron owners,
put a 24-hour detail on the cars and staked out the areas where they'd expect
him to strike.

And strike he did. Relentlessly. One by one the remaining Veyrons disappeared.
One moment the car was there, gone the next. The thefts made big news due to
the sheer audacity of the thieves. The local police hounded one suspect after
another and came up with nothing. They couldn't establish a timeline and
pinpoint at what hour the car was stolen. Without a proper timeline, they couldn't
narrow down their suspects or decide which of them had sufficient alibis. It didn't
help that most of their suspects were high profile personalities – celebrities,
socialites, progenies of who's who – all related, and at some point, persons of
interest, in Edward Cullen's case.

There were no leads, no solid evidence except for a set of incomplete prints in
one of the security cameras where the last of the Veyrons went missing. If I
didn't know just how devious Edward could be, I would've believed that there was
a chance that they were going to get him. But I did, so I knew that the prints
were there for the sole reason that he left them there, probably as a prank, a
childish taunt to Feds.

Being the prime suspect, he was forced to stay in New York for the duration of
the investigation. He shied away from the attention, preferring to get on with his
commitments to the orchestra with minimum fanfare. He socialized witth the
nation's upper classes only in the most controlled and exclusive settings, keeping
up the profile of a mysterious but dedicated artist, reformed from his wayward
ways.

The entire debacle was absorbing, a source of endless speculation and drama,
and I was completely riveted

I followed his whereabouts like a deranged fangirl. There was nothing better to
do, anyway. Without Edward's shenanigans, my days crawled by slowly,
uneventfully and the sheer dullnes that was my life weighed on me. I never
noticed how debilitatingly boring Evergreen was until then, with its predictable
schedules and monotonous routines. But there were days when a restless energy
would creep inside me, crawl on top of my skin and twist my insides to the point
of pain. There would be times when I'd wake up in the middle of the night, cold
and shivering, my hand between my legs, gasping, sometimes screaming his
name. Sometimes, the feeling would hit me even during the day and no amount
of self-gratification could get me off.

I'd long stopped denying what Edward had known all along. I was addicted to
him; hooked to a manipulative bastard who had no conscience and no hope for

reform. It didn't help that everything reminded me of him. A cup of coffee, a box
of jasmine tea, the scent of a cigarette, a quiet tinkling of piano keys drifting
from someone else's window...

I could've ended it that day in the diner. I could've told him that we were over,
that I didn't want to have to do anything with his lying ass. I didn't. Worse, I
seemed to have given him exactly what he wanted – enough time to pull his heist
without me as a distraction. As the days went by, frustrations the urge to hop on
the plane to New York grew stronger and it was only my deep respect for Charlie
that stopped me. Otherwise, I wouldn't have managed to preserve what was left
of my dignity.

In any case, I have no doubt I'd lose it soon enough. I knew that the moment
Edward was back, I'd throw caution to the wind in exchange for a wild night with
him. . .

He came on a Friday, after my last class of the day. The man who'd been wanted
in several states stood in a corner of my building, looking like he just rolled out of
bed. Sporting a two-day stubble, his hair was disheveled as always. The bottom
buttons of his jacket sleeves were open, and so were his shirt cuffs. The collar of
his shirt was frayed, as if deliberately. He had that chic look of the rich, those
who didn't have to stick to the etiquette of polite society; those who could afford
to be imperfect. Arms crossed, looking like he had nothing better to do but hang
around small college buildings, he exuded a nonchalance that couldn't be learned,
one that come only with experience.

He looked good, better than good, and every conflicted emotion I had about him
resurfaced inside me.

"You look good," he greeted me, unwittingly mirroring my thoughts. His voice
washed over me, like the first drops of summer rain, and I could feel my
resistance crumble. The urge to jump him rushed to the fore, uncaring that we
were in the middle of the hallway, in front of about a hundred Evergreen
students.

"What are you doing here?" Without meaning to, the question came out as gruff,
angry and he took a second to stare at me, trying to read my expression.

Unfurling his length from the wall, he gripped my right arm and started to lead
me away.

"Walk with me," he said, giving me a paper he had rolled under his other arm. It
was The New York Times, opened into one of the inside pages. It was dated the
day before and carried inside it a short write-up.

Charges dropped against NYPhilharmonic pianist

The words "grand theft" and "insufficient evidence" leapt at me from the page.

Four fingerprints were lifted from Brooke's time-delay security systems inside the
21-car garage in White Plains, NY. The entire system was compromised, believed
to be tampered with discreetly. Two of the fingerprints were insufficient for
comparison, the third was identified as not belonging to Cullen and the fourth was
not of sufficient quality to include or exclude Cullen. Police did not attempt to lift
prints from any of the other cars and the investigation was dropped as Brooke
refuses to file charges.

It wasn't news to me. I'd known it the minute one of his lawyers announced on
national TV that "Edward Cullen is no longer a suspect." Aside from the lack of

evidence, most of the Veyron owners failed to press serious charges. Some, like
Brooke, refused to file any, at all. Apparently, being stolen from by Edward Cullen
carried a status by itself, especially among car aficionados. The FBI didn't have
anything to hold him in New York.

I handed him back the paper. "What happens now?"

"That's up to you," he answered. I'd been busy skimming the paper that I didn't
notice we were already at his car, a Porsche Carrera, black on black. He opened
the door, and started to pull me inside.

"Wait...where are we going?"

"You'll see..."

XXX

I'd flown out of New York the minute I could like some lovesick puppy, too damn
horny to think of anything else but a girl who'd managed to invade my every
thought. I'd endured days, weeks of abstinence by thinking up the ways I could
fuck her, waiting for that day when I could look at her at the eye and strip away
all her remaining excuses.

I took her to the Foss Harbor marina, just a couple of minutes from downtown
Tacoma. Carmen had the foresight to buy a boat and dock it somewhere close,
knowing my preference for enclosed, quiet places.

I led her to the landing to open the steel door and pushed her in. She'd resisted
at first but I managed to persuage her. I'd known she wouldn't last long, she
needed this as much as I did.

"It's nice...," she said, lying. The place was a garrison, with Jasper's state of art
security systems, but she wouldn't know that as all sensors, even the cameras,
were concealed behind the thin walls. She wouldn't have the opportunity either,
because the moment door was sealed, I was all over her.

"Whoa!"

Vaguely, I register the sound of fabric tearing and I didn't know or care if it was
her blouse or my shirt. All those nights of watching her closely in a 9.7 inch
display, jacking off as she touched herself, moaning my name, it couldn't stand to
the real, squirming body I had against mine. I was desperate for a taste, to feel
her against me and breathe in her scent. I pushed her bra to one side to bite on
her tits, one hand yanking on her jeans.

"Slow down, dammit!"

I knew every inch of her body, every curve, every zone. I knew where to touch to
make her wet, where to make her moan, sweat, scream my name. But fuck it all,
we were skipping the preliminaries.

"Jesus...ah...fuck, Edward! Easy...ah...slow down..."

She hissed as my fingers slipped in between her panties and the apex of her
thighs, pressing hard against her already tight bundle of nerves, teasing little
circles over her clit, working the nub, harder and tighter. Her eyelids shut heavily
and her head fell back against the door as the last of her resistance fading away.

"Oh, God..."

She reached up and slammed the flat of her hand against the door as pleasure
took over and she thrust against my probing fingers, teasing the release out of
her. The moment she slumped against me, I pulled her to the stateroom and into
the bed, pushing the rest of her clothes out of the way. It was all happening too
fast, too hard but it couldn't stop, couldn't think.

"Hold on to something, baby."

Before she could say "slow down" again, I had her on her arms and knees.
Gripping her hips, I rammed into her and started pounding none too gently. She
clung to the headboard for dear life, locking both hands around a bedpost for
leverage, lest she get slammed straight into the wall.

Hands leaving bruises as they dug into her flesh; I withdrew almost completely
and slammed every inch back in roughly, sheathing myself to the hilt, making her
shriek. I pushed her down on the mattress, shoved her thighs as far apart as
they would go, leaned down over her back, and proceeded to fuck the hell out of
her.

The bedframe shook, the mattress sliding to one side. She held on to the lower
end and pushed her hips up, offering herself to me and I was more than happy to
oblige her. Reaching under her, I lifted her up a bit, my hands splayed across her
chest, holding her up as I pounded into her. The angle was perfect, and the
instant I touched her clit, she arched back against me and came, the scream
dying on her lips even as a second orgasm washed over her.

Pulling out, I flipped her over, and slammed right back into her tight, willing
body. She wrapped her legs around my waist, taking me as deep as she could,
and dug her fingernails into my back, leaving bleeding cuts that would sting like
hell in the morning.

"Harder," she gasped, and bit into my shoulder. "More!"

I let go, thrusting into her with every ounce of strength I had, the sheer force
sliding her back across the bed a few inches every time. I bent down to bite
harshly at her hard nipples, loving the sounds she made, the way she arched up
to offer her tits to me,over and over and over, as fast as I could go, tearing one
orgasms after another. It didn't take long before I felt it...the tension, like a dam
filled to the point of bursting and then I was burning, air leaving my lungs so fast
I felt like I was dying.

"Fuck!" My lungs cooperated as air rushed in and I collapsed into her, shaking,
slipping out of her before I was even done, making a mess on the sheets and on
her body. It had just been too fucking long.

"You okay?" I asked her some time later, my head against on her breasts, her
hands stroking shakily through my hair, her legs draped over mine.

"Mmmmfine," she mumbled. "Little sore."

"Want a bath?" The room looked like a tornado went through it, with the mattress
on one side and pillows scattered on the floor.

"Ten minutes." Her eyes drifting shut, and I nudged her gently.

"Five."

We weren't done yet. Not by a long shot.

We fucked on the floor, on the table, even against the wall at some point. I
fucked her as she came, fucked her as her pussy began milking my cock with
spasms. She felt so good, her cunt so tight that I could hardly keep myself from
coming all over her everytime I stuck my dick into her.

I fucked her through every orgasm, as she'd start to come down, getting her high
again. I watched my cock slide in and out on the slippery slickness of her cunt,
watched her tits bounce with every thrust. I had her legs up in the air, her ankles
against my shoulder, listened to her moans and screams of oh, God, fuck, fuck,
fuck, Edward...

I missed her. I missed my girl. She fucking missed me, too.

We made it to the bath eventually. I watched as warm water enclosed her body
as she lowered herself slowly. Long legs, creamy thighs, hips with burgeoning
bruises. Her tits were red and raw, and she hissed as water hit them.

"This is nice," she murmured when she finally managed to submerge herself.

"I know what's nicer," I told her as I joined her inside the tub. Turning her around
so she faced me, I put her knees against my thighs. I gripped her hips and
positioned her over my cock. Clutching on my shoulders, her mouth opened into
a soundless moan as inch by inch, I slid into her again.

"Edward..."

"Shhh..." With her body pressed against mine, I could feel every breathe, every
tremor run through her. She tensed as I shifted, every muscle locking in place. I
could feel her contract around me, then slowly adjust to my size. She gasped
again as I moved experimentally, careful not to bruise her already throbbing clit.
She leaned back slowly, tilting her head as she concentrated on how I felt inside
her, her eyes drifitng shut...

"Open you eyes, sweetheart...," I murmured to her, enjoying her exhalations, her
gasps, the shivers she couldn't contain. Slowly, her breathing came down again
and she reached back and wrapped her arms around my neck, touching her
forehead to mine.

I gripped her hips under the water and pulled her up, controlling her movements.
Water lapped against her back and around her breasts as we found the right
rhythm. Her body undulated against mine and I matched her, muscle against
muscle. Her hands pulled on my hair as she came; her lips parting into a silent
moan. Her eyes, so brown they were almost black, stared straight into me and
deargod, it felt good, so fucking good to hold her, to be surrounded by her
warmth.

Near dawn, she slipped into deep, exhausted sleep and I stirred the course to
take us out to sea. She usually slept the day away after a wild ride, giving me
enough time to do whatever I wanted. She wasn't going to like waking up in the
middle of nowhere, but I wasn't taking chances. We needed to talk, and I didn't
want her running away from me.

She woke up, ten hours later.

"Where are we?"

"Couple of miles off the coast."

"Fuck!" She scrambled off the bed, groaning as her muscles protested. She spied
her bag on the floor, picked it up and started rummaging inside. It didn't occur to
her that she was gloriously naked, and when she bent down, offered her ass to
me. Looking at her, I decided to shock her out of bed more often. "Where's my
phone? I have to call Charlie."

I had it and I wasn't giving it back. The phone was useless, anyway. We were
keeping under the radar so I had Jasper block all radio signals within a ten mile
radius around the boat. The only way she could send a message out was through
me.

"Don't worry about him, I already left a message."

She spotted her pants, and some of her underwear and was on the process of
putting them on. She stopped at my words and turned to me, her eyes
narrowing. "What did you tell him?"

"Something that you should have told him weeks ago."

"Charlie and I already talked," she said defensively, unaware how much she was
prancing around almost naked.

"And you didn't tell him you were still seeing me. When you said I have to fix
things up, I assumed you'd be fixing yours."

"You call getting away with ten counts of car theft "fixing things up?" She stopped
in the middle of putting on her torn shirt, her eyes blazing. "The FBI will come
after you until the statutes of limitations for car theft expired. You're still looking
at eight to 10 years of close surveillance every time a similar case like yours
come up."

Of course I knew. It's the one thing Carmen had constantly nagged me for the
last several weeks, telling me that if I wanted some peace and quiet for the next
few years, I shouldn't have taunted the Feds with the finger prints. But knowing
means being better prepared.

"You're right. The FBI will find every excuse to haul me back into jail for the next
decade and, like it or not, they're going to drag you in, too." Her face hardened
and I could sense her prepare herself to argue with me. "You didn't actually think
I'd wait that long, did you?"

We'd barely managed to be apart for a couple of weeks. A year would kill us.

She sat down on the bed, a unyielding expression on her face. "I'm not going to
be one of your alibis."

"I know." The prospect of covering up for me was the one thing that really
bugged her. She had too much integrity to let herself be used by some scumbag
like me. The only reason that she didn't turn me in was because she had
incomplete information. She wouldn't be so forgiving the next time I tried to pull
something that would implicate her in any way.

"If the FBI asks me, I'm going to tell them whatever I know," she said. "I won't
lie for you."

"You won't have to. If you let me, I can ensure you that the Feds will never touch
or come near you again. There is a way where you can refuse to testify for or
against me but you'll have to do to something first."

Something she wouldn't have considered, something that's been on my mind
since L.A.

"Like what?" she huffed, still annoyed but less agitated, her panic temporarily
receding.

I knew she'd immediately reject what I had in mind, but we had very limited
choices.

"Marry me."

XXX

O_O

Present day...

"In the kitchen."

She drops her bag on the sofa, takes off her peacoat and dumps it there, too.
She kicks off her shoes as she makes her way to the kitchen, unclipping her
gunbelt and putting her .45 caliber pistol – standard issue – on the island table.

I watch her, from the moment she opens the front door until she stops in front of
me. Plain gray pants, white silk-charmeuse blouse, suede platform pumps.
Confident, classy, sexy as hell.

Meet Agent Isabella Marie Swan, special investigator to the New York County
District Attorney's Office Rackets Bureau. Her unit conducts long term
investigations into the corrupt activities of criminal enterprises, specializing on
state-organized crime relations.

Highly ironic, considering she's married to me.

She married me several months after she swore to "support and defend the
Constitution" as a Federal agent. It wasn't easy convincing her. When I first
asked her, I knew she was going to fight me all the way. She abhorred the
concept of marriage, to me or to anyone else. A cynic at the age of ten, she
thought of marriage as a social obligation that she should avoid at all costs, lest
she ends up like her mother who could never be satisfied with one man. Or her
father who couldn't be with anyone else even years after his wife left him.

But I was a persistent bastard and in the end, I got her to agree into spending
the rest of her life with me. Marriage provided us an impenetrable bubble, a safe
haven from the outside. Inside, she got instant spousal immunity and I got Chief
Swan and the entire fucking Forks off my back. True, it's not without shades of
being convenient but aren't all marriages made of conveniences in one way or the
other?

She drove a hard bargain. As my wife, she insisted on keeping her name, as well
as separate bank accounts, cars and whatever material possession she can
maintain solely as her own. She declared her work off limits to me, only
marginally caring if I supported it or not.

I don't care. It makes no difference to me what she does. There's only one thing I
need from her and I'd made it very, very clear from the beginning. I get to fuck
her. A lot. I expect a copious amount of sex in my marriage, everything else is on
the table. She thought it was a joke at first, but I'd long proved to her otherwise.

In exchange, I promised her I'd play nice. I told her I won't interfere in her work
if she doesn't want me to. I'll back off and remove most of the surveillance I have
on her, only insisting on being informed on her dangerous assignments.

I withdrew all of my operations within her area of responsibility. When she
moves, I shift. When she comes too close, I step back. But when she's otherwise
occupied, I push. It's like sleeping next to live wire, but so far it had worked out
well for both us.

Lucky for me, she decided early on to steer clear of organized auto theft rings.
Save for a short stint in drug enforcement in Kentucky, she prefers solving white
collar crimes – little white puzzles she can analyze over and over because yes,
she has a thing for complicated, hard-to-figure criminals.

xxx

She kisses me thoroughly – bit of tongue, a little biting – just the way I like it. My
hands go under her blouse, skimming over her bra line. She smells awfully like
formadehyde, but I don't care.

"Tough day?" I ask her when she breaks to take a breath.

"Hmmmm," she sighs, burrowing into my shirt. She complains that I always smell
like sex, but I think she's secretly addicted to it. "You could say that."

"Heard about it on the radio," I say, referring to the arrest of her suspect, a
property manager wanted for stealing properties in lower Manhattan. The idiot
had tried to kill his way out of his felony, living a trail of dead bodies in his wake.

"Someone tipped the bureau that one of his bookkeepers was trying to slip out of
state. We caught up with him and his boss near the Canadian border," she says,
looking up at me." You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would
you?"

Straight to the point, as always. But yes, no, maybe.

Sometime before we got married, she'd made it very clear that I can only
interfere with her cases under very special circumstances. Or else she was going
to make my life a living hell, mainly by staying away. She has the uncanny ability
of knowing when I stick my nose where I'm not supposed to so I try my hardest
not to meddle.

This time, though. her suspect was getting desperate and things were increasing
getting dangerous for her and her team. Lucky for her, I was well-connected in
certain exclusive circles, one of which included a certain senator who's fond of
using shady realtors. It didn't take me long to convince the good senator to give
both the idiot and his bookie up. Everyone knows I'm not very fond of people who
make things difficult for my wife.

She moves away from me when I don't answer and wanders towards the oven.

"You made pie," she observes.

"Lemon," I tell her, her favorite food of all time. She raises a brow but doesn't
repeat her question so I guess I haven't shot myself in the balls. Yet. "How about
you go change? I'll call you when dinner's ready."

I don't pilfer information from my sources for the DA to do the right thing and
play hero. I do it for purely selfish reasons. I want my wife home safely – in our
bed, naked and writhing under me.

Plus, ratting out the underworld had its own definitive advantage. Bella guards
her integrity jealously, almost to the point of irrationality. It's very hard for her to
accept the fact that, on occasion, I could be of some use to her and her
profession. She doesn't want to be indebted to me in anyway, so she insist that I
get a reward for my efforts. I collect, of course. I'm no saint.

For my first reward, I asked for a small, simple tattoo. On her. A C-clef, made for
the middle-C, a key found near the center of the keyboard of a piano. It's low
that I should coerce her into getting a tattoo since she hates needles with a
passion. But I wanted a tatt so I got one. She picked the spot – the area under
her ankle bone. I bought the necessary equipment and supplies and marked her
myself as she lay on our bed, grasping our sheets with her eyes squeezed shut,
enduring the pain of the needle in silence.

The next one was harder. She'd picked the design, a rising dragon which she
half-jokingly said represented me. I picked the spot – on her hipbone, down to
the crease of her thighs because where else would I want my mark to be if not on
her pussy? She balked at first, and it took me a long time to convince her again.
She balked again when she saw the tattoo chair I bought for the purpose, saying
it looked like a torture machine and she didn't want it inside our bedroom. The
next day, I bought and sealed off an entire building, demolishing the last of her
excuses. She insisted on being drugged to blunt the pain so I gave her the
"safest" (or at least the least dangerous) combination that would make her feel
nothing and forget everything the next day – opiates combined with crystal meth,
followed by ecstasy to soften the eventual crash. I made it very clear to her how
the drugs could temporarily fry her brain with dopamine, lower her inhibitions and
make her more aggressive, wilder. She said yes and endured hours of out-of-
control sexual mania that refused to abate no mater how hard or how many times
I fucked her.

She survived the ordeal, the chair didn't.

Best day of my life.

xxx

She comes out of our bedroom half an hour later, wearing a clinging yellow
tanktop and low, comfortable shorts that show the dragon tatt on her hip.
Barefoot, she makes her way to the counter and leans against me to snag a
peeled carrot. She presses into my arm and I breathed in the clean scent of the
soap she uses.

Better, much better.

"I've thought about it...," she says, taking a bite out of her carrot.

I hide a smile. "In the shower?" Looks like I get my reward, after all.

"How much is it going to hurt?"

"I have no idea."

She leans back against the counter, rests her elbows behind her and thrusts her
chest out. I can see her nipples hard against her shirt, the outline of her perky
breasts, the taunt stomach, the long, creamy legs. She shifts on one foot and
smirks, waiting...

I jump her. I can't help it. She knows what she does to me. She kisses me back
and closes her eyes as I kiss her down her neck, tangling her fingers on my hair,
allowing me to welcome her home properly.

"Am I going to need drugs?"

"Definitely." I moved my hands to pull her up and she wraps her legs around my
waist instinctively. I set her down the counter, pushing her backwards.

"That bad?" she gasps as I bite a nipple over her shirt.

"Worse." I guide one of her hands into my pants, rubbing her palm against my
hard-on. I've been a good little boy and she owes me.

She laughs as she reaches down, letting the tips of her nails drag gently over the
head of my cock. I suck in a sharp breath as the first droplet of cum ooze from
the tip.

She latches on my neck and starts to suck gently and...fuck...

"How about I fuck you instead ?" she offers, as she wraps her hand around my
shaft. She starts to pump idly, hard enough to draw a growl but not enough to
make me come. I close my eyes and let her pleasure me, breathing in the scent
of her hair, her newly washed skin...

"You can...damn...fuck me for ..cooking dinner...ah shit...harder...you can...fuck
me... ungh...again...later...for dessert."

"I thought we were having pie." She's laughing, the tease.

"Lemon...yeah...fuck...that too..."

More pre-cum ooze from my cock and damn, fucking damn it. If I don't get hold
of myself, I'm going come in my fucking pants.

She smears the liquid over the my cock and loosens her hold. I grit my teeth
together, lifting my pelvis to in protest but she only laughs and pulls her hand
away.

I open my eyes in time to see her suck her fingers into her mouth, pulling them
out with an obscene popping sound, the digits gleaming with her saliva as she
breaks into a lascivious grin.

"Hmmmm...better than pie," she leers. She's gotten good at teasing me over the
years and not that I don't appreciate it but it drives me insane.

I grasp her wrist, jerking her down from the counter and to her knees. Yanking
my pants open, I switched positions so I lean against the counter and she kneels
before me, her head right against my crotch. With a marked shaking of her
shoulders, she opens her mouth, her tongue darting out to flicker over my cock.

I tilt my hips, urging her to open up and suck me in deep and . . .fuck, yesss...

xxx

"So how was Germany?" she asks, when we finally get to eating dinner. We'd
managed to work up a nice appetite after discovering another creative use of the
kitchen counter, one of the dining chairs and the kitchen island table.

"Fine, I suppose," I tell her, "but I wouldn't actually know. I was in Prague."

Rule of the house: Do not ask your spouse if he's been to Germany when several
Ferraris go missing there. Chances are, he'll have an alibi ready.

"How's Jasper?"

"I don't know, haven't seen him since Christmas dinner," I smile at her. "But nice
try, Agent Swan."

Christmases were spent in Forks, with Jasper and Alice coming in from New
Jersey, and me and Bella coming from wherever we are at that time. It was the
only time we were seen in public together, as Jasper and I generally prefer to
conduct our business under layers of alibis or over encrypted lines.

I'd long decided not to tell her anything – plausible deniability and all that shit. Of
course, she still tries to pull information every once in a while, lest she be
accused of going easy on me.

"And the new Veyrons?"

"They're coming out nicely."

A few years back, I decided I needed a stronger front for my. . . business. Hence,
I became Herr Edward Cullen, owner of Bugatti Automobiles, the same company
that comes up with the highly specialized Veyrons I happen to like so much. Bella
couldn't believe I'd buy a company I'd stolen from. But I genuinely like the cars
so I figured a little legitimacy won't hurt me.

"So, are you going to tell me what you want?" she asks, going back to our earlier
conversation. Bella is nothing but doggedly determined, even when it goes
against her better judgement. She'd been willing to indulge me in a lot of things
as part of our agreement but I know she's going to balk, if not get mad, at the
one I had in mind.

"I want us to have a child," I tell her, simply, directly.

She stops mid-chew and lowers her spoon slowly. She says nothing for a long
time and I know that she's trying very hard not to say no, that's not happening
anytime soon.

"Why?" she asks, a neutral expression on her face.

"I'm a rich man, I need an heir."

In the larger scheme of things, it's true. I need someone to carry on my empire.

She stares at me for a long minute, then shakes her head. "That has got to be
the lamest excuse ever."

"Isn't the biological need to procreate excuse enough?"

She leans back on her chair and gives me her don't-bullshit-me look. "What are
you up to?"

Aside from the usual? "Nothing."

"There's always something with you, so spill."

"There is nothing else," I insisted, "I simply want us to have children."

"Are you bored? Aren't you happy?" Ah, here we go. "Do you want me to stop
working for the FBI? Dammit, Edward, we've been through this."

"No, I am not bored," I tell her calmly. "I am ridiculously happy, I don't give a
fuck that you're working for the FBI and I told you before not to ask me those
stupid questions."

She sits in stony silence, trying to decide if I'm serious or not. I tell her every so
often that I don't care what she does. She can even come after me if she wants
to and I'd still come home to her.

"Don't you want to have at least one?"

"I don't know." She sighs, her shoulders slumping and for a moment, I'm
tempted to reconsider.

"It's all right, we don't have to have them right away." I waited four years before
I got her to sign some paper saying she's my wife, I can well wait a fucking
decade for her to make up her mind about having my brats. "I just want give you
a – "

" – warning," she says, visibly softening. "I know."

It's more of a heads-up than a warning but I don't correct her. It's also a
courtesy, so that the next time I ask her – a year or two from now – she won't be
so surprised and suspicious. Just like when I asked her to marry me or when I
talked to Chief Swan to tell him I was marrying his daughter. They both didn't
take me seriously then, my future father-in-law, particularly. Imagine his surprise
when his good daughter finally did. He couldn't say I didn't warn him.

Another thing about my wife is that when she starts to think about something,
she'll think about it thoroughly. She'll leave all possibilities explored, all options
weighed and graded. Between her propensity to suspect everything I want to do
and my obsession to make the same things happen, we usually come up with a
balanced decision.

"So why one?" she asks and goes back to eating. "Single children tend to be – "

" – bratty?"

"I was going to say psychotic."

"If you insist, we can have two," I say and she laughs in horrified amusement.

"Why not three?" she asks, like we're talking about replacing the broken chairs
we have lying around due to what she calls my proclivity to misuse furniture.
"You're a rich man, you can afford them."

"We're not buying our kids, sweetheart."

"Of course not. That'd would be too easy."

"It will still be too easy for me, even if we did have them" I tell her. "I'm asking
you because you're going to carry them, not me."

Otherwise, I would've just knocked her up.

"Getting me pregnant with your brats is not going to get me off the field."

"No, but it'll take you out for a time." There's no a point in keeping that particular
motive from her. She already figured it out, anyway. "And they're going to be
your brats, too."

"You'll have to take your share of childcare. I'm not raising them while you
gallivant around the globe with your merry band of thieves," she says and I
laugh, really laugh, because damn, the girl can be so artless when she's taking a
dig at me.

"I'm a concert pianist," I point out reasonably. "I have commitments
everywhere."

"So you say," she snorts. "Having kids is different from, you know, going at it all
the time, and I'm not so sure about it. I'm just starting to figure things out and I
don't want to bring someone into this madness."

"We're married, not mad." Blissfully, for two years now.

"We're not? Look at us. I'm FBI and you're a thief."

"Retired thief."

"And I'm Mother Theresa," she snickers.

"Why now? Why this? Can't you ask for something else?" she whines and shakes
her head. "If we had kids, they are going to be so messed up."

Maybe, probably. But I figured, with her as their mother, they have a shot of
turning out right. "Just think about it."

She knows I'm not actually obligating her. She just likes to think so.

"Fine," she sighs, finally conceding. "Why do you always have to have your way?"
.

It's an illusion, I've tried to tell her once. I know what she wants, even if she's
not ready to want it yet. Despite our glaring differences, we're actually more alike
than most married couples. We both know and go after what we want, which -
most times - turn out to be the same thing. I just get to it before she does.

"I'll think about it but I'm not saying yes."

Yet. I smile at her. "That's all I ask."

After dinner, I tell her to go ahead while I clean up the table and kitchen. She
rolls her eyes, knowing I'm not being gallant by letting her off, not after being
away for five days.

Later, I find her sprawled on the bed, watching Rachel Weiss seduce Ralph
Fiennes on the big screen we have in our room. She'd put a movie on, one of the
boring ones she likes so much. I chuck out of my clothes and sprawl beside her,
cupping her breasts under her shirt, grinding against her not too subtly. She
ignores my advance, engrossed in Ralph Fiennes horticultural exploits.

One of her favorite words is "wait," and she says it as I wriggle around
shamelessly. "Wait...I'm watching...wa-wa-wa-wa-wait..."

I kiss her neck and tell her I love her. She giggles, looks at me with sceptical
amusement, then promptly brushes me off, having heard me say the same words

countless of times. The words don't fit me, they go against everything that I am
but she is my one, true exception and she deserves to hear them.

"How the hell am I ever going to finish any movie with you around?" she
grouches as I reach for the remote to turn the damn movie off. She wrestles me
for it, her tight, agile body crashing against mine. She has great reflexes and
good timing but I'm bigger and stronger and in no time I pin her down, trapping
her under me.

"You're such an ass," she tells me, laughing, as I set to getting her naked, "but I
love you, too."

END OF THE LINE.