Just a little one/two-shot that popped into my head the other day. Set after the day B/E meet. Enjoy!

Warning: Rated M for lemons, language and all other good things in life. Also, a teensy bit of DarkWard. You have been warned.

Disclaimer: I have nothing except a toothbrush and an old inherited laptop; Stephenie Meyer owns Edward. Life is just awesome.

*****

"I love you, too. Bye, Mom,"

I clicked the end button and dropped my phone onto the bed sheet, kneading my fingers against my temple, trying futilely not to think about the conversation I had just had. Or about the unpleasant event around which it had centered. About him.

"Fuck this," I groaned, rolling off my bed and made my way to the single bathroom I shared with my father. I suddenly thought it strange that I hadn't seen him since I'd left this morning. I had left his dinner on the table, and he had most likely gone straight to bed after eating it. I probably didn't hear him come in. After all, he wasn't exactly the kind of father who would seek me out to have a conversation. I walked over to his bedroom across the hall and was surprised to find the door open and the bed empty.

"Charlie?" I called out.

Silence. Great, he couldn't even bother to be home after my first day at a new school.

I walked back into the bathroom and glared at the inoffensive checker-patterned tiles, as if they were somehow to blame for the fact that I was here in this godforsaken town. I stripped down my clothes and stepped into the shower, cranking the water up to full power. I moaned as the hot water came into contact with my skin, rolling down my back and over my chest in thin rivulets. At least something is warm here, I thought dismally to myself.

Suddenly my mind flickered and I felt the cold from earlier that day flood through my veins at a memory. The biology lab. His cold, black eyes piercing into mine; the way his entire body had cringed away from mine. That look of utter disgust—

I pulled my fingers through my hair, as if to pull the thoughts out of my brain. I tried desperately to think of other things. I settled on thinking about Mike Newton, a boy I had met today. As much thinking of him and his eagerness to be around me irritated me, it was a happy distraction. I smirked, thinking of the way Jessica, another person whom I had met today, had been seriously fazed by Mike's attention toward me. However, her revelation of the unnerving popularity I seemed to possess had caused her to be unnaturally nice to me, aside from the occasional glares when she thought I wasn't looking. Another memory from this morning flashed before me;

"Edward Cullen is staring at you," Jessica giggled into my ear, squeezing my arm just a tad harder than was necessary.

I looked up from the table involuntarily, and sought out his eyes. Sure enough, they were boring straight back into mine, a look of utter frustration and curiosity burning across his perfect face. I looked back down at the food in front of me, feeling the heat flooding my cheeks. He would not look away…

"Shit," I swore, crashing my hand against the shower wall to steady myself.

I remembered the way his eyes had been locked onto mine, seeming desperately to try and perceive something in them, and holding a very different expression to the sheer revulsion they would later have; how his eyebrows had wrinkled causing his forehead to furrow and crease in an alarmingly adorable way. His lips had parted in his apparent annoyance and I remembered their full redness as if it were burnt into my memory. I felt heat suddenly shoot through me, making my body tremble at its unfamiliar feeling.

"Urgh!" I growled, shoving off the water, stepping out of the shower and rubbing myself dry with the towel until I felt my skin burn in protest. I pulled my clothes on hastily, trying to ignore the pulsing between my legs and chastising myself for being so obsessed with this strange boy whom I had only seen twice, and who seemed to despise me.

Once back in my room I deliberated, staring at the walls covered in my childhood artwork. I suddenly felt as if they were pushing inwards to enclose me, pulling the air out of the room and suffocating me. I rushed to the window and wrenched it open, gasping the cold night air in and feeling it burn through my lungs, sending a rush of oxygen to my brain and making me feel lightheaded. I squeezed my eyes shut and tried desperately not to think about how I was now trapped here as I regained by breath.

Once my breathing returned to a steady pace, I opened my eyes and groaned at the sight before me. Of course. How could I not feel trapped in a place that was constantly caged in by an all encompassing cloud-cover? Everywhere I looked, all I could see were the black clouds hanging dully over me. A soft, suffocating black that seemed to cushion everything, squeezing out all hope and only leaving coldness behind. It wasn't really black at all. Black should be deep and penetrating. The absence of all other colors; sucking your mind into it until you could see nothing else, and nothing else mattered. Just like his eyes.

I felt anger boil in my blood for allowing myself to think about him again, and slammed the window shut, hoping to banish the thoughts from my head. But it was useless. It was as if his eyes pulled on every thread of my consciousness, drawing every thought I had to him. This alarmed me slightly, but it was as inevitable as my need for air. I sighed in exasperation and gently pushed the window open again, making a mental note to buy oil to fix the creak of protest it made. God, could I be more middle-aged? I laughed bitterly thinking of my mother's similar words. I leant my head into my hands, thinking numbly about the times of warmth in my life. Times I was sure, were now completely over.

I was startled out of my reverie by the sharp buzzing of my phone on the bedside table. I wondered who would be calling me at this time, figuring it was probably Renée calling to ask where she had put the toothbrush or what I had done with the pizza menu. However, when I looked down at the screen to see the caller ID, I was surprised to see it was Charlie. I flipped my phone open and brought it to my ear.

"Hey, Dad," I paused, unsure of what to say next. "Um… what's up?"

"Oh, uh… hi Bells," Charlie mumbled, equally uncomfortably. "Sorry to bother you if you were asleep, but, er, I just wanted to tell you that there's been some trouble up county and they need me over there. So, I probably won't be home until morning…" he trailed off. I suddenly realized he expected me to answer.

"Oh, right! No, Ch—I mean, Dad, that's fine. I can take care of myself, you know…" I said lamely, cringing internally at my inability to form coherent sentences.

"Great, well, good- I mean, yeah. That's, er, good to know," he stuttered. There was a long pause in which neither of us knew what to say. Eventually I couldn't take it anymore.

"Goodnight, then" I said swiftly, only pausing long enough to hear his mumbled goodbye before shutting off the phone and collapsing onto my bed, suddenly exhausted. But try as I might, sleep wouldn't come to me. Every creek of a floor board, every chirp of a cricket caused me to jolt awake, the hairs on my neck standing on end and I had the distinct feeling that I was being watched. I scoffed; who on earth would be watching me? I heard a light click of metal-on-metal behind me, and froze.

No, Bella; What on earth would be watching you? said a small, sly voice in the back of my head. I shivered. Suddenly, I heard a growl coming from the foot of my bed, and I felt fear and adrenaline wash over me, snatching my arm out and flicking on the light switch, my eyes immediately flickering to the source of the sound. My entire body froze.

Staring back at me were those cold, black eyes, piercing through my own. But they weren't angry anymore. They were hungry, and I was terrified.

Him.

He stood there for a moment, or maybe it was several years, and I watched as he struggled, staring at me again with that same frustrated look he had worn in the cafeteria. Suddenly he closed his eyes and I tensed, no longer able to decipher his emotions. However, he seemed to compose himself, and when he opened his eyes again they were blank, expressionless. And then he spoke.

"Hello, Isabella Swan. My name is Edward Cullen, I'm your Biology partner," he smirked at the last part, but it didn't reach his eyes. "I didn't have the chance to introduce myself earlier, but I feel that I owe it to you."

"Why?" I managed to splutter out, suddenly realizing that this stranger was somehow in my room and that I had no idea why.

"Because I'm going to kill you," he said simply.

His eyes didn't break contact with mine, and his voice stayed completely calm, and I almost didn't believe him. But his eyes still burned with that ferocious hunger, turning my blood to ice in my veins.

"Why?" I whispered again, wanting nothing more than to run screaming out of the room, but my eyes refused to leave his; I was locked in his gaze like a mouse in a snake's.

He sighed, frustrated, and brought his hand up, so quickly that I could barely see it, to pinch the bridge of his nose that I pulled back involuntarily into the pillows. My movement startled him, and for a moment I thought a look of sorrow or shame flashed through his eyes. But then he blinked and it was gone. He sighed again, leaning against my dresser massaging his temples. He looked back at me and seemed to make up his mind about something, squaring his shoulders.

"Because I am a vampire. I drink blood. Killing is all I am made for," he looked down then, agitated, but continued, "I've spent decades, trying to fight the monster inside me. And I was succeeding. Until this afternoon. Until you."

He looked up at me then, his eyes burning into mine with such a deep hatred that I could feel the heat of it from across the room. I cowered down into the sheets, and there it was again. That look of guilt in his eyes. However, he shook his head and continued.

"As you walked past me in that classroom, your scent hit me harder than I could have imagined possible, and it was all I could do not to grab you and drain you dry right there in that room filled with all those petty children. But I didn't, knowing the damage that would do to my family. So I restrained myself and plotted on how to get you on your own. Thanks to me, your father's halfway across the state, and no one knows I'm here. So, I guess I succeeded." He barked a dry laugh at the last part. He looked up again into my eyes, judging my reaction.

I sat completely still for a moment, not sure how to process all the information. But it was too much. I suddenly burst out laughing, alarming myself and him.

"I'm sorry," I gasped out, heat flooding my face as I tried to control myself.

His eyebrows creased in and he looked so utterly frustrated in that moment that my laughter started up all over again. It suddenly grew too much for him and he shifted forward, grabbing onto the end of my bed and moaning.

"Fuck, I can't stand this. What are you thinking?" he demanded. His sudden mood change shocked me, but his face was so earnest and pleading; I couldn't help but feel sorry for him. The sentiment was so obscure that I immediately pushed it out of my head. I was still laughing at the absurdity of it all.

"That's a very strange thing to say," I giggled, in spite of myself. "Why on earth would you ask me that?"

"Because, crazy girl, I can read minds. I guess you could call it a "gift"." He emphasized the last word with air-quotes, "Anyway, I always have been able to. At least, ever since I changed. Every single meager thought that passes through every person's mind. I can hear them. Everyone of course, except you. It's unbelievably… unhinging," he finished, furrowing his eyebrows even deeper.

"Wow," I breathed out, "I just… you have got to be joking, or smoking some incredible shit." I smiled again, and his mouth pulled into a crooked grin in return, that rendered his perfect features unbelievably beautiful.

"God's honest truth," he said, his face falling again, "All but your mind."

"No," I said quickly, "I meant about all of it. It just can't be true." His eyes bored into mine.

"I'm afraid it is, love. All of it," he said annunciating each word separately, his mood changing once again and his voice growing intense and unbelievably attractive. It was like velvet laced with poison. "I am a vampire, and I am going to kill you. I need to kill you. Just like you need oxygen, I need you."

I had never been more frightened of him, or anything else in my life. His eyes were dark with malice, their black depths consuming my entire mind. My breath caught in my mouth and I shivered. His lips curled upwards in a dangerous smile, a soft growl rumbling in his chest. His eyes, fixed on mine, were burning with need.

I had never been more turned on.

This was too strange. It couldn't be real. He couldn't make me feel like this. Nothing could.

"God," I said shaking my head, still not daring to break eye contact with him incase he disappeared. "I must be dreaming."

Suddenly, his face contorted with rage and he sprang, moving so quickly that before I could breathe he was on top of me, his hands clasping my arms through the duvet in a vice-like grip.

"Does this feel like a dream, Isabella?!" he snarled, emphasizing the word "feel" by squeezing my arms even harder. "If this was a dream, I wouldn't be in so much pain. Do you have the slightest idea what killing you will do to me? What it's doing to my family? Fuck, do you even think what it will do to yours? How in doing this, I am effectively ending and ruining your precious life, that you disregard so quickly by not even trying to fight and chalking this all up as a dream?! You don't know what you still have. So don't you dare call this a dream."

I tried to twist my arms out of his painful grasp, but it was futile. I felt a broken sob burn through my chest as his words sliced through me.

"I'm sorry," I groaned squeezing my eyes shut to block the fall of my traitorous tears, feeling my chest burn with the effort not to cry. I heard him sigh, and his grip on my arms slackened, though he still kept them pinned to my sides.

"Isabella, please look at me," he said quietly. I opened my eyes and stared into his. They were imploring, begging me to understand. The mere contact of his eyes on mine made the pain in my chest recede slightly, although his rapid mood swings were making me dizzy.

"You seem to misunderstand me," he continued. "Yes, I am angry. But not at you. How could I be? You have done nothing deserving my anger, or these cruel words I have inflicted upon you. I am angry, no, disgusted with myself. I am the reason for all those horrible things that I accused you of. I'm sure, though I can't read your mind, that you have never done anything that would deserve my killing you. What I am going to do is vile and disgusting, and akin to the nature of the monster inside of me. But I cannot help myself. As much as I despise myself for this, it is something I need. More than anything else I have ever come into contact with, I want your blood. I crave it like nothing else. For the terrible act of your murder, I intend to punish myself for the rest of eternity. The only crime that you could be responsible for now is making this easier on my conscience by pretending it was all a dream for you, when really it would be your worst nightmare. You need to punish me for this. It's all I could possibly deserve, and I think even that may be too generous."

His eyes melted into mine, and all I could feel was sorrow. Sorrow, for this man in front of me, who was pulling himself apart, ruining his own existence, because of me. I couldn't speak.

He moved gently off me and lay next to me, staring desperately at my face, trying, I guessed, to punish himself even more. He breathed out heavily and closed his eyes in pain. I suddenly felt lost, with his gaze no longer on mine. I needed to see his eyes again, but felt that if I did, I wouldn't like what I saw. A tear trickled down my cheek.

He looked up at me suddenly as if he had heard it and groaned.

"Isabella, I know I asked you to punish me, but fuck…" he trailed off his face the perfect mask of pain as he reached over to wipe the tear away.

I felt horrible, and was about to apologize, but stopped abruptly. His cold finger had smeared the tear away, brushing lightly over my cheek. And suddenly I was on fire.

The trail his finger had drawn burned, and I felt my heart race uncontrollably. I looked up into his eyes, wondering if he had felt it too. He was staring in awe at the place where his finger was resting against my face, which felt as though a sparkler was exploding against it at every point he touched. My breath caught in my throat and his eyes snapped to mine. My heart stopped. His coal-black eyes were burning with excitement and hunger, but not the same as earlier. This kind made my stomach churn, and caused heat to shoot down towards my center.

His eyes shifted back to his finger again and he watched, fascinated, as he continued its path down my face to my chin. But he didn't stop there, running it up my jaw line, and drawing small circles beneath my ear. My entire face was on fire now, and I knew I must be blushing like crazy, but I couldn't find it in myself to care. All I could think about was the way his finger, still tracing circles beneath my ear, was increasing its pressure against my skin, his breathing growing deeper, and I couldn't help but imagine what it would feel like to have him tracing circles lower down on my body. I moaned quietly.

His eyes jerked back to mine, and they widened. His finger stopped moving against my skin and instead pressed harder into my jugular, which was not at all unpleasant and I leant into his touch. His mouth parted slightly in surprise, and suddenly he looked down at something, before his eyes flickered to mine, seeming to be filled with horror, fascination and wonder all at the same time. He started to inch forward infinitesimally, his eyes never breaking contact with my own, as his mouth moved closer and closer to my throat, until I could feel his icy breath on my skin. I wasn't sure if he intended to kiss or kill me at that moment, but quite frankly, I didn't care. As his hand held my neck, covering an incredible portion of it with his long, cool fingers, I felt the tension boiling inside of me to have his lips on my skin, twisting my insides and clenching my muscles as—

BAM! A branch whacked against my window, causing him to still and me to shriek, reflexively blanching away and crashing my body against his. My heart was still beating fast from the fright I had gotten, but it didn't stop me from relishing in the feeling that I had of being pressed against him. He seemed to feel it too and groaned at the contact. Even though our bodies were separated by the thick blanket covering me, I felt my every nerve calling out to his, begging for more.

Then I felt it, pressing into my hip. My eyes shot down without my consent and my mouth popped open slightly in surprise. He was hard. His cock was straining against his jeans and pushing into my side. My eyes shifted back to his, and he stared at me, concern and shame plastered over his face. And I got it; he was embarrassed, and thought he had offended me. Far from.

I had only been with one guy. His name was Jamie, and I had a crush on him since grade school. Then, round about the time my tits came in none the less, we started dating. We went out for six months, and I thought I was crazy about him. Except that I had a slight aversion to touching him, which sort of put a damper on our relationship. One night when I was 13, we were out at movies and I had, as usual, fallen down and happened to take him down with me. He had landed on top of me, and didn't seem to want to get off, which made me a bit uncomfortable, but I didn't complain. Well, at least not until he went full hard on into my stomach, effectively ending my love for him. It had made me feel dirty and disgusting, and had pretty much ruined my feelings towards teenage boys for the rest of my years.

This was different.

I stared into his face, my body still firmly pressed against him. I felt his erection against my hip, as though it was burning through the thick fabric between us, and suddenly all I could think about was him filling me, knowing he would do it better than my fingers ever had. My train of thought suddenly changed, and I imagined his fingers pumping inside me. Involuntarily, I pushed myself against him, and felt a delicious wetness spread between my legs.

And he knew it.

His gaze shot down to my hips and his eyes closed. He tilted his head back slightly and inhaled deeply, a cavernous growl escaping through his lips. He was smelling me. It was the most erotic thing I had ever seen.

I stared at his face, wanting nothing more than to grab it and mash my lips with his, but I waited for his reaction. His eyes opened slowly and he looked up at me, his pupils dilating, swelling in reaction to my scent. His mouth pulled into a gorgeously wicked grin and he leant forward, until his lips were right next to my ear, and I felt his breath washing over me, feeling it cloud my brain. He pressed his lips softly against my jugular, and then turned his head to murmur in my ear.

Of all his mood changes, I liked this one the best.

"I thought your blood smelt incredible, but fuck, Isabella, this…" he said, gently stroking the duvet above my center, causing my hips to buck against his hand which in turn caused him to smile against my skin. "Be patient, love. I want to take care of it properly."

I moaned loudly, pressing my face into the side of his head and pulling my arm from out of the blankets, fisting my hand in his hair, which pulled a growl out of him. Still smiling and pressing kisses against my neck, his hand pulled the blanket down over my body, still keeping it on my hips. I grew frustrated and kicked it away. He laughed then, blowing air against my throat and causing me to whimper in pleasure.

He pulled himself up swiftly, and stared at me curiously, and I was delighted by the burning lust in his eyes. But it meant I had lost contact with his lips, and I couldn't have that. I brought my hand up and traced the outline of his mouth, as he groaned and leant his face into my touch.

"What are you thinking?" I asked quietly. He paused, smiling at my repetition of his earlier question, and began to trail his lips down my arm, painting it with fire. He stopped at my elbow and spoke against my skin, making me squirm at the vibrations his voice made against my body.

"I'm wondering why you are acting so fucking appealingly towards someone who was hell bent on killing you. Hmm?" he said, staring through his eyelashes at me seductively.

It took me a moment to reply as he had continued kissing his way down my arm.

"Because that someone is so fucking appealing," I said seriously. I heard his breath hitch and he pulled my hand to his hair where I gripped it tightly, and his face moved to a few inches above mine. His eyes blazed into mine.

"Say it again," he insisted.

"You're so fucking appealing," I said, staring hard into his eyes. He smiled, but shook his head.

"No, Isabella, say fuck again,"

My heart beat even faster and I felt the moisture between my legs seep through my panties. His eyes rolled back into his head as he realized it too. I smiled.

"I will if you say my name again," I slurred slightly, as he was pressing his erection deliberately into my thigh now.

He bent his head to my ear.

"Isabella," he whispered against my skin, pressing his cock into me again.

"Fuck," I moaned into his hair, pushing myself slowly against him.

"Isabella."

Harder.

"Fuuck,"

"Isabella," he growled into my ear, accompanying his thrust by pressing his tongue, hard, against my skin.

I couldn't take it.

"Oh, God… FUCK, EDWARD!" I all but screamed out.

His body froze next to mine. And then he was straddling me, his lips inches from my own. His eyes stared into mine, his glorious face absolutely glowing with adoration, looking like a kid in a candy store. And I was the biggest chocolate.

"Edward," I murmured, merely wanting to feel his name flowing through my mouth again.

The sound of his name seemed to trigger something inside him, and he smashed his lips against mine. My entire body felt as if it were going to explode at the feeling of his lips moving with mine.

I wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled at his hair roughly, marveling at how soft it was in comparison to the rest of him. He snarled against my mouth, his lips vibrating deliciously against mine, his one hand entangled in my hair, the other sliding down my side, past my breasts and over my ribcage before lightly kneading my hipbone, and then running down my leg, then hitching it roughly around his waist. I moaned around his lips, suddenly needing to have more of him in my mouth.

I took his top lip in between mine, and nibbled it lightly. He growled again, his lips parting to welcome me. It was all the invitation I needed. My tongue darted out and licked the shape of his lips carefully before sliding it into his mouth and pressing it against his tongue. He was hesitant at first, but after a well aimed roll of my hips and another moan, he relented, groaning as his tongue molded against mine in a blissful union.

Once the lack of oxygen grew too much for me, I pulled my mouth away, running my lips in a trail across his perfectly chiseled jaw line, and then continuing down his neck. He lifted his head up and hissed with pleasure.

Once I reached the collar of his shirt, my fingers trailed down from his neck to undo the top button. He froze when he realized what I had done, and I looked up at him, seeking his permission. His eyes scorched back, pleading for me to continue. I smiled and continued to undo all the buttons of his shirt, my mouth following the trail down his chest causing him to groan louder and louder the lower I got. Once all the buttons had been loosened my hands clasped his belt, and I pushed my thumbs hard against his hip bones below it. This accompanied by my tongue tracing circles on his skin just above the belt buckle, caused his hips to buck into me and the loudest snarl yet to tear through his lips.

I pulled myself up the bed again to admire his unbelievably muscled chest, taking care to rub my entire length against the strain in his pants, when I saw the window. He had somehow managed to shut it when he had crept in without making a noise.

Crept in to kill me.

What am I doing? The question shocked through my system and I froze. His breath suddenly catching above me as my movements against him stopped.

"Isabella?" his voice questioned, still heavily laced with lust.

What is he doing? This question hurt a lot more, as the realization of what was going on finally hit me. He was using me.

He was going to use me to get off, and then he was going to kill me. There was no other explanation for his behavior. Drink me dry of every last drop of life, and crush me emotionally. This wasn't for me. He didn't give two shits what this meant to me. And I wasn't going to take it. If he wanted to kill me, fine. I knew by now that I couldn't fight him off. But I'd be damned if I was going to give my murderer exactly what he wanted.

Even if I wanted it too.

"Isabella?" he asked again, his voice now anxious.

His eyes looking down at me where filled with concern, but I knew it was all a lie. How could he do this to me? When he was already taking away my life, why did he need me to feel for him as well? Was he trying to hurt me in every way possible? Or was it all part of his sick self-punishment? Whatever the reason, I wasn't taking it anymore.

I pushed against him, trying to get out of his grasp. Surprisingly, he fell back against the bed and I was able to crawl off and back against the wall. I knew that wouldn't have been possible if he hadn't allowed me to pull free. He could easily have kept me there, if he had wanted. What was he doing? But I pushed the thought out of my head and stared blankly into his eyes, which were filled with shock and hurt.

"Isabella, what's wrong? Did I hurt you?" his voice was lathered with doubt and shame. "Did I do something wrong?"

He looked so lost and vulnerable at the last part that I wanted to go over to him and comfort him, pushing away my doubts and make him happy again. But I wanted to scream at him and kick him just a little bit more.

"No, of course you didn't!" I said sarcastically, my words catching in my throat and coming out at a very high pitched note. "I mean you only came here to kill me! But was that good enough? No. You had to try and make me think you were innocent first. So kind and caring, and so attractive. And you had to look at me like I was the most beautiful thing you had ever seen, when really you're just thinking how clever you are for managing to get me very willingly into bed before killing me! So, yeah, tell me what you could possibly have done wrong, because I sure as hell can't see any mistakes there?!"

Every word seemed to cut into him. But I couldn't let it get to me. He pulled himself up and spoke in that grief-stricken silken voice.

"No, Isabella, you don't understand. I was—"

But I cut him off.

"Or is this part of your self-punishment? 'Cause that's great and all, but it kindof feels like I'm the one being punished."

He moved swiftly off the bed to stand in front of me.

"That's not what I'm doing!" he said desperately.

"Then, Edward, please. Just stop. Whatever it is you were planning. Just kill me and get it over with!" I said, a broken sob wracking through my chest.

His face froze in horror for second, then flitted quickly into surprise, and if I wasn't mistaken… hope? He grabbed onto my shoulders, and shook me slightly, the desperate look returning to his eyes.

"Isabella, you crazy, crazy girl, I'm not going to kill you anymore," he said, his voice deep and intense.

"W-what?" I stammered, not sure I had heard right.

"I'm not going to kill you. Not tonight, not ever,"

I was confused.

"But you, you said—"

"Yes," he sighed, "I was going to kill you. That was my intention when I came here, even though I hated myself for what I was about to do. The only way I could justify my actions towards myself, was because I knew that I had never wanted anything more than your blood. But then you started to cry, so I wiped away your tears wanting at least to be as kind to you as I possibly could, before I killed you," he scoffed at the last part.

"That was when I touched your skin," he said, smiling slightly. "The feeling that shot through me then, was unbelievable. I felt like you had set my frozen body on fire, you had woken the human inside me more fully than he ever had been before. For the fist time in my long existence, I felt truly alive. Just from a brush of your skin," his fingers retraced my cheek again and he closed his eyes and smiled as I instinctively leant into his touch.

"Then, when you seemed to, er… enjoy the feeling of me as much as I did you, I realized that I had been deeply mistaken. Yes, I did want you blood –and still do- to an astronomical amount. But there was something else I desired, that mattered much, much more to me."

"What was it?" I asked, barely above a whisper.

He looked up at me though his thick lashes, and smiled such a genuine and beautiful smile that it took my breath away.

"You," he said simply.

I felt my chest explode with relief and happiness, and it took me a moment to recover enough to form a coherent answer. I had to make sure though.

"So," I said, smiling back at him, "you're not going to kill me?"

"No," he said, his teeth gleaming in the light. I was suddenly reminded how close our bodies were to each other.

"Well then," I murmured suggestively, "what are you going to do?"

Shock flitted across his face, before his mouth curled into a perfectly crooked smile.

"Why, Isabella," he whispered into my ear, "I have behaved shockingly in your presence tonight, I believe I must re-introduce myself to you,"

Suddenly I was curled back in my bed, my window was open, and he was gone.

"Edward?!" I called out desperately, terrified suddenly that he had disappeared and it had all been a dream.

"Shh!" came a voice from outside my window. I giggled.

And then he was at the foot of my bed again, appeared just as suddenly as he had earlier in the night. But now he was smiling.

"Hello, Isabella Swan. My name is Edward Cullen, I'm your Biology partner," he repeated his earlier words, smiling politely. "I didn't have the chance to introduce myself earlier, but I feel that I owe it to you."

"Why?" I said, trying to stop from smiling, as I felt the heat flood up my neck and across my cheeks.

He moved fast again, and he was on top of me, inches away from my face and smiling gloriously.

"Because," he said, brushing his lips over my own, "I'm going to seduce you."

*****

Well.

Really hope you enjoyed reading this and don't think I should be locked away in handcuffs for my terrible writing.

But leave me a review, and I'll send Edward to all your bedrooms. In handcuffs.

Love C.

xx

Ps- Now, I know vampires aren't supposed to imprint, and this probably wasn't too clear from the story, but I decided that Edward sort of "imprinted" when he touched her. She of course didn't know that, but that's why he acted so differently after that. I will explain further if I decide to continue. If not, now ya know!