A/N: At 4:30 this morning, this entire thing popped into my head. So, it's a O/S. It's smutty and happy which I apparently do now. I'm not expanding, but I would appreciate some love.

She's married.

I can tell. It's the way she won't meet my eyes, it's that look away blush.

It only makes sense that she is. She's young, but not young enough not to be married. She's got to be, unless she's a lesbian, or a feminist, or a career girl.

And that blush? She doesn't like pussy. And that skirt? She's not about to bust my balls.

And she's dressed nice, but not junior executive nice. Too much jewelry, no blackberry out.

She's fidgeting, just squirming around-she's itchy ants in her pants nervous. She wants it.

I bet she's a little bit wet, and all I'm doing is staring at her.

She's a good girl. Avoids my gaze. Doesn't smirk. There's no way she'd accept a drink if I sent a waitress over.

Besides, this is my favorite bar. I'm here a lot. The waitress would probably warn her.

Fucking tattletales.

I like her brown hair. There's no shit in it. No highlights, lowlights, added volume. It doesn't look crunchy.

I bet she let it dry in the sun.

I can see her, head tipped back, eyes closed, resting on some porch swing, leaning over, hair fanned out, sun hitting her. Then she's on my bed, eyes closed, legs open, hair fanned out. I'd leave the lights on. She'd like that. I can tell, because I can see a tiny bit of tit peaking out of her dress.

It's pretty, soft, the beginning of round.

She's the type to lotion up. I'd taste it on my tongue.

She's squirming harder, that blushing bride. She knows I'm thinking about her.

I tip my drink at her, and laugh when she looks away.

She's here alone. No girlfriends. No ladies night out. Where's your husband, sweetheart?

I look her over again. Her stomach is flat. Not Spanks flat. Women keep thinking we can't tell when you're wearing that shit… I can tell. It's perfectly flat, no motherhood roundness.

She can stay out late.

A waitress brings over a salad. She's not waiting on anyone. She was raised right, she wouldn't start eating if she was waiting. She grew up well… she's got great posture.

Such a lady.

I stare at her until she stops eating and licks her teeth covertly. Checking.

It's nice of her. I'd fuck her even with lettuce in her teeth, but I'd rather not.

She'll taste like ranch dressing when I kiss her.

She takes a few breaths, and they're nervous. Her chest rises too high. I see more tit.

I want to lick the lotion.

I walk over, and I'm sitting across from her. I take a crouton out of her salad, best part, and crunch on it. The noise makes her jump.

"Hi." No "Sweetheart" or "Baby" or "Darling" or even "Sexy". Who knows what her husband calls her? I'm not going to cockblock myself by reminding her of him.

"You took my crouton," she whispers. It's cute. She's breathy and terrified and husky and she wants my dick so bad. Look at you lick your lips, girl.

I bet her husband is getting fat. Not fat yet, but he's relaxing. Going for more beer. Baby, pick up some chips.

"Well, they're the best part," I shrug. No apologies. I bet she hears enough 'I'm sorrys'. You forgot to take out the garbage. I'm sorry. You didn't make the bed. I'm sorry. I'm going out tonight. I'm sorry.

"I know. I was pretty excited about that crouton… and now it's gone." She's floundering, not sure if she should flirt or go home or take me home. Okay. We can talk about salad accessories for awhile.

But after, you've got to let me fuck you.

"I can make it up to you," and I give her a smile. It's a nice smile. It tells her she can't trust me for a second.

She rolls her pretty brown eyes at me. "What, are you going to tell me you've got a bag of croutons back at your place?"

She's sassy.

My dick is hard.

"Would that get you to come home with me? Because I was planning on being charming for awhile longer, but if it's croutons that do it for you, I can stop at the store on our way."

Best to let her know. I'm taking her home.

Her breath hiccups sighs hitches whooshes, and she wants my shit so bad, but she shakes her head at me.

"You're not that charming."

"I know. But you're still flirting with me, so something's working."

She frowns. Too far. Shut up Edward. "I'm not flirting," she states.

I hold my hands up in surrender, and take another piece of her food. A tomato. It squishes unpleasantly in my mouth. I should look before I eat.

If I keep it up, she'll be hungry, and I can buy her dinner.

Or make her breakfast.

I can make some decent ass pancakes.

She laughs, and spears a cucumber. Saving it from me.

Her eyes are dancing.

He probably asks her for a beer and ignores her when the game is on.

She is the game.

"You're a pretty girl," I tell her. I bet she's sick of hearing what a beautiful woman she is.

It makes her feel old.

"I'm Bella," and I don't state the obvious. We both know Bella means beautiful in Italian.

She's heard that shit before. So I just tell her I'm Edward, and that it's a pleasure.

We're working pretty steadily through her salad, and I know she's hungry.

"Come on, we're going to dinner," but I tug her hand and fuck it's soft and there's little fingers that belong, just for tonight, wrapped around my cock and in my hair and over her clit, rubbing, with my encouragement. My grip is light, letting her choose.

Come with me.

Heh.

She will.

Get off this booth, baby, and let me feed you and fuck you.

"We can eat here," but she's already scooting towards the end of the table. Getting up. Getting out of here. Good girl.

"I'm not about to let you ruin that ass with bar food." Just so we're clear, I'm in for the physical. I'm not about to have an affair.

But she's smiling and it's so fucking pretty.

I can feel her ring in my hand. The metal is cold.

We're out the door, and we're taking my car. It's probably nicer.

I don't take her anywhere romantic. But the food is good, and she's a happy girl while she makes her way through her chicken.

I eat, but I'm not sure what. I need my strength, I'm a growing boy. Her mouth is fucking insane, wrapped around that fork and that food.

I'm getting a blow job tonight. I'll eat her out twice if I have to, but I want my dick sucked by that mouth.

She bites the end of her straw, and there's no way I'm not having her.

I don't ask her what she does for a living, because I don't care. I do ask her what she likes to do for fun.

She asks me "in the bedroom?" and if I was fifteen years younger, I'd come right there.

"We can go with that…"

But she smiles at me, coy. She likes to play. I bet she'd let me toss her around. She's small enough for it.

"Want to work off dinner?" I'm classy. Fuck. That mouth.

I will.

She stares at me and her eyes flicker to her ring, and she's guilty pouty sad. But she's looking at me again, and her tits are taking deep breathes, and come home with me.

I'll make you come, I promise.

"Shit. Shit, shit. Okay. Shit." I'm a little concerned.

"Bella, you can get in my car and I'll drive you right back to the bar if you want me to, or I can take you back to my place and make you come. You decide. And taking you back to the bar would suck, but I'd do it." I'm not some fucking rapist. She's got to want it. She does want it, but look at her.

Stop looking at your ring Bella. Guilt makes you blotchy.

She's quiet and finishing her drink and I'm talking my dick down with images of my mother and haggis and dog shit. I'm not in a good place, mentally.

"Your place."

Hallelujah.

I smile at her and she smiles back and her ring is in her purse.

I'm going to hit it so hard.

Don't leave bruises on the girl.

I open her door, we were both raised right. I've got her hand the entire way back to my apartment, and we're in the door and she's fidgeting.

"Um… how do we, I mean. I've never just had sex before?"

We're not caught up in the moment. We've made the conscious decision to be here, with each other. It's awkward.

It's never been awkward before. She might be too good for me.

But she's married, and in my apartment, so I'm not about to put her on a pedestal.

So I lean in, and I kiss the ever-loving fuck out of her. I search for entrance, and nibble and suck and she moans and her hair is all over and her hands are in my hair and pulling and it's good. Her mouth is hot, and her dinner was delicious. Her lips are soft and pouty and I want to lay my head against them. She pulls away for air and we pant into each others mouths, wide eyed.

I come back for more and she exhales in my mouth and I suck in her tongue until it's so twisted up soft against mine that it could be my tongue. I can't even tell anymore.

This feels good. Different good.

She tastes so good.

Her hair is soft.

I want to lay my head down on her.

She's against the wall with a surprised squeak, and I can tell she hasn't fucked standing in a long time, because she kisses me harder and she seems fucking thrilled.

I pull away to let us breathe, and her lips are wet. Some of that wet is mine, on her and I want to lick it away and give her more and growl like an animal because fuck.

Fuck.

Her skirt is pretty and it's pushed up on and over her hips and my dick just fucking loves her. Hi pretty little girl, let me in.

Not yet. Jesus Christ, be patient.

I break away and get on my knees and her underwear is a pretty blue splash of color against my hardwood floor.

She smells good. Clean. Warm.

She's got a little landing strip, and I use it guide my tongue home. I kiss her clit and take off her shoes and one foot is on my shoulder and her hands are in my hair and my hands are on her ass, holding her up. She's a perfect handful.

I lick from back to front, and then reverse, and she's squirming again, ants in the pants. I shush her clit, and she moans.

Talk to me baby.

I lick and suck and fuck her with my tongue until she's coming, crying, oh and yes and not my name because she might have forgotten it. I've only told her once.

She's messy and all over me. I lean my face against her thigh and clean myself off with brushing kisses. I leave a shiny, sticky trail that smells good. Different good.

I get eye level with her, and she's sweaty and shiny eyed and there's the biggest, prettiest smile on her face that I put there.

"I'm not done with you, Bella." I pick her up and spin her around and bend her over and that ass, that perfect round ass that tells me this girl likes chocolate cake and daytime soaps and the gym. Because there's just enough jiggle there for me to squeeze and bite- she likes that- and grab.

This ass is going in the hall of fame.

I place two of her hands on the wall, and tell her to hold herself up, because I'm about to be busy.

I'm careful with the ribbon holding her shirt together. Some fucking complicated ass wrap thing. But it falls off her when I'm done, just like a present.

Hoshit. Her tits are magic. They're locked up in blue lace, nipples peaking out, waiting for attention. Don't worry my titty friends, I'm about to get to you.

I unclasp her bra and her tits are free and firm and so crazy perky I almost can't deal. She's soft in my hands and hard in my fingertips and her nipples aren't long, but they're there and they love this.

I lick a line on her spine, and she pushes back against me and I put a condom on and then I'm in her and she must be a fucking newlywed because she is too tight. Squeeze my happy dick tight. She groans my name, and it's nice not to be forgotten.

Her back is arched and her ass is in the air and her tits are in my hand and this is different. Tight and hot and perfect and show me what you like, what you want.

I'm fucking her, no soft sweet love making. Maybe later. Maybe I'll see you again. Pussy like this is a rule breaker. My rules are golden, but what's wrapped around my cock? That's pretty fucking golden as well.

She's pushing back, and her thighs are shaking and her hair is in my hand, tits forgotten, and I'm pulling and pushing and she's defiantly going to have a bruise on her hip tomorrow.

I'm a grabber, what can I say.

"Fuck me fuck me fuck me," she chants, and I am, baby, I am. You want harder?

I pump harder, and she screams and there's wet sticky yes all around me, and she's squeezing me hard, rhythmically, over and over again until I'm saying "Bella, Bella, Bella" over and again into her ear, telling her how good she feels, how hard I'm about to come in her.

And then I make good on my words, and I come. And I can't fucking breathe, just hiccupping spurts of breath and perfect golden fuck.

I've never made that noise before. Huh.

I pull out and toss the condom by the nearest trash can. It misses, by a little. It'll be a fucking mess tomorrow, but right now, I could care less.

I don't have carpet, it's fine.

She's boneless. It's gratifying.

I pick her up, tiny girl, and toss her on the bed, and she squeaks and then she's laughing, doubled over with the giggles, smiling and me with her whole face, happy eyed sweetheart.

She throws herself down on the pillow, and her cheeks are going to hurt in the morning, smiling like that. She looks up at me, and tugs on my nose until I'm back on her level, and she's kissing me, smiling, all over.

I feel good.

I'm drunk happy.

I love making her come.

We kiss until I'm hard again, and she's all over my bed, and she scoots down and I lay on my back and I'm in her mouth and it's not as good as her pussy, but it's warm and wet and she's making eye contact like a good girl.

She pulls back, frowning.

"You taste like latex," she bitches.

Well fuck yes I do. Who knows what your nasty ass husband brought home?

I grab her by the hips, and I'm in her. Ugh. Golden. Fucking perfect. I let myself thrust twice, and she's ready for me, but wide eyed surprised. I pull her off me, and she kicks her little foot in protest.

I am going to bite the arch of her feet if it's the last thing I do. They're just tiny and sexy and I'm a little worried, because looking at her without the harsh bar lighting, she's younger than I thought.

But it's not my business, and she's old enough to drink and promise some guy in sickness and heath, so I'm not breaking any law.

But then I push on her until she's face level with my dick, and tell her "as you were."

And now I taste like her. And she's so fucking into it, moaning and humming and suck slurp sweet. Just a little teeth, and then I'm in the back of her throat, and she's swallowing around me, and humming and it's good. She's got her hands between her legs and that almost does it for me until she stops, and brings her finger up and around and brushes my ass and what the motherfuck are you doing?

She slips her finger in between my ass cheeks and then in. In in. It's weird and uncomfortable but then she's sucking me harder and bobbing her pretty head up and down on my dick and holy.

Holy fuck. She winks at me, and wiggles her finger and I'm down her throat in spurts and groans and I think that I just told her I loved her it was that good.

She swallows, smirking, and I point to the bathroom. "Wash your finger, woman."

She's laughing, skipping, playing the entire way there. I hope I have soap out.

When she comes back to me, she rests her head against my sticky shoulder, and I finger her in long, lazy, smooth strokes until she's coming with small kitten noises, whispering my name, stretching quietly and then falling asleep and she's in my arms, and she's so sweet, and she smells so good. I kiss her fingers and they smell like my grass soap.

I wonder if she'll smell like all of me tomorrow. I nudge her thighs open and her pussy smells like us.

I give it a small kiss, and I fall asleep with my arms wrapped around her.

She's so pretty.

When I wake up, she's looking at me, nervous smiles.

I kiss her mouth and it's six in the morning.

She's special, she's getting blueberries in her pancakes.

But I want in again.

She climbs on top of me, and she's quiet while she rides me. It's slow and sweet and I hold her hands and I want to see her again and again and my rules are stupid. They're fucking stupid.

She's whimpering as she glides on and off me, hips rolling, flat tummy, swaying tits. Her hair is a mess, and I want to kiss each strand and every piece of her face and her neck and those dainty shoulders and those pretty slim thighs and that beautiful, perfect pussy, and those perfect little feet.

I want to lick her elbows and tell her to stay for lunch and take her to dinner and see a movie and tell her about Carlisle and Esme and how much I hate being a doctor but hate being a disappointment more.

I want to whisper in her hair and hear her call my name because it's not stupid and old fashioned and prone to nicknames when it slips out of her lips. It's just. Sensual. Right. Like she needs to be saying it. Screaming it. Whispering it. Yelling it. Sighing it.

I want to wake up and roll her over and take her while she's laying on her tummy. I want to kiss her and fight with her and fuck her and slip into the shower with her on early rushed mornings and make her late for whatever it is she does.

Her pussy.

Holy shit.

It's the gold standard.

I might be attached.

She's riding faster and I'm losing it, and I come before her, fucking shameful but she's right after me and oh fuck.

"Are you on birth control?" and I can't breathe. I can't breathe. I hope that motherfucker golden pussy stealing husband of hers looks a little like me in case she's not.

My swimmers are go getters. They'd knock her right up.

"Yeah, yes yeah I'm good." She's panting, worried.

"I'm clean, don't worry."

We both breathe a sigh of relief.

I tuck her into my side while I make her extra blueberry pancakes. She eats four of them, happy, blueberries staining her lips. She cuts everything up before she takes a bite.

She did that with dinner too.

She's picking up her clothes and I want to frown, but keep it light.

I take her hand and I kiss her and then I'm on my knees giving her something to remember me by, and after, she licks my face clean and I want to marry her because how fucking hot is that?

"Hey Bella?"

"Yes?" She cocks her head to the side and smiles at me, and fuck me, she's so pretty in the sunlight.

"If you ever decide to leave him… come say hi, okay?" I want her and her golden pussy to run away with me. At least leave your pussy Bella. You know he doesn't treat it right.

Let me have it.

"Leave him?"

"Um… your husband." Don't be fucking coy, we're both not stupid.

"Oh." She's hesitant, and what did I expect. No strings. Whatever. I'm being stupid. One night of perfect sex doesn't make me a good guy.

"No Edward… I'm not married. Well, not anymore. Last night was the night my divorce was final," she whispers.

But I'm kissing her now, and pulling on her until she's back in my bed and it smells like sex in this room and on these sheets and there's wet spots all over and none of this is clean but it's not as messy as I thought it would be.

"Stay. Have lunch with me?"

And her eyes. They're so happy. And she's nodding and then her mouth is on mine and our tongues can't be told apart and she's golden.

So I have lunch with her, and I take her to dinner, and when she's in her long overdue shower, I call Esme, and I tell her Mom, Mom I've met someone.

And then we go out onto my balcony, and she sits on my swing, and dries her hair in the last of the sunshine.