All things Twilight belong to the talented Stephenie Meyer. I just play with her toys.

Ok, this is a little different from my other stories. I am nervous and nail biting and hyperventilating over here.

When the muse speaks, you listen. The muse would not be denied.

*hyperventilating*

Prologue

Hands. They were punishing, as he grabbed my waist, pulling me to him hard as he thrust in equally as hard. The rhythm was also punishing; hard and fast. I would have bruises in the morning from where his hands and teeth found purchase, but I didn't mind. I never minded. They were proof, a reminder of his need, his pleasure. A pleasure only I could give him.

Most women didn't like his abrasive ways. I embraced them, craved them.

He had a pianist's hands; long slender fingers that he loved to play me with. There was no one who played me better than him. He liked to torture me with them as well as his words, pictures he sent, and, most importantly, his body.

His body was sin, his cock was sin, and I was a sinner.

The pace was always hard, punishing, and greedy. He needed it that way, and I needed him like that. I needed him to dominate, control, and use me just as I used him.

There was no spanking, no toys; this was not S&M. This was fucking and he was the best fucker. No other could get me going as quickly as he. A simple touch, a grab, and he knew it. He used it.

Every day he took from my body, my heart, my soul. Every day he gave himself to me the only way he truly knew how; with bruising hands, passionate kisses, and hard thrusts.

His lips sucked at my neck; another mark. Of course I had to hide them at work, his marks. We had to hide everything. The cave man side of him wanted them displayed for all to see, especially the ones his teeth made on my shoulders and neck. Marks for all to know that I was his and I was. Marks to keep suitors at bay.

I marked him as well. Some of mine were visible, unable to be reached by the collar of his dress shirt. It didn't really help to keep his admirers at bay, but it did let them know he was finding pleasure in someone and it wasn't them. It was me.

But we couldn't say. Silenced by the rules. Rules that we broke every day. Hollywood had nothing on us. Awards could be given for the lies we told and the feelings we hid under a mask of hate and indifference.

He pulled my hair, bringing my focus back to him, his teeth scraping my neck leaving small pink trails on my skin.

"You're not paying attention, Isabella," he growled. A shiver ran down my spine, my muscles clenched around him, eliciting a rumble deep in his chest. He thrust hard and deep, causing me to scream out in response.

"That's it, baby. That's what I like to hear," he taunted, picking up the pace. He was quickly pushing me to the edge again. "Scream for me. I want everyone to hear what I do to you."

My mind was fuzzy, lost in a sea of lust and pleasure. I obeyed and let go, no longer holding back. My screams echoed around the room and I could see the smirk forming on his perfect features. His mouth moved down to my breasts and he began licking and nipping at my nipples. The combination of the sensations from his mouth and his cock slamming into me was too much. I screamed out his name, my back arching off of the bed, hands grabbing his arms tightly, as my walls clenched around him.

"Fuck, you feel so damn good when you come around my cock."

My mind was too far gone to respond, my body going lax after my orgasm. He was still going. Both hands were back on my hips as he drove into me. His stamina was unparalleled. Every night I came multiple times before he spilled inside me.

He fucked me everywhere and anywhere. Because I let him. Because I needed him to.

"God, I'm close," he grunted before pulling out. I whimpered at the loss, but I knew what he was doing. What he wanted.

I managed to turn my body around, coming face to face with his cock and eagerly took him in my mouth. I lapped up my juices from him as my tongue swirled around his length. I could feel his eyes on me, watching his cock disappear between my lips. He fucking loved to watch me suck him after being buried in my pussy. I sucked hard, punishing him as he punished me. I was rewarded with a hiss and a thrust of his hips. I let my teeth lightly graze him. He growled, his panting gaining speed. He was close.

His hands wrapped up in my hair just as he began to thrust, fucking my mouth. He was grunting and moaning loudly as he hit the back of my throat, his thrusts picking up speed. I reached up to massage his balls.

"Fuck!" he cried out. It was too much for him. He thrust one last time in my mouth before coming hard, spurt after spurt sliding down my throat. After licking him clean I released him from my mouth. I smiled up at him and he leaned down to kiss me. The kiss was passionate, as were all of his kisses. It was also punishing; his teeth biting into my lip, scraping it.

We lay down curled into one another. Tomorrow was closing in. Another day of wearing masks and hiding what we wanted, what we were, from the world. Another day of denying each other. Another night of punishing to look forward to.

Why was he punishing? He was punishing me for attracting him and letting him do what he wanted to me. Punishing himself for wanting me and doing what he wanted to do to me. Punishing us for our breach.

Calm my nerves... What do you think?