A/N: Hey guys! I wrote up this little short this afternoon after I had a dream about something very similar happening last night. For whatever reason, the idea of creating a story based on it wouldn't leave me, and so I figured I'd write it. This will be a sort of drabble fic. Leave me some love in a review if you'd like me to continue.

Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight.

Note: Unbeta'd so all mistakes are my own.


She saw his figure looming in the window, her breath catching in her throat. It was hard to swallow staring, hard not to scream when every part of her body was howling in fear.

"No, no!" She stood, shaking, her hands clutching the roots of her hair. She felt tears brim in her eyes, and fought hard not to expel all the food in her stomach, her anxiety welling up into nausea.

She thought to call the police, only when she rushed over to receiver, she saw the wires had been cut. When had he been inside?

Now as she raced to find a hiding place in the house, she heard the door behind her burst open. Too shocked, too scared, she found she couldn't move a muscle now that he was standing right in front of her, the closest he'd been in over a year.

"Please…" She hated how weak she sounded, how broken she'd become since he had started stalking her. Filing a restraining order hadn't given her a piece of mind, for she had known this day would come. One where he'd decided he'd had enough of playing cat and mouse, enough of letting roam free what he thought to be his.

"Bella, love. It's alright. Calm down," his velvet voice did nothing to help her, in fact hearing it so close and so near made it so that she shook more violently, more uncontrollably.

"Please, don't hurt me," she pleaded, images of being raped and beaten running through her head. She wouldn't let herself think of death, not when she was already losing it. She thought instead of the time he'd caught her right out of work, his hand snaking around her head to swallow the scream he knew would well up in her throat.

He'd said the same thing he said now, and she trembled harder for it. "I won't hurt you, not if you listen to everything I say."

She cried harder as he came forward, her sobs making it so that she could barely breathe.

He closed a hand around her forearm, and pulled her trembling body against his. "Don't be frightened." His lips brushed the top of her head as he spoke, "Just give me a chance, and you'll see."

"You shouldn't be here."

He ignored her, instead choosing to graze his hands down the body he had fantasized about for months, waiting, seeking just the right time to strike. At his touch, Bella shivered, swallowing the sounds that threatened to escape her throat. "How long have I waited, Bella?"

Tears streamed down her face as she tried to imagine she was anywhere but in his arms. When she didn't answer, he tipped her head up with his finger, "How long?"

She swallowed as she felt his fingers tighten on her jaw, warning her that if she didn't answer, he'd make good on his earlier threat.

"Two years." She turned away, and this time, he let her.

"That's a long time to want something, only to have it turn you away." She could hear the longing in his voice, the hurt he'd felt all those months trying to make her see that they were meant for each other. At first, she had thought the roses had been sweet, and the little notes he left her had been cute, but soon he had began to smother her, making her feel as if there was no where she could hide.

She would be walking down the street after leaving work, and he'd be there, jumping out to walk alongside her. She found even if she hurried her steps, or insisted she was going to meet some friends, he'd only quicken his pace, and invite himself to join her. It was her constant refusals that had worn him down, had created a fine line of between his acceptance and anger.

He'd let her go, defeated, with a slow simmering rage building in his eyes. She had tried to forget how the green in them had seemed to blaze, seemed to burn right into her promising that one day he would get what he wanted, whether she liked that fact or not.

It seemed that time had come, and he stood, savoring every moment her warm body touched his own. Even through his black overcoat, she could feel the heat of him, the outlined ridge of his cock straining in his pants. Whenever he paused to breathe in her scent, it grew larger against her stomach.

She braced her hands on his chest, and tried to push him away, only to have him trap her in her arms more tightly. It was only when he felt her tears on his neck that he loosened his hold.

"Don't cry, love. Don't cry." His long pianist fingers brushed back the hair that had gotten into her eyes.

"Edward, please let me go."

His hands stilled against her head, and as he stared down at her she could see he meant to do no such thing. His lips were a cruel line, and she anticipated his words before he even spoke them.

"Let's go to bed."

She cried harder still, and knew there would be bruises where his fingers pressed down on her flesh, forcing her to move until they came to her bedroom at the top of the stairs. There, he held her, and shut the door.

"You're going to have a bath, and then we'll lay down." She didn't buy it, not when his eyes seemed to glaze over her even in her long pants, and long sleeved shirt. She looked down as he made a move to rummage in her closet, selecting a flimsy slip Rosalie had bought her as a gag gift for her birthday.

It had sat untouched for three months, and she wondered just what her friends would do when Edward decided to take her away just before Christmas, what they would think had happened to her. Would they know it was Edward that made it seem as if I'd disappeared off the face of the earth?

He handed her the slip, and she saw the way he hand had shook. His eyes burned holes into the garment, and it was when she found solace in the locked bathroom that she could finally breathe again.

She took her time taking a bath, refilling it a second time when the water sat against her bare skin cold. She washed, and washed again, even taking the time to work through all the tangles in her hair with conditioner. She was stalling, and she knew it, and so when she was finally finished, and dressed, she sat against the bathroom door willing it to protect her from his wrath.

He knocked, his knuckles hitting the door so hard she slid away from it a couple of inches. "Bella, love. Don't play games with me. Come out, now."

She stared at his shadow through the space between floor and the door, and risked another minute of silence before his fist came down hard against the wood. "Isabella!"

She reached with a hand, still sitting, and opened the door slowly. He saw her there on the floor, and took a deep breath before he reached for her, his hands molding around her soft curves.

He laid her down on the bed, and turned to kick off his shoes. Reaching behind him, he pulled off his black long sleeve-shirt, and unbuckled his belt. Just when she thought he would tug off his pants, he stopped, and slid in behind her on the bed.

She found it was easier to bear laying next to him when she wasn't facing him, and so she turned on her right side, and faced her bookshelves. Only that didn't help her escape his wandering hands, or his strong arms as he engulfed her in such a grip that proved to her he didn't need rope, or handcuffs, he himself could restrain her just fine.

"It's alright," he told her when she began to whimper, and he continued canvasing her body with his fingertips, trailing them down the skin of her arms, up the skin of her thighs where when met with the end of her slip, he continued his movements lazily up her stomach. "I just want to feel you."

His soft voice reverberated through her chest as he leaned against her back, and it was almost enough to stop her crying, but still tears continued down her face, her lips trembling with effort to not make out a sound that let him know just how scared she was.

She practically yelped when she felt him thrust his clothed erection against her backside, and scrambled to get away though there was no way she was strong enough to fight him completely off.

His voice was strained when he spoke, and he thrust shallowly again, "Just let me…just let me…" He never finished asking her what he wanted her to let him do, he came inside his pants with a fifth thrust against her, and there was no need to ask anything of her after all.

He breathed harshly against her neck, and groaned as he felt the last shocks of his release come as he moved into her body without penetrating her. "Fuck," he cursed, and kissed her on the side of the neck, all the tension leaving his spent body.

"I love you," he whispered in the semi-darkness, the only light source in her room being the bedside table lamp. "I love you," he prompted again only to be met with her silent weeping.