A/N: They don't call Carlisle "Hot Bitch" for nothin'…

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"Edward, may I see you in my study?"

Carlisle's tone was deceptively casual, as if we convened in his study with regularity. We didn't.

"I thought that since your mother was out, we might have a talk, just the two of us."

As we walked silently toward the east wing of the house, I wondered what this could be about. My grades were excellent, I never stayed out past curfew, and even if he found my stash, I had no reason to believe he'd care.

But there were some things Carlisle took seriously—like anything that happened in his study.

Handcrafted wood shelves stood from floor to ceiling holding first editions and other rare books. The 19th century furniture had been passed down through generations along with mementos from across the globe. A fire continually burned in the hearth as an old phonograph crackled and whined. Portraits of Cullen men hung on walls, their oceanic eyes staring down past haughty cheekbones.

"Scotch?" he asked, closing the door needlessly before striding to his liquor cabinet.

Uh-oh. Carlisle only liked us to drink together when he had something to get off his chest. The last time he called me in for a man-to-man was the night they gave me the Volvo. We'd gotten through a third of a bottle of Blue Label before he'd said his peace on the privilege of driving a car and the responsibilities that go along with it.

"Thank you," I accepted, in a tone as cordial and controlled as his.

I took a seat on the leather chair that faced his direction just as he pulled out a well-aged Laphroaig. I studied him, for clues, as he dropped a single ice cube into each tumbler, poured us each two fingers of whiskey, and traveled to join me on the chair opposite mine. He gave away nothing and, as usual, I didn't know whether to resent his distance or to respect the hell out of his discipline. No teenage kid wanted to admit to idolizing his dad, but in many ways, I did.

He settled in next to me, resting the bottle on the table in between us as he placed one of the tumblers in my hand. I met his eyes, and we raised our glasses in a silent toast, before turning our gazes to the fire. The whiskey tasted good and I made a mental note to raid Carlisle's supply. The cheap stuff was fine for the flask I brought to school, but I wouldn't mind enjoying a sip or two of this in the privacy of my own room.

"You and Bella are close," he finally began, after a few minutes.

Hmmm…he wanted to talk about Bella. I didn't answer because I could tell he wasn't finished.

"Your mother seems to think you two are—being intimate—with each other."

Brilliant—now they're speculating on my sex life.

"Are you?"

I felt his eyes slide back to me. I kept my face neutral, my eyes on the fire.

"Yes, we're very close," I said calmly.

"Have you been intimate with one another?"

To anyone else, his voice would have sounded perfectly even, but I sensed his slight annoyance. He didn't like how good I'd become at his subtle brand of insolence. The corner of my mouth may have quirked upwards in amusement as I looked back over at him.

"Carlisle, when a man and a woman love each other—"

Yes, it was wicked of me, but he was asking for it. He was a doctor—couldn't he just come out and say S-E-X ?

"You underestimate me, Edward," he retorted evenly. "Even if you can't fathom that I was your age once, at least give me credit for living closer to reality than the other parents in this town. Remember, I'm the one prescribing their kids birth control and helping them figure out what to do when they don't use it."

I wanted to tell him not to underestimate me, to give me credit for not being one of the incompetent brood I went to school with but thought better of it. I distilled my thoughts into a more diplomatic response.

"Dad, I know that the pill is over 97% effective if taken as directed. I know that condoms and abstinence are the only ways to reduce the risk of STDs, and that condoms must be applied properly—with the tip pulled up flat and empty—in order for them to work."

See how I threw in that shit about abstinence? It never hurt to keep your parents guessing.

"I know you know those things, Edward. I know you'll take measures to protect you and Bella and I hope you know that if anything unexpected happens you can trust your mother and me enough to come to us for help."

Carlisle and Esme were decent people, and I knew I had it better than a lot of kids. They'd be pissed if I got Bella pregnant, but they wouldn't freak out, and I respected them for that.

Conceding, I said "I appreciate that…but, Dad…why arewe here?"

* * * * *

Carlisle swirled his glass again, the remaining sliver of ice a mere shard floating in honey-colored liquid. I followed suit as he looked back toward the hearth, patiently waiting for him to reveal the conversation.

"Edward…have I ever told you how much your grandmother Eleanor disapproved of your mother?"

I shook my head. He almost never spoke of his parents, who were killed before I was born. I was surprised, and intrigued, that he spoke of them now. I was dying to know more about them.

"She wouldn't even give me her engagement ring to ask for your mother's hand. Even though Esme's family had its own fortune, she came up with every excuse in the book for why we shouldn't be together, saying Esme was after our money, that she was pursuing other men simultaneously for their money, that she was sleeping with other men…mother named every conceivable charge you could level against a woman trying to marry into a family like ours. Why she believed this about Esme was a different story, a misunderstanding I will share with you at another time. But your grandfather, my father, never believed a word of it. He knew not only that your mother loved me, but that she was loyal, and would be a faithful wife. He knew I never had to worry about Esme straying from me because our love was real."

Carlisle turned back to look at me pointedly.

"He knew I could satisfy her every need."

Wait…what?

He can't mean—

When Carlisle raised a confirming eyebrow, I could only gape in embarrassment. Jesus, dad—TMI!

"Son, you are here to receive a precious gift. It is one that my father bestowed upon me, and his father bestowed upon him—one I will pass on to you now and expect that you give to your own sons when it is time."

What. The. Fuck?

"You are a Cullen, and were therefore born with certain natural—endowments—that predispose you to success with women. But, there is a beauty in sex which, if you could only grow to appreciate it—an art which, if you could only commit to learning it—will bring you and the women in your life such divine fulfillment as most mortals never know. It is the art of worship, Edward, and it has very little to do with sex."

His gaze was as intense and I could barely breathe, much less process my surprise at this cache of Cullen family wisdom. Carlisle was subtle most of the time, but when he wasn't he could be quite intimidating. It didn't help that he'd hit the nail on the head about my need for some, erm…guidance. The truth was, I'd been consumed with worry about pleasing Bella.

"So, I ask you again, son. Have you and Bella been intimate with one another?"

I shook my head in sheepish truth.

"But, you plan to be."

I nodded.

"Very good…" he smiled, polishing off the rest of his glass, "…then, there's still time."

* * * * *

I stared dumbly at the fire as Carlisle refilled our glasses, held in anticipation as he took his time retrieving ice, pouring whiskey, and resuming his seat next to me. When he pushed the glass into my hand, his eyes drilled into mine.

"The first, and most important, rule is that Cullen men don't fuck. Even when we are pounding away and pulling hair and tangled in the most depraved positions, we do not surrender to the monster. Cullen men surrender only to our devotion for the woman before us."

I nodded my understanding.

"I won't lie—this can be difficult when you are young, when you are tempted to be with women with whom you share little but lust, when your hormones threaten to possess your entire being and care for yourself without regard to your partner."

"I am completely devoted to Bella," I said with conviction.

One day, sooner than anyone thought, I was going to ask that girl to marry me. Carlisle nodded his approval.

"Then, you're ready for the second rule: always take care of her first. Bring her all the pleasure she can stand before you go seeking yours."

This was less tense than I had feared, but I couldn't bring myself to ask for specifics on how to please Bella. I defaulted to an easier question.

"What if she makes it—" I stumbled.

Hard.

"—difficult? What if I try, but she wants to…move it along?"

Carlisle's eyes registered understanding.

"With experience, you will learn how to please her first, even if you skip right to it. Until then, persuade her to let you slow things down, to show her the joys of foreplay. You'll need to become as adept at calming her as you are at exciting her. Particularly if she is inexperienced, you will want her as relaxed as possible. Having you inside her will be painful."

I nodded and buried my nose in my tumbler, taking a long sip of my drink. Carlisle was beyond kind in that moment, and I wished I could be as uninhibited with him as he was being with me. But the two of us talking like this was still too surreal.

"What's rule number three?"

"That every woman is different and only she can teach you what she likes. So, forget everything you've seen in porn movies and everything you hear in the locker room. When you're with Bella, listen for the words she says and the clues her body gives you—does her breathing change when you kiss her this place or that? Does she pull your body towards certain parts of hers? And don't just listen for what she's encouraging you to do—read the signs when she's telling you what not to do, as well. For example, if she's vocal with appreciation for one thing, she may be quiet when you do something she dislikes. Does she push towards you when she wants more of something? If so, she may pull away from you if she wants less of something. It is hard work, at the beginning, to read a woman's signs. But her body is talking to you—it's telling you what to do."

I contemplated my time with Bella and knew I'd not been as thorough as Carlisle was suggesting. I felt that some part of her wanted more from me, and it wasn't just about going all the way. Her kisses (fuck, so delicious) were hungry, but I didn't know for what.

"Do you have questions, son?"

What if I can't read the signs? What if she's too inexperienced to even know what she wants, much less indicate it? What if I'm too inexperienced to understand or give it to her? And, damnit, Carlisle, why are you holding out on me? Where is all the Cullen wisdom on how to touch a woman's g-spot and her clit and even her nipples in ways that drive her wild? Surely, grandfather gave you at least that…

"No," I said, shaking my head.

He rose, and I took that as my cue to do the same.

"Then we'll leave the rest for next week."

Next week? He slapped his hand on my shoulder as he led us out of his study and when we reached the back stairs he turned me to look at him. He was smiling broadly and his eyes were playful, and proud.

"In the meantime, son…practice."

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End Notes: This fic will only be 4 or 5 chapters long, with Chapter 5 as a possible Epilogue/bonus from Carlisle POV. In the meantime, I have a question for you:

What is the most important advice for worshipping a woman that Carlisle should pass down to Edward?