Author's Note: At the bottom.

The Cherished One


Excerpt from Washington Stalking Laws (2007):

"The feeling of fear must be one that a reasonable person in the same situation would experience under all the circumstances; and the stalker either (i) intends to frighten, intimidate, or harass the person; or (ii) knows or reasonably should know that the person is afraid, intimidated, or harassed even if the stalker did not intend to place the person in fear or intimidate or harass the person.

In this case, "follows" means deliberately maintaining visual or physical proximity to a specific person over a period of time. A finding that the alleged stalker repeatedly and deliberately appears at the person's home, school, place of employment, business, or any other location to maintain visual or physical proximity to the person is sufficient to find that the alleged stalker follows the person."


Devotion: Ardent, often selfless affection and dedication, as to a person or principle. See synonym – love.


The shower, she went in to take one, and I followed to watch.

She left the door open, stripped – slowly.

Somewhere outside my thin walls, in the hallway perhaps, people were talking. The voices echoed back and forth in my mostly empty apartment; I squeezed my eyes shut, felt for the zipper pull of my jeans, listened to the teeth as I slid it down.

Her body was flawless, always. She teased me, letting the strap of her bra fall; she wouldn't just unclasp it already. I waited just out of her eye line; she liked it when she knew I was watching, but couldn't actually see me. Her jeans peeled down like second skin, they pooled at her feet and then were carelessly kicked away.

Long legs, she had the most perfectly slender legs I'd ever seen, the color of cream or a sweet icing. I wanted to taste them, work my way up her thighs to that place in the center. But I waited, let her have the control.

I gripped myself the way I thought she would do it, tentative, but with a secret want to go further. I wanted to open her up.

In reality, I only burned.

She unfastened the clasp of her bra deftly, slipped it forward and off; she thought that because her back was turned I couldn't see her. But she forgot about the mirror.

Up, my hand moved – her hand. I felt harder still. I thought about her thin fingers, lean arms, long neck; her body was so small. One could either dominate or cherish; she wasn't made for the in between. Down, my hand moved – her hand.

I was right at the limits of my patience for her game; in the mirror, I saw the corner of her mouth turn up. She played with the waistband of her panties, hooking her thumbs into them on either side. I made my move.

I thought of the way her hair would flow down her bare back, faintly curling, soft and sweet smelling. Her entire body smelled like flowers.

She let out a small sound of surprise, not because she was, but because she knew I liked it. I replaced her hands on herself with my hands, traced over the soft cotton that was the only thing still covering her. I brought my head down, pressed a kiss to her shoulder, and then another one, closer to her neck. Each kiss followed by the subtle changing of her body. Closer, she came to me, leaning back, stretching her neck, baring herself.

Finally, she grabbed at my hands, pushed downward; I grinned, impatient, sweet one. I let her have her way, helping her to step out of the flimsy cloth.

My hand moved apart from the rest of me, up and down, slow and then more quickly. This oblivion wasn't going to last.

Her work on my pants was very fast; it was the only thing I wore. She opened the shower curtain, felt the water – just hot enough. She got in and I followed. This wouldn't be gentle.

I grabbed her about the waist and lifted, braced her with myself; she inhaled quickly when she felt me pressed so near. "Kiss me," she begged. I obliged, first chaste, but only for that split second. I took her lower lip between mine; her moan pushed her forward and I felt her tongue sweep over mine, lingering. She was wet and my hands were slipping. I wanted to be inside her.

My breath hitched, sharp. My head tilted back and my motions sped; body tensing in all places. And then her face, always. My angel in the darkness. "Bella."

Author's Note: So, I'll tell you now that Edward is not the good guy.

I'm planning on keeping this story pretty short and all in his point of view. Also, if you're looking for fluff, this will definitely not be it.