Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight. I may have purchased the novels, but that's as far as it goes. *Sigh*

A/N: Okay, so I'm REALLY big on this pairing. I know it's hardly likely, and not many people agree- but I'm hoping this little bit can inspire and encourage others to not only consider this pairing, but love it enough to write stories about it. I realize that some of this may sound familiar, if not repetitive- but I swear I wrote this way before I read any other fics about these two.

Summary: She admittedly loathed him; but secretly, desired something more. When a single instance grants them the opportunity to be in each other's company, they find themselves in a tangle of fur and stone. RxJ, One shot. Rated M.

"Hey, Blondie! Have you heard this one?"

I groan at the hindered silence and slam my eyes shut. It's been well over two hours of this and with my patience teetering on a fine line, I'm unsure of how much longer I can withstand his company.

When Alice had earlier decided to persuade Bella into shopping, the simple suggestion had turned into the opportune moment for the rest of the family to include themselves into the equation. As it turned out, Esme's bedroom had been long overdue for an update, Emmett was in dire need of fishing equipment (whatever for, I haven't the slightest clue) and Jasper, Edward and Carlisle had no choice but to tag along, as their short leashes had been tugged to the end of its line by their corresponding spouses.

I declined the invitation in joining the Partridge family outing, favoring the concept of keeping the house to myself for a while as the preferred alternative. It may have been brought to my consideration, had they chosen to go hunting instead. I was, and still am, hungry as hell. Be that as it may, they were determined to lavish themselves with the typical American lifestyle rather than satiate their fragmented vampire substandard. And I had no better choice than to starve away by my lonesome.

Unfortunately for my cursed mouth, the very moment my family made way toward the door, Jacob appeared and- like an unwelcome pimple- secured himself in place, ignoring the subtle hints of solicitude I'd hoped to channel through my apparent apathy.

Of course, his mental capabilities do not extend as far as I'd hoped and he missed the notion altogether.

My family courteously informed him of their departure and requested that he go, but he- like I- kindly refused. He barely greeted me as he strolled through the door, which in turn inducted me to send a silent sinner's prayer.

I know that I am not equipped to be alone with him and am positively sure that tonight's outcome will end badly.

Two hours later, he's screeching into my ear, laughing prematurely at the mere thought of his sure-to-be ineffectual joke. I roll my eyes, half expecting another dumb blonde joke or something else to that degree. In either case, I fortify an acceptable retort in response to whatever petty wisecrack he has up his sleeve.

This is classified torture.

"How do you make a blonde laugh on Saturday?" He sets up the riddle, leaning over in anticipation for my reply. The couch cushion suddenly sinks beneath his immense body as he accommodates himself, contributing to the pressure on his outer thigh against mine. The heat of his skin sears into my own and, momentarily, I cringe.

I cringe at his proximity, for two reasons:

For one thing, he's Jacob Black. He's chiefly (ha) and more aptly described as Bella's 'on command' lap dog and temporary companion, just under par to Alice (Edward being her principal subject, of course). The pitiful boy with olive skin sure acts like a ball of fur when it comes to the clueless girl and that is just typical for a man of his standard. Correction: wolf of his standard. And while I hold no aversion to Bella, at times, she herself can be quite infuriating to deal with. The two are actually quite the idealistic pair. However, I digress.

The boy is the one I'm bothered by.

He's the one who barges into our home at all hours of the day; today goes without exception. He's the one who's stench, regardless of any topical amount of cologne or air freshener, is unmistakably revolting and just as equally unremitting in its presence.

The boy is just as naïve as Bella, twice as nauseating as Emmett and Seth's 'non-gay man-dates' and all the more vile and despicable than a combination of every drunken scumbag and Volturi vampire in existence (and trust me, I've dealt with a fair deal of both parties). Needless to say, I despise him.

But within my loathing, there's something... for lack of a better word, more. And this is the second reason that my body shrinks in his presence.

Though I'm ashamed to admit, the irritating, pestiferous excuse for a wolfman holds an unbelievably special place in my stone cold heart.

I don't care to know when these inexplicable feelings developed and I definitely don't want to know what stimulated them, either; but in spite of my uninviting attitude towards this shameful "crush", a warmth spread through out the void of my soul, regardless, the instant he uttered his first blonde joke- and has refused to wane since.

Maybe I'm roused by his being one of a few men who escaped fawning over my goddess-like attributes save for Edward (who doesn't count as a man, anyway), or maybe it's the mutual respect we share over cars, I don't know. What I do know is that he and I are the only occupants in this house, and I'll be damned (excuse the pun) if I let the opportunity slip through my fingers.

Tonight, despite what my outer emotions convey, I commit myself to both dissolving this pretense and making a positive and transitory impression on him, if for no other reason than to get this silly infatuation drained from my system (and pronto). I at least owed Emmett as much. So I polished myself up, intent on his dependable arrival (though not anticipating the ill timing), by wearing the most alluring pieces my closet had to offer and took advantage of the empty house, hoping he'd stick around long enough fall prey..

Once my goal is to be reached, I'll do to the dog as I've done to every other that has had the misfortune of crossing my path: ditch him in an alley, figuratively speaking, of course. There will be no trace of any feelings prior; or any remorse toward having ever experienced said feelings.

He sits positioned next to me, inching toward my body in expectation while nudging at my arm. I inertly twist an errant lock of my golden spirals around my fingers and stare down at the glamorous black leather Louboutin heels that adorn my feet. Men know nothing of fashion but they can, at the very least, appreciate it. I recognize the success in the intended effect of my captivating wardrobe as soon as Jacob's punch line delays in its forthcoming and his gaze wanders over my legs. After I tease him for a minute or two with feigned disinterest (although, for the most part, I don't have to put in too much effort), I raise my eyes, hiding them just beneath my lashes and, at long last, put him out of his misery. My game face is firmly set in place.

"No, Jacob. I have absolutely no idea."

However, I very much know the answer. His ignorance obscures reality quite frequently as he often tends to forget the length of my existence on this earth, and while I feel the need to roll my eyes, I placate the exigency with playing nice, instead.

"Tell them a joke on Wednesday! Guess you'll be laughing in a few days, huh?" He hollers and thoughtlessly slaps my thigh.

My eyes dart directly to his massive hand and, without skipping a beat, his follow behind. My comeback is long forgotten. For an instant, all trace of laughter is gone. For an instant, he isn't the repulsive hound I've convinced myself that he is. For an instant, my desire for him outweighs the voice of reason in my brain. I rehearse my next move, debating whether or not I'm ready for it and leap into the opening before my conscience sways my decision. It's now or never.

Just as he begins to slip his grip from my skintight jean-clad leg, I yield his movement by resting a hand over his. He immediately meets my stare, confusion settles into his features as he attempts to register what's going on. He's got no clue what's about to hit him.

"You know," I begin, lifting my hand from his and flattening my palm on his hard, muscular chest, "I've never told you how much I love your jokes." I lie, fighting the desire to regurgitate in my own mouth. I know I'm stooping to an all time low, here, but this has to be done. I hate him too much to keep this up. And when I say "this", I'm talking about the plethora of feelings in regards to the yearning of his embrace. And by his "embrace", I really mean the penetration of his member into my own pending hot box. I'm all over the place, I know. Common tendencies of a nympho whore... which is something I may or may not be categorized as, depending on various opinions and their proprietors.

I quickly wander off to a recurrent fantasy of mine as I imagine him working the mechanics of his Rabbit (don't worry, the double-entendre is not lost on me). His forearms and biceps and pectorals all smudged with oil and dirt while he peers into the hood of his car. He wipes the remnants of his dewy forehead with his bare arm, the slickness of his skin glistens in the sunlight (a girl can dream). He doesn't seem to notice that his white tank top is now soaked in sweat and semi-transparent or that I'm watching him, but the vision causes my absent heartbeat to waken, nonetheless, and his ignorance only adds to its appeal. I make way towards him, offering my knowledge and help while following his lead by taking a look at the engine. In the blink of an eye, he situates his enormous hands on each of my hips and then thrusts me toward the car with brute force. I am instantly turned on when he pins himself against me, adding friction to our bodies. He raises his nose to my hair, worshiping its floral perfume and then slowly skims down past my ear, sending sparks down my spine as soon as he exhales through his nostrils and onto my cool surface. He ultimately settles on the slope of my neck, lingering for a moment before he sinks his teeth over the skin and I wonder what it must feel like for him. However, my thoughts are interrupted by a small giggle.

"Great, 'cause I've got another one." I shake from my reverie and rapidly become enraged with disbelief. He has to know how out of character that was for me, he can't be that oblivious. But he is.

"What does a blonde say when you blow in her ear?" He asks. I feel my body involuntarily tense at this question, half aware of how precise it'd been to my previous thoughts. The other half of my cognizance reads too much into his joke and pleads to a greater being that he takes note of the effort I put forth and reciprocates; so it not be done in vain. I'm conclusively conscious of the chances I have and surrender over to his game. I figure, since I've stooped low enough, I should at least keep what's left of my dignity by coming up with an effective cover up; in case the immature boy were to "misconstrue" the situation and spread the word on to my family. Who knows how completely out of proportion Alice might take it. She makes a huge fiasco out of 5% off shopping deals. Whatever scrutiny I'd have to digest later would only hold merit if I succeeded in seducing him, now.

"What does she say?" I ask him with the roll of an eye, true to Rosalie fashion.

Internally, my ego has deflated. Had I attempted to make my motives any more obvious, I'd have ripped open my shirt and rubbed my tits on his face. But I wanted to be subtle. If he didn't get the hint, he really was clueless. And thus is proven, both my inadequate courting skills and his failure to recognize them. How quickly can ones dreams be impaired.

Or so I was led to believe, until he stretches out his hand in my direction, running his fingers over my shoulder, lightly trailing them over my the back of my neck and into my hair. As he grabs a fistful of the gilded locks, tugging them at their roots, he presses his chest against mine. I feel my breathing die down, thankful it's not a necessity for me, and lock eyes with him for a fraction of a second before he brings his face closer to mine. There is, undoubtedly, an unnatural current running through our bodies and with every touch, its attendance becomes more evident. Whether it's the novelty or the astonishment over what's transpiring, I am lost in him. He presses his cheek to the side of my mouth, angling his face in my direction so as to softly brush his lips against my earlobe. The scorching heat of his flesh burns into me, but I enjoy the very feel of it; this is what I've lusted for and the pain, both marginal and gratifying, sets it in stone.

With his breath beside my ear, he parts his lips and I simultaneously release a small gasp. I'm just about ready to mound him, but allow him leverage instead, mindful of the slight possibility that his performance is owed in part of his joke. "Rosalie.." his voice sounds husky, which is quite fitting (given the knowledge of his split persona), and his movements are tortuously delicious.

"You have no idea how long I've wanted to get you alone," he admits, cooing into my ear.

I'm not sure whether to seize him with my teeth or tongue at this confession, but I stay still despite my internal battle. So much wasted time, is all I think.

He warns me, all the while forcing me to gaze at him through the grip of my hair "I'm not gonna' go easy on you."

My panties soak up at his announcement and he smiles wickedly, demonstrating his scent to be as keen as a vampire's. Before I know it, he releases his hold on me and rips my shirt in half, exposing my marble-like skin. He inspects my body and fixes his stare on my breasts, humming in favor of the black laced bra that decorates them. With a slightly shaky hand, he protracts his index finger and traces circles over my shoulder and then follows with a kiss.

When he eventually runs his finger through the valley of my breasts, I snap out of my wolf induced bliss and flip him over, so that I'm fully straddling him. He eases into the support of the couch and moistens his lower lip with his pink tongue, loving that I've taken control. I, myself, feel a rush of empowerment and proudly display it at the hint of his submission. With a new resolve, I deem him over-dressed and claw at his tank top, tearing it open as he did mine. Without hesitation, I massage my hands on his chest while rejoicing at the sensitivity. Subconsciously, I gyrate my hips over him in a delicate manner, applying a bit of pressure where our bodies connect, the action causes him to still my ministrations with a heavy lidded glare and a strong hand.

We're two seconds away from materializing our innermost fantasies and the achievement finally dawns on us both. It's one thing to replay lust inspired visions in the comfort of your own brain, and an entirely different thing to take action.

Still, I push my doubt aside and go in for the kill; so to speak. I bring my lips to his in a whisper, our mouths a hairline away from meeting. At this point, there's irrefutably no chance of going back.

I follow the sound of his heart, spectating as it pounds rhythmically in his chest; not a single indication of anxiety. His confidence is what spurs on my next move.

I close the distance between our faces and touch our lips together. It's an odd sensation at first, but it slowly morphs into comfort. Once I become fully accustomed to the feel, I poke out my tongue and glide it over his bottom lip, asking for permission to enter.

I notice as his chest puffs up with a heavy sigh right before he changes our positions and traps me underneath him. All my logic is long gone and is replaced by the weight of his form. Our lips link together, only this time, he allows me admittance into his mouth. My body is overcome with the electricity of our touches and I find my tongue wrestling with his for dominance. Our limbs become a tangled mess, our hands reach anywhere and everywhere all at the same time, it's overwhelming.

He extends his arm down to my foot, using a lone hand to fight my heeled boots off and breaks our kiss to sweep his lips over to my hip bone. After he struggles with the zipper, he slips the shoes off and runs his palm up and over my calf, finally resting to massage my ass. I'm certain that at any moment I'm going to implode with the concupiscence my body is harboring, but I'm too hypnotized by him to let go so soon. His face is a breath away from my pelvis and my vision is obstructed by a blinding desire to rip his clothes off. I push back on his chest with my knee so that we are both upright and facing each other as we share the couch. I lunge at him, ravaging his mouth in kisses and place my hands over his erection, hoping to give him a taste of the torment he's been putting me through. But he only growls in my mouth and unknowingly feeds my longing for his naked reveal.

"God damn it!" the words are vaguely discernible through our kiss, but they've made a large impact.

His lips rise, stretching with a smile, and it redes me to respire once more. He begins to articulate his ardent arousal for me, but opts out of it by exhibiting the proof. In a matter of seconds, I'm laying back down and he is over me again. His hands reach at the waist of my jeans, unbuttoning them ever so slowly. Just as he pops them open, he tugs at them, sliding them down past my thighs, my knees, my calves, my ankles. Then they are launched across the room.

I feel the burn of his stare as he scans over my body, and when his eyes reach my core, I reflexively rub my thighs together and sigh in contentment when the action creates a friction that's very much needed. He's back to licking his lips, staring at me like a hungry man on the verge of having a large meal. I'm too enthralled by his gaze to feel embarrassed when I release more juices. On the contrary, I become even more aroused when he purposely inhales the scent.

"Rosalie," he sings "before this happens, I want you to know..."

I want nothing more than to hear his offering, after I've been relieved from my tension, so I tighten my thighs together once more and moan at the succor. My hands roam over my stomach and on to my breasts and I instinctively grope them softly.

"Please, Jacob," I whimper, submitting into his reign- I've reduced myself to a despairing, self-indulging imbecile all for the sake of an orgasm. And I'd reach my climax, damn it, at any cost. "Just fuck me and talk later!"

He snorts and rolls his eyes, unaffected by my obvious arousal, "Figures. Even under these circumstances, you're too self-absorbed to notice that I'm trying to make peace. You really are a cold bitch."

"You know, Rover. You're much prettier with your mouth shut!" I tease him, yanking his hand and placing it on my dripping center. He hisses, much too turned on to pull away. I bite my tongue, and guide his thumb over my clit, pressing it down just enough to bring another moan to my lips.

"I'll show you that I'm more attractive with my mouth open, blood sucker."

I snicker at his comment but soon feel another surge of electrical eroticism when it really sinks in.

"And maybe I can show you that I'm better at sucking more than just blood."

A pool of sweat forms on his forehead and before he is given the leisure to counter, I rip his shorts off. There are very few barriers, now. My eyes rake over him and he imitates my lead. He is long and tan and muscular and everything about his physique turns me on. I'm sure I do the same for him judging by the large erection poking through his boxer shorts. I laugh devilishly and rise from the couch. Just as I begin to walk away, heedful to the fact that my back side is on full display (and looking amazing in my thong), he rushes after me.

"Where are you going, princess?" He says less condescending, more intimate.

"Would you like me prove my argument, or did you just take my word for it?" My brow raises at him, my mouth forms in a smirk.

"Fuck that." He spins me around, my back facing his front, and pushes my torso over the arm of the couch.

"Oh, doggie style. How ironic."

He doesn't quip back, but what he does even surprises me. He kneels down behind me and tugs at the back string of my panties, pulling the front into my swollen pussy. The sensation is wonderful. When he finally rips it off, he spreads my legs further apart and hides his face between the juncture of my thighs. I gasp the very moment I feel his warm tongue run over my slit.

"Oh fuck!"

He moans in appreciation, then pulls back long enough to tell me, "Surprisingly warm."

He proceeds in swiping his tongue over me again. I find myself grunting out loud, totally succumbed by the pleasure he's bringing me with his magnificent mouth.

I repress the actuality that this is Jacob here, and focus on his rough hands and even rougher tongue as it vigorously flicks the bundle of nerves between my legs. Any moment now, it'll be over.

Once again, I'm proven otherwise.

Just as I feel my abdomen tightening, my legs convulsing, my eyes fluttering backwards- he distances himself.

I want to yell at him, call him a tease, but that inclination is shattered when he rises from his knees and pulls his lovely dick out of the slot provided by his undergarments. With my neck wrenched far to the side, I can witness his undress and appraise the lovely specimen he holds in his hand. I'm sure I inadvertently wiggled my hips to bring his attention to my bare vagina (and that stands for every sense of the word) but I am more partial to returning the favor.

"Jacob," I begin, turning around to face him. Upon full view, my chest heaves, my breasts perk up and he, as a result, salutes me with his ascending member.

"I though you wanted to talk later?" He asks, grabbing at his base. I can no longer find the words, so I merely nod. He orders me to lift myself onto the armrest and I, like a good little pup, do as I'm told. He steps closer to me.

I look down at his hand, watching each movement. He slaps his shaft onto my clit and it sends a new wave of arousal. When he rubs the hot head over me a few times, I bite my lip. My eyes and mind are everywhere and I'm grateful that he's composed enough to keep his rhythm.

The passion spreads over my body and a tingle surges to my toes once his head pokes into my entrance. I may have yelped too loudly but it's all for the sake of the moment.

"Why are you so wet, you slut?"

He inches further in and his dirty talk elicits another moan from deep within my chest. Emmett never talks to me this way, but oh, how badly I wish he did.

"You like that?" he asks just as his eyes roll shut. "Damn it, Blondie- why do you have to be a bitch all of the time? Do you know how awesome it would be if we could keep this up?"

He reaches for my breasts, rubbing them delicately while slamming into me one harsh time. I scream out while he grazes my nipples with his finger tips.

"We can't keep this up." I tell myself more than I tell him because, truthfully, Emmett doesn't deserve this- and neither does Bella.

He brings his arms around me, our chests are smothered in one another while his pelvis continuously greets mine. "Why not?" he asks innocently and in that instant, I find myself really orienting in on his words. Why not? Bella only objectifies him- to her, he's around for her own convenience and support. As for Emmett, I love him- but it's more of a comfortable relationship than anything else. Jacob and I may be nothing alike, but we are both passionate, fervent beings. That should count for something.

With Jacob ramming himself into me, I can't produce a reply but in my mind, it's there.

He hides his face in my chest, mumbling words I cannot hear. This is becoming too personal- it's spiraling out of my control but I can't bring myself to think of anything else. I join in with his movements, rendering him immobile with my vampire speed. Soon the room is filled with our grunts and groans and the slapping of our bodies.

The burn grows within me, it branches out toward my limbs and even reaches my still heart. Once it finds its way to my pelvis, I yell in ecstasy. I'm blinded by my ever increasing climax- but Jacob is still there.

I barely hear the words "imprinted on you", but I hear them all the same. When he finishes, he collapses on me; while my body is still encompassed by his clutch.

I give us both some time to recover but my curiosity interrupts my benignity. I find my emotions taking command and soon I am consoling him.

"Would you like to talk now?" I propose, hoping to egg him on with my concern. However, he rips away from me and shakes his head.

"No, go back to your leech of a lover and forget this ever happened." He tells me, with more venom in his voice than even I could ever muster (and that's saying a lot, given that I'm a vampire).

"Please, Jacob."

I'm fully aware that the roles have been reversed. I start to wonder when and how I became so conciliatory and soft, and mentally berate myself for allowing so much of myself. But then, I feel a small hint of humanity and my guilt is forgotten. This is what I've yearned to feel since that day, almost a century ago. This is what he can bring me. The thought comes back, Why not? And I remind him of his own words.

"What did you say, Jake? Please.. tell me." I rest my hand on his shoulder and with a sigh, he places his over it.

"I said, I... I think I might ha-ave... imprinted on y-you."

Upon hearing his confession, both of our faces fall flat, the energy in the room perpetually altered. I am speechless. There is nothing I can follow with that can ease the abysmal finality of his declaration.

"I'm sorry." He stammers, a red color rises to his cheeks.

"It's okay." I pull my hand from his shoulder and lay it over his heart. "I will forever treasure what you just did for me, Jacob, but you have to understand that this cannot become a common occurrence. There are too many people involved who can get hurt. Including us." I cannot help the pull I feel in my chest as he stares into my eyes, but I fight against it.

"I know." He tells me, the flicker of recognition towards my conclusion lights up in his eyes. With a pout, he reaches over and kisses my forehead. I can't help but the raise my lips to his mouth. Just one more kiss, a farewell kiss, will not hurt. But it does. It feels like I've just found the key to the door of my happiness in this horrid afterlife, but am denied the satisfaction of using it to learn what's on the other side. If I could cry right now, I'd release a century's-worth of pent up tears.

"I love you." I say aloud. Perhaps it's not the accurate time to share those words, but the chances of me ever being able to utter them and actually mean it are slim. Why not? Because what we had, is too much fun.

After the cluster-fuck of emotions, I'm still Rosalie Hale-Cullen. May it be known that I am favorable to my own benefit and am guided by my selfishness. The outcome of my words may have left a greater imprint on Jacob than his milestone imprint on me, and surely he'd live out the rest of his wolf days replaying them in his mind, but they needed to be said. That chapter had to be closed.

To lighten the situation, I crack a grin at him. He smiles back.

"Thanks for the refill." He blurts, out of nowhere.

"Excuse me?" I look into his crinkled eyes, puzzled by his comment.

"That was the punch line of the joke. What does a blonde say when you blow in her ear?" He laughs.

"Silly boy, I know that. I know all of them."

"What do we do now?" He asks, lifting me off the couch and handing me my discarded clothing.

"Well, I'm going to head upstairs for a shower. I'm sure you know your way out, mutt."

He slaps my naked behind and I shriek in response.

"See you around, leech. Be sure to keep your day dreams guarded, don't want your brother pounding on me when he finds out that you're in love with me." he laughs.

"Don't tempt me." I tell him.

"Already did, blondie."

And just like that, we're back to normal.

A/N: Feel free to review. Better yet, open up your text editor and type up a Rose/Jake fic, a.s.a.p.! The fanfic world relies on it! okai, thanx!