Jingle Bella

A Holiday Story

Fuck me.

No, really…go ahead and fuck me in the ass sideways, with a big vibrator and no lube. God knows it would have to be battery operated. I haven't seen a real cock in ages. If you consider a year "ages." And for the record, I do.

It has been one year since Jacob broke my heart. And by broke my heart, I mean fucked that bitch Leah in my apartment while I was working. It still amazes me that he thought he could get away with it. Really. Even if I hadn't walked in on them while he was pounding her from behind on my bed, he had to have known I would have smelled that shit. Girls like that carry a certain…fragrance. And by girl, I mean whore. And by fragrance, I don't mean Chanel. It's more like cheap drugstore perfume sprayed liberally to cover up the smell of overused pussy.

Yeah, I said it. And to be quite honest, I said it to her as I pulled her off my bed by the hair. Which, was quite difficult, seeing as how he was still holding onto her hair like the stringy strands were the fucking reins on a horse. An ugly horse. One that had been ridden hard and put up wet.

I had to burn the fucking bed.

So, here I am, one year later…on a date with Michael Newton. Who, for all intents and purposes should be perfect for me. Well, at least according to e-harmony. And let me just say that e-harmony is bullshit. My friends pressured me for months to get an account. I told them I wasn't ready to date. But they told me that I had to get back out there because I was becoming bitter. Alice painted a particularly scary picture – me in flannel pajamas, fourteen cats and the Lifetime Movie Network. I swear, you watch one movie about a battered woman one time and suddenly you're pathetic.

I am not pathetic, so I set up the account.

First of all, e-harmony needs more information about you than a CIA profile. I swear to god, it was like taking the longest, most personal test ever. Apparently, this is supposed to help you find your perfect match. They are fucking liars. Because if Michael Newton is my perfect match, I must be the second-biggest douche in the world. Michael, of course, being the first. You're probably wondering why I didn't say that Jacob is the biggest douche. Well, that's because Jacob is a lying, cheating, whore-fucker, whose substantial dick doesn't make up for his minuscule brain. And that is far worse than a douche. In my humble opinion, of course.

Michael and I chatted for a while online. Actually, you don't get to "chat" right away. First, you have to "wink" at each other.

Seriously.

Winking.

If a man were to wink at me in real life, I would immediately hate him on principal. But because the fear of my depressing, albeit warm and flannel-covered future loomed in the distance, I decided not to give up on e-harmony's process right away.

By the time we reached "chatting," I learned that he was a successful CFO of a moderate-sized corporation. This, I must admit, was impressive. Not that I'm shallow or anything, I'm just professionally driven myself. When we actually exchanged numbers and he called me, he invited me out on a date. He wouldn't tell me what we were doing, but did tell me that I should dress for cocktails. His voice was smooth and I'd seen his picture online. He was handsome in an all-American kind of way – sandy-blond hair and blue eyes. Not my normal type, but my "normal type" apparently had an affinity for fucking whores. Seeing as how I'm not a whore, but definitely still need to be fucked, I accepted.

Now, here I stand, in a cocktail dress that I spent way too much money for, on the arm of a handsome man in a tux…and we are at his company Christmas party. You can't make this shit up. Who brings someone they've never met to their company Christmas party? The biggest douche in the world. That's exactly who.

"Did I tell you that you look amazing tonight?" he whispers in my ear, causing me to cringe.

"Yeah," I tell him, pulling away. "You did."

I don't mean to be a bitch, but now I am stranded here with the person that Dr. Phil thinks is perfect for me. No wonder Oprah fucking dumped his ass. Flannel pajamas and Lifetime are looking more and more appealing with every passing second. I can live with the contents of my goodie-drawer. I saw online that they make a toy now that stimulates your clit with a flicking, tongue-like motion. If I drink a lot of wine and close my eyes, I'm sure it will feel like Bradley Cooper is going down on me.

We walk inside the lodge. Yes, we are at a lodge in a hotel, outside of the city. I can't even call a cab if I want to leave. The lodge is big and wooden with giant wreaths and red velvet bows everywhere. The room is predominantly dark, but there are little white twinkle lights scattered across the ceiling. There are several tables covered in white linen tablecloths with red and green taper candles in the middle. If I were happy to be here or if I knew anyone in the room, I might be inclined to think that it was festive. But I don't know anyone here…and that includes the man with his arm around my waist, whose hand is creeping a little too close to my ass at the moment.

We check our coats and he leads me to a large table in the corner. There are already some people sitting there and not a single one of them looks any more interesting than Michael. Thank god there is usually an open bar at events like this. I wonder if he'll be embarrassed by me drinking heavily, but then I remember that I don't really care if he's embarrassed. He's the ass that brought me to his Christmas party. On our first date. Fucker.

We sit down, taking two seats near the back of the table. Michael makes introductions and I nod and smile politely as I look for someone who will take my drink order. I prepare myself to deal with his hand on my leg, but am pleasantly surprised when he begins to make conversation with a woman sitting across from us. A cater-waiter finally approaches our table and I don't even pretend to be interested in what they are talking about.

"Would you care for anything to drink?" he asks.

"God, yes," I tell him. "I'll have a dirty martini with four olives."

"Vodka or gin?"

"Vodka, please."

"Hmmm," I hear a voice next to me. I didn't even know anyone had sat down beside me. "'Four olives' is pretty specific."

"What exactly is…?" I start, turning around to look at the man sitting next to me. The moment I see him, all of my words are lost somewhere in the back of my suddenly dry throat.

He was definitely not here before.

Sitting next to me, is quite possibly the most gorgeous man I have ever laid eyes on. His face is flawless – pale, white skin, and angled jaw and the fullest lips that I have ever seen on a man. His hair is bronze and looks like a hot – a really fuck-hot – mess on top of his head. It's all crazy and disheveled and just begging to have someone run their fingers through it. I'll bet it's soft. It looks soft. Really, he's so beautiful, he could almost be a woman. In fact, if he was a woman, I might consider switching teams and asking him to let me lick his pussy.

Really, Bella?

Yes, really.

Even in the low, flickering light of the room, I can see that his eyes are as green as the pine needles on a Christmas tree. And fuck me, if they aren't sparkling.

"What exactly is…what?" he asks.

He's smirking like he can tell exactly what I'm thinking. I only hope that he can't read minds because that whole lesbian and pussy-licking thing might really be embarrassing.

Even if it is true.

"Umm…" I say, lamely, "…is that supposed to mean?"

He's still smirking and I feel my face heat up as his green eyes continue to stare at me.

"It just makes me wonder," he says, bringing his own glass up to take a drink. I wonder if it's scotch or bourbon. "Do you want to eat the four olives because you're hungry? Or maybe…" he pauses, leaning in a little closer. It's definitely bourbon. His breath is sweet and smoky like the amber colored liquid. "Maybe you just want something to suck on."

Ho-ly fuck.

He chuckles softly and I feel the flame of my face burning brighter and I realize that it's not just from being embarrassed. It's also from being pissed off…and turned on…and pissed off because I'm turned on.

Well, I can do banter filled with sexual innuendo just as good as anyone.

"Mmm…" I hum as I lean in a little closer to him. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice that Michael is still not paying any attention to me and is, instead, still talking to woman seated across from us. Dick. I lower my voice to just above a whisper. "You're right. Especially when what I'm sucking, is all wet and salty."

Yeah, I said it.

His eyes widen at my words and I internally clap my hands and cheer myself on for being able to go to-to-toe with the walking sex next to me. Technically, he's sitting sex. And now, of course, I'm thinking about sex – with him sitting on the chair and me straddled over him while I ride him. I'll bet he would have his hands on my ass and his mouth on my breasts…

Fuck.

I need to stop.

It's been way too fucking long.

I turn back around and wait for my drink. Trying, but failing completely to ignore the man sitting next to me. He's quiet and hasn't said a word since my salty-sucking comment.

Did I really say that?

To a man I don't even know?

Thankfully, I don't have to wait that long for my drink. The waiter returns and without waiting, I take a long pull of the vodka, enjoying the burn as it slides down my throat. I pick up the spear holding the olives and I suck one into my mouth. I am aware of the eyes that are currently on me and they are not the eyes of my date. My body feels alive and for the first time in so long, every nerve I have is deliciously on edge with sexual tension. How is it possible that in such a brief exchange, this man has made me feel this way?

"Why don't I know you?" he asks softly. "I've never seen you before. And I would remember seeing you."

I take another drink and steel my nerves before turning to look at him. It doesn't work. He's still as gorgeous as before and I hear myself suck in a breath as my eyes meet his again. They're no longer sparkling. No, now they are darker and more intense. Hotter.

"I don't work for this company," I tell him. "I'm here on a date."

"You're dating someone that works here?" he asks.

His face falls slightly and it makes my heart skip a beat.

"Not dating," I quickly correct him. "Someone brought me here on a date...a first date."

"Who?"

I lean back and nod my head in Michael's direction, not wanting to call any attention to us. He bends in closer to me and I seriously have to fight the overwhelming urge I have to reach out and touch him. I've never had a physical reaction like this to anyone. Ever.

"You're here with Newton?" he asks, his voice is hushed and suddenly, he sounds irritated.

"Yes," I tell him honestly. "I'm here with Michael."

"I'm sorry," he says. "I didn't know that you were unavailable."

I want to tell him that I am available – that I am just here on this ridiculous excuse for a date with a man who obviously has no idea what an actual date is. But I don't know how to do that and not draw more attention to myself – to us – than is absolutely necessary.

"No, I'm sorry," I tell him. "And I'm not…"

"Are you having a good time?" Michael says, as he finally turns around to acknowledge me. And of course, he would decide to do that now. Now that there's another man – a hotter and more interesting man – who is actually paying attention to me. Although, I don't think he's even noticed me enough to know what's going on.

"Uh…yeah," I say dryly. "This is fabulous."

My sarcasm is completely lost on him, but out of the corner of my eye, I can see the bronze-haired god crack a smile.

"Yeah," Michael says. "I knew you would enjoy this."

"Because you know me so well," I say and actively try not to roll my eyes.

I take another long pull of my martini and realize that it's almost completely gone. Tipping the glass back once more, I finish it off. If I am going to have to endure conversation with him now, I'm definitely going to need a buffer – a nice, chilled vodka buffer.

"Michael," the lady across from us says his name. "Where are your manners? You didn't introduce us to your friend."

I take a good look at her for the first time. She's pretty – in a completely put together and uptight sort of way. Her hair is pulled back and her make-up is flawless. Though, she seems to be wearing a lot of it. I decide, upon inspection that I dislike her for some reason. Maybe it's the way she said "friend" or maybe…it's the way that she seems to be looking at me and sizing me up as if I am some sort of competition. And trust…if the competition is for Michael the douchebag extraordinaire…I will forfeit and give her the win. Or the loss. Depending on how you look at it.

This is all feeling a little high school at the moment and I feel like the new girl who just wants to be left alone. You know, so I can talk to the quiet, hot boy that's sitting alone in the corner.

Fuck, I need another drink.

"I'm sorry, Jessica," Michael says. "This is Bella. Bella, this is Jessica."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Bella."

"Yeah, you too."

She starts to talk to Michael again about something work-related and I want to feel pissed that he is ignoring me again…but I don't care. Sitting-sex is staring down into his glass and no longer paying attention to me and for some reason that bothers me a lot more.

"Can I refresh your drink?" I hear the waiter ask from behind me.

"Yes, please," I say. "And if you wouldn't mind…please keep them coming."

I see him crack a smile at my request, but he doesn't look at me. I glare at him and in a hushed whisper, I lean over and ask, "What is it that you find so funny exactly?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," he whispers back.

"Is the fact that I need another drink…or is it because I said the word 'come?'"

He smirks at me and I find myself smiling back at him. I'm about to call him Michael Scott or something equally lame, but the band chooses that exact moment to begin playing. A few people get up and make their way to the dance floor and I wonder if Michael is going to ask me to dance. I don't have to wonder long, though, because Jessica asks him to dance first. He looks at me as if to gauge my reaction. I nod at him and say, "That's fine. I'm not really a good dancer." It's true. The only time I dance is in my apartment when I vacuum. And yeah, no one really needs to see that.

I feel somewhat excited once Michael is away from the table. I wonder if the hot, mysterious man will talk to me again, but he doesn't. He doesn't even look at me. So, I drink my new drink and silently curse the day that I signed up for e-harmony.

The music is loud and I allow myself to sit back as I try to relax. It's working – at least the alcohol seems to be rounding out the rough edges of my irritation. I close my eyes and take a deep breath and listen to the sound of White Christmas. I feel him before I hear him. He's leaning in close and the feeling of his breath on my neck causes all of my hair to stand on end. And when he speaks, my entire body tingles.

"I see you, you know."

His voice is smooth and low and sexier than any voice has a right to be. I cross my legs and clench them together, amazed that a voice – his voice – is able to arouse me so much. So fast.

"Really?" I ask. "I thought you weren't noticing much of anything that wasn't in your glass."

I make the mistake of looking into his eyes and they are smoldering. No really, they're smoldering. I realize that I sound like a clichéd smut writer, but fuck me…his eyes are like fire.

"Just because you don't see me looking," he says, lower this time, "doesn't mean I'm not."

His words are disarming and I feel my body shiver at them…at him. Without thinking, I speak.

"What do you see?"

He's staring at me now and the moment feels intense – too intense, really, to be having with a man that I don't know. Nervously, I take another drink just to have something to do. His eyes fall to my mouth and I watch, completely entranced, as he licks his full lips.

"Are you doing that on purpose?" he asks, not answering my question.

"Doing what?"

"The way you're drinking that so…seductively."

"I don't know what you're talking about, Mr. Licking-Your-Lips-Like-That."

He smiles and I look around to make sure that no one is paying attention to us. They're not, of course. Looking back at him, I say, "And don't change the subject. I asked you, what it is you think you see?"

Even over the music, I hear him take in a deep breath and I feel it brush across the exposed skin of my neck and chest as he exhales. And just that - just the feeling of the air escaping his body - is a touch that's more erotic than anything I have ever felt.

Have another, drink, Bella.

You couldn't sound more ridiculous if you tried.

"You don't..." he whispers and then stops abruptly.

I'm so caught up in him – in what he's about to say – I don't even realize that the music has stopped and Michael and Jessica are back at the table.

"I don't what?" I want to scream, but I can't. Instead, I smile politely at Michael as he takes the seat next to me, while I feel the eyes of the man on the other side of me burning into my skin.

The music starts up again and another round of drinks is served. "People sure the fuck drink a lot at these events," I muse to myself as I sip on my third martini. The irony is not lost on me and I laugh quietly. Michael is still ignoring me and talking to Jessica. I wonder why he even brought me here, but then realize that I don't care that he's not paying me any attention. I don't want his attention. I want the sex-god's attention and even though I'm not looking at him, I think I have it.

"You don't want to be here with him," I hear him whisper in my ear a few moments later.

I don't look at him, for fear that my instant desire will read clearly on my face. And not just to him, but to everyone at the table. But they are paying me no mind. Still keeping my eyes in front of me, I whisper back, "And what is it you think I want?"

I feel something warm and soft slide up my thigh. It's him…his hand. I feel my whole body flush from the contact of the intimate gesture. The pressure of his palm is heavenly and the deliberate kneading and stroking of his long fingers are working me into a tizzy. My entire body is stiff and I feel like everyone at the table knows what's happening, but I can tell that they don't. They're all going about their own conversations – oblivious to me and what's happening to me under the table – including the man that brought me here.

"I think you want this…Bella," he whispers. "Tell me you don't."

His words are the truth, but he can't possibly know that about me. Can he? His hand slides back down my thigh before settling on my knee that is still crossed over my other leg. I love the way this feels and I don't know what it means about me that I do – that I am letting this man that I don't know touch me like this.

"I don't even know you," I whisper back.

It's not a denial, and I can tell by the look on his face that he knows that it isn't. He smiles, looking around before leaning in closer and says, "But you want to, don't you?"

"Yes."

I do.

Nothing more is spoken and though he doesn't move his hand to stroke me anymore, he doesn't remove it from my knee. I feel completely shaken and I have no understanding of what's going on, but for the first time in so long, I feel alive and excited…and completely, fucking desirable. This man that I just met has made me feel this way. And I don't know if I should run from him…or into him. Suddenly, images of meadows and running and frolicking in the sun fill my mind.

Maybe I do watch too much television for women.

Although, the frolicking sounds really good.

Especially if I'm frolicking with him…naked…and kissing.

"Put your hand in your lap," he tells me quietly, but firmly. Without even thinking or questioning, I do as he requests. "Thank you."

I feel him slowly drag his fingers up my leg again before taking my hand in his. His hand is rough and soft and warm as it wraps around my own. His fingers twine with mine and once again, I allow it. No questions…just acceptance. It feels good. It feels right.

I feel…something.

My eyes shift to Michael, afraid that he will turn to me at any moment and know what's going on. My entire body is tense and wound tight with the nerves that are tingling from the hand that's firmly holding mine.

"Look at me," he whispers roughly. The music is loud as it swells around us and though I know that no one else can hear him, I'm still afraid they can. "Don't look at him when I am the one touching you. Look. At. Me."

So, I do.

His green eyes are dark and his smile is even darker when our eyes finally meet. He squeezes my hand gently, taking his thumb and drawing designs on my palm. I can feel the flesh of his fingertip and the slight, sharp edge of his nail.

It feels secret and erotic.

It makes me wet.

As I continue to look in his eyes, a distant memory from college filters into my mind – of a boy I once dated that told me that when a man strokes the palm of a girl, it means he wants to fuck her. I laughed it off then, but now I wonder if it's true…now I want it to be true.

"I want to see your eyes when I tell you my name" he says softly. "I want you to acknowledge that it's me who's making you feel this way."

I wonder if he can really know how he's making me feel. Could he possibly know? Fuck, I don't even really know how I feel right now.

But I want to know his name.

"Tell me."

"My name is Edward, Bella."

The way his voice wraps around my name is like raw silk wrapped in cashmere on a cold night. And it almost makes me forget that he told me his name…Edward. His name is Edward and if you would have asked me before tonight, I would have told you that Edward is not a sexy name. But fuck me, if Edward isn't the sexiest name ever.

"Edward," I repeat.

"Bella," he whispers back.

We sit there for moments after he says my name. Nothing else is said, but he doesn't release my hand. Reality filters in and I wonder if people are looking at us…if they can tell that something is going on. The truth is, though, I can't find it in myself to look away from the intensity in his eyes and the way that he is staring at me. I know I should care…and that technically, I am on a date with another man. I think that this whole letting him hold my hand and feel me up underneath the table probably makes me a whore, but I reason with myself that in order to be a whore, I would have to have sex. And we are not having sex – even if this feels like the most sexual thing I have ever done.

And that's saying a lot.

I've had actual dick in me before.

"Bella," Michaels says my name beside me. At the sound of his voice, Edward's grip on my hand tightens. His eyes darken and I can tell that he's not going to release me. I turn to Michael. It's awkward, since I can't move my hand, but I manage top look at him and smile. Yeah, I'm definitely going to hell. "I'm sorry. I feel like I'm ignoring you."

"It's okay."

It is. I want him to ignore me. I want him to go back to talking to the bitchy mean girl across from me. And really, he has to choose now to realize that yes, he's on a date…and yes, she's sitting right next to him? I mean honestly…he really is a douchebag. I ignore the fact that I am currently holding hands with another man under the table – who, by the way is still giving my palm the 'I-want-to-fuck-you' stroke – while I allow myself the hypocritical indignation that I feel.

"I knew you would understand," he says with a smile. "I promise, next time will be better. It will just be the two of us and I can focus all of my attention on you."

Next time?

His words are suggestive and he smiles. I would vomit at the insinuation if it weren't for the sharp pain I'm feeling in my hand that Edward is now gripping like a stress-ball.

"No worries," I say through clenched teeth. I mean, fuck…my hand is really kind of hurting. Edward must notice, because I immediately feel him relax his vice-grip. "I'll be fine. I'm just going to sit here and enjoy the open bar."

He seems content with my response and immediately turns his attention back to the woman sitting across from us. I let out a shaky breath I didn't even know I was holding, my body relaxing, as it occurs to me that he really has no clue what I have been doing…what I have been allowing to be done to me.

I feel Edward place another hand on top of mine and he begins to stroke and rub it soothingly. It feels gentle…tender. I don't really know what to make of the man sitting next to me. I only know that I don't want him to stop touching me. He doesn't say anything, so I follow his lead. I don't look at him, but instead, I use my free hand to lift the martini glass that I'm staring at to my lips.

My nerves are on edge and my mind is all over the place. I feel like I'm in some dream and at any moment, I'm going to look down and be naked…sitting at a table surrounded by my middle school classmates. And Edward is going to end up being Mr. Roberts, my social studies teacher. He was so hot and was actually the first man I ever imagined while I masturbated. I totally got straight A's in that class and sat right at the front so I could stare at him.

Fuck. I really am a loser.

"Why are you here with him?" I hear his voice low and husky in my ear. "Tell me, Bella."

My eyes find his, as I look to my side. They shift around the table, looking to see if anyone is watching me.

"They're not listening to us," he says. "They couldn't hear us over the music even if they wanted to."

Looking back at him, I take in a deep breath, steadying myself and steeling my nerves.

"What do you want me to say?" I ask. "That I'm here on a first date with a man I don't really know? That I'm a loser who met him on e-harmony? That he brought me here to this party and I didn't know what an ass he was, or I never would have left my apartment?"

I'm a little louder than I expect, but no one seems remotely phased by be. I feel embarrassed by my outburst – by the way I have just spoken to him – and he is clearly affected by my words. His eyes grow more intense and his hands hold mine tighter. I can feel his breath and the sparking energy between us. It's magnetic…like I'm being pulled to him and him to me. I've never felt anything like it before. Nothing has ever felt this passionate…this raw and necessary even.

"Did I hurt you?" he asks. "Your hand?"

I can only shake my head, telling him no. The way it feels as he touches my hand is soothing so much more than the minor pain I'd felt earlier.

"Your skin is soft," he muses. "It makes me wonder…"

"What?" I ask, without thinking.

He drags his thumb and finger up along my wrist and I feel the almost shocking tingle as it follows his touch up to my elbow. My eyes widen at his gesture and I feel my face flame again from what he's doing to me – what I am letting him to do to me. He leans in even closer and whispers in my directly in my ear.

"It makes me wonder…" he pauses, pressing his thumb and finger down on the bend in my elbow before dragging his nails gently back down to my wrist, "…how soft you are…in other places."

His breathing is louder now, not exactly labored, but definitely quickened. It matches mine. At least, I think I'm breathing. I can't be sure because I can only focus on the way his breath is warm on my neck and tickling my ear. I move to look up, but his voice stops me.

"Don't look at anyone else," he says softly, yet the tone is firm. I don't look up. I can't. I do exactly as he says and I drop my gaze to my lap. I wish I could see our hands, but I can't. They are hidden by the heavy white linen of the tablecloth. "No one is looking at us. My eyes, Bella…my eyes are the only eyes on you right now. How does that make you feel?"

My heart is pounding and I feel my blood rushing…pulsing. It makes me lightheaded. He makes me lightheaded. This whole situation makes me feel desirable and dirty in equal parts. Part of me wants him to stop, but the other – and just as strong part – is so afraid that he will.

"Tell me," he insists. "Do you like knowing that since the moment I saw you, I haven't been able to keep my eyes off you?"

"Yes," I tell him softly.

I can't help myself as I look to see his reaction to my admission. And his eyes tell me everything I want to know…everything I need to see is there looking back at me. The same desire I feel. The same flush on his pale cheeks. The same way his throat moves as he swallows.

It's all the same.

He feels the same.

"I want you to take a drink," he says. "And when you do…I want you to uncross your legs. Can you do that for me, Bella?"

Is he serious?

The look in his eyes doesn't change. In fact, they only get darker…his lids heavier.

He is serious.

And the truly crazy part – the ridiculously insane part – is that I'm considering it. And I don't even stop to think about what that means. Well, my mind doesn't, but the supremely underappreciated place between my legs does. And it's shouts at me by tingling uncontrollably. I clench my legs together in an attempt to shut it up. But yeah…my pussy apparently likes the way that feels and I can't get the images of why he could possibly want me to do that out of my mind.

Am I really going to do this?

Yes.

Yes, I am.

I lift my shaking hand up and place it on my glass. I hold it tightly, in hopes that the pressure will steady it. It doesn't, but I know in my mind that nothing has changed. I am going to do this. Bringing the glass to my lips, I shift in my seat and as discreetly as possible, I uncross my legs.

"Good girl," he murmurs.

"I'm not a dog," I spit back at him. I mean, I might be the world's biggest bitch – but that's an entirely different thing.

"No," he whispers. "But you want me to pet you. Tell me you don't."

He chuckles softly and I should tell him to fuck off, but I can't. So, I just sit there staring at him…because I do. I want this. I want him to touch me and I want him to touch me right here…right now.

"Your silence says so much, but just so you know…" he says, taking my hand and pulling it to his lap. It takes me a moment, but I feel him underneath my hand. He's hard and pressing against the front of his pants. And not only is he hard…I can feel through the layers of fabric that he's hot and thick and really fucking long. "...I want you to pet me, too."

Oh.

My.

God.

"I need you to be really quiet," he continues. "Unless you want people to know what's going on under the table. But I don't think you do, I think you want this to be our perfect…quiet…little secret."

And now I can't breathe. I don't even have the capability to force my lungs to take in air. All I know – all I can focus on – is the velvet sound of his voice saying these things and the way his cock is twitching and growing even harder under my hand. Without thinking, I squeeze it.

"Fuck," he curses lowly. "Your hand feels so fucking good…but I'm going to need you to stop or I won't be able to touch you the way I want to touch you. At least not quietly…and Bella, I want to touch you."

He takes my hand and slowly moves it away from his cock and onto his thigh. I almost whimper out loud at the loss of feeling him so hard. For me. He is hard for me. And I can barely wrap my mind around it because I have spent the better part of the last year feeling completely undesirable and unsexy – thinking that if Jacob didn't want me – no one ever would. But here, is the most gorgeous and sexiest man I have ever seen…and he wants me. I could feel how much he wants me. I can hear it in his voice. So, even though this might be wrong…I can't find one goddamn part of me that cares.

"Tell me you want this," he murmurs in my ear. "No one is looking. No one cares about what's happening right here, right now…but I do. I care…and I want to hear you say it. Tell me you want this."

"I want it."

My voice is barely a whisper and even I can't hear it above the music, but from the look in his eyes…I know he can. And I want him to know…just as much as I want him to touch me.

"Relax," he says. "I want you to lean back and pretend that nothing is happening. Your face shows everything, Bella. But I know that you don't want anyone here to know what I'm going to do to you under this table…hidden beneath this cloth. I only want you to know…I only want you to feel. Just you…and me."

I feel his warm hand on my knee. His skin is soft and hot and his fingers are gently pressing. He slides his hand a little further up my thigh. I feel the cool fabric of my dress as he pushes it up higher and the different sensations of the hot and cold only make what's happening more erotic…and so much more intense.

"Don't close your eyes," he whispers. I open them quickly, not realizing that I had closed them. "Keep them open for me. Your date might notice if you fall asleep."

His hand is kneading the flesh of my thigh and it feels so fucking good. I can barely keep the moan in my throat that's as desperate to escape as I am for him to reach higher.

"Does that feel good?" he asks.

"Please," I whimper as quietly as I can manage.

"Please, what?"

His voice is hushed, but insistent and I can't help but glance around to see if anyone is looking. They're not and it's beyond what I can fathom, that something like this is happening to me around so many people and they don't seem to know. My mouth is dry and my throat feels tight, but I try to push out a word. It comes out in a breath.

"More."

He squeezes the flesh of my thigh, but he doesn't move it any higher. I can feel his thumb as it gently and so fucking slowly draws circles on my skin. I'm shivering – only it's not cold. In fact, it's hot. Everything about this is hot and wrong and yet completely and utterly right.

"You didn't answer me," he whispers. "I can give you more, Bella…I will give you more…but first, you have to answer my question. Does that feel good?"

"Yes."

He leans forward, taking a drink of his bourbon and then places his elbow on the table. To anyone that might be paying attention, it looks like he is just leaning in and possibly bored with his current surroundings. And he was right. Only I know what he's really doing – and what he's really doing is angling himself to be in a better position to touch me higher…to touch me better.

And then he does.

His hand slips further up and it's just inches away from where I am now aching for him to touch – where I am so wet and needy, it almost feels like I'll explode if he doesn't do it. I lick my lips, but my tongue feels dry and thick. My chest is literally heaving from the quick and shallow breaths I'm taking. I know he notices because when I gather enough courage to actually shift my eyes to his, he is staring at the moderate cleavage my dress is showing.

My tits aren't fake, but they're full and real and I'll bet they'd feel fucking amazing in his hands…or mouth.

Jesus.

I'm dying.

"Fuck," I see him mouth. He doesn't actually say the word…and if he does, I can't hear it.

He leans back fully in his chair and I wonder what he's doing. His hand doesn't move and stays firmly in place and clamped onto the thigh that he's currently touching. I don't move. Honestly, I'm afraid that if I move an inch, I'll somehow lose his touch. And that's just not something I'm willing to give up.

"Bella," he leans in and whispers in my ear and I almost moan at the sound of his voice. "I need you to do something. Will you do something for me? Nod your head if you will."

I do without question. I tell him yes with my head while my body tells him yes by leaning in so close to him that I can feel the staggering heat that is radiating from his body.

"I need you to spread you legs for me, baby," he murmurs. "I can't touch you where I really want to touch you right now unless you do. You want me to touch you there…don't you?"

"Yes," I say.

I don't know if he wanted me to speak, but I can't help the word that falls from my mouth. I do want this. So fucking much that I could almost scream and not give a fuck what these people that I don't know think about me. Thankfully, I don't scream. Instead, I slowly part my legs for him, ignoring how awkward it all feels…because the promise of how good it can feel is far outweighing any of my inhibitions.

"Thank you," he murmurs. "Do you know how much I love that you just did that? Do you know what it's doing to me to know how much you want this?"

I shake my head because I don't know. I did know…but he made me move my hand. And while I would love to feel him hot and hard in my hand again, I need to feel his fingers on me.

"I'm so fucking hard for you right now," he continues…and even though I know he's whispering, it all seems so loud. "Everything about you is fucking killing me, Bella. I can feel how hot you are…and fuck…your thighs are wet, Bella. Your thighs are wet because you want this. You want me to do this…and I have never wanted to do anything more."

At his words, I look to him. I have to find his eyes because this is all too much and I don't know what else to do. I need to see him…to be connected to him in that way. I've never been so turned on in my life. And he's right. I can feel my own arousal seeping down my thighs. Fuck, I'm surprised I haven't ruined the fucking chair with how wet I am.

And then it happens.

My eyes find his and I let out a shuddering breath at the passion and desire I find there.

"Don't look away," he says. "Don't you dare look away."

"I won't."

I feel his hand slowly slide up to my silk and lace-covered pussy. And nothing – not anything – has ever felt better. He presses two fingers against my slit as he slides them slowly up and down. I can feel the drenched fabric as it moves against me under his deliberate and perfect touch.

"So wet," he murmurs. "So fucking good."

My legs automatically try to clench together from the overwhelming sensation of having someone else's fingers touching me, but he stops me.

"Don't," he whispers. "Don't close your legs. Relax…feel how good I can make it. I can make it so fucking good, Bella."

And there's not a part of me that doesn't believe him.

He could make it good.

He has made it good.

I'm so consumed and caught up in what's happening that I don't even feel the persistent tap on my shoulder.

"Bella?" I hear a voice and it sounds distant and foreign. I'm looking at Edward, but his lips aren't moving. I seriously have no idea what's going on because yeah, if it's not about him and me and the way that he's touching me right now…I don't necessarily care. And why would anyone but Edward want to talk to me? "Bella?"

What's happening finally occurs to me and as the realization sets it, I begin to panic. Michael is talking to me. Michael is talking to me and Edward's hand is still between my legs…and his fingers are still fucking stroking me.

Fuck.

Fuck!

Fuckityfuckfuckfuck!

I turn to him with as much dignity and grace as I can gather. And let me just say, it's not a fucking lot. You never really think about what Audrey Hepburn would do in a moment like this. Do you know why? Audrey Hepburn would never be caught dead in this situation. No. This kind of hell is only reserved for me.

Edward's fingers stop moving, but he doesn't remove his hand from me.

"Are you okay?" Michael asks. "You're looking a little flushed."

Really?

Am I?

I can't find any words to say to him. And even if I could, I have no breath to actually force the words from my mouth. Michael is looking at me and I can feel Edward's breath against my neck. And his hand is pressing against my pussy that – for the record – is still completely wet and wanting it there.

No, really.

I am seriously going to hell.

"Bella?" he asks again.

"I'm fine," I manage to squeak out.

"Okay," he says, somewhat skeptically. I would roll my eyes, but if I roll my eyes right now, it will be from the sheer pleasure of feeling Edward's hand against the throbbing lips of my pussy and not the fact that Michael has chosen this exact moment to have an ounce of fucking perception. "If you're sure."

Edward chooses now – right fucking now – to resume touching me. He's stoking me in a slow, soft line…pressing against my clit when he reaches it and then slowly bringing his fingers back down. I want to moan. I want to cry. I want to scream. And mostly…I never want him to stop.

Ever.

So, I take a deep breath and a smile sweetly at Michael. My breathing hitches slightly when I feel Edward press against my clit again, but I don't allow it to deter me.

"I promise, Michael," I say. My voice only shakes a little, but I don't think he notices. "I'm fine."

And I am.

I'm so fine, in fact, that my own ability to remain calm surprises me. I'm shocked that I can form words when really, all I want, is to turn around and kiss the man next to me. To lick his lips and suck his tongue and let him place his fingers inside me with no barrier of silk and lace between his skin and mine.

"Would you like something to eat?" Michael asks.

Without missing a beat, I answer, "Yes, I would."

He doesn't know what I'm talking about…but Edward does. I feel his fingers still their movement and I hear the shuddering breath that he takes as he presses his hand against me fully…cupping me…owning me. And even though I should be mortified at what I'm doing…I'm not.

Michael rises and offers to go get me something. I manage to say thank you and once he's gone, I wonder if I should look over at Edward. I don't have a chance to consider it long because he leans over and whispers in my ear, "That was so fucking hot. You were so fucking hot and together while I touched your pretty pussy, Bella."

His words are exactly that…hot. Hot and dirty and perfect as he says them. They are what I need to hear…and even if I didn't know it before now…he knew. He knows exactly what to say and what to do and he's been doing all the right things all along.

"What are you doing to me?" I ask.

"Just what you want me to do," he whispers, rubbing me gently again. "And I want it, too. I want you so much."

I close my eyes because I can't help it. I'm on sensory overload. So much has happened – is happening – and I still want more. I need more. And just as I admit that to myself, he removes his hand from between my legs. It takes everything I have not to scream. I whimper, though, and as the sound leaves my mouth, his voice is in my ear again.

"I want you to excuse yourself when he comes back," he murmurs. "I want you to excuse yourself and then, I want you to go to the ladies room."

My eyes open and I'm looking at him now. His passionate green eyes sink into mine…and I'm sure that they are met with fire.

"I'm not," I say calmly, pausing to take a breath. "I'm not fucking you in a bathroom."

As soon as I say the words, I know they're only partially true. I'm pretty sure I would fuck him in a bathroom...or a car…or any other inappropriate place he wanted. And honestly…I've all but let him fuck me with his fingers right here at this table. I fear I'm crossing over into Leah territory – only I'm here without my whore-compass and more than willing to let his dick lead me.

The sound of Jingle Bells is filling the room and I can't help but wonder if I'm willing to take this all the way.

"I don't want to fuck you in a bathroom," he whispers, and I realize that a part of me really wanted him to. He lowers his voice even further. "I want you to go into the ladies room…and I want you to take off your panties. Then, I want you to come back here, sit down beside me…and let me touch you…the way I really fucking want to touch you. Your wet skin…my fingers…that's what I want, Bella."

I see his eyes dart up and I look to my side to see Michael approaching the table. He takes his seat and places a plate of fruit and cheese in front of me. I smile at him as I reach down for my clutch.

"Excuse me," I say. "I'm going to the ladies room."

My eyes don't meet Edward's again as I stand from the table. I smooth my dress down and hope that no one else notices the creases in the fabric that has been pushed up under the table. On shaky legs and motherfucking heels, I walk away from the table.

And I don't know what I'm going to do.

Once inside the bathroom, I scurry into a stall. My heart is pounding, my head is spinning…and I begin to dialogue with myself.

I'm pretty sure it's silent.

I can't do this.

Can I?

No.

I can't.

You don't even know him.

And you're on a date.

Yeah, with a douchebag that I will never see again.

Who, by the way, has spent the entire evening paying attention to another woman.

And I have spent the evening letting a man you don't know feel you up under the table.

And I liked it.

Wanted it.

Want it still.

Fuck.

I'm so screwed.

And he is so perfect.

Rising, I make my decision. It's final. I know who I am and I understand fully, what I am capable of. My hands are trembling…my body and face are flushed. I bend over, sucking in air that will probably cause me to hyperventilate and then I reach under my dress and push my panties over my hips. I feel them slide down my legs as they fall wetly around my ankles.

I am fucking soaked.

For him.

He did this to me.

No one else has ever done this to me.

I try to decide if I should keep them. Wet panties are better than no panties. But then I think that my little vintage Halston clutch doesn't need to be filled with my wet panties.

I throw them in the trash.

I look in the mirror. My cheeks are rosy, my eyes are bright and to anyone else looking at me, I would look like I was festively celebrating the season. Only I know the truth. And Edward…Edward knows, too.

I walk out the door and for a moment, I panic. I can't do this. This isn't who I am. I turn back around, holding my hand on the door. I can't decide if I'm trying to talk myself in or out of this. I wanted him. Fuck, I still want him. But I don't know if I can actually go through with it.

Can I?

Can I actually do this?

Before I can make a decision, I feel him. He is pressing up against me, his arms sliding around my waist, pulling me closer. His breath is hot and loud in my ear; his face is buried in my hair. He's kissing and licking my neck and I hear myself moan at the feeling of this…of him.

It's too much.

It's all too fucking much.

"I was afraid you would run," he rasps in my ear. "I was afraid that I scared you."

"You didn't," I whisper. My voice sounds low and foreign and full of want and need and a desperation that I have never, ever felt. "You didn't."

"Fuck," he hisses. "Bella…Bella…Bella…"

He keeps repeating my name and I love the way it sounds – all sexy and needy. His hand reaches down and grips and cups my breast.

"You're beautiful," he whispers. "I know that you want this…that you want this just like me."

His warmth is surrounding me and it makes the cool of the door seem like iced fire.

"Tell me you want this."

His mouth bites down on my shoulder and I can feel the way his teeth sink into my flesh. I want to feel him sink into me the same fucking way. So much…so fucking much that I almost forget where we are.

"Tell me."

I can't answer him. I want to, but I can't. I can only feel each and every sensation that surrounds me. His mouth, his hands, his body, his breath. It's all around and over me…covering me and taking me deeper and higher at the same time.

I feel him trail his hand down my body…my legs. And when he stops at my knee, he pushes up against the bare skin of my thigh. I know what he's looking for and I want him to find it. It's the answer that he's searching for and even if my words can't tell him…my body can. I open my legs to a wider stance and allow him to feel me. Fully. His hand cups my pussy and I gasp from the feeling of feeling his warm skin against mine. It's as perfect as I thought it would be…it's even better than I imagined.

"You did this," he says in my ear. I tingle from the warmth of his breath…the heat of his hand. He squeezes me and runs his finger along the length of my opening. I cry out at the feeling and it's so goddamn good that it causes my legs to buckle. He grips my body tighter, holding me upright and not letting me fall. "You did this for me. You were coming back to me."

"Yes," I tell him. "I was."

I know it's the truth. Even if I was conflicted and debating, I know that I would have gone back to him. I wouldn't have been able to help myself. I can't help myself now.

He turns me around and looks into my eyes.

"I want you."

Making a bold move of my own, I reach out and feel him again…still fucking hard and wanting me. He groans at the feeling of my hand, his head falling back and his eyes closing.

"What are you doing to me?" he asks.

"The same thing you've been doing to me all night."

I feel him twitch in my hand. I stroke along his length and hold him fully, feeling the weight of his cock. It's heavy and big and my mouth waters at the thought of taking him in…of tasting and sucking and licking...

I want this.

"I've never wanted anyone, Bella…or anything more than I want you," he says. "I want you…I want you…"

"I'm not like this," I spit out quickly. I know he won't believe me. I have let him touch me intimately without really knowing who is…and well, his cock is currently in my hand. "I just…I just need you to know that. This isn't me. I'm boring and there's flannel…and Lifetime…and maybe some cats. But you're…well…you're way hotter than Bradley Cooper and I just can't help myself. But this…this isn't me."

I wait for his erection to deflate at my word vomit.

It doesn't.

I look up at him and his eyes are still just as intense. His hand drops down and covers mine as it covers his dick. The moment feels strange and real…and still fucking hot.

"This," he says, closing his hand over mine and rubbing it over his length. "This is you…I feel like I know you."

"Me, too."

Removing my hand, he pulls both of mine up and around his neck. He kisses me deeply and hell yes, just like everything else he's wanted to do to me tonight…I let him. His lips are soft, but the kiss is not. It's hard and deep and wet tongues sliding. He tastes like bourbon and peppermint, all sweet and smoky. And I get as lost in his kiss as I have been in him. I whimper as he bites down on my bottom lip before he sucks it softly. His hands are in my hair, pulling gently before pressing against the nape of my neck to bring me closer.

So much fucking closer.

"I want you to come upstairs with me," he tells me, pulling away. His lips are wet with the remnants of my kiss and nothing has ever looked sexier to me. "Or I can take you home. But there is no fucking way I'm letting you leave with Newton. There's no fucking way I'm letting you leave…period."

"Upstairs?" I ask.

I should take him up on his offer to take me home…but I don't want to. I want him. I want to kiss him and lick him and taste him…and Sweet Baby Jesus…I really want to fuck him.

"I have a room."

"Yes," I say softly…surely.

He smiles and it's breathtaking and I know that he could break my heart. But I don't care.

I want this.

So much.

So fucking much.

"You'll come?"

"Yes, Edward…I'll come."

His smirk from the table is back and I can't help but return his smile with one of my own.

"Trust me, Bella," he says, lowering his head and trailing kisses along my collarbone and neck. I shiver in his arms and thank the universe for e-fucking-harmony. "You'll definitely come."

.

.

.

.

.

Fuck.

My eyes open and the room is spinning. I curse the all the champagne in the world that caused this hangover.

I don't even know if I'm hungover.

It's still dark and I'm pretty sure that I'm still drunk.

And let me just say that the hangover from good champagne is just as bad with cheap champagne.

Fucking bubbles.

It was all a dream.

Every single bit of it was all a dream.

I quickly close my eyes and pray that I can get back to sleep and play in a world where a truly hot man wants me and makes me tingle and come repeatedly.

It doesn't work.

Through the fog of my mind, I realize that I'm really fucking hot. And naked. As the blurred edges become clearer, I feel the source of the heat behind me…pressed up against me. Arms are wrapped around me and a very large and very hard erection is poking me in my lower back.

"Happy New Year, baby," the velvet voice from my dream whispers. "Were you dreaming?"

I am covered with happiness at the realization that this is real…he is real…and he is here.

With me.

Next to me.

Wrapped around me.

Naked with me.

"Yeah," I tell him, turning in his arms to face him. We both groan. Me from the pre-hangover and him from the way my knee rubs against his cock. Intentionally. "I was."

His warm hand trails down my back and cups the fleshy curve of my ass. It feels good…so fucking good.

"What were you dreaming about?" he asks me. His breath covers my face and it's warm and soft and completely opposite of the rest of him. "You were ummm…very vocal."

I kiss him because I can.

Because I still can't believe that I can.

It's tender and sweet, but quickly becomes heated and needy.

Urgent.

"I was dreaming about the first night we met."

"Oh, Bella," he groans and his tongue dips in my mouth tasting me…lips sucking me. His body covers mine and I spread my legs to make room for him…welcoming him. It's silent and quick, as he slides his cock inside with little effort. I gasp at how good it always feels. And Edward – my Edward – fucks me sweetly, deeply…perfectly. "That night was fucking amazing."

And yeah…it sure the fuck was.

.

.

.

.

A/N

This is for all my readers.

Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukah, Happy Kwanza…and may the new year bring you love, happiness and a Rob of your very own. (For those of you who celebrate Festivus today, I will be on twitter later if you would like to air you grievances. Although, my Festivus Pole is actually Edward's glorious peen. It is unadorned…but it's HUGE and it sparkles.)

I love you all.

Truly.

Thanks to Marvar for betaing and making this better.

I love you, soulmate! So fucking much. That's all.

As always, I do not own the characters…but they sure the fuck own me.