A/N: This is completely different from anything I've written before but was inspired by a few different things, namely Rob being a part of the Golden Globes tonight. * wicked grin *

All recognizable characters, settings, or music references are owned by their respective authors/creators. The story line is owned by me, and I prefer to keep it that way. No copyright infringement is intended.


List of Mistakes:

I shouldn't have had sex with Edward Cullen.

I shouldn't have let Edward Cullen fuck me.

I shouldn't have let that pompous arrogant asshole fuck me.

Are you seeing a theme develop? Yeah, me too.

I lived my life through tightly controlled lists. Although writing down what I had done in the past tense wasn't typical. In fact, I only made lists to control my actions and navigations of the future, never to condemn myself for the stupid decisions, which weren't many. I followed my lists and I didn't write down; make a stupid, life altering, motherfucking decision. Did I?

*Checks* Nope. Nothing in the same vicinity.

Maybe I should start at the beginning? Yeah, that seems like a good place.

Six Months Ago.

"You're up kid," a trill, delighted order came echoing down the hall of our office, well her office. It certainly wasn't mine.

It came from Alice, my boss. The short, dark haired pixie was a styling assistant to the Tanya Denali of Denali Inc. ( A-list stylist for the Hollywood elite, since 1994.) Tanya and her husband, Eleazar, have been playing dress up with the rich and famous for over fifteen years now. Cramming their toned perfect asses and plastic cha cha's into the latest runway fashions for award shows and photo shoots. It was our job to make them red carpet ready and nothing was too good. Cartier, D&G, Channel and Christian D draped their starved, binging, purging and oh-so-revered bodies.

Gag me.

Hollywood is a fucking joke.

It was one big popularity contest, everyone jockeying for a seat of prestige, or a shade of green light to shine over their skin. Rallying for who was the hottest, the highest paid or the most laid. Bitching about the tabloids and the blatant lies that they spewed. Although, I'm not sure how many of them were entirely off the mark.

In a lie there is a little bit of truth.

They were pawns really. All of them. Used to whore out fashion and products, all while they stood smiling and posing for pictures for people who could give a shit about them. In all honesty, there is a thin line between my love and hate of the cult of celebrity. Most of the time, I felt disgusted by them and then at other times I feel immensely sorry for them.

If I'm so embittered by the bullshit, why am I working in this industry?

Oh, yeah. I had a list.

Finish high school, maintaining a 4.0 and remain president of the drama club. check

Go to design school and graduate top of my class. check

Become noted and hopefully sought after costume designer. * not even fucking close*

I once had an affinity for what I was doing and an actual desire to do it. Costume design. So at one time I did want to dress up their pretentious and affluent asses, but only for roles. Where accuracy and flair would actually count for something and wasn't lost in a cavalcade of meaningless appearances and parties.

Who the hell was I kidding? At that time, I was completely smitten with the idea of celebrity. I could practically hear Lady Gaga singing my theme song.

I'm so starstruck.

Baby could you blow my heart up?

I was completely naïve. I thought that I was just going to hop right out of my four years at FIDM and jump right into the industry. I submitted my resume literally everywhere. From major production companies to local theater groups and everyone in between. I heard absolutely nothing back.

That was four years ago. I am now the personal assistant of one Alice Hale. There were a total of three style assistants, but Alice and Tanya are the only ones with their own P.A.'s, Angela Webber and Jessica Stanley held the other two stylist positions. Angela being the nicer one, I guessed, because she at least said hello and didn't glare at me when she walked by, unlike Miss "I've had three nose jobs in the past two years" Stanley.

I now jump through hoops for coffee, dry cleaning and occasionally, a turkey burger from Nate and Al's for lunch. Alice was sweet to me though, nothing like how Tanya treated Lauren, her personal assistant. Tanya could have given Meryl Streep a run for her money to play Miranda from the Devil Wears Prada, except Streep was acting. Tanya was not. She treated Lauren Malory like she was the plague of the earth, when she was actually just a conceited bitch. They weren't all that dissimilar, except Tanya was the powerful one and Lauren hoped that by being in Tanya's shadow, it would somehow transfer the power by default.

Importance by way of osmosis. And ass kissing...lots of ass kissing. That girl's nose couldn't be any browner.

So she is conceited and delusional. What a stellar personality combo and such a "win" for me considering I had to sit practically right on top of her. Inside a little alcove, and outside the offices with thick glass doors, sat our desks and limited tools we were given to aide in the making of miracles, aka the "look" everyone is fawning over.

Of course, the celeb and the designer get all the credit for that. Stylists only get a rare mention, if ever. They cater to the American public and they do it well. They know what is just right on every client; gown, tux, jacket, shoes and bling. It's alive to them, all coming together to get that one reaction. "Wow"

As if materialism isn't at an all-time high in this country and here I am working in the underbelly of what propagated it.

I think I threw up a little.

That might have been because it was the morning of the Golden Globes, and in a few short hours, seven to be exact, a large gob of Hollywood would be walking down that red road into the Beverly Hilton.

Alice hadn't slept for the three days prior, therefore, neither had I. I fucking hate award show season, people were twice as bitchy around this place. The building was a swirl of noise, people running around like their lives depended on it. You would think the president was coming or a war had broken out the way people were panicked and stressed.

It's just some fucking clothes! I wanted to scream, and then in a Scrubs-inspired fantasy moment; I imagined my head exploding.

"What are you talking about, Alice?" I asked instead, and took a swig of my half and half Honest Tea.

The only thing I was there for was to make sure Alice's day ran as smoothly as possible. All calls, unless otherwise designated (aka: unless your last name could be found on a marquee), were to be diverted until after the weekend. I was to get her lunch and bring it into the office, and cater to any other whim while she made sure all the gowns, tuxes, clutches, shoes and jewelry, were being kept together and arrived to the right celeb.

"Jessica is out sick today, food poisoning. Tanya is having a shit fit since we are shorthanded," she explained, leading me away from my desk to the storage room.

The white room was covered in racks and racks of clothes, that were wrapped in clear cellophane and black garment bags. Endless rows of multi-hued shoes, heels, flats, wingtips and boots were stored in floor to ceiling shelves against the far wall. The clutches and other purses, gloves on shelves to the right. Most of it hadn't ever been worn, or at least not for more than a few hours.

Tables of rings, bracelets, necklaces and earrings, running the gambit of color, sat pristine in little black shallow boxes. Eric and Mike, the interns, were methodically boxing it up for Alice and Angela to take to the celebrities houses and do a final fitting and drop off before show time.

We had a large roster of clients. Upwards of twelve, which doesn't seem like a lot, but when you are trying to create eye popping looks for each of them and still keep it in the realm of their personal preference and body type, it was an undertaking. Or so I was told, I had no idea. I was an assistant and really had no clue.

"Don't worry, Alice, I know you are swamped today. I'll handle everything here."

"No, Bella. We're gonna need your help to get these distributed today, like in the next six hours and forty-six minutes," she informed me, glancing at her phone.

"What?" I squeaked out. "No fucking way, Alice. I don't know anything about this stuff."

"You're such a liar. I see you messing around in here, matching pieces together."

"That doesn't mean I can go to these people's houses, Alice. Especially famous fucking people."

"Intimidated?" She smirked.

"Hell, no! You know me better than that." She did. She knew I was not one of those fucking people that lost their shit and started screaming because someone famous walked by. There were celebrities in and out of this place all the time and it didn't do anything for me.

Newsflash! They are just fucking people!

Just because I can pay nine dollars to go see their oversized face down at the Cinemark 16 doesn't make them any different. Richer maybe, but not different.

"Then, this should be no problem for you."

"Fine." I conceded, completely pissed and talking through my teeth.

"Not like you had a choice," she smiled up at me from the floor while she picked up a pair of wayward shoes. Jimmy Choo's from the looks of them.

"You'll have to change. We can't have you meeting with clients like that."

I looked at my clothes. I had on a business causal button down charcoal, cap sleeved shirt and black pants with black pumps. A light grey cotton sweater over the top.

"There's a problem with this?" I griped.

"It doesn't scream 'on the cutting edge,' " she informed, fingering the edge of my sweater.

Bitch, I'm not here to be your Barbie doll! I'm here to work.

"It's not supposed to 'scream'!" I retorted. "It's supposed to cover my ass up and make me decent to play the part of your retriever, my love." I goaded her.

She hated when I called myself that. She glared at me, sizing me up. I liked Alice and she liked me. We had our own catty way of communicating.

"What am I going to do with you?"

"Give me the day off for being a whiney brat?"

"You wish."

"I tried," I shrugged.

Alice smiled. "Let's get you into something more appropriate."

Yes. A hearse. Since I am going to die from all of this fucking drama.

I rolled my eyes clomping off to her office. I was out in ten minutes, dressed in a slate blue knee length dress, a black leather jacket and ankle boots.

Yeah, okay I was smoking hot, and these boots did great things for my legs.

"Damn, shorty! Where did you dig that up from? Baby girl can be taught." Eric commented, looking me over when I arrived back in the madhouse storage room.

"Alice insisted I change," I informed him. "I'm over it."

"It looks like someone is about to be over you," he grinned.

Yeah, not fucking likely. I haven't gotten laid in so long I was starting to forget what a dick that wasn't made of silicone looked like.

"Whatever, baby." I waved him off.

It wasn't so bad, I managed to get to Brentwood quickly, then up through Malibu and back through Santa Monica and into the Hills in a little under four hours, which was a fucking miracle. I had to take a picture of each completed look and immediately send it to Alice, for any last minute comments or corrections, but she didn't seem to have any. Thank god, cause that would have taken longer.

I walked back into the glass doors, seriously wanting to hand in my resignation and never have to deal with this shit again. All this for fucking clothes, appearances, and who can take home a fucking gold statue.

You're just pissy because it's not you on that stage, getting an award for your work.

Thank you for that awesome insight, feel free to shut the fuck up now.

I took out my Altoid container and opened it, I hated Altoids but their little tins worked really well for my jelly belly habit. I only ate the strawberry jam flavor and had been completely obsessed with them for as long as I can remember, much to the delight of my dentist.

I was just about to crash at my desk and start to work on the voicemail that I'm sure was piling up, but Alice came barreling around the corner from the store room, panicked.

"Oh, Bella! Thank god you're back!"

"Yeah, why? What's the problem, Alice? Someone not have what they were supposed to?" I was calm because I knew it wasn't on my end. I was trying not to laugh knowing that someone else was going to get their face chewed off over their fuck up.

"Edward Cullen. The Armani is still sitting here!"

My stomach lurched. I hated that name.

That arrogant jerk probably had more to do with my rampant dislike of famous people than anyone else. Every time he would come in for a fitting he was off handedly rude and demanding. Except with me, who he hit on secretly while no one was looking. Like the boy didn't have enough pussy sniffing around his reportedly huge honey stick?

I never took what he said seriously. After all he was famous. He could have any woman he wanted, but my girl parts apparently didn't get the memo and acted independently.

My brain wasn't interested. He's just popular because he's fucking hot, has amazing green eyes, and that fucking copper sex hair that you just want to run your hand through while he's pounding you into next week.

Yeah, so not interested. I was suddenly thankful I had worn panties.

"Oh, what a shame," I responded snapping my fingers. "Pretty fucker will just have to wear one of his three hundred other suits for this 'blessed event'. "

Shit. Did I just call him pretty?

Alice's eyes widened in horror. "Bella, that is not how this works! That suit has to be walking down the carpet tonight with Edward Cullen in it, or Armani and Edward will both be epically furious and we'll lose clients and designers!" she huffed out.

Like I would know? Cliff notes version: a bunch of V.I.P.'s will get their fucking panties in a twist.

"Well, you're on a first name basis with 'Mr. I'm too sexy for my shirt' so you go drop it off to him! He can be your personal Ken doll."

"I can't! There is an emergency at Jennifer's. There is a slight problem with one of the seams of her gown and I might have to bring her something else to wear!"

The former Mrs. Pitt or the newer Mrs. Anthony? Or that one from the Labyrinth?

Even I knew this was a bad situation, last minute outfit change is the worst case scenario in this business.

"So? Send Angela," I suggested, hoping that was her plan. Alice was always good with contingency plans, I can believe she'd be so scattered. Then again it was Globes, the shit was bound to hit the fan despite her excellent planning.

"Angela and Tanya are both gone still and there is no one else!" she all but screamed at me.

I took a deep breath, weighing my options. I could quit right now without a two weeks notice with no benefits and no recommendation. Or I could stay and drop off a custom suit to "Huge Hefner in training" so he could parade around in a strobe light of flashes.

"Alice, I really don't like him," I pleaded, knowing which way I was leaning towards.

"I know you don't, but this isn't about whether we like someone, Bella!" She snipped at me, "I don't have time for this shit! I'm your boss and you're fucking going!"

My jaw dropped, I could have caught flies in that gaping hole. Alice never swore.

"Shit Alice," I responded trying to hide my shock. "Fine! What the fuck ever! Where the hell is this mandated monkey suit?"

"Showroom. Rack three in the grey bag. Shoes are just below it, ready to go."

I nodded, still in shock at the colossal clusterfuck this day had become.

Alice's phone started to ring then:

Doing it for the fame

cuz we want to live the life of the rich and famous


Doin' it for the fame

cuz me got a taste for champagne and endless fortune.

Cliché has a ringtone.

"Hello?" Alice chimed. "Courtney? Hold on just a sec dear."

"I'll text you the address, set your GPS and run red lights if you have to!" she instructed, brusquely.

She immediately turned back to her call, waving to me behind her shoulder.

I loaded up the suit, the shoes and the last shred of patience I still had and headed off down Santa Monica Blvd.

-Sexy Silk-

I made it to Brentwood in thirty-five minutes. A personal record. I would be dancing, if I wasn't sitting in a car and if that car wasn't headed to Cullen's.

I looked around the street, thinking I must've have had the wrong address.

Shit. Can't believe Alice would have given me the wrong address.

It was just a simple white house. I say 'simple' and 'house' because most of the places I had been to that day were gaudy thirty room mansions with 4 acres of lawn in front.

This place was still enormous at least five bedrooms. It was safely fifteen million, surprisingly modest for the fame mongering douche that lived there.

I leaned out my window and pressed the button of the little intercom outside the gate.

"Yes?" An unrecognized voice questioned over the speaker.

"I'm Bella Swan from Denali Inc. I'm here with Mr. Cullen's evening attire."

That sounded professional right?

"I'm supposed to have an Angela Webber coming from Denali," His voice is gruff and scratchy over the speaker.

"Well, I could have her come back, but I can guarantee that Mr. Cullen will not have this suit in time for tonight," I responded, minutely giddy.

Maybe I'll get out of this after all.

I heard a scuffling over the intercom. Two hushed voices battling it out over something. I couldn't makeit out.

The gate began to open, and I drove inside and up the drive trying to gather my figurative balls together and get out of the car.

Oh you don't mean nothing at all to me.

I threw the suit over my arm with appropriate lines of Say it Right thumping in my head as I walked to the red double door. I was greeted by a tall, broad man with dark short hair. He looked like a former linebacker. Clearly security.

"Miss Swan," he greeted. I recognized the voice from the speaker.

Hello nice man who almost let me out of this horrid situation. Fuck you very much for changing your mind.

"Hello," was all I replied, as I stepped into the large white marbled foyer.

"I'm sorry about before, I'm always wary of name changes from what I have on the list."

"No problem. It was a last minute switch," I admonished, taking a look around. The entry way was cavernous and expanded further down into some kind of entertainment room. A staircase circled up from the marble floor to the second story in a semicircle.

"Mr. Cullen should be down shorty, if you'd like to sit you..."

"No need." His velvety smooth voice brushed the room with pheromones. I turned to see him, standing at the top of the stairs. A gasp of air left my lungs as Nelly's song left my head in a blur. He stayed perched at the stairs in faux distressed blue jeans and a white wife beater with a towel wrapped around his neck, fresh from the shower.

Shit. Nelly please come back.

You know how they say that people in the movies never look that way in real life? They fucking lied.

He was the epitome of sex. The trademark copper hair tousled and damp, fell into his fierce green eyesand distinguished jawline held the tiniest bit of stubble. His body completely tight and toned. A well sculpted chest and arms mocked me from the next story.

Please don't let me be drooling.

"Bella! Nice to see you again. How are you beautiful? It's been too long," He remarked, walking to the bottom landing to join me.

Not long enough apparently.

"Entirely, too long." I replied, trying to focus on his reputation rather than his billboard body.

I was sure I was starring, I was just hoping my mouth was closed.

"Shall we?"

I nodded. Totally unsure of what I was agreeing to. I'd spent most of my day waiting for overly skinny women to change and put on jewelry so I could check that all the correct pieces were there and the dress had no physical problems. This was just a suit. I'm sure he could figure it out, but I would probably have to steam it a bit.

"This way," he requested, gesturing me with his outstretched arm to go upstairs. It didn't make any sense for me to go upstairs first, I didn't know where I was go...ing.

That bastard wanted a fucking front row view of my ass.

Enjoy the view. I thought. I sashayed up, accentuating the movement of my hips as I went.

I heard two strangled noises, one from closer behind me. I was unable to contain the grin that plastered itself across my face.

"You have the most incredible ass," Cullen complimented whisper quiet as he whisked by me.

"Too bad you just are one." I quipped.

This is what we did. He would flirt like a shameless, chauvinistic, asshole, I would call him out on it and my traitorous cooch would protest the only way she knew how.

Sex starved bitch that she was, I couldn't blame her.

It wasn't that I couldn't hunt down some man meat, but I couldn't handle a relationship. Between my job, and my friends and my lack of interest in doing that ridiculous awkward period between the first date and sex, it just wasn't worth it. I couldn't find any men that just wanted to fuck and run. What the hell was happening to humanity?

Ifollowed him around and down the wide dim hallway. Completely hypnotized by his ass as he walked.

He glanced back, smirked and raised his right eyebrow. "See something you like?"

I rolled my eyes. "Dream on, Cullen."

"Plan to, Swan." He grinned turning forward again.

We arrived at his room. A dark framed king bed, with black and white diamond bedding. All the furniture black contemporary pieces with white accents. Hard wood floors.

Hard wood. Insert girly fucking giggle here.

Most of the women I know would sacrifice their first born in order to spend five minutes in this room and the rest would gut a puppy in order to get in between the sheets of that bed.

"Okay, so why don't you try this on and we'll make sure it fits."

"It's a four-thousand dollar suit made especially for me. I can assure you, it fits."

"Fine, whatever. I might need to steam it so it lays right." I informed him, irritated. I was still trying to maintain level of professionalism.

He smiled wickedly. "So anxious to see the goods, Swan?" he questioned removing the wife beater, and throwing it onto the bed.

"Nothing, I haven't seen before. I've got that issue of GQ," I informed him, feigning disinterest. The truth was I was using that shit, in conjunction with my vibrating silicone friend, to fap myself into a coma.

"And why would you have that?" His grin grew wide, flashing a hint of his perfectly white teeth. His voice thick and suggestive, like I had admitted to something.

I smiled right back at him, defiant and confident and took a step towards him, whispering, "It evens out the legs of my coffee table incredibly well." I leaned back and caught his reaction.

He was scowling. "Such a tease, Bella," he said playfully, through his annoyed expression.

"I'd have to be offering you something first in order to be a tease," I retorted smugly.

"Point and match goes to you," he rewarded me with a forfeit. I was kind of put off. Edward Cullen giving up didn't suit me well.

He grabbed a starched, white, hanging dress shirt from the front of his wardrobe and something else from inside a drawer. Then he sauntered over and collected the garment bag and shoes and retreated into the bathroom.

I looked around his room, knowing that I would never get a chance to again to snoop around the room of a public heartthrob. I expected to see pictures or art deco prints of naked women, but there really wasn't anything like that.

There was however, a guitar in the corner. I think I remember hearing that he played in a band, which was only known because he had been associated with them. Pictures of his family graced the top of his dresser. His sister Rosalie was an actress in her own right, starring in a few films over the last year. There was a picture of them as children, playing on a swing set. His money-banking grin fixated on his face even at that age.

I walked over to his night table, noticing the single picture that sat there. It was an elegantly framed black and white picture of a beautiful woman. Her hair color matched Cullen's and they had the same eyes. His mother had died when he was a teen, in a car accident. He didn't talk about it a lot.

"My mother." His quiet confession startled me. I jumped and put the picture back into place.

"She's beautiful," I commented not looking up, feeling self-conscience that I had gotten caught.

"Yes, she was." His voice grew lighter. He didn't seem upset that I had been snooping. If he told, I could very well lose my job over it.

There's a thought! Get fired and cut off any unemployment rights.

Was it really worth it to look through his stuff?

I went to raise my head to apologize and hopefully save my job, but I couldn't breathe. Edward Cullen was in a tux. Dressed to the nines in Armani, with that hair and those eyes.

I swear I could hear my vag whimpering.

"Wow," I said absentmindedly, just above a whimper myself.

"Glad you approve, Bella." He smirked, doing up his cufflink for his left sleeve. I swallowed hard, mad at myself for letting him have that kind of effect on me.

"Eh, it's okay. Should have gone with something a little more daring, but I guess classic Hollywood will have to do," I said pandering his choice to cover up my slip of approval.

His perfect lips molded into a smile, "Can't take it back. Initial reactions are all that count with the public and paps. There is no second chance for these events, as I'm sure you're well aware."

I nodded, still unsure of my voice. Was he talking about the Globes or something else? I thought it was a good time to make an exit.

"Well, Mr. Cullen it looks as if the suit doesn't need to be steamed, so I'll just be getting...I mean taking off now." I knew I blushed. I hadn't done that in so long. Why did my fucking mouth and my body have to gang up against me suddenly?

"Bella, we've known each other for four years, please call me Edward," he requested sincerely.

"Okay," I said starting to take off. See, I said take? I turned the handle, but I heard him call my name again.

The ache in my stomach and vajayjay were growing worse by the second. I'd needed some serious time off and my stashed copy of 'fap monthly'.

"Before you take off," he smirked, "would you mind straightening my tie? Can't ever seem to get it quite right."

"You're just going to have to straighten it again when you put it back on later," I warned.

"Bella, we're supposed to start arriving in less than an hour."

I looked down at my watch. It really was a close call then.

"I'm sorry, I didn't realize," I said stepping over to him. He smelled so good, like smoke and rain. I had to stop my eyes from rolling back in my head. I was getting high off of him. The longer I stood there, the more of a dope fiend I became.

Personal assistant is rushed to emergency room due to Edward Cullen induced contact high.

I stood just far enough away to straighten the knot, smoothing the fabric at the sides. His breath was beating against my face in little heated puffs. It smelled like cinnamon. Spicy and sweet at the same time, I wanted to lap all the cinnamon out of his mouth with my tongue.

"Finished," I breathed. His eyes caught mine, there was uncertainty there, something behind all the cocky affluent bullshit, but I didn't recognize what it was.

"Thank you," he said, still looking at me, our faces still inches apart. The tension so thick in the room my nipples could cut it.

He kept his room cold. I'd attest to it on a stack of Bibles...or in Alice's case a stack of Cosmos.

I tried to pull away, but it's like I was stuck there, waiting for him to release me.

He leaned in quickly. I discovered too late that he was attempting to kiss me on the cheek and he ended up kissing me on the corner of my mouth, but instead of pulling away his lips stayed and started to move against mine.

Shit. Was he doing this because he thought he had to? Last time I checked he didn't have to.

I started kissing him back, tasting all hot cinnamony deliciousness of his mouth. His lips commanded attention, deliberate and sensual as they claimed mine. He deepened our kiss quickly, sliding his tongue into my mouth and my hand went naturally into his hair. His hands traveled to my ass willfully kneading it.

My head kept saying "you're going to be another notch" and my starved libido nodded and said "Yep, one happy fucking notch."

His hand slipped up underneath my dress and cupped my bare ass, he growled in appreciation.

Score one for me for braving a thong.

"You're going to be the death of me Bella," he said huskily into my neck while kissing down it.

His kisses became more urgent as he backed me up against the wall. His body pressed against mine his cock at full attention straining the fine fabric of the custom suit, hitting me just above where I really wanted it. Our hands were everywhere, in a frantic tangled mess and our breathing increased.

He started grinding into me. My girl parts were cheering like they had finally gotten rain after a year long drought. I returned the motions, trying to ignore that my vag could have passed for a slip n slide for his dick. His eyes closed tightly and his movement stilled.

"Why'd you stop?"

"Because, I want to bury my cock inside you and pound the fuck out of you until you can't think straight."

"Oh," This was worth stopping? He closed his eyes and pinched them shut.

"You have to tell me," he demanded, reopening his eyes, "if this is what you want."

He looked really vulnerable suddenly, his green eyes fluctuating between desire and uncertainty. Why? Did he think I was going to say no?

"I want you, Edward," I whispered. My hoo-ha more like pleaded.

His mouth attacked mine again and my dress flew up over my head and onto the floor, and my doused panties joined it. I kicked off my shoes and I could hear a belt clacking and a zipper go down while I continued to kiss him.

I looked down, not wanting to miss a glimpse of the reported undefeated champion of peens. The rumor didn't do that huge slice of heaven justice.

"See something you like?" he smirked, echoing his question from earlier.

"Hell yes!" I blurted out, unable to stop my face from flushing more.

In seconds I was back against the wall with my legs wrapped around his waist and he was pushing his way inside me.

"Jesus Bella, you're so fucking tight," he groaned, pushing into me further. I didn't know how the fuck I was supposed to fit all of him. He was not a honey stick, but a motherfucking bat. The Louisville Slugger of cocks was splitting me in half and all I could do was moan because I couldn't remember how to speak.

It didn't take long for him to find a rhythm and for my eternally grateful vag to take all of him in. The sensation of him inside me slamming into me again and again was intense, my breathing completely uneven and punctuated with whimpers. Somehow he kept hitting the most amazing spot. Not that he couldn't hit every fucking spot with that fuck-awesome peen.

His mouth went to my lace covered breasts. He sucked and bit at my nipples through the fabric and gripped my thighs tighter. He nuzzled into each tit as they bounced in his face. "I knew they were real," he shunted out.

I went to run my nails down his back, but felt fabric in my way. The suit. I opened up my eyes and realized the immensity of the moment. Edward Cullen, the twenty eight year old, Hollywood heartthrob was fucking me senseless up against the wall of his bedroom, still decked in an Armani suit and was about to leave for the Globes.

I didn't think I could feel disgusted, elated and that impossibly turned on at the same time.

I felt a familiar tightening developing and it was all consuming. "Oh god. I'm gonna..." I gasped, not able to get out anything more.

"You are so beautiful," he breathed out. His eyes caught mine for a brief second and what I saw there both scared the hell out of and aroused me further.

My eyes closed as my orgasm gripped me. I could only think of his name and I screamed it. Normally I never did that shit, but I never had a reason to scream either. I came harder than I ever had. There weren't stars, rainbows or motherfucking butterflies, just a blinding light.

I was still trying to come down from my orgasm, losing the grasp on his shoulders, when his tempo increased and his thrusts became erratic.

"Fuck Bella," he grunted, pounding into me for a final time, releasing everything he had into me.

And for those bitches who were wondering, that sex face is even better than you could fucking imagine.

He stared kissing me frantically, mumbling out unintelligible things in between. My legs were starting to give out and I was going to collapse. He kissed my forehead a couple of times and then carried me over to his bed and sat me down.

He started to straighten himself out. He tucked his shirt back in and refastened his pants, smiling at me.

I started eyeing the suit, worrying we had damaged it or stained it.

One incredible fuck and you're already losing your grip.

He handed my dress back to me and I put it on. Still eyeing the suit, mostly the pants.

"Something wrong?" he asked concerned.

I shook my head. "I don't think so, I was worried that maybe it had gotten damaged."

He smiled widely. "As amazing as you are, I don't think damaged is the word I would use."

I laughed. "I was talking about the suit."

"Uh huh."

"Smart ass," I replied. "At least let me take a look."

He walked over and jutted his hips at me and smiling. "Do I meet your approval?"

I rolled my eyes. He still looked like sex personified. "The suit looks alright," I responded, not actually answering his question.

"That's not what I asked you."

He was going to make me say it.

"You look gorgeous and the suit looks incredible. Tanya and Armani will be thrilled."

"I don't care about the suit. It's just a fucking suit," he growled.

I was shocked. It was as if he had heard my mental commentary from earlier in the day and had practically repeated it back to me. He knelt down next to me and brushed the hair out of my eyes. The same look from earlier returned in them, the piercing jade striking me speechless.

So this is what they meant by eye sex.

"That's not what I was asking you. Bella I..."

I heard my ringtone for Alice sound off in my bag. The one that she picked. Not me.

I'm talking true

I'm tellin' you bout the shit we do

We're selling our clothes

Sleepin' in cars

Dressin' it down

Hittin' on dudes


"Edward, I have to take that. Hold that thought," I responded, smiling and crossing the room to my bag getting hold of my phone.

"Yes, Alice?" I answered, annoyed.

I felt his arms wrap around my waist and slow kisses at my ear. I gasped and tried to stifle a giggle.

I did not fucking giggle.

"Bella? Where the hell are you?" she sounded pissed.


"Red carpet is five minutes away and Edward Cullen isn't here yet. Did everything go okay? Tanya is holding you personally responsible if she doesn't see him here shortly."

"Jesus Alice. You haven't heard of fashionably late?"

He snickered into my hair.

"Not funny Bella. Seriously, did you get the suit dropped off?"

"Yes, Alice, I'm not an idiot."

"Good, was he happy with it?" she quizzed further.

"I'm assuming so. We didn't talk much."

He laughed louder.

"Who the fuck is that? Where are you?" she sounded alarmed.

"Chill the fuck out Alice," I reprimanded," I stopped at In-n-Out and some fuck hawt guy at the table next to me is laughing at his friend who is getting needlessly chewed out by her boss!"

He stroked my hair and kissed my temple then mouthed, "She's such a bitch." I nodded.

"Dammit Bella! Part of the job description is to stay and make sure the client is happy with what they got."

He kissed my neck again and walked away to laugh. "I'm pretty sure he was happy with the service he got from me and with the suit."

He nodded solemnly and grinned. Just then there was a knock at the door.

"I have to go Alice. I'll see you in an hour."

A/N: Ok. So a few thank yous are in order. First to twopeas1pod my awesome beta-first for the encouragement and second for fixing my many mistakes!

Thanks also goes out to CherylSab, Married2MyJacob and kate22689 for prereading this bad boy for me and encouraging me to post it. I flove all of you!

Reviews are better than Strawberry Jam Jelly Bellys :)

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