Love Tokyo Style by SoapyMayhem a O/S for Fandom Gives Back Autism Speaks

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

Warning: This story contains a graphic depiction of sex.

**Edward Cullen**

I couldn't be happier with the deal we've made today. Genuinely, I smile while shaking hands with Cullen Holdings' newest business partners, Nakamura Ken and Sato Hiroshi. The two men regard me seriously but with enthusiasm, for the simple fact that the joining of our companies will be highly profitable. I know they are as eager as I am for that to happen.

In perfect Japanese, I thank the men for their time and assure them that we will all be very happy with our new partnership. As I am about to leave, I hear Nakamura calling from behind me.

"Wait, Mr. Cullen," he calls.

Inwardly, I cringe, assuming that he is calling me back to voice his offence over the disaster that was the conference call with my idiot younger brother.

Emmett had spent the better part of the last three weeks using Rosetta Stone to learn as much Japanese as he could. Jasper, my older brother, was almost as fluent as me. But Emmett, well, he's always been a lazy bastard, and this situation was no exception. He'd pretty much waited until the last minute to try to learn one of the most difficult languages known to man.

As CEO, and the most familiar with Japanese custom, it had been decided that I would make the trip to Tokyo, but Sato had insisted that, at the very least, they have the opportunity to speak with all of the partners, hence Emmett's last minute cramming, and my utter mortification.

For the most part, the call had gone smoothly. Emmett spoke very little but had interjected a few times, so as to ensure us that he was listening. Though he'd spoken slowly, he had been mostly accurate, that is until the call was about to end.

"Anata no bijinesute kurete arigato," Jasper spoke with ease, thanking them for their business.

"Wareware wa tanoshimi ni shite anata o kuso ni," Emmett quickly and confidently reiterated as if he'd been practicing that particular phrase - the same phrase that caused Sato to grumble and Nakamura to choke a little. I was sure that what Emmett had meant to say was, Wareware wa tanoshimi ni shite anata o kyoryoku shite, which means, We look forward to doing business with you. Instead, he had told them,We look forward to fucking you.

Quickly, I corrected him and apologized. They hadn't seemed upset, but I still couldn't shake the anxiety I had that they'd been offended; not just because of the obvious sexual innuendo, but because of the American phrase to 'fuck someone over.' The last thought I wanted them to associate with Cullen Holdings was that we'd 'fuck them over.' I only hoped that that particular phrase wasn't commonly used in Japan.

Sweat began to collect at my brow, and my tie was suddenly way too tight.

Likely sensing my discomfort, Nakamura called in his assistant to bring us each a tumbler of whiskey. Normally, I didn't drink on the job, but I didn't want to offend them any more than Emmett possibly had, so I accepted graciously.

As I sat sipping my whiskey just feeling the almost numbing burn, the silence became deafening.

It was no small feat making conversation with the two men that, aside from our business ventures, I had absolutely nothing in common with. Honestly, I was eager to get back to my hotel suite and relax. I'd already decided that tonight, I'd take advantage of the private Jacuzzi, heated toilet seat, and the pay-per-view porn.

After making the conscious decision to rub one out in my room later, I found it especially difficult not to down the rest of my drink and haul ass out of there.

Finally, our glasses were empty so I stood, signaling that I was ready to leave.

Nakamura regarded me carefully, but I made every effort to show no sign of the anxiety his scrutiny caused. That was why, when he called my name as I was about to leave, I froze. I had been waiting for the other shoe to drop over Emmett's debacle.

Wait, Mr. Cullen. The voice echoes in my head as I brace for the worst.

Slowly, I turn, trying unsuccessfully to put a smile back on my face.


"We are going to karaoke tonight to celebrate - you should join us. You need to loosen up," he implores.

Even though that is absolutely the worst idea I've ever heard, I can't help but notice that he's not asking, but recommending. Furthermore, I'm thankful at least that he's simply invited me out, instead of asking me to commit seppuku. If anyone deserves that, it's fucking Emmett and his shamefully lazy ass.

I don't want to risk offending them again, so tentatively, I agree.

Several minutes later, Sato, Nakamura, Kikuchi the assistant, and a few men and women from the executive office and I are climbing into a limousine and headed for the Roppongi district. Incidentally, the karaoke bar is a block from the Grand Hyatt, my hotel. It's so close, but oh so fucking far.

The bar is much louder than I expected, but I pretend to like it, bobbing my head to the beat of the music. There's a heavy bass thumping, making it hard for me to think.

So far, the place looks like an ordinary dance club, much like those that I'd gone to in my early twenties back home.

Before I even decide what to do with myself, we are being led to the back of the club. As we pass through a hallway lit only with strobe lights, I begin to feel lightheaded. I want to leave, sit in my hotel and fuck my hand to porn with blurred out pubic hair, but I follow the group into a smaller lounge area.

The karaoke area is darker, the atmosphere more subdued. The stage is larger than I'd expected and directly in front of a huge screen. After realizing that an image of the two guys currently on stage is being projected on the screen, I make a promise to myself that under no circumstances will my body end up on that stage tonight. I don't care how drunk I get.

I don't even fight the urge to cringe when I recognize the song that's being mutilated. It's an awful rendition of Elvis' 'In the Ghetto' being sung by two obviously drunk teens that appear to have raided Lady Gaga's closet. I fight the urge to cringe as they hit several flat notes and mispronounce most of the words. Nakamura motions for me and a few others that have been rendered speechless to join them at an extra-large booth. I assume that it's been reserved just for our group.

Before I make it to the table, I am stopped by a young local who asks me, in English, if I am American, I confirm her suspicion when I open my mouth and ask her why she wants to know. She giggles, and I can't help but smile, though I suddenly don't find her as amusing when she asks if I am Ryan Seacrest.

"Fuck no," I reply irritably. She pouts and walks away.

I feel like an asshole, but mostly I want to feel angry because I don't look anything like that fucker. I shrug it off and feel thankful that Emmett wasn't present for that little conversation, or else I'd have a new nickname for the next few years.

By the time I make it to the table, most everyone has already ordered drinks. Before I can get the server's attention, Nakamura tells me he's ordered for me and then makes a dig about me having a fan-girl. I know what he's referring to, and I can only assume he heard the conversation. He looks amused, and it makes me realize that maybe he's just as immature as Emmett. I am even more convinced when everyone at the table receives their drinks – various martinis, shots, and highballs – and in front of me sits a football-sized ceramic Buddha with a straw poking out of its bulging belly. Everyone in my group is staring, waiting for my reaction. My initial instinct tells me to be petulant, but I shrug, nonchalant. The drink tastes good, so I smile and rub my belly in approval. They all chuckle, happy that I am playing along.

The awful music has finally stopped, thankfully. Seconds later, I'm surprised by the next singer. She's singing Patsy Cline, and it's obvious by her diction, she's American - English at the very least. I glance toward the stage and see my suspicions confirmed. She's tall and lanky with blood red hair in pigtails.

Her shredded t-shirt catches my eye. It's too hard to tell what's printed on it, until I glance up at the monitor.

The shirt has a screen-printed image of three women, each with some form of mohawk, and the words in grungy block print 'Fucking Japan Tour 2011 Cock T's.' I snicker at the band's name.

The girl's singing isn't too bad, and by the time she's done, she's being whistled at and cat-called by some women near the stage, who I can only assume are her friends when I hear one of them call her 'you awesome bitch.' The almost misplaced sound of American accents intrigue me. I want to go talk to them - to be reminded of home - but I am glued to my seat, sucking on Buddha's bellybutton straw.

One half of Lady Gaga in the Ghetto is back on stage, but this time is joined by one of the American women. They are singing 'Islands in the Stream,' It's strange. As I observe the tiny woman, I make a quick assumption that she's a punk. Her hair is mostly shaved on the sides, leaving her with a tidy, electric blue mohawk. She effortlessly pulls off the hairstyle with her attitude.

I feel like I should be repulsed by her look, but I feel jealous. I wish I had her confidence.

I am Edward Cullen, CEO of a company, self-made millionaire before the age of thirty, and I almost piss my panties over Emmett mispronouncing a few phrases in a meeting. I feel like a loser. I'm alone in Japan, motivated to be that way so I can masturbate in peace, and I feel worse when I realize that when I get home, none of that changes. Somehow, with everything I've gained, I feel incomplete, and if I am being honest with myself, pathetically boring.

Of course, I have my brothers, my parents, and the few friends that I managed to keep around because they weren't out to benefit from my newfound success.

My mother insists that all I need is a good woman. I am starting to agree with her, though there don't seem to be any good ones out there - at least, none that I've been able to find.

My mind wanders back to my last relationship. I ended things with Tanya a few months earlier, since we had nothing in common except that she wanted money - and I had plenty. It had taken me weeks to work up the nerve to end it, but she always seemed to sense what was happening and would distract me with sex. Once I realized that sex with her wasn't much better than jacking off, I told her I just wanted to be friends. It was a lie, but it worked.

Emmett, the self-proclaimed man-whore, thinks I should try having a few one night stands, or go sky-diving with him and his buddies. I rarely listen to him.

Jasper refuses to give me any advice. His relationship history has been as bad, if not worse, than mine. After he discovered that his fiancée, Maria, had been running a brothel from the apartment he'd set her up with, he pretty much swore off women all together.

Deciding that I am going to take Nakamura's advice, I make a commitment to myself to loosen up. I will try to have a good time. Though I doubt that will consist of making an ass of myself on stage, I'll at least try to enjoy watching others do it.

Once punk pixie and the Gaga freak are finished, I see Nakamura taking off his jacket and tie and grabbing Kikuchi to drag her to the stage. He is swaying on his feet a bit, but Kikuchi is holding him steady while they sing a Japanese pop song. The crowd goes wild, so I assume it's popular.

Buddha's empty, and I feel much more relaxed. I order hot sake, using the opportunity while Nakamura isn't around to order girlie drinks for me.

A few songs later, I need to piss - badly.

The server guides me to the restrooms. Carefully, I avoid the urinal near the guy dressed in leather with ass-less pants. Standing next to the other man, a guy from my group, seems to be the safer choice. I regret my decision when he begins to talk to me about the business deal, and if I like Tokyo. I resist the urge to say that what I like is my peace and quiet when I piss.

I decide that maybe I should have stood next to leather boy, though I assume the other guy would have struck up a conversation anyway. I would have probably just had to endure it while leather boy eyed my cock.

Quickly, I wash my hands and retreat to the comfort of the booth. As I am making my way back, I hear the sultriest voice I've ever heard belting out the chorus of Janis Joplin's 'Piece of My Heart.' It's awe-inspiring and would give Janis herself a run for her money. I push my way through the crowd to place a face with that voice. The first thing I see is the top of a very tall, very blonde mohawk.

As the crowd parts, I start to make out more and more of her features. She is taller than the punk pixie and curvier than the girl with the Cock T's t-shirt. It's her face that truly stops me short.

Under the blue lights, she's ethereal. Pale skin, heart-shaped face, full red lips, and deep dark soulful eyes make me ignore the bright purple eye shadow and enormous blonde mohawk streaked with black that crowns her head.

Her eyes close for few moments, like she means every word of the song. I wonder if she's singing it about someone in particular. When she opens those stunning eyes, it's almost as if they're drawn to mine. I realize I have moved all the way to the stage, and I am closer than I probably should be. Before I can stalk off from the embarrassment I feel, she smiles and continues singing, not taking her eyes off me for the rest of the song.

I am transfixed, intrigued, and beguiled. I want to talk to her, I want to record the sound of her voice and put it on repeat on my iPod. I don't care that she's not my type – hell, maybe she is my type. I realize that the chances of my finding out are slim as the song ends; eye contact is broken and she exits the opposite side of the stage to sit at the table with the other women I heard earlier. They are cheering her on and passing her a shot, and I realize that I can't approach them.

I am from a different universe, a cog in the machine of the corporate world, a part of what punks and minorities call 'The Man.' The confidence is sucked right out of me, so I retreat to my table to finish the saki I am certain is now ice cold.

Those in my group try to make small talk with me, but after my self-deprecating inner rant over my squareness, I'm not much for conversation. A few shots of neon green liquid burn down my throat before I am shaken out of my haze by the next performance. The punk pixie, the goddess with the voice, and another woman, a blonde with her hair braided intricately into a fauxhawk are on the stage. I feel stupid because I now realize that they are the band from the t-shirt. I feel even more justified in not approaching them, when I make the connection. I shake my head in frustration.

I try to tune them out, but it's difficult, they are singing Joan Jett's 'Do You Wanna Touch?' and every time the goddess with the voice gets to the word's 'Do you wanna touch me there,' she looks right at me. My cock twitches with every punctuated growl she belts out, and fuck if I am not already fantasizing about touching her right fucking there.

I don't immediately notice Nakamura leave the table, but when I do from the corner of my eye, my boner instantly deflates. He's speaking to the DJ then he points in my direction. Fuck that! I know what he's doing. He is fucking signing me up to sing. Shit. I realize that, even in his drunken state, he noticed my exchange with the goddess, and he just wants to fuck me over.

Still, I consider that maybe it won't be so bad. I could pull my jacket and tie off, unbutton my shirt a bit. Maybe I won't look so much like the corporate nerd that I am.

I don't really want to look like a jerk for not going up there when they call me out, until I consider the possible song choices that Nakamura may have picked for me. I realize I'll probably look like a jerk no matter what.

I fucking hope to God he picked something in English. I may be fluent in Japanese, but I know fuck-all about J-Pop.

I glance back at the goddess and her girls as they are finishing up and notice that she's turned her attention away from me and appears to be giving her performance to the crowd now. Just when I think I can take no more of her ignoring me she meets my eyes one more time before the song ends and they call the next performer.

I sit there a moment waiting for whoever it is to begin when Kikuchi and Nakamura grab my arms.

Kikuchi whispers softly in my ear that she is sorry and tried to dissuade him from doing this, but he couldn't be convinced.

I groan, but upon standing, I realize I am much too buzzed to protest further. As I'd planned, I remove my jacket and tie and then popped a few buttons in my haste to appear more at ease.

Kikuchi eyes me appreciatively, which doesn't go unnoticed and gives me a nice boost of confidence.

When I get to the sound booth, the DJ tells me what song Nakamura chose. I begin to think that he may just be a fucking genius, and I might actually want to be his friend after this is all over.

Swaying slightly, I make my way to the stage. I don't feel the nerves or panic I expected. It's probably the alcohol.

I look in her direction as the lilting guitar and drum beats start to pick up. Her tall mohawk makes her easy to spot, but she's blurry until my eyes adjust to the bright lights.

I come to the realization that I am on a fucking stage, and I am about to sing.

Holy fuck, what am I doing?

Panic surges through me and the urge to run right the fuck to my hotel is so damn strong. Only the goddess's presence grounds me and gives me the courage to start singing.

I see a red door and I want it painted black

No colors anymore I want them to turn black

I see the girls walk by dressed in their summer clothes

I have to turn my head until the darkness goes…

As I continue singing, I become more aware of myself, and the fact that I can't take my eyes off her. She smiles at me almost shyly, which I don't expect. It encourages me to throw everything I have into my performance.

I'm not really sure how bad I am, but no one seems to notice. The large booth my group is in, and the goddess's group in front of me, seem to be my own personal cheering sections.

When I gravel my voice a bit to do the humming parts of the song, I hear the goddess shout 'fuck yeah'. Her approval makes me want to flirt a little, so I wink at her before running my fingers through my hair, undoubtedly ruining all my earlier efforts to calm it. The end of the song consists mostly of me shouting out the lyrics, then, in an attempt to be cool, I throw the microphone on the ground and stalk off the stage. The goddess and her friends are laughing at my antics, but the DJ looks pissed, and I realize my error. Discreetly, I hand him my business card and assure him I will pay for any damages.

When I turn around, she's standing there. I smile when I see that her mohawk makes her taller than me.

"Can I buy you a drink?" she asks, with a smile tugging at the corner of her succulent mouth.

I am dazed, but I somehow manage to respond confidently.

"I want to say shouldn't I be asking you that, but somehow, I don't think you'd appreciate it," I say with a grin.

"Maybe you're right, but you still haven't answered my question," she counters, smirking.

"Honestly, I don't need another, but since you're offering, I'll take it," I reply, but I decide that I'll only take a few sips and then switch to water.

"So, you want another Buddha?" she asks impishly.

She's fucking teasing me. I laugh and then pretend to grimace, even though the drink was pretty good. In my slightly drunken haze, it takes me almost a beat too long to realize that she saw me drinking out of that fucking thing, which means she noticed me well before I noticed her. I am stunned.

I begin to forget the assumptions I made about who she was and whether or not I was cool or rock-and-roll enough for her. I think she finds me attractive despite how white-collar and stuffy I looked before I went ape-shit on stage to The Rolling Stones and broke a damn microphone.

We walk to the bar together, and I avoid looking in the direction of my group, who I can feel staring at us. Once we have our drinks, she grabs my hand and guides me to a small booth off in the corner. Her hand, so small and warm, feels perfect in mine. I don't want to let it go.

I tell her how much I loved her singing, both times, but particularly her rendition of 'Piece of My Heart'. She thanks me shyly.

Her name is Bella, which I think is fitting and much more interesting than the boring family name I was given.

I ask about her band. She is the singer and guitarist, while Rose - the blonde - plays bass, and Alice - with the blue mohawk - is the drummer. I also find out that last night was the final show of their two-month tour of Japan before they head back to the States. She admits that she'll miss it here.

She asks me where I'm from. I tell her I currently live in Chicago, which is where my company's home office is located, but I won't be there much longer. When she tells me her band just moved to Seattle from Portland, I freeze. Coincidentally, I am going to be in Seattle for the next year or so opening our new West coast branch. I debate telling her that, lest I risk sounding like a stalker, but when she senses the surprise in my eyes and comments, I admit it. She laughs and tells me that I should come to one of their shows sometime. I know I will probably end up at every show, just so I can hear her sing again.

Conversation is flowing smoothly. I feel like we've been talking for hours, and like we've known each other years. I wonder why I assumed that we couldn't possibly have anything in common, when that's so far from the truth. Sure, her life is entirely different from mine, but we both share a passion for music, even if her tastes are a bit broader. Our equal interest in film and books give us even more to discuss.

She doesn't ask about my job or work. I don't want to mention it.

She's telling me all about her love of puns, so I make her tell me a few, and they're terrible. I end up groaning and cringing over how fucking awful some of them are, until I am clutching my side in laughter over her ridiculous sense of humor. Emmett would approve.

Sato, Nakamura, and the others wave goodbye from across the bar, likely not wanting to interrupt our obvious connection, for which I am grateful.

As well, her friends have kept to their table, leaving us alone, and I barely notice as people continue singing. I can only focus on Bella and her smooth rich voice, infectious and genuine smile, not to mention the way the light plays off the glitter on her cheekbones, or the how her warm leg feels rubbing against mine. She makes me feel alive.

I don't care that she's not a prim and proper social climber, or that I am not a rock star with a pierced face and tattoos. She is so full of life that I can't help but be drawn in. There's simply a need to be close to her. I've never felt such a strong connection, and by the way she's looking at me, I think she feels it too.

I want to have sex with her, but I'm not interested in having a one night stand. I know there's a possibility that we could be more, and it only gives me even more hope since we are both going to be in the same city again in two weeks when I make the move. I want to ask her if she'd go on a date with me then, and I'm about to work up the courage, when abruptly she grabs the cell phone from her pocket.

"Do you want to go for a walk?" she asks me out of nowhere.

"Sounds great," I agree, wondering if there is any hidden meaning behind her suggestion, or if she really just wants to walk.

I'm nervous.

She sends a text, I am assuming to her friends, letting them know she's leaving with me. Her friend, the girl with the band tee, who Bella tells me is Angela her roadie, waves goodbye while Alice looks at me with curiosity, and Rose gives me the stink-eye. She must not approve. I don't know if the look of disdain is for me personally or the fact that Bella is leaving with me. At the moment, I could care less.

She gulps down the bottle of water I ordered her and springs to her feet. In an attempt to appear more gentlemanly, I offer her my arm. She stares at it for a moment then laughs, shaking her head and grabs it gleefully. I know it's old fashioned and she's probably only doing it to humor me, but I love feeling her so close.

As we are leaving, I notice my tie and jacket draped over the booth my group previously occupied. I grab them on the way.

As we pass through the strobe light hallway, the beat of the club is still going full force. Bella's grip on my arm tightens as we push our way through the throng of scantily clad sweaty bodies and out the door.

The fresh air is exhilarating. We both take in a deep breath.

Bella pulls her arm from mine. Before I can feel bereft at the loss of her warmth, she turns to face me full on. My gaze is trained on her face, and I realize that in the bright street lights, she's even more beautiful than I thought.

She licks her lips; I know she wants to kiss me, but she's initiated everything tonight, and I want to be the one to kiss her first. All the signs are there, so slowly I lean in. She doesn't pull back or push me away, if anything she presses closer.

"Christ, you're beautiful," I whisper, before leaning down so I can meet her lips. They are warm , soft, and electric. When her mouth opens for me, I slide my tongue in groan softly. I can't help but revel in the taste of her – fruit and girl.

She's pressing against me more and more until I feel her arms wind around me and her fingers in the hair at the nape of my neck. It feels heavenly.

We kiss several more seconds before we both realize that we are making out on a very public street, and people are staring.

I grimace when I notice that leather boy with the ass-less pants is perched against the wall of the club not ten feet away, smoking a cigarette.

"SayōnaraTakeshi," Bella shouts and waves in his direction. I look at her, curiously amused, and she explains with a shrug that he's a fan.

"Come on," she orders before taking my hand and pulling me down the street. I don't answer. I simply think of how perfectly her hand fits in mine.

Before I can ask where we are going, we've stopped in front of the Grand Hyatt, my hotel. I furrow my brow, wondering if this is some kind of joke.

"I don't normally do this, but would you like to come up?" Bella asks timidly.

I realize she has a room here as well. When I think of all the coincidences, I feel like fate has all these contingency plans in place to make sure we get together. I don't voice that opinion, though. I simply squeeze her hand reassuringly before pulling her body close for another heated kiss. Knowing that we may end up having sex causes the kiss to burn out of control until we are panting in each other's mouths.

"Fuck," I gasp, pulling away. It's all too much, and my cock - that's forgotten we're still in public - is so hard it's about to start leaking like a faucet.

I take a moment to calm down before I rush us to a bank of elevators.

Bella presses the button for the sixth floor. I would much rather take her to my penthouse, but I don't want to make her uncomfortable.

Once the doors close and we're alone, she's on me again - her hands in my hair, and my fingers splay on her hips slowly, sliding past the hem of her t-shirt to touch her silken skin.

She sucks my bottom lip into her mouth and nibbles lightly. The feeling goes straight to my cock. Before I can grind into her the way my body wants to, the elevator dings, and the door is opening.

Bella tells me that she has her own suite. I half grin - half smirk and follow her lead. She hasn't released my hand, and I don't mention it. The only way I'll gladly let it go is if my hands are roaming her body.

Once we're inside her room, she pushes me against the door. "Edward. So fucking hot," she murmurs against my lips.

Her tight little body pressed against mine feels unreal, and I can't help but groan into her mouth.

The connection between our lips is broken when she begins to trail kisses and nibbles on my neck.

"Can I have you?" she purrs seductively against my jaw while grinding herself on my hardened cock.

"Fuck, yes," I gasp and lean back for another kiss, but she pulls away, smiling mischievously.

"Good," she says, then turns around to enter the room, leaving me stunned and worked up beyond belief.

"Bella?" I call as she disappears down a dark hall.

"In here," she shouts back to me.

"Give me a few minutes, I need to get rid of this," she says, motioning toward her mohawk. I nod and adjust myself less discreetly than I intend to. She cocks her brow and I shrug. The state of my cock is her fault, after all.

While she's is the bathroom, I take a moment to look around so I can distract myself from the anxiety I am feeling over what is about to happen.

After a few minutes, she opens the bathroom door. The way she looks makes my mouth go dry.

I'm like a starving man, and the sight of her leaning smugly against the doorframe with her arms crossed and her long bare legs pouring out of an oversized Ramones t-shirt has me wanting to taste every inch of her skin.

She's unbraided her hair and brushed out the product that made it stuck up impossibly high, leaving long, thick layers I want to run my fingers through.

My inability to move forces her to approach me. She's like a tigress circling her prey as she walks behind me then wraps her arms around my waist and chest. Her hands wander for a minute and I am leaning into her touch, feeling her breasts press against my back.

Her hand begins to wander beneath my dress shirt, caressing my skin and toying with the trail of hair on my stomach. I close my eyes, wanting to heighten my senses to her touch. I don't even realize that she has unbuttoned my shirt with her other hand until she begins to slide it off my shoulders and then slips my undershirt over my head.

I need to see her so I turn in her arms and move to lift her shirt off, leaving her in a simple pair of black panties and exposing her perfect breasts. Her pink nipples look as if they are begging for my mouth to taste them. They are exquisite.

Wanting to explore her body, I take her to the bed across the room.

She arches into my hand as I grab a breast and begin to knead it gently. Writhing beneath me and wantonly rubbing herself on my thigh makes my need for her much more urgent. She senses it and responds by reaching for the zipper of my pants, but I pull back, knowing that if her hands touch my cock, I won't be able to focus on tasting her the way I want.

Spread out before me, I hook my long, slender fingers around the hem of her panties, but I don't remove them until her silent nod confirms that she wants it. Slowly, teasingly, I slide them from her body.

My cock becomes impossibly harder at the sight of her bare pussy glistening just for me.

"Can I taste you?" I ask, knowing she won't deny me.

"Please, Edward, fuck," is her answering plea. I can't resist.

I take a long hot lick up the length of her slit and stop to breathe heavily on her clit. A tremor rolls through her body, and she begins to fist the sheets as I swirl and dart my tongue right-fucking-there. She is about to come undone when I push a finger into her wet heat.

Tapping and stroking her g-spot has her arching off the bed and screaming my name before she begins to erupt like a geyser.

Her shaking form stills and falls limply back to earth from the heights I propelled her to. I've never seen a more stunning creature than Bella when she's coming.

I kiss my way up her body until she coherent and her flesh is breaking out in goose bumps. Her eyes, hooded with lust, are dark deep, and I almost get lost in them.

"I want you," she whispers before her hands move to unfasten my pants. I don't stop her this time when she reaches in to grasp my weeping cock. A hissing sound escapes my lips from the contact of her warm hand, and I can't help but feel smug when her wide-eyed gaze locks on to my cock as she's pulling me from the confines of my boxers. It's apparent that she is more than a little impressed. Wanting to bring her attention back to me, I begin to suck on the tender flesh behind her ear, making her gasp and moan and writhe and whine.

While she is distracted by my mouth, I pull my wallet from pants and remove the condom that Emmett – thank fuck – made me take before I left. After, I begin to slide my pants off, I start to have trouble. Sensing my dilemma, she uses her bare feet to push them the rest of the way down my legs until they are at my feet. Finally my pants, shoes, and socks join the rest of our clothes on the floor, and I am free to move around. The possibilities and positions are endless, but I know it won't matter as long as I can feel her wrapped around my cock and screaming my name.

I use my teeth to tear open the foil package, but before I can grab it, she takes the condom from me and rolls it over my length, sheathing me with her tiny hand.

"Ready?" I ask as I grasp my cock firmly waiting to guide it into her entrance.

"I need you, Edward, now," she moans, making something deep within my chest clench at her words.

"I need you too, Bella," I admit huskily before nestling my cock at her entrance.

I press against her for a moment just feeling how wet and ready she is for me.

"Oh, God… please," she cries and presses against me, forcing the head of my cock to slip inside.

It's like a sensory overload, and I can't help but fucking push myself in farther. At first I don't know if I'll fit, she's so fucking tight, but she lifts her hips and I slide to the hilt, burying myself so fucking deep that I almost explode inside her. I have to still to keep from fucking cumming like a damn teenager.

"Holy fuck, Edward, fuck… you feel… fucking amazing. Please… move. Fuck me," she shouts breathlessly before grinding her hips into mine.

Once I've gained control over my body, I begin to move inside her thrusting with purpose. She's screaming my name and other words I can't make out until I realize she's saying "more," and "harder." I pick up the pace, but she's still begging for more.

I change the angle we're connected, lifting her right leg over my shoulder. When I have her settled against me, I start thrusting again at a punishing speed. She opens her mouth in a silent scream and begins to contract around me, making my balls tighten and my cock become harder than a fucking titanium rod.

When I see myself sliding into her covered in her arousal, it's my undoing. My entire body tenses.

"Bella, oh fuck," I shout, as rocketing waves of pleasure have me shuddering my release into her hot depths.

Her arms tighten around me as I slip out of her. I don't want to let her go either.

Careful not to put my weight on her, I roll us over so she is resting on my chest. With one hand in her hair and the other pulling off the condom, I toss it in the trash can next to the bed.

I wrap my arms around her, loving the softness of her curves against my sensitive skin.

I can't help but gaze down at her, and though I know she isn't asleep, the peaceful relaxed expression on her face says otherwise. She's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.

A contented smile plays at my lips when I feel her eyelashes flutter against my chest. She smiles almost in wonder when her eyes meet mine. I know she feels it, just like I do. Complete.

I know we are in for a long night when her breathtaking smile turns into an impish grin, as she brushes the head of my cock with her fingertips making me hard for her again.

"Can I keep you?" she asks mischievously.

"Fuck yes…," I groan breathlessly as she moves down to take my cock in her mouth.

"…tsuneni, eien ni," I add under my breath, but I know she hears me and understands when I feel her smile against my skin.


Thank you so much for your contribution to Fandom Gives Back!

I sincerely hope that you have enjoyed my fic as well as those from the other contributing authors.

So there is no need to look for translation of Japanese phrases, I have posted the information below.

Anata no bijinesute kurete arigato - Thank you for your business.

Wareware wa tanoshimi ni shite anata o kuso ni. – We look forward to fucking you.

Wareware wa tanoshimi ni shite anata o kyoryoku shite- We look forward to doing business with you.

Sayōnara – Goodbye.

Tsuneni, eien ni – Always, forever.

Coming Soon is the next installment of Confessions of a Love Sick Geek. Chapter 15 will post soon as I am about 75% done with it.

Also I want to make sure my readers are aware of the Fandom for Storms cause. I will post more info soon.

Follow me on twitter ()SoapyMayhem or on my blog SoapyMayhem(dot)blogspot(dot)com

I recently posted a new chapter of Edward Cullen: Confessions of a Serial Killer. My next chapter to post will be an update for Edward Cullen: Confessions of a Love Sick Geek, then another Losing It and then next chapter of Violaine.

For those unfamiliar with Violaine check out the first chapter as well as my teaser posters on my bio.

Violaine - After a bad break-up Bella needs a temporary distraction. She finds it in a mysterious masked man at her college Halloween party. What began as a means to distraction, left Bella with more than she bargained for. No names. No faces. AH E/B Lemons and angst.