A/N – Ohai! This is a little bit of fun I wrote with one of my favourite ladies, fictionfreak95 (or whatever name she's going by these days!). You can find her under my fave author list. Check out Jo's stuff because she's awesome, and I love her!

SUMMARY: Undercover Cop Edward Cullen wants some excitement on his beat. Bella, whom he mistakenly thinks is a hooker, desperately needs to snap out of her funk. How deep is Edward willing to go undercover to get the girl?

Betas: Suebee, mac, and pre-read by Perrymaxed

Additional Notes: Please note the word "come" also appears as "cum" depending on the POV.


"I've got an ASP in my sights; I'm gonna follow along and make a collar." I actually chuckled quietly to myself as I said it. This whole undercover thing was gonna take some getting used to. Being a cop for quite a few years, I wasn't exactly new to the workload, but I'd just been promoted recently and was a little gung-ho, so to speak.

"You know, you could just say hooker, Edward."

Alice. My sister. And never a dull moment. She'd recently gotten her masters in criminal justice. She could have taken the test years ago like I had, but she was a perfectionist. Unlike me. "Now what kind of learning opportunity would that allow you? You have to know your acronyms for your test next week."

"You're such a hard ass. Do you ever not talk shop?"

"Being a police officer is a privilege, Alice. I'm honored to talk shop twenty-four-seven."


I mean, not that I didn't love my job. I totally loved my job. It's just... you know, sometimes hard to meet people when you're working double shifts to make ends meet.

Another reason the promotion was a good thing. Another reason I was a little overzealous about my collar for the evening.

"You're right; I'm sorry." She feigned regret. "But then again, maybe if you got laid a little more often, you'd have more to talk about."

Ugh. Not this again.

"You know it's gross, right? This unhealthy obsessive interest you have in my sex life?"

"Shut up. That's what sisters are for."


"People are gonna start thinking you have some sick and twisted crush on me or something."

She hacked out a disgusted sound. "Edward."

"Then there's gonna be rumors about incest… and just, ew."

"Edward Anthony Cullen."

I laughed. She was so easy to fuck with. "Okay, okay. I gotta go for real, though. My shift is up in about an hour, and I wanna bag a bitch before the night's over."

"Maybe she takes credit cards."

I rolled my eyes. "I'm out."


I watched my perp as I hung up with little sis. Definitely whoring it. She had all the right pieces of clothing for it, and I wondered if there was some store they all shopped at or something. You know, like Party City only, maybe an underground online distributor like Sell This Pussy dot com, or somethin' like that.

I appraised the outfit she wore, figuring she had to have pulled in some big bucks in just one night.

'Cause honestly, it showed off all the right assets in my opinion.

Low neck line, high skirt hem. Fishnets. And don't even get me started on the heels. Although they did show off the sweet legs she had. She had to work out on a daily basis because calf muscles like that are just not achieved while you're flat on your back with a dick up your pussy.

Know what I mean?

Make-up wasn't too bad, either, if make-up was your thing. But the hair. Oy.

Of course, not that I minded a little up-do shiznit. I could totally and completely imaging pulling on that long-as-fuck pony tail she had goin' on, holding her brown locks tied together.

Okay, Cullen. Not what this is about.

Maybe Alice was right. Maybe I needed to get laid. Maybe then I wouldn't be sitting here fantasizing about hookers who've probably been banged by at least a dozen men. Over the course of a weekend.

I shivered a little.

Bringing Alice's name into the fantasy did nothing for the situation. That combined with the hard time I'd just given her about incest and inappropriate amounts of knowledge she had on the amount of action my dick had been getting lately? Not good.

Shaking off all thoughts of brother-sister love shacks, I pulled the cruiser into a parking spot. Sometimes it was a whole hell of a lot easier to bust a Peen Prompter on foot, and they didn't see you coming.

No pun intended.

BELLA POV - Earlier that day...

I looked like a costume shop hooker, which was a fair assessment since I bought the outfit from an actual costume shop, but dude...

"I'm gonna punch you in the tit, Alice."

"Why? You look hot. If I wasn't working tonight I'd totally dress as your pimp." She cupped my breast. "Don't be freaked out."

My hands itched to form a fist and throw down, but I suspected she could take me. And I guess she meant well and shit.

"I think you need double-sided tape. I can see pink."

"Uh . . ." I didn't want to be rude or anything, but her hand was still on my breast.

"Hey, now that you're single, do you want to-"

"I'm not into chicks," I said as politely as possible, wriggling to get her to move her tiny yet annoyingly probing hand.

"Not me, silly. My-"

"I'm not ready for this, Alice . . . to go out in public, I mean. Jake and I just broke up last week. This doesn't feel right." I grabbed her by the wrist and yanked her hand off my rack. "And this idea was stupid. Who the fuck has a Vicars and Vixens themed party anyway?"

"Rose is Catholic. She's also a bit of a freak, if you know what I mean." She waggled her eyebrows like Groucho Marx.

Yeah, I knew what she meant.

Rosalie Hale was one of my best friends, which a lot of people didn't understand because a lot of people - people who didn't know me - wrongfully assumed I was shy, whereas Rose was outgoing and opinionated. I wasn't shy at all. In fact the people who knew me best, knew how much I rambled inanely. I was also very opinionated . . . I just didn't see the point of sharing my opinion with a lot of people. You know, on account of them sucking and all.

I guess you could say I'd lost faith in a lot of people.

Shit, my inner dialogue sounded like a cunt. There's a chance I was depressed.

"I'm not going. Tell Rosalie I'm sick or something."

"That's not very nice, Bella. And there's no way she'll believe you." Alice's tongue made a clicking noise. Rose claimed Alice went down on her once in college, and her tongue had preternatural skills in the art of cunnilingus. I'd have to take her word for it. All her tongue ever did to me was tsk.

"Stop doing that freaky tongue thing. I'm still not going."

"Okay, fine," Alice relented. "You can sit at home and masturbate to pictures of Gordon Ramsay while your ex-boyfriend fucks real men."

"Oh my fuck, there's so much wrong with what you just said," I whined, looking down at my legs. Huh. Clad in ripped fishnet, my knobby knees almost looked vaguely hot. "I don't masturbate to pictures of Gordo - he needs to be yelling at a chef, calling him a lowly maggot, in order for me to come."

"Right . . . because that's perfectly normal." She had the audacity to roll her eyes, her tongue still clicking wildly.

"It's my thing; you don't have to understand it." I shrugged. "And do you think Jake's fucking men already? I mean, he only came out of the closet last week." It sucked ass. I really wanted to hate him, but I couldn't. He would have continued with the charade of being straight forever if it made me happy - he really wanted me to be happy.

It was time to nut up, though. I mean, he vehemently denied it, of course, but straight guys just didn't do some of the shit Jake did - like shop and listen to The Best of Idina Menzel on Broadway and bleach their bunghole. Straight guys didn't check out other straight guys while their straight girlfriends thought they weren't looking. Straight guys weren't afraid to touch pussy, and Jake always observed mine with suspicion . . . like it would bite or some shit.

It quite literally took me and three firemen to drag him out of a flaming closet . . . but I digress.

"I'd certainly be tapping random ass. I mean, just imagine the ten years of pent-up sexual frustration he's endured. You can't really blame him for at least trying to get his pole waxed."

"Gah, stop!" I hopped off my bed and opened the bedroom door so I could look at myself in the full length mirror on the other side of it. My body was actually kind of okay in this garb. My hair was all kinds of ridiculous though.

"Almost perfect!" Alice beamed.

"Almost . . . can you fix it?"


"Why not? Maybe if you brush it out a bit."

Alice shook her head. "The problem isn't your hair, Bella. It's your psyche. No amount of mascara is going to paint away all that pain."

Oh my god, what a bitch!

No, not really . . . I hated it when she was right, though. And she usually was right.


"Hi there."

I decided to play it cool... you know, reel her in then slap the cuffs on her when she asked for the money.

Except that... she ignored me.

So I increased my speed a little and caught up to her. "Um... helllooooo."

She eyed me funny. "Yeah?"

"In a hurry?"

"Sort of . . . is there something I can help you with?"

"Depends. Are you offering to help me with something?"

"Um, not really. Hey, there's something in your pants!"

High priced hooker, maybe.

Wait... "In my..."

I looked down. Shit.

"Oh my god, is that a gun?"

"Depends on your definition of gun." I winked for her. She was kinda cute. As far as hookers go, that is.

"Well . . . can you kill me with that thing? Is it regulation size?"

"I'm pretty sure regulation isn't the word I would use for it. As far as killing you... I try not to hurt pretty women with big hair these days unless I absolutely have to... or they ask me to... which isn't really the norm."

"It is too big, isn't it? I knew the hair was awful. God, I suck."

Oh shit, was she gonna cry? Do hookers cry? I'd collared hookers on the beat before, but they never cried... and this was different... I was supposed to be covert and shit. What the fuck was I doing anyway? "Hey now, I didn't say I didn't like it... It's kinda... Bea Arthur-ish really."

Oh my god. Bea Arthur? Seriously?

"She was such a handsome woman."

"She really was."

Why were we talking about Bea Arthur?

"Look, I'm really nervous. I don't do this very often . . ."

I mumbled, "that makes two of us."

"I know I look ridiculous. Like a slutty octogenarian."

"I'm sorry - a what?"

What the fuck was an octogen...whatever the fuck she just said?

She giggled. "Old . . . like the very handsome Bea Arthur. You're kind of cute, by the way."

I had to laugh. She was not only a high priced hooker, but smart, witty and... "You're kinda cute too, you know..." for a hooker.

"Oh! You don't have to say that. I know I look ridiculous. I'm on my way to this . . . thing."

Here we go. Sorry, I can't talk right now. I need to go bang a few patrons of the night.

"Well, maybe I could walk you? I mean, it's kinda dangerous this side of town."

What. The fuck. Was I doing? Arrest her already.

"Well, actually . . . I don't really have to go. I mean, if you wanted to do something instead . . . uh, I'm such a complete spazz."

Dude. She's into you. She's cancelling appointments for you... go with it.

"I'm in. Wanna... grab... something?"

Oy. This is where I would normally ask her to get coffee with me. I was completely out of my element... what exactly did one ask a hooker to go do?



"Sure! I mean, I'm not exactly dressed for The Plaza or anything, but . . . you know, I'd kill for a pudding cup."

Pudding cup? Was that like hooker code for cum on my face or something?

"Um... okay."

"With cream."

Definitely code for cum on my face.

"Well, there's this... place... I mean, my place... it's not far... and I think I have... pudding."

"Yes! I love random pudding! I think you just saved my night. Uh . . . I don't know your name, sorry." She frowned.

"Oh, right." Idiot.

I stuck my hand out because, well, I didn't exactly know how hookers and their johns typically introduced themselves... and I smiled. "Edward. I'm Edward Cu... Masen."

No real names, dude. Probably not proper "John" protocol.

"Your last name is CUMasen?"

"Masen, just Masen. Edward... Masen. Yep, that's me." Oh, for the love of piss.

"I'm Bella cum-Swan." She winked.

I choked, laughing. "You can't be serious."

"Nah, never accuse me of being serious. It hardly ever happens. I mean, just look at what I'm wearing."

I hated to say it. I mean, I never really got to know a hooker before, but I was starting to like this girl. She was really... fun.

"Well, I won't call you serious if you promise not to call me your daddy," I tried to joke. Shit, why was I so nervous all of a sudden?

"Uh, because that's not weird at all. Tell me, do I make you nervous, CUMmasen?"

"Me?" I waved a hand at her. "Nah. Oh look, there's my building."

And fuck me... she was gonna see my mailbox when we passed through the lobby. And it definitely wasn't going to say CUMmasen on it. Fuck fuck fuck fuck a duck.

"Cool. Um, you should know I don't usually do this sort of thing . . . it's just, I mean, I've just had a really rough couple of weeks, and I could really use some pudding."

She did look a little down... I mean, when she wasn't cracking jokes at my expense.

"Well, I think my pudding should perk you up a little." I elbowed her lightly.


What the fuck was I gonna do with her up in my apartment? Wait for her to ask for the money? Arrest her? Then her pimp would know where I live. Next thing ya know, I'd be getting death threats for the rest of my career.

I'm gonna have to move after this.

"I have a feeling it will. Thanks, by the way . . . "


"I don't know. Look, you should probably know I'm not in a great place emotionally at the moment since you've invited a random stranger into your home. I just- you seem so nice and sweet, and I really needed to not be going to the place I was on my way to tonight. Sorry for being so cryptic and rambly. I just really appreciate your hospitality." She paused and took my hand, looking into my eyes as if she had something important to say. "I've always depended upon the kindness of strangers," she drawled and then proceeded to giggle.

And man, could she babble. She was like the babbling hooker... kinda like the travelling gnome, only … dirty.

I couldn't giving her a look like she was crazy, but I hoped my words would override the rudeness. I nodded and gave her my best impression of a Southern gentleman's bow. "Well, I'm happy to oblige Miss Cum-Swan."

I opened the door to the lobby for her and sorta did this highly awkward shuffle past the mailboxes, then pushed the button for my floor on the elevator, and we both stood there, silently, staring at everything but each other all the way up.

That is until Francis the farter got on at floor five.

No fucking lie, that dude could empty a room in, like, three point seven seconds flat.

He let one rip as soon as he got on, and Bella the hooker and I, tried our best but couldn't stifle the chuckles and shoulder bobbing behind poor Francis' back.

By the time we arrived at the eighth floor, my side was hurting from the silent laughter I couldn't seem to control and when Francis finally left, we did our best to breathe during our feeble attempt to air the tiny box.

By the time we arrived at my floor, the top that is, I was nervous.


I didn't understand how she was making me feel that way. Maybe it was part of her thing, ya know? Laying the charm on thick, making men let their guard down? I don't know. But damn, she was good.

At my door, I slid the key into the lock and turned it, swallowing hard. When I went to say something to her, something along the lines of this really isn't normal for me. Bringing hookers back to my apartment so I can arrest them? Ya know?

She kissed me.

It was sudden and hard and like she was needy.

Really. Really needy. Like her hands were feeling around places that hadn't been touched in a while, and, quite frankly, I was afraid of a little pre-ejaculation making an appearance.

I tried to break us apart. "Sh...shouldn't we negotiate terms? Or... something before we do this?" I asked, hoping to get the pricing out of her so I could get myself out of an extremely bad-for-my-career situation, but then part of me didn't want it to happen at all.

Part of me was having this really bizarro Richard Gere, Julia Roberts fantasy play out in my mind where I took her on my piano and then saved her from a life of hooking.

Only I wasn't some ridiculously rich dude who could do something like that.

It wasn't like I had anything more to offer her than what she probably already had. Except you know, a life free of hooking and all.

"Terms?" she murmured as her fingers pulled at the button of my jeans and fidgeted like they were searching for the surprise inside a Cracker Jack box or something.

And suddenly I was thinking, terms? What terms?

I'd pay her. I was probably gonna lose my fucking job over this, but I'd pay her. Just her lips against my neck was worth it. I mean, if her lips felt that good in that area, they'd probably feel like fucking velvet on my... "Shiiiiit."

Her hand found my dick.


What the fuck was wrong with me? Seriously, I didn't do these kind of things, but my hand had other plans. My hand was acting like a slut, reaching for Edward's dick like a flower seeking sunlight. I swear, it had a mind of its own.

Oh! Little Edward was happy to meet me, twitching when I greeted him with a firm handshake.

Wait, what the fuck did he mean by terms?

"Terms?" I whispered into the crook of his neck, continuing to pump his formidable shaft. "Like of endearment?"

"Ahhhhhhhh," he replied, his body becoming slack against me.

"We don't need to define things, if that's what you mean," I blathered. Shit, I was about to give oral.

No, not oral sex.

Jake always called my propensity to babble during foreplay my - air quotes - giving oral. Fuck, why did I have to think about Jake at a time like this? I was in danger of losing my lady hard-on.

Now I was babbling in my own head - giving oral to myself, so to speak. Pretty impressive.

"I just mean we don't have to discuss terminology or anything. I'm not exactly looking for a boyfriend."

He made a snorting sound that might have been a laugh. "No kidding."

"Not that I'm opposed to the idea of commitment - I just don't think we should get ahead of ourselves by defining . . . this." My other hand became impatient with my monologue and grabbed his ass, pressing into his firm cheek with an enthusiasm that was spastic.

"I'm such a whore," I groaned.

His body stiffened. "You don't have to do this."

I nodded, cuddling against his chest. "I know I don't. You just seem to really need it." Gah! I didn't mean it like that.

"You have no idea," he sighed, cupping my face in his hands. "Maybe we could just, I don't know, talk? Snuggle? Watch a movie?"

I thought he mumbled something after that. Something like, "What a fucking idiot." I assumed he referred to the snuggle comment. Guys didn't tend to snuggle.

Did they?

I deferred to another subject. "What about the pudding?"

"No!" he squeaked. "You don't . . . I mean, we shouldn't."

"Oh." My face fell. "You don't have any pudding." Damn.

"Oh, I have pudding alright," he growled, thrusting into my hand.

"Um . . . okay?"

"No!" he said, trying to pull away, but my hand didn't seem to want to release him. "I like you. You don't have to let me come on your face."

"That's, um . . . sweet?" Oh my god!

"I just mean - and don't feel like you have to let go of my cock while I say this - we can be friends. It doesn't have to be about, er, business." He kissed my cheek.

"CUMasen," I drawled, jerking him in earnest now.

"Just Masen."

"No, come, Masen! Come on my hand . . . not my face."

"Oh, fuck," he moaned, dropping his head to my shoulder, chanting "fuck, fuck, fuck," over and over again as I stroked him. Both my hands were on his dick now, my left one becoming rather saucy, crawling down his shaft to roll his balls, while my right one tugged his entire length. I wished I had lube or something. This couldn't have been that-

Oh! Never mind.

"Oh... shit, I'm so gonna lose my job!" he cried, his cock throbbing. I pointed it at my stomach and watched him explode, jizz spraying me in three distinct squirts.

"That's hot." I mean, it was totally hot. Not that I usually enjoyed being painted, but something about Edward spraying me nearly sent my pussy into a convulsive seizure, if you caught my drift.

"Fuuuuuuck," he swore again.

"I like you." I wrapped my arms around his neck and gave his mouth a chaste kiss.

"Jesus, Bella . . . I like you too." His face reddened, and I wondered if it was from embarrassment or excitement. "I'm sorry about your clothes."

"Don't worry about it, CUMasen. This outfit could only be improved upon by your sperm. Do you have a shirt or something I could change into?"

"Of course! I'll be right back, okay?" He kissed me again and squeezed my hand, the one that didn't have his spunk on it. "Just make yourself at home. Help yourself to a drink, if you want."

He buttoned his pants and walked down a narrow hallway I presumed led to his bedroom. I liked his apartment. It was big by New York standards, and the kitchen actually had a bit of counter space. I rummaged through his fridge and helped myself to can of Guinness.

"Are you hungry?" I heard him call from his room.


"Check the cupboards, or we can order pizza if you want."

But there was really only one thing I craved. "Hold on," I hollered, opening a narrow pantry door beside the fridge.

There they sat, neatly piled on the top shelf beside a box of melba toast.

Pudding cups!

"Did you find something?" he asked, as I set the box on the counter.

"Is this for me?"

His jaw dropped, and I grabbed the shirt he had tucked under his arm.

"When you said . . . before, that you wanted, um . . ."

I lifted my soiled top over my head and looked at Edward as I proclaimed, "I'm going to eat your pudding."

Author's Note: Thanks for reading! This can stand alone as a one-shot, but Jo and Flanny might choose to expand it into a short multi-chapter in the new year. We're playing things by ear. We'd love to know what you think!