"Your way was deceitful," I hiss. "Your way…." I pause, wondering if I should say it because the truth exposes me and makes me vulnerable. "…your way hurt me."

He pulls back to look at me, his eyes remorseful and apologetic.

And I try to ignore the fact that every part of my body is aching to believe that he is.

"I know," he murmurs. "I didn't mean to say your name like that. When you…did that. I didn't want to hurt you. But you have to admit, Bella, nothing leading up to the end of our conversation was…painful."

I gulp.

He presses further against me.

"You liked it," he whispers. "You wanted it."

And it's like he's in my mind. Like he knows all my dirty secrets. And not only does he not care, he likes them.

"I did," I breathe, surprised by my own honesty.

"And what about now?" he asks all low and hot.

And even though I know what he means, I ask, "What about now?"

"I haven't been able to get you out of my mind," he whispers. "All fucking week. I'd remember the way you sounded when you were all hot and wet and turned on for me. Touching yourself. And when you came… I don't think I'll ever be able to forget that. So, I watched you. All week long, I watched because…I didn't want to scare you anymore. I…I put the letter in your mailbox. I mean, I hoped you would come over because you would have to bring it to me, right? And then you came. You fucking came. And I wanted you to recognize me. I knew you would recognize my voice."

"That's kind of creepy," I say, smiling. "The mailbox part. And the watching me part."

I mean, I know that if this were a book, I would be expected to find it hot.

Oh, who the fuck am I kidding? It is hot. Well, it's a little hot. Equal parts creepy and hot.

"I guess I'm kind of creepy, then," he says, smiling and shrugging. "But you know what?"

He presses fully against me, and I melt.

Like fucking butter.

Yes, all my metaphors are about butter.


"I think you like it."

He pulls back to look at me, the moment seems more serious than our playful words. His rapid breathing matches mine. His chest rises and falls, touching me each time.

And I realize that I don't care if this is like a book. I don't care about anything other than the way I'm feeling…and the man standing in front of me. Because he's making me feel this way.

And I want him.

More than I wanted him that night on the phone.

More than I've ever wanted anyone ever, ever, ever.

"I do," I whisper.

A blink, a gasp.

And then his lips are on mine. Hot and wet and needy. His tongue opens my mouth and I suck it inside.

Tasting, tasting, tasting.

And it's good. And it soft and hard and more than I could have imagined a kiss could be. It makes me feel more than I've ever felt reading about it in a book. And it's happening, happening…happening to me.

He groans against my lips.

I gasp into his mouth.

His hands slide their way down the curves of my thirty-year-old body before grabbing my ass and pulling me completely against him.

I can feel him pressing against me. Really pressing against me. And he's hard. So hard. And I think he's big. But I can't tell for sure because – like the sex goddess I am – I'm wearing sweat pants. Not even cute thin yoga pants. No, the bulky grey sweat pants you buy from Target.

He pushes against me harder.

"Bella," he groans my name into my mouth.

I'm tasting my name on his lips, his tongue.

And fuck me, I'm so fucking stupid because the hot man with the dirty words and the beautiful lips is kissing me and rubbing his cock against my stomach, and I'm thinking about sweat pants.

Screw the sweat pants.

Screw all the sweat pants ever!

I pull back, needing air, but I don't want to stop kissing him. So, I move my lips to his neck and I say his name over and over again against his skin.

"Edward, Edward, Edward…"

"Fuck," he groans, it loud and hot. "That's my name," he says lower. "You're saying my name."

Why is that hot?

Why is that so fucking hot?

"You said mine first," I whisper, pulling back and looking at him.

I lick my lips.

He watches.

I lick them again. Mostly because he's watching, but also because they taste like his lips.

He laughs, and I can't help but laugh, too.

"Why are you laughing?" he asks.

Because this is crazy.

"Because I just met you – literally moments ago," I say, suddenly feeling strange about the whole situation. "Because you're a stranger, but on some level I've already had…sex…" I whisper the word because here in the light it seems dirty to say it. I ignore the fact that I kind of like that it's dirty. "…with you. Because you're holding me up against the wall and because your hands are on my ass. All of this is crazy."

He doesn't put me down like I expect him to. Instead, he pulls me closer, he pushes himself harder against me.

And he's still hard.

"It seems to me you could use a little crazy in your life," he murmurs.

"Are you saying that you're crazy?" I ask.

I'm mostly kidding, but he did admit to basically lurking and watching me for months. And there's still the fact that I don't know how he got my phone number.

"I am a little crazy," he whispers.

"Good crazy or bad crazy?"

"I guess you'll just have to find out."

He leans in to kiss me again, and god, I really fucking want him to. But I pull back, needing to ask him, "Hey, how did you know my phone number?"

"Does it matter?" he asks, pressing his lips against mine.

"Yes," I breathe.

His tongue slips inside. He kisses me deeper, deeper, deeper.

"Does it still matter?" he asks.

"Maybe," I tell him, smiling. "Were you really drunk?" I ask, changing the subject. "That night when you texted me?"

He sighs, and I brace myself for something bad.

Like, somehow I know that all of this is too good to be true. It can't be really happening.

I seriously have a moment and I'm wondering if I'm still at home asleep and dreaming.

"No," he says, his eyes holding mine and what seems to be the truth. "I just couldn't not talk to you anymore. I couldn't take it. I had to try to get to know you…I wanted…I wanted to hear you."

His words – yeah, they kill me a little.

He pulls back to look at me and his eyes…his eyes are telling a story on their own. And I realize I want to know his story. I want to know more about him. But he beats me to the punch.

"Tell me something I don't know about you," he says. "I'm serious. I meant what I said. I want to know you."

I look at him for a long time.

Almost trying to gauge if he's sincere.

"I have two gay cats," I tell him.

"Of course you do," he laughs. "Perfect."

"Why is that perfect?"

"I fucking love gay cats," he says, leaning in and running his nose along my neck. And then I feel his tongue. Then slowly, slowly, slowly, he places his mouth right over the shell of my ear. "But not as much as I love pussy."

And then he bites down.

I shudder and gasp.

I grip his shoulders tighter because I feel like I might fall.

"What happens now?" I ask, still reeling from this new reality.

His eyes find mine one more time, his lips kiss mine softly three more times.

And pulling back, he looks at me and gives me this devastating smile.



I will never, ever recover.

And he says quietly, but surely, "Whatever we fucking want."





Reviews are love.

Please leave me some.

Thank you. From the bottom of my heart, thank you for the wonderful response today! ILY all so much for continuing to read my words and support me. You guys make this fun and you make me want to write dirty, funny stories for you to read.

And a huge thank you to my pre-readers! Caren, Jaime, Kourt, Laura and Raina…I couldn't do this without you. Your love and support means the word to me. And I love you more than any threesome fantasy I have starring me, Rob and Zefron.

Thank you to JaimeArkin who helped with the editing of these chapters. You make me smile every single day. And I love and appreciate you so very much.

And to my soulmate, partner and ficwife, Marvar… I adore you. I have always, always adored you. And I mean it when I say that the best thing I ever did was write a fic. Because you read it and reviewed it. And from that, you became one of my very best friends in the world.