Originally written for the TASTE OF FORBIDDEN Contest

Disclaimer: Twilight and its characters belong to Stephenie Meyer. And this little tale is far from appropriate, but the judges of the Taste of Forbidden Contest asked for it!





"Emmett, there's no way they'll let you on the plane with all that food."

"Duh, Riley. The stuffing's for the taxi ride, sweet potatoes for waiting at security, and the turkey's for the gate."

"Why do you bother, Ri?" Jasper injects. "You know he got the highest grade in our section in Oral Argument."

Emmett taunts him by holding his fingers in a "V" over his lips and flicking his tongue obscenely through the opening. I have to look away.

Riley whacks him in the gut. "Jesus, Emmett. Does it mean anything to you that there's a lady present—a person's mother, no less? Were you actually raised by a pack of perverted wolves?" He shakes his head, admitting defeat. "Bella, thanks again for everything."

"Oh, Riley, come back any time," I answer, pulling him in for a hug. "You too, Emmett, so long as there isn't a full moon."

Emmett snorts, "Excellent. See you next weekend, then." He lifts me in a one-armed bear hug while balancing every piece of Tupperware I own in the other.

"Put my mom down, you big baboon!" Jasper scowls. He pushes Emmett out of the way and wraps his arms around me.

"Sheesh, which is it? Wolf or baboon?" Emmett jokes.

"Thanks for an awesome Thanksgiving, Mom."

"Don't be a stranger," I murmur into his ear.

"I won't. Hey, where's Ed?"

I shrug innocently, I hope. "I don't know. Maybe he left something upstairs?"

Emmett yells up in the general direction of Alice's room. "Cullen! Shit or get off the pot! Taxi's waiting and the meter is running!"

"I'll go see if he needs help." I skip up the stairs and round the corner into Alice's room. His bright green eyes grow wide as I barrel toward him, and just before I leap, he opens his arms to catch me.

I link my ankles together behind his back and crash my lips against his. We suck the air out of each other's lungs until we're two panting messes, and I pull back to let him breathe.

"What took you so long?" he says with a grin.

"Your housemates were fighting over food scraps."

"Wild hyenas," he observes.

"ED! NOW!" Jasper's voice rattles the ancient light fixture.

I sigh heavily. "You've got to go."

"I'm not going," he states. "I'm quitting law school and moving in with you. We're going to live in sin and shock the town and my mother is going to disown me and Jasper is never going to speak to either one of us again."

"Well, as charming as that sounds"—I giggle—"I have a better idea. You get your tight little ass downstairs and into that cab and I will see you at Christmas at your mom's."

"What?" He brightens when he realizes I actually have a plan.

I confirm with a quick nod. "Esme called earlier to see how I survived the 'Weekend of Much Testosterone' and invited us to join you guys in Miami."

"Well ho-fucking-ho," he says, a broad grin gracing his face. "One 'Very Cullen Christmas' comin' right up!"

"Now get down there, young man." I step out of his path, but he doesn't move.


"Don't say it, Edward. I already know. And me, too."

"Okay," he answers finally. Yanking the strap of his duffle bag over his shoulder, he pushes through the door, down the stairs, and out of my reach.

I plop down on Alice's cotton-candy pink bedspread and replay every sweet, torturous moment of the weekend. By all rights, I should feel remorse, or at a minimum, regret. I mean, hell, what we did was so far beyond inappropriate, the English language doesn't have a word for it.

But damn, only thirty shopping days 'til Christmas...


"Okay, I admit it," I confess to the pecan pie sliding into the lower oven. "I miss my son and I'm excited as hell to see him. There, I said it out loud."

What're you telling me this for? asks the pie.

"Because you better come out perfect! You're his favorite—now don't go blabbing to pumpkin or I'll deny everything."

Fine, lady, now can I tan in peace?

I pull the heavy door closed and shake my silly head. Talking to pies now, Bella?

Oh, this is so much better, talking to yourself?

The telltale crunching of gravel in the driveway signals their arrival. I set the oven timer as taxi doors thump and the cloud of happy boy noises comes nearer and separates into distinct voices. Jasper's is the easiest to pick out, then a couple I don't recognize, and finally, Jasper's long-lost best friend. My son pushes through the unlocked door and spies me across the living room.

"Mom!" Jasper calls out. "Come and meet the guys."

I rush over to the door, fluttering about the influx of testosterone that just made my house feel about one-tenth its former size. Inexplicably, I find myself nervous to meet his law school roommates. I know Jasper feels proud of my cooking and my hospitality, and I don't want to let him down.

Jasper hugs me enthusiastically, then spins me around and starts the introductions. "Okay, this guy right here who looks like Arnold Schwarzenegger—"

"Pre-scandal, thank you!" the behemoth chimes in.

"Yeah, okay," Jasper chuckles. "Somewhere between Conan the Barbarian and Terminator? This is Emmett. Don't be intimidated by his bulk, he's a pussy cat inside as long as we have plenty of pretzel rods and Nutella on hand."

"Nice to meet you, Mrs. Swan," Emmett says, dazzling me with his bright smile.

"Bella," I correct him quickly, placing my hand inside his much larger palm and praying he doesn't crush me.

"And this is Riley Biers, plucked from the heartland of Ohio, but don't mistake him for a country bumpkin."

"Mrs. Swan, it's a pleasure," he says.

"Bella," I repeat to the human corn stalk. "Nice to meet you, Riley."

"And this joker…I believe you already know?"

Out from the shadows steps Edward Cullen, a boy I've known just three days fewer than my very own son, and nearly as well. I'm expecting to greet the boy I last saw four and a half years ago at their high school graduation. The Frack to Jasper's Frick, the Chong to his Cheech. It's fair to say I'm nowhere near prepared for the vision of the full-grown man in front of me. And like a moron, I say that stupid thing uttered by mothers of sons' friends throughout time, the thing that makes everyone cringe and want to dive into the nearest hole. "Wow, you've grown up."

Jasper groans beside me, but Edward takes it in stride, grinning even. "Thanks for noticing, Bizzy."

"Busy? Who's busy?" Emmett looks around comically.

"It's Edward's nickname for my mom. He couldn't pronounce his L's as a kid, so he used to call her Izzybizzy …and that got shortened to 'Bizzy,'" Jasper explains.

"I like that," Emmett says. "Bizzy."

Edward cuffs him on the arm. "You can't call her that."

Emmett raises his arms in surrender. "Okay, dude."

Edward steps forward and hugs me with arms far more muscular than the boy I remember. "You're looking good, too," he says, holding me too close against his hard chest and saying the words too intimately to be wholly appropriate.

"Hey, um," I stumble away from him, a bit dazed. "Jasper, why don't you show the boys where to put their stuff?"

"I call Alice's room!" Edward shouts, claiming the one bedroom at my end of the hallway. Leaving the others to the twin beds in the guest room, Edward throws his duffle over one shoulder and takes off upstairs. The fact that he turns right—and not left toward Jasper's room—says it all. Last time Edward slept here, none of us knew anything of the shit storm headed our way.

His mother Esme had no idea that her husband was planning to abandon her and their two teenage children for another man—namely, my husband Charlie. Jasper didn't know that his best friend was about to be uprooted from Vermont and everything he'd known up to that point, so that his mother could make a go of starting over. Lucky for Edward, he was just about to leave for Princeton, and Jas went on to Michigan, but the boys lost touch over the years as Edward spent his college vacations with his family in Miami.

As for me, I tried to keep in touch with my best friend. We tried to work through the wreckage together, but after Esme moved, the daily phone calls became weekly, then occasional emails, and then they trailed off altogether. If not for the stroke of fate that brought them together at Duke Law, I'm not sure Edward and Jasper ever would've reconnected.

"Mom. Earth to Mom!" Jasper snaps his fingers and I feel the heat of a deep blush come over me.

"Sorry, sweetie. What is it?"

Jasper loops his arm around my shoulders. "I just wanted to say thanks. We're all so wiped out and we're really looking forward to just unwinding."

I nod. "I'm so glad you brought your friends. I plan to stuff you all with home-cooked meals and clear your heads with mindless movies before you have to go back and cram for your One-L's. Why don't you boys get settled and when you come back down, we'll have some hors d'oeuvres, okay?"

"Hey, Ri, need me to carry your suitcase?" Emmett barks out.

"Shut your pie hole, Em—" Riley starts, before checking himself. "Sorry, Bella. Emmett brings out the very worst in me."

"Oh sure," Emmett complains, clambering up the staircase with his huge suitcase, "blame the good-looking dude for your bad manners."

"Hey, I'll have you know…"

Their voices trail off as they close the guest room door behind them, until all I can hear is muffled Charlie-Brown-parent-type noises. Feels good to have a full house again. A deep contentment washes over me.

I have to hand it to Alice—making peace with her father, even agreeing to spend Thanksgiving with him and Carlisle out in San Francisco. If only I could be so forgiving. Maybe someday, I can trust again, even hope to accept that when a man says he wants me, he means it, and he's not going to be sniffing around after twenty-two blessed years of marriage looking for a stiff cock to wrap his lips around.

I pull the butcher knife from the block and hack at the red peppers.

"Whoa there, Bizzy. You making salad or committing vegecide?"

I halt the chopping and look up to find Edward standing on the other side of the counter. Dressed for dinner, he looks like a damn J Crew billboard: slim-fitting tan cargos cinched with a brown leather belt, crisp navy button-down shirt, white tee poking out at the neckline.

"You know you shouldn't sneak up on girls with big knives."

"Sorry," he answers, holding his hands up contritely.

"Hey, is that—" I point the knife toward his wrist.

His face breaks into the boyish grin I remember so well. "The watch you gave me for college graduation? Yeah." He leans over the counter and holds his wrist out for inspection. "That was really sweet of you to remember me, by the way."

I shrug, recalling the mixture of pride and guilt I felt, shipping the watch to the boy I hadn't seen in four long years. "It's not as if I ever forgot you, Edward."

Too quickly, too intensely for casual conversation, he responds, "I never forgot you either." His deep green, deadly serious eyes click to mine and trap me there.

I swallow thickly and head back to semi-comfortable territory. "It looks sharp on you," I state objectively, motherly—sort of. If I'm honest, I have to admit there's something about my response to this boy that reeks of something decidedly un-motherly, and it's starting to niggle at my nerves.

"Thank you," he smiles. He's too close, riding the borderline of my personal space. "I've worn it every day. I only take it off when I work out. I tried it once, but honestly, you can see where it would be a bit outrageous with my running shorts and grungy tee shirts, plus all that sweat…?"

I try to focus on the striking timepiece looming between us, but I can't help taking in his expression and picturing him flexing all those muscles, moving through the gym from one machine to the next, running, pumping, grunting…

"Yeah, outrageous," I mutter uselessly.

"So what can I do to help?" he asks, easing mercifully away from the counter.

"Are you good with a knife?"

"Not particularly."

"Ever unmolded a jello mold?"


"Can you baste a turkey?"

He shakes his head, grinning sheepishly. I can't imagine Jasper would be any more helpful. "I give up," I say. The only thing left is just for him to sit there and look pretty.

He raises an eyebrow. Holy fucking hell, did I just say that OUT LOUD?

"I could pour us some wine," he suggests.

"Sounds like a fabulous idea."

Without a word, he nods and moves around the counter, easily reaching two wine glasses from the top shelf of the cabinet. It's second nature; this was his home away from home. So much so that Alice used to tease Jasper by calling Edward the brother she never had.

As he retrieves the opened bottle of Sauvignon Blanc from the refrigerator, nostalgia for the boy he used to be wars with my palpable response to the man he's become. Edward picks up both filled glasses and hands me one.

"Happy Thanksgiving," I toast.

"To long overdue reunions," he adds as our glasses clink mid-air. His eyes never leave mine as we both take a long draw.

"This turkey is not going to baste itself. How would you like to add to your vast repertoire of culinary skills?"

"Sure," he answers. I trade my wine for the fireproof mitts and take the baster in one hand. Edward stands to the side while I open the oven door and slide out the heavy roasting pan.

"Wow, that is one big bird."

"Fifteen pounds," I answer, "and stuffed to the gills."

"Turkeys have gills?" he wisecracks, making me smile. He always was sharp as a tack and never one to leave a punch line undelivered.

"Just for that, you're basting." I motion him to stand in front of me. He transfers his wine glass to his left hand and takes the bulbous end of the baster in his right.

"Now what?" his amused voice drifts back.

"I've got the pan." I grab onto the handles on each side, trapping Edward between me and the hot oven. "Dip the open end into the gravy, squeeze the top…see it filling up?"

"Yes, Miss Schuster," he says in a deadpan schoolboy voice, referring to the Physical Science teacher both boys had in eighth grade.

"Oh, wouldn't she be proud of you right now? Okay, now gently lift that over the turkey and…"

"Oh, SHIT!" Gravy shoots straight to the back of the oven and sizzles against the wall. "Sorry! Crap!"

My gloved hands fall away from the pan and clutch my sides when the laughter strikes. Poor Edward turns around, regarding the baster like a smoking gun in his hand. "Maybe you can teach me how to do the Jell-o instead?" he tries ruefully.

"What the hell is going on in here?" Jasper asks, taking in the odd scene.

"Apparently I suck at basting," Edward answers with one of his winning grins. When I finally stop cackling, I strip the baster out of his hand and hip-check him out of my way.

"You do," I reply, drenching the turkey in hot gravy, "and there's no way you're getting anywhere near my Jell-o mold."

Jasper chuckles and pulls down three more wine glasses. "Don't take it personally, Ed. Mom hasn't let anyone near her Jell-o since Dad left us."

Edward snorts, and it's not just the four-hundred-degree oven that heats my face.

"Did someone mention jello?" Emmett barrels indelicately into the kitchen. "Oh, is that wine, dude? Lay it on me."

Riley huffs and whacks Emmett across the chest. "Class, Emmett. Remember, we practiced this?"

"Ha! Good luck with that, Ri," Jasper teases.

The other boys banter and lob insults back and forth, but Edward sits quietly at the end of the counter. I feel his eyes intent on my back, and a bead of sweat starts at my nape and trickles down my silk tank top. His attention is unnerving.

"Turkey's done," I announce, grabbing the sides of the heavy pan and spinning toward the counter. My elbow encounters an unexpected obstacle, and I jerk away when Riley yelps. The contents of the roasting pan list sharply to the left, sloshing hot gravy over the side and splashing up onto my blouse.

"Ah!" The hot liquid burns but I hold tight to prevent further disaster. "OW!" The rebound forces a searing spray over my right arm, catching the skin exposed at the top of the glove. Every impulse screams for me to drop the pan but I hold tight to the loaded weapon and—

Suddenly, two firm hands steady mine from behind, fully supporting the weight while I bring the crazy dance with the runaway turkey to a safe conclusion and rest the pan on the counter. A fresh rush of adrenaline overtakes me as I'm bent over the hot bird.

"Relax," Edward whispers, hooking his chin over my shoulder. "You're safe."

I sink back into the comfort of his strength, and my body quakes with aftershocks. His body is firm and steadfast, and one of his hands slips around my waist and pins me to his chest. I close my eyes and allow myself a teeny tiny swoon. I know it's wrong, but it's only for a second.

"Mom! Are you okay?"

Jasper breaks the spell, rushing over and yanking the gloves from my hands. "Jesus, get this under some cold water!" Jasper pulls me to the sink, and I feel Edward's fingertips linger until I'm out of reach. I'm afraid to look back at him; I don't trust my eyes not to give me away. I promise myself to verbalize my gratitude when I can—once the intense lust is under control.

Alone in my bedroom, I peel off the ruined blouse and pass a cool washcloth over my stomach. Thankfully, the skin is red but not blistering. I'm fine. The cooking's all done, and the only heat source I have yet to deal with is one Edward Cullen, and it's pouring off the boy in waves.

The boy.

The man.

How in the hell are we going to make it through the weekend under the same roof together when he gets more forward by the moment? And I, apparently, get more backward?

There's a knock at my door. My heart leaps to my throat imagining Edward at my bedroom door.

"Yes?" I'm sure he can hear the shake in my voice.

"Mom, are you all right?"

Jasper. My wonderful son and best friend of the boy I am shamelessly fantasizing about.

"Fine. I'll be right down."

Silence, and then a shuffle away from the door. Their voices penetrate the living room ceiling. Laughter is the predominant sound, and it warms me from the inside out that my son is happy. I clear my head with a firm shake and remind myself that I would never do anything to jeopardize his happiness. And most especially, not by succumbing to some base instinct and, dear God, not by harming our closest friends again.

I manage to keep my distance for the remainder of the evening, sitting at the head of the table and forcing my eyes and attention on the other boys, getting to know them and enjoying their anecdotes. Wine bottles are drained and massive quantities of food are consumed, but I keep a clear head and a clearer conscience. I can master this thing. Surely, for three lousy nights, I can "keep it in my pants" and resist temptation.

I fall into bed exhausted, not merely from the physical toll of the Thanksgiving extravaganza, but the added effort of actively avoiding the serpent with the shiny red apple. My vibrator is out of the question with the living room just below my bed, and I'm taunted by the seductive moments that string themselves together in my mind:

His sensual appreciation of every morsel of food, the low groan as he rolled the candied sweet potatoes over his tongue, the shimmer of grease at the side of his mouth as he devoured the turkey leg then licked every finger clean, his eyes rolling back in his head at his first bite of pecan pie;

The "accidental" brush of his body passing behind me at the sink, fingers meeting between passed wine bottles, his hand none-too-casually-placed on my shoulder urging me to sit while he replenished the stuffing bowl;

The shameless eye-raking he gave my chest as I offered him white and dark meat from the enormous serving platter, his unreadable intensity focused on me throughout the meal, and the hungry way his eyes followed me up the steps and along the hallway until I finally escaped his field of vision.

I can't remember the last time I allowed my fingers to slide inside my panties this way, to find themselves between folds slick with need, to touch my aching, greedy body and bring myself the sweetest kind of release.


"Round two?" Edward's bright voice rings out from the bottom steps as he bounces toward the kitchen, barely decent in a pair of plaid flannel sleep pants and nothing else.

"Look who's up early. Sleep okay?"

He pulls his fingers through his crazy crop of bronze hair, which only seems to have become wilder with the years. His tan, tight chest is so beautiful it actually hurts my stomach. Oh, to be young and perfect. Oh, to gaze upon such perfection at close range.

I occupy my twitchy fingers with arranging fruit on a platter when what they really want to do is not at all okay.

"Slept great, thanks. You?" Sexy smirk. The guy knows exactly how I got myself to sleep, I realize with a start. Was it the same for him?

It takes a force of will to keep my eyes above his neck. There's so much to see; he's like a damn amusement park in one tidy package. Package, ugh Bella, get a damn grip. Grip? Please, please, please…


"Oh, sorry I thought that was rhetorical," I titter nervously. "I slept fine, but then, I wasn't the one in the 'Pink Palace.'"

Jesus H. Christ, did I just bring up sleeping with him in Alice's room? I trap my tongue between my teeth. Edward chuckles and says, "Oh yes, her famous pink period. Did she ever outgrow it?"

"Not really," I snort, relieved to move off sleeping arrangements.

"Honestly, once I closed my eyes, I was just happy to have the bed all to myself."

"So it's unusual then for you to have the bed to yourself?" I blurt, then bite my tongue. Just asking with motherly concern, I lie to myself unconvincingly.

Edward grins and answers, "Highly."

"Humph," I huff, sounding far too much like a jealous girlfriend. "You know that's actually something you can control."

He regards me carefully and answers, "I wasn't complaining. I could just really use the sleep for a change."

His look dares me in a hundred different ways, so I do what I do best…deflect. "Coffee?"

"Sounds good. What can I do to help?"

"Can you slice bagels without hurting yourself?"

"Only one way to find out."

"You're really filling me with confidence here."

He moves around the counter next to me, pulling the bread knife from the butcher block and rolling the sesame bagel into place, standing it precariously between his fingers.

"Un-uh," I gently correct, taking the bagel out of his hand and setting it flat on the counter. "Give me your hand." He grins and places his hand—those long, elegant piano-playing fingers—in front of me. So many inappropriate thoughts pass through my head, I actually consider my sanity. I settle for taking hold of his wrist and flattening his palm on top of the bagel. "You have to get your fingers out of the firing line," I instruct, placing my hand on top of his and moving all the outliers to safety.

I dare not look at his face.

"Okay. Knife."

He brings his other hand with the knife into the picture, passively awaiting instructions. I grasp his wrist and line up the knife parallel to the counter and start the sawing motion with him. We're tangled over the small spot, and it's not just our arms and hands that are intimately connected; our hips and thighs are forced together behind the counter. We're too damn close and there's not enough air, and he's shirtless and it's all too morning-after and I can't…I just can't.

"Got it?" I ask abruptly, letting go and wriggling out of his grasp.

"Not quite," he tenses, the words freezing both of us in place. I'm conscious of every breath he draws, how his chest rises and falls next to me, the feel of his hands beneath mine, the sinew of muscle inside those flimsy pajama pants, and I can't bear to think what else lurks, so very close, and so very, very wrong. Without the pretense of my "instruction," I feel utterly naked in my desire.

"Edward," I whisper finally.


I loosen my grasp and slip away, moving back to my cantaloupes and pineapple. We work in companionable silence with a respectable distance between us, but the heat and the pull are relentless.

The others make their sleepy way downstairs over the next twenty minutes and I do my best to avoid Edward's eyes and physical orbit through breakfast. Jasper helps me clean up while they all suit up for "the snow bowl," and the boys head outside for some rough and tumble play.

Boys will be boys.

Gazing out my window from the comfort of my favorite reading sofa, I am flooded with the memories of so many Vermont winter days where Esme and I would tromp around with our kids, making snowmen and forts and eventually hot cocoa. The industry of those outings—Good Lord! The finding of gloves that match and snow pants that fit and a hat that didn't make Alice's head itch and boots that weren't too small but weren't so big they let in snow and ice!

Boys will be boys.

How many times did Esme and I shake our heads and utter that phrase to each other, watching Jasper and Edward tumble like puppies on the basement floor, compete on the football and soccer fields, shovel in home-baked treats faster than we could pull them off the cooling racks?

Boys will be boys.

Watching their exploits with girls and healing their broken hearts with uber-violent video games. Watching their fathers betray all of us, leaving a trail of resentment, hurt, and blame.

And you're so much better? Flirting with a child. Your son's best friend, your best friend's son, a riddle of guilt squared.

I can't help but watch the rowdy display outside, four lithe, natural athletes passing a football and roughhousing in the snow like young children let out of a car after a long ride. Emmett and Riley can't compete with the shared instincts Jasper and Edward have perfected over the years, earning themselves the nickname "Edsper."

God help me if they're sharing a brain this weekend, I shudder, forcing my eyes back to my book group selection. As if I could concentrate on something other than Edward's laughter breaking through every few minutes.

They spill through the back door an hour later, four icy, snow-covered, sweaty lumps of spent testosterone. "Do we have any cocoa, Mom?" Jasper asks.

"Yes, of course. What kind of mother would I be if I didn't have cocoa for you?"

"Mini-marshmallows, Bizzy?" Edward adds, peeling off his hat and shaking his shaggy head like a wet dog.

Boys will be boys.

"Yes, mini-marshmallows."


"Come on, Bella. We're taking you out to dinner tonight," Emmett announces proudly, adding, "and you're leaving your wallet at home."

"Then how will she order a drink, numbskull?" Riley asks, melting my heart.

"Don't worry, Mom, you can just sneak sips off mine when the waiters aren't looking," Jasper suggests.

"You gonna tell her all our tricks, Jas?" Edward winks.

"All right, you bozos. I'm bringing my wallet and ordering my own drinks, thank you very much."

Emmett jumps right on that. "Oh, drinksssss? As in, plural? As in, you're gonna let us get you blitzed?"

I snort. "It's been a long time since I've gotten blitzed, Emmett."

"Sounds like it's about time then," Edward says, his darkened eyes casting that spell over me again.

"Who's driving home then?" I challenge.

Riley volunteers, "I will. I need a night off anyway after that eating orgy."

Edward chuckles. "There you have it."

We pile into the car, Jasper in the passenger seat, the others packed into the back with no room to spare between their broad shoulders. Everything I own looks smaller with them occupying the space.

I navigate the snowy streets, and soon we've arrived at The Lift, one of Jasper's favorites. The restaurant offers all the warmth of a cozy ski lodge on a frigid day on the slopes, and soon we're seated and enjoying all manner of food and drink.

If I thought sitting between Riley and Jasper at dinner would keep impure thoughts about Edward from entering my head, I was dead wrong two vodka gimlets ago.

Idiot! You have nowhere to avert your eyes when he draws that double cheeseburger to his lips and does that moan thing and takes a pull on his beer and stares at you while he drags his fries through the mound of ketchup on the side of his plate. There's no way to mistake the amused expression on his face when you drain your third drink. No rational excuse to refuse the hand he offers to help you out of your chair at the end of the meal, no way of avoiding his supportive hand at your back without seeming unreasonable. And man-oh-how-the-fuck-did-I-get-myself-into-this, no way to squeeze any closer to the car door and avoid the crush of his warm body against yours in the tiny backseat.

"Home, Jeeves," Emmett calls, laughing at his own hilarious joke.

"Hang on, you philistine! First we need tuneage. Jasper, find us a damn radio station! Oh, no offense, Bella!" His eyes pop up in the rear-view and I wave.

"None taken," I manage.

Jasper scans through the familiar few stations, Burlington, Vermont, not exactly being the mecca of culture.

"We were barely seventeen, and we were barely—"

"I LOVE this song!" Riley shouts and thankfully shifts the car into gear.

"Meatloaf again?" Emmett quotes the Rocky Horror line and loses it again.

"How about some heat back here, Jas?" I make a little tunnel with my hands and blow warm air inside.

Edward's head whips sideways. "Cold?"

Before either of us thinks, his hands are on me, rubbing furiously up and down my coat sleeves.

My eyes flit around the car guiltily, certain our suspicious behavior must be raising a huge red flag. Emmett is lost in gloriously off-key, drunken song, and Jasper is taken up with directing Riley through the twisty, snowy back roads. We're undetected in our dark corner after all.

"Here. Let me," Edward says, rubbing my hands between his warm palms and injecting small puffs of hot breath. "Better?"

So much better. And so much worse. If he doesn't stop looking at me like that, and touching me, we are going to have a Big Problem.

"Sing with me, bro!" Emmett smacks Edward, who chuckles and cheerfully joins in, not taking his eyes off me, "We're gonna go all the way tonight, tonight, We're gonna go all the way tonight, tonight."

My gut clenches and twists. That crazy grin of his, his thigh pushing against mine, his hands possessing mine, the promises he's singing, the alcohol swimming in my head...all drown out the alarm bells.

"Home sweet home," Riley announces, causing Emmett to switch his tune to "Cheers to the bus driver."

"Jesus, someone get that boy a muzzle," Jasper groans.

Their antics wash over me. I'm dazed and hypnotized and needy as all hell. This was a colossally terrible idea. I have a singular thought–Get away from Edward Cullen. Far, far away.

Just then, a second thought insinuates itself.

"OH GOD! I'm gonna be sick!"

I push open the door and rush inside the house, barely making it to the powder room before losing my dinner. When I am finally able to lift my head from the toilet, I see Jasper standing in the doorway with a guilty look on his face.

"Sorry we got you trashed, Mom."

I manage a weak smile. "Jasper, it's not your fault I was an idiot. I was having fun. I got carried away."

"Well, even Riley has forty pounds on you, and forget about keeping up with Em. Can I get you anything?"

"Sure. Ginger ale and Tylenol? And maybe a promise we'll never discuss this again?"

"You got it." He heads out to the kitchen while I clean myself up. The boys are lined up outside the bathroom like a receiving line at a wake.

"Oh come on, boys. I threw up. It's not the end of the world. It's just the end of a long day. I'm putting myself to bed."

Edward looks particularly pained by that last part, and I breathe an internal sigh of relief. Another bullet dodged.

"Thanks for dinner, guys. It was really fun until the vomiting part."

"Any time, Bella," Emmett answers, and Riley socks him in the arm.

"Feel better," Riley adds, hoping to blot out Emmett's indelicate remark.

Jasper returns with my drink, which I take gratefully. "Rest up, Mom. Big day tomorrow."

I brighten instantly. "I get to take you clothes shopping?"

"Of course. It's tradition."

"And you guys?"

Jas answers for them, "Trust me, they could use a woman's opinion."

"Especially Emmett," Riley scoffs.

Finally, Edward chimes in, "I could use a new interview suit. Something to go with my watch."

"Okay then," Jasper summarizes. "We'll eat breakfast and hit the mall early."


The boys' version of "early" doesn't exactly mesh with mine, but I'm happy for some alone time with my coffee and morning paper. As usual, Edward is first to stir, and minutes later, I hear his bare feet padding down the stairs. I spent the whole night tossing and turning and dreaming about young, tight bodies, and I'm not sure how much longer I can resist his advances, especially if he's…damn.

Bare-chested again.

I can't help following the line of his happy trail to the unmistakable outline tenting his flannel pants. My cheeks burn with the knowledge of his arousal, and even worse, the fact that he knows I'm staring.

"Feeling better?" he asks cautiously.

I can't look him in the eye right now. "Fine, thank you."

Pushing away from the table, heart pounding so fiercely I can feel it in my ears, I turn away and gather my purse and keys. "Coffee's ready. I'm gonna run to the store…we need more…bananas."

He doesn't move or speak as I step past him out the door leading to the garage. Safe inside my steel-reinforced Volvo, I take two deep breaths and will my heart to slow down before I have a stroke. Following through on the pretense of shopping, I push the garage door remote and wring my hands in my lap as the door takes its sweet old time opening. Finally, I step on the brake and push the ignition button. The car fires up and just as I'm about to shift the car into reverse, there's a mad pounding against the windshield. My heart jumps to my throat as I look up to see Edward's top half splayed across the hood of the car, desperation in his eyes.

"Fuck! You scared the crap out of me, Edward! What are you trying to do?" My hot breath fogs up the windows and adrenaline shoots every which way.

He slides off the hood and comes around to the driver's side, motioning for me to roll down the window.

Lingering terror makes my voices gruffer than I intend. "You're like a crazy person. What's wrong with you?"

"You're avoiding me," he states without apology.

"Yes." There, I admitted it.

"Don't do that."

"Edward," I start, but he interrupts me abruptly.

"Stop. Who are you protecting?"

The first person to pop into my mind is my son. "Jasper."

Edward leans in close, his earnest face filling the entire window. "He'll never know. I swear it."

"You, then."

"I'm a big boy."

"Yes, I can see that," I respond, trying desperately to erase the vision of his erection from my memory.

Again, no apology. "You haven't seen anything yet." His voice is almost menacing, and a chill ripples down my spine.

"Fine. Then, I'm protecting myself."

Quieter, more gently, he promises what he can't. What no person can promise another. "You don't need to. I'm not going to hurt you."

"Oh, Edward," I hate the preachy tone in my voice. It makes me feel even older than I already do. "Nobody ever starts something with the intention of hurting the other person. It just happens."

"Well, I'm sorry, Biz, but this thing is already started and there isn't anything I can do about that."

I cup his sweet face in my hand. "Sure there is. We can acknowledge it and act like grownups who have self-control and restraint."

"Fuck restraint!" he growls, twisting away from my hand.

A spike of fear forces me away from him, and his frustration level intensifies again. "I've had just about all the fucking self-control I can fucking handle!" His eyes are wild and unknowable.

"I don't remember you having such a filthy mouth. Did they teach you that at Princeton?"

He laughs darkly. "No, I learned that from my dear old asshole of a father."

"You kiss your mother with that mouth?"

If I were expecting him to concede, apologize sheepishly, regret his words or actions, I've completely miscalculated. He very deliberately folds his arms along the base of the window opening and pushes his head and shoulders well inside my car so his lips are as close to mine as they could possibly be without touching.

"Not the way I'm about to kiss you," he promises, then promptly closes the space between us.

Edward's lips are soft but insistent; he knows what he wants and he's not waiting for permission. His kiss is both relief and agony, but one thing is irrefutable: it is the kiss of a full-fledged man. Before there's time to think, he's already pulled away, releasing with a hint of his tongue along my lower lip, a promise of things to come.

"You are going to be the death of me, Edward Cullen."

But he's not. He's the most welcome breath of fresh air in my stagnant little life. He's the volume knob turned up when I'd been living in mute. He's the box of paints dumped across my black and white pages.

"Go get your bananas, Izzybiz. We're going to finish this later. I'm not letting another chance slip through my fingers."


For the next three hours, we play out Pretty Woman in reverse. I'm perched in the "husband chair" and treated to an endless parade of well-fitting clothes requiring my opinion.

"C'mon, Bella, does my ass look better in the indigo or the stone wash?" Emmett presses, making me giggle.

"I swear you look great in both. Don't make me choose."

"Pink or red?" Riley asks. I shrug.

"V-neck or crew?" Jasper holds one in each hand.

"Honestly, I don't know what girls like these days."

"But you are a girl, Mom." Jasper ducks back into the dressing room in frustration.

Edward cracks open the door to the next stall and gestures for me to come closer. He's done his best to tease me all afternoon, and now that we're at Abercrombie, he's nothing short of dangerous. I move cautiously forward, a scarecrow who knows better than to come too close to the match. He checks the area, then deciding the coast is clear, he opens the door. My jaw nearly scrapes the floor. The bastard is bare from the waist up, one hand on his hip and the other stretched to the top of the door, elongating the delicious taper to his slim waist.

"Button fly or zip?" he smirks, drawing my eye straight to the fastener in question.

"That's mean," I answer, spinning away but not before he catches my broad grin.

"Fine, I'll get both," he calls out unbothered.

"Anyone else need a suit?" I ask the four of them at the register.

"Not me," answers Jas. "I'm gonna hit Sunglass Hut."

"Isn't there an Orange Julius right next door?"

"Yes, Emmett," Jas responds, rolling his eyes.

Riley adds. "I need to grab a new pair of loafers."

Edward dips down, placing his lips near my ear. "Looks like it's just you and me and fine men's furnishings."

"Could you please try to remember that I am a middle-aged woman and I can only take so much?"

"And I can't wait to give you so much," he says, waggling his eyebrows.

"Good Lord. Okay, come on. We'll start with Italian and work our way across the continent."

He breaks out into a wide smile. "Way to take charge, Bizzy."

As he wiggles his magnificent body into one expensive designer after the next, my heart takes notice that it is actually feeling happy again. Do I know logically that this childhood friend of Jasper's is not my long-term mate? Of course I do. But does it feel amazing to be drawn into his irresistible orbit, to feel desired, appreciated for all my gifts as a woman? Abso-fucking-lutely.

By the time we join back up with the others, Edward is the proud owner of a brand new, dark blue Gucci suit and tie, and the sexual tension between us is off the charts. We both know if this doesn't happen tonight, it probably never will. Now that he's kissed me, there's no way I cannot know what it is to be with him.


As expected, dinner is a blur, the three pounds of spaghetti in Bolognese sauce and two loaves of garlic bread easily devoured by the four eating machines, with enough Chianti to keep the conversation lively. I'm guarded with my drinking and my conversation, not trusting myself to look at Edward at all, and hoping he'll nibble at the breadcrumbs when the time comes.

Edward's off a bit, too, but the others don't seem to notice. He's not as sharp with his comebacks and not as eager to offer his opinions. It's as if all available brain cells have been diverted.

The first acceptable moment I can reasonably head to bed, I yawn loudly and make my excuses. Edward's eyes are on me the whole way up the staircase, but I don't look back. My heart is pounding as I brush my teeth and brush my hair and go back and forth a hundred times about changing into something "more comfortable." In the end, I decide it would be too cheesy and contrived and I pace my room praying for him to make an appearance.

I grab my book again, the one I was utterly unsuccessful at concentrating on yesterday, and read the same paragraph four more times before tossing it aside and pacing again. I move to the door and check that it's unlocked. He's not coming. Part of me respects his good sense, but the rest of me is devastated. Resigned, I reach for the lights.

A large hand covers mine on the switch plate. "Don't," he urges, speaking before I even realize he's come up behind me.

"Shit, you scared me!" My free hand flies to my heart.

"Sorry," he replies, not moving, except to lock the door behind him.

"Lights on? Seriously?"

He steps closer, and I feel his hips at my back. He wraps one arm around my waist and pulls our joined hands from the switch. His voice is low and reassuring. "What are you worried about? You have a great body."

"Ugh, maybe for a woman my age. Not exactly what you're used to."

He drops his lips onto my neck and I sink back against him, drawing on his confidence. "You're nothing like the girls I'm used to, Bizzy."

"How about we compromise?" I offer. "Dimmed?"

"Deal," he agrees, and I slide the switch to a manageable level.

Edward sways gently side to side and I could so fall inside this beautiful boy and never resurface. I'm a rag doll drunk on his touch, his lips, his rhythm, his delicious words.

It feels so damn good to be wanted.

It's so wrong on so many levels.

No one ever needs to know. They leave tomorrow.

You'll know. He'll know.

His fingers meet at the top button of my blouse and suddenly, it's real. He's going to take my clothes off and I'm going to undress him and we're going to see and touch and then…Dear God, help me. My hand jumps to stop him.

"I'm nervous."

He steps in closer, lets me feel his strength and his desire. "I'm not."

My shaky voice is barely above a whisper. "Why am I the only one freaking out here?"

"You already kissed me. It's a fait accompli."

His playful teasing brings a smile to my face.

"You kissed me."

"Oh, yeah."

Suddenly, I'm struck by the hideous idea that maybe he's been this way with someone else's mother; maybe he's a serial mother fucker. I round on him. "Have you done this before?"

He laughs right out loud. "Are you asking if I'm a virgin?"

"God, no. I was asking if…you…have a thing for horny, middle-aged women."

"Ah," he smiles in understanding. "Not generally, no. It's more like I have a thing for you specifically. Always have."


He brushes his thumb along my lower lip. "Hunh, I must've been really cool about it if you never noticed how hot I was for you."

I regard him very suspiciously, but he seems sincere. "I think I'm glad I never knew."

"Well, now you know." His hands slide up my shirt again, playing at the top button and sensing my lingering reluctance. "I've been waiting a long time for you to come around."

My eyes roll back in my head and if I swoon any harder, he's going to be holding an unconscious person. "You best be careful. I'm starting to believe you."

"So I can undress you now?"

"Yes—but only if you keep kissing me."

"You drive a hard bargain, Bizzy."

Look who's talking.

He presses his lips to mine again, and I'm lost. I want to slow time so this can last forever, because once tonight is over, this can never ever happen again.

Those soft, delicious lips coax open my mouth and his tongue slips just inside, sampling me, asking nothing in return. His fingers finally manage the top two buttons, and as my blouse opens bit by bit in his hands, my tongue reaches recklessly for his. Edward groans and kisses me more forcefully. Still, those industrious fingers keep working, unbuttoning, pop, pop, pop! His lips never stop moving as he tugs the blouse out of my jeans.

My shirt falls open and I'm chilled. His kisses slow, and finally stop, and his mouth moves to my ear. "I'm going to touch you now."

I honestly feel as though I might faint. I wrap my arms around his neck, partially to steady myself, but mostly to hold his head right where it is, to trap his eyes. I'm not ready to be seen. "Okay," I answer back with a quiver.

His thumbs slide up my stomach and his long fingers follow suit. Despite their warmth, his hands raise a thousand goose bumps on my skin. The room is stock still except for our labored breathing, each of us exhaling into the other's ear. The thumbs pause at the bottom of my lace bra.

"Oh God," he whispers, his hesitation taking me off guard.

"Touch me," I breathe-slash-beg, and he does. His hands move over my bra and I need so much more. His palms move across my nipples, and he plays there, a blind man reading Braille and trying to make sense of it all.

His breathing is louder, deeper, more urgent, and I'm sure mine is as well. He slides around back and unclasps the black lace I chose especially for him.

Hot fingers slip beneath the underwire, caressing the flesh inside. A whimper escapes me and Edward answers with a low growl. There's kneading and stroking and nipples begging for more attention. There's squeezing and moaning and holding on for dear life. There's warmth and tenderness and admissions.

"Your tits are perfect."

"Your hands feel so good on me."

"Your skin is so soft."

"More, please."

Edward wriggles his head within my tight embrace and presses his cheek against mine. "I need…to see you…now."

I drop my arms from his neck, trusting. He kisses me again and pushes the blouse down my arms, smiling against my cheek when it falls to the floor. He loops an index finger under each bra strap and guides those over my shoulders next.

I'm bare. He makes me wait.

I'm tense. I close my eyes in the muted light.

What if I don't live up to his expectations? What if I see the disappointment in his eyes? What if he doesn't want me after all?

"Bizzy, you're so beautiful."

I open my eyes and his lustrous green eyes click to mine. Intense, honest eyes of a man who sees me clearly and wants what he sees.

He reaches a hand forward and palms my breast, tenderly caressing my nipple and measuring my reaction. "You're just what I imagined," he whispers reverently.

Entirely humbled by his grace, I shift the mood to playful again. "My turn."

"Have at it," he allows cheerfully.

I'm not nearly as patient, nor is he as squeamish. As I gather the dark navy cotton in my fists, he raises his arms over his head and smiles in invitation. I thrill at the sliver of bare skin just above his belt buckle and shimmy the shirt up his sides, watching as rock-hard abs and chiseled pecs bare themselves inch by inch. My eyes feel greedy as I take in the perfection of his taut muscles and the hallmark of youth, a chest free of mottling and imperfection. Simply a flawless expanse of tanned skin, beneath which beats the promise of vitality itself. He's taunted me for days with the vision, and now, I allow myself to touch. Before the last thread slips over his outstretched fingertips, my hands are on him, becoming intimate with every ridge.

As my fingers traverse his shoulders and arms, Edward drops his head back and closes his eyes in surrender, a newly-released prisoner turning his face to the warmth of the sun for the first time. My fingers wander lower, skimming along his glorious abs. His head tips forward again; he's fully alert now.

My fingertips hit the buckle and falter, but Edward grabs my wrist. "Do it," he says softly, yet his voice is unmistakably firm.

You will never have this chance again.

With fresh resolve, I slide open the buckle and hook my fingers around the buttons, revealing a fresh swath of white fabric beneath as I open each one. Edward stands immobile as my knuckles knock against him time and time again, but his patience wears thin by the last button.

He tugs his tight jeans over his hip bones and exposes the white Calvin Klein boxer briefs he bought with me earlier. I'm paralyzed and gawking, and most likely drooling to boot. He steps out of his shoes and jeans in one fluid motion, peeling off his socks last and posing in front of me like a damn underwear ad. Hell if he doesn't look every bit as good as the model on the box.

There's not one ounce of extra flesh on him. Edward's legs are long and well-developed and perfectly proportioned, a result of endless freestyle laps and stadium stairs. And there's something else I simply can no longer escape now that he's down to his skivvies:

Edward is well-endowed and there's no question his equipment is in proper working order.

"Sweet Jesus," I mutter under my breath. Leaving the lights on suddenly seems like a stroke of genius.

How many women my age are treated to such a glorious sight in person, knowing they will actually be invited to sample the goods? It's beyond inappropriate; it's obscene, really, but at the very same time, it is the most delicious miracle.

His eager eyes drift down to my jeans. "You or me?"

I barely lived through the deblousing; there's no way I can manage him taking off my pants.


He grins and licks his damn lips.

I open my jeans and shimmy them over my hips, enjoying the twitch of his…oh shit, come on, Bella, seriously? You're 46 and you can't say 'cock'? Even to yourself? The large protrusion in his boxers twitches, and I step out of my jeans while kicking my flats into the corner.

"Nice," he says quietly. "Black lace bikinis. Very, very nice."

"Yours were a …good purchase as well." I roll my eyes at my idiotic comment and shake my head, embarrassed. "Sorry. I'm still nervous."

He smiles sweetly and opens his arms wide. "C'mere."

I take two steps closer and my nipples graze his skin. I gasp and lay my cheek against his chest. His arms close around me and hold me tight. Skin touches skin, muscles contract and relax, hearts pump, two people connect. His hands trail down my back, brushing over my panties. I do the same, exploring his smooth skin and tight muscles, not quite brave enough to sample below his waist.

Suddenly, I'm hoisted up and my heels automatically lock behind his back. He kisses me and I feel his rigid shaft against my panties, steel against molten lava. I twist and he flexes, we moan and pant.

He gets a wicked gleam in his eye and suddenly we're flying. A few dizzy seconds later, I'm dumped backwards onto the bed. Edward hooks his fingers into the top of my panties and drops a kiss on my stomach. "Ready?"

"I'm not sure I'll ever be ready for you," I answer honestly, but my slight nod gives him the answer he needs.

I pinch my eyes closed as my panties make their long, slow slide down my legs. I tamp down my panic as he gets his first glimpse of my…holy shit! Hot, moist, slippery, wispy, soft…his mouth is over me, on me…in me. So much for thinking…

It feels too good and too intimate and how can he know…and I'm squirming but he's holding me in his clutches…it's building and he's humming and the vibrations and the warm, wet tickle and…

I peek down to see if this is real and his broad hands have me pinned to the bed and his wild shock of crazy bronze hair turns and bobs and…I…am…cared for…and…please don't stop I'll die if you stop and…

A thousand pin pricks of light and that amazing quivery feeling and I'm squealing and giddy and now I'm giggling and free…

Edward's face pokes up from between my legs. "So was it good for you?" he asks with a giant grin.

There's probably a Hallmark card out there with the appropriate expression of gratitude for this occasion, but every time I try to form the words, they feel cheesy and wrong. I sigh a few more times, breezy and happy and push myself up onto my elbows. Before the smile even has a chance to fade, I order, "Stand up."

Edward, no dummy, gets to his feet as quickly as humanly possible. There's a wet spot on his boxers and the tip is poking out over the waistband. Most guys his age would've lost it already. It's time I show him what an experienced woman has to offer.

I shimmy to the end of the bed and situate my face right in front of his…cock. There, I said it.

Flicking my eyes up past his washboard abs, I watch his Adam's apple bob as he swallows thickly and gives me his undivided attention. I exhale a warm stream of air over the bulge. His eyelids tip and his jaw drops open just enough for a tiny moan to escape.

I touch my fingers to the tip and inch my hand slowly down toward his balls, delighting in the sway of his hips and his long, slow groan. His hands are wadded into fists; his restraint may be the sexiest thing about him.

No, probably not.

I hook my fingers into his waistband the same way he did mine. "Ready?" I tease.

"FUCK YES," he growls.

I carefully peel back the elastic so it doesn't catch and watch in fascination as the air hits him. He bobs a bit before straightening and reaching equilibrium. He's straight and thick, generous but not overwhelming, even-colored, nicely shaped, well tended, and obviously highly trained.

I help him out of his boxers and now we're both completely naked. Though he'd have no reason for a moment's insecurity, he must be curious about my reaction at this point, because I've been staring and marveling, but speechless.

I look up and I'm met with a pair of smoldering emeralds, and I say the very first thing that pops into my head. "You're perfect."

"Touch me," he begs. There's not a shred of amusement in his voice, suddenly.

My tongue flicks at his tip, lapping up his moisture and leaving mine in its place. His hands cup the back of my head with a whispered, "Fuuuuuuck!" as I slide closer and take him all the way into my mouth and halfway down my throat. I want desperately to please him more thoroughly than any previous lover. Sadly, I'm way out of practice.

Once he fills my mouth and hands, once his musky scent invades my system, once he leans into me, trusts me, and once—dear God—he whimpers, it's all so easy. I touch him, he responds. What he likes, I repeat. I become his instrument, and in turn, he sings out his pleasure. Before long, he's shuddering against me and uttering a stream of profanities and releasing into my mouth.

"I'm pretty sure I just saw the face of God."

I giggle at his hyperbole and slip into the bathroom to clean up. When I return, I'm surprised to see him stretched out along my bed, relaxed and comfortable, as if we'd been together for years, not minutes. One arm is stretched over his eyes.

"Comfy?" I ask, tossing him the towel.

"Yes," he answers dreamily. "Just give me a minute."

"For what?"

He peeks out from behind his arm, squinting at me. "You couldn't possibly think we're finished here?"

"I didn't want to assume anything." Just because you're the most virile hunk of gorgeous man I've ever had the pleasure of touching.

He chuckles. "Whatever you didn't want to assume, double it, but in the meantime, could you please turn off the light? I think you blew out my optical nerves."

I stare dumbly for too long and he smirks. "And could you grab me a condom from my back pocket on your way back to bed?"

"You brought condoms with you to Burlington? Thinking what? You'd meet some girls at a party?"

He props himself up onto his elbows. "Biz, I already told you I've been crushing on you for ten years now. A guy can dream, can't he?"

I dig into his pockets and find not one but three condoms, which I fan out like playing cards. "Some dreams ya got there, Edward Cullen."

With a smile brighter than the sun, he shrugs and says, "Sue me."


"How do you want me?" he taunts in that bedroom voice that makes me want him every which way. Perched over my prone body, his hands grip the headboard and his sheathed cock rests against my thigh, thick and heavy.

"You're the guy with ten years of fantasies. How do you want me?"

He smiles and nips at my throat. "I pretty much run the gamut. You pick. Slow and gentle or rough and raw?"

I grin. "All of the above?"

"Greedy," he laughs. "I like it!" Edward lowers himself onto my chest and stretches out along the length of my body. More sweet kisses as he shimmies into position, opening my legs and slipping his tip inside.

"Edward," I whisper, "it's been a while."

"I won't hurt you," he assures me. "I promised, remember?"

I lose myself in his deep pools of green as he inches his way inside. When he's finally there, all the way, my eyes roll up to the ceiling and I bite my lip to keep from crying out.

"Does that feel good?" he whispers, his hips undulating gently.

"God, yes," I shudder, clutching my arms tightly around his back and opening myself to receive him fully.

"Jesus, Biz, you're so hot and tight." Thrust, thrust. "And your skin is so soft." Kiss, nip, lick. "And you taste so…" Thrust "…fucking" Thrust "…good!"

His lips clamp down on mine and I squeeze my walls around him, I want to make him feel so good. His sweaty skin glides along my stomach and chest and he touches me so deep inside. At first it's a tickle, then an itch, then it's a burning…animal…need…and he hits that spot over and over, and before we're both too far gone, I put my mouth to his ear and plead, "Take me against the wall!"

He curses and growls and somehow manages to stay inside me while lifting us off the bed and slamming me against the nearest wall. He takes my nipple between his teeth and I squeal. He reaches a hand up to cover my mouth. "Shhh! They'll hear us!"

I nod solemnly and he lets go.

"Hold tight," he warns, plunging forward, letting out the sexiest damn grunt through his clenched jaws. I'm skewered and trapped. "This…raw…enough?" he guts out between thrusts.


He slams me against the wall again and again. We're climbing the peak together, pushing each other to the crest, panting and thrusting and begging. He tenses and swears and stills, and as we explode together, he never stops kissing me.




I'm still pinned against the wall five minutes later. Edward finally lifts his head and grins up at me, cocky and happy.

"Wanna let me down, Hercules?"

"Not really," he says.

I shrug. "Suit yourself." I drop my head to his shoulder.

He kisses the top of my head and grumbles, "I'm not saying goodbye to you in front of the guys tomorrow."


"Come lie down and kiss me some more, Edward." He meets my eyes and nods.




"It just hit me what I've been doing all weekend."


He grins. "Gettin' Bizzy."

"You did not just stop kissing me for that."




"I should go back to Alice's room."

"You should."




"We should try to get some sleep."





"I don't want you to think about me once you get back to school."

"What? That's crazy!"

"No, Edward. I mean that. This was…amazing beyond words and I'll never forget it, but you're in your prime and I wouldn't want to be responsible for depriving—"

"Please stop."




Edward's chest rises and falls against my side, finally lulled to sleep by my fingers scratching against his scalp. Pinholes of the breaking dawn seep through the blinds and I stamp this picture onto my memory: the beautiful, innocent boy I loved like a son merged with the man I now know as a lover.

Come what may, I will never regret this.

A/N: Huge inappropriate kisses to Shell Shock for pointing out that mentioning moles and scraggly grey hairs might be a buzz kill, and also for coming up with E's nickname for Bella! Thank you to Chaya Sara for the late-breaking beta corrections. And thank you to Soapy for leading me into temptation…

If you're eager for more of these two...stay tuned. Starting Thanksgiving Sunday (Nov. 25th) I will be continuing this story where they left off and following this pair through their Christmas holiday together in Miami! Right here, same story...see you there? XXX ~BOH