EnEntry for Public Lovin Fanfiction Contest hosted by

GossipLips, JandMsMommy, and MissJanuary

PublicLovinFanfictionContest dot blogspot dot com -

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters and situations are the property of Stephanie Meyer. No copyright infringement is intended. Rated M for lemons and language.

A/N: Thanks so much to my wonderful beta and prereader, Maria Vilson and feebes 86, respectively. All mistakes are mine and mine alone.

Bella Swan could've been a nun. Or a catholic schoolgirl. For some reason though, this quiet, wholesome girl has vampires, wolves, and little human boys chasing after her as if her pussy houses the holy fucking grail. Paul wants to defile her, climb inside of her and see what makes her tick, and his wolf agrees.

So they stalk her, hunt her in an attempt to find an opening. The leech has been gone for two months and baby Alpha has velcroed himself to her side, but Paul has superpowers. When it comes to getting laid, he always finds a way. Past conquests swear he has some hypnotizing combination of laser vision, panty-dropping pheromones, and telepathy. He'd have that white cotton bra hanging over the nearest piece of furniture within a week.

It isn't that easy. Little miss virgin seems determined to thwart him and, for once, luck is on the girl's side. He follows her from home to school to Jake's and back home again, waiting for his entrance.

Attempt number one occurs on First Beach. A howl to arms goes up one morning, while Bella and Jacob are lounging against a fallen log, and Jake takes off to answer it. After planting a sloppy kiss on her cheek and rubbing his body all over hers in a "hug." Fucker.

Paul ignores his pack brothers and prowls out of the treeline, closer to his target. "Morning, sunshine."

"Oh," she squeaks, falling to the sandy ground. "Um, Paul. Shouldn't you be with the pack?"

He itches to pull her fingers away from the strands of hair she's nervously twisting together, but he knows he can't move too fast. Slow and steady. "Somebody needs to watch over you."

Her eyes narrow and he almost cheers at the spark of angry passion. That's it little girl, let it out.

"I don't need to be babysat."

"Are you capable of taking on a vampire?"

"Well, no."

Brushing the back of his hand down her cheek, he shudders at the contact. So soft and smooth. Something about this tiny, little girl. "Then let me take care of you."

"Why would you even want to?" she asks, her tone a cross between self-loathing and sarcasm.

He isn't having that. Paul likes a girl with some backbone and confidence. There's nothing sexier than a woman who knows what she wants. "You realize you've got three-quarters of the pack chasing after you, right?"

Bella snorts and looks out at the churning water. "Yeah, okay. Look, Paul why are you here? I feel like I've been seeing a lot of you lately, and, to be honest, it's a little weird."

Barking a laugh, he shifts his body in close and leans down to whisper in her ear. It's a moment before he can bring himself to speak; the scent of her strawberry shampoo has his dick hard as steel. Oh baby, the things I'm gonna do to you. "I told you already. I'm here to take care of you."

His blatant innuendo is rudely interrupted by the boy wonder. "Paul, where were you? You know what, never mind. Quit dicking around and go see Sam; he wants to talk to you." The oversized prick wraps himself possessively around the little swan and glares at him.

He's gonna kill that kid.

Attempt number two is practically gift wrapped and handed to him, when Sam asks for a volunteer to watch over her, while they hunt the redheaded leech who had gotten just a little too close.

"I'll do it."

"You sure, Paul?" Sam asks. "No messing around?"

"I've got this. Don't worry about a thing." He ignores the skeptical looks shot his way, aims a cocky salute in baby Alpha's direction, and plots.

Yeah, he's got this. Paul shows up at her front door wearing jeans and a tight, white t-shirt. When she answers, she's so distracted with the novelty of him in a shirt, and one that contrasts so beautifully with his dark skin, that he's all up in her bubble before she realizes he moved.

"Hi," he says, trailing a palm down the sensitive underside of her arm.

Goosebumps erupt down the bare skin of her arms and she shifts on her sneaker-clad feet. "Oh um, hi, Paul. What are you doing here?"

"The redhead was sighted; I'm here to," he leans in and lowers his voice, dripping sex, "guard your body."

A gorgeous blush suffuses her creamy cheeks as she steps back into the entrance. "Okay. Come in."

He moves by her, making sure to brush against her, and somehow manages to contain his whoop when her breath catches as his arm grazes her suddenly rock hard nipple. "Got something to eat?"

Heaving a sigh of relief at a request she can handle, Bella nods and heads toward the kitchen. "Is left-over lasagna okay? I made more than necessary for dinner last night, so I have an entire tray left."

"Sounds good." He rubs his hands together in anticipation; a home-cooked meal and his little swan all in one fell swoop. He's sure his day couldn't get any better.

Moving oddly gracefully around the kitchen for someone who's so clumsy everywhere else, she heats up his meal. He smiles when she cuts a wedge almost the size of the plate she places it on and sets it in front of him.

"Aren't you going to eat?" he asks, hesitating to take a bite for the first time he can remember. His wolf wants, no needs, her to eat. Which is weird, but then again he's a teenage shape shifter. His whole fucking life is weird.

She tosses him a confused look. "I could eat, I guess." She cuts a significantly smaller square for herself before joining him at the table.

He watches her. Steadily demolishing the food in front of him, his eyes stay locked on the small figure across the table. Her cooking, shit this is good, has him moaning after every mouthful. Other than Emily's overabundance of too dry muffins and the charred burger patties and chips the guys regularly made to fill their gaping stomachs, he hadn't had a home-cooked meal of this caliber since before his grandmother died.

It feels like he hasn't really been full since before he shifted for the first time. Paul hates going hungry.

The combination of sexual noises and his intense stare are having a positive (in his opinion) effect on his target. Her blush, which had begun to show almost the moment she answered the door, has become another few shades darker and shows no signs of relenting. Instead of looking directly at him, she glances up at him, through thick lashes, looking away as soon as their eyes meet.

I've got you, little girl.

He doesn't. Not three seconds after he finishes his meal and places his plate in the sink, ready to move things right along and persuade her to show him her bedroom, the front door swings open and the cock-blocker himself skips in, making a beeline straight for his "Bells."

Curling his lip, Paul leans around the dickless wonder and brushes a chaste kiss against Bella's cheek. "Thanks for lunch."

He saunters out the door, already planning his next attack.

It's two weeks before he gets another shot. His third opportunity arises when Jake needs bodyguard backup to take Bella to the carnival in Port Angeles. Apparently, she "needs a little happy." Oh, he'd give her some happy. Paul jumps on that like an overeager kindergartner with a bucketful of glitter. So, on a beautiful Tuesday afternoon, he finds himself, along with Embry, trailing the pair through the crowds.

The two keep up a running commentary on Jake's constant attempts at seduction, and Bella's passive aggressive rebuffs as they go.

It goes a little something like this: Jake places a hand on a small of her back, almost grazing the top of her sweet, little ass. Bella twists her hips slightly to the left, silently moving his hand to a more appropriate position. The giant idiot pulls a yawn and stretch, dropping his arm across her slender shoulders. She looks down in surprise and kneels to tie her left shoe, coming up out of her crouch free of the friendly octopussy's touch.

If Paul weren't sure of her feelings toward Jake, he'd be getting a little riled, having to witness the borderline sexual harassment on his little swan. He is pissed that she won't open her mouth and shut him the fuck down. There's fire in her, he knows it; the question is, how deep does she have that shit buried?

Paul aims to find out.

After about an hour of this, Jake signals to his brothers to keep watch and heads off to the restroom. At the same time, Paul spots a snow-cone vender. He knows just the thing to get her where he wants her.

Purchasing a cherry flavored delight, he waves Embry off the close guard, and moves in. "Afternoon, little girl." He barely refrains from asking her if she wants some candy. Barely.

"Hello, Paul." She scuffs the toe of a worn sneaker against the pavement. Adorable. "I'm not, you know."


"A little girl. I'm eighteen."

He throws his head back and laughs, before taking a slow lick of his treat, making sure to curl his tongue around the tip. The skip in her heartbeat proves he made his point. That's right, baby, I've got skills. "It wasn't age I was talking about. Compared to me, you're a tiny, little thing."

She rolls her eyes, but she can't lie to him. Paul can read her body language as if he's been speaking it his entire life. She's angled toward him, leaning slightly at the waist, flicking small glances up from underneath her lashes, and frequently licking those pouty, pink lips.

Fuck those lips. He trails the cherry slush across her bottom lip, watching rapt as her tongue comes out to trace the wet trail. "Bite?"

Jake's pissed off frame is headed in their direction at a quick pace, so Paul, frustrated but pleased with his progress, figures it's time to get out of dodge. Leaning in, he hands her the paper cone and brushes his cold lips against the side of her neck, grinning when she shudders at the contrast in temperature. "But if you want to call me 'Daddy,' I'm all for it, little girl."

He takes off, leaving her spluttering and as red as a fire hydrant. It's an apt description, since baby Alpha spends the next ten minutes metaphorically pissing all over her. It gave him a deep sense of satisfaction to witness her completely ignoring Jake, while dazedly licking at the icy goodness he'd left behind.

Over the next month, he doesn't find a single opportunity to get her alone. But he listens. And he watches.

He knows that she used to love the color blue, but now even the mention of it makes her arms come around her middle, as if she's trying to hold herself together. He knows it has something to do with the carrot-topped leech, because she does the same thing when she tries to stutter out his name. He knows that her favorite books are Pride and Prejudice and Wuthering Heights, but when Quil talked her into reading a teen vampire novel, she did it; and, despite the tension lines around her eyes from coming so close to a touchy subject, she enjoyed it. He knows that she loves Jake, but she isn't in love with him. In fact, the only person who isn't aware of that is the needle-dick himself. And he knows, without a doubt, that Miss Pure as the Driven Snow wants him. It's his job to show her how to get what she wants.

His mother, Sherlock Holmes disciple extraordinaire, has taken to covertly watching him. She knows something's up, but he refuses to let her know what was going on. One night, over burned macaroni and cheese, she finally bursts.

"Are you seeing somebody, Paul?"

He snorts and shovels in a massive bite, grimacing at the taste. "Have I ever 'seen' someone, Ma?"

"Well, no. But something's different."

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"You're never home anymore," she ventures, a sly grin ghosting across her work-worn face.

"It's not like I was ever home before. Talk to the council about my insane schedule."

"Don't pull that bullshit with me, boy. A mother knows."

Puffing out his impressive chest, he is not a boy thank you very much, he plants an absentminded kiss on her head and heads toward the door. "Whatever you say, oh wise one."

Sam is the next amateur detective to step up to the plate. Paul knows it's because of Leah, that crazy bitch, who had witnessed a flash or two of his current obsession while they were phased together. If anybody couldn't keep their trap shut, it was her. His Alpha catches him on the way home from an early morning patrol, while he's hopping on one foot trying to get his cutoffs on after phasing back.

"You gotta minute?" Sam asks, although the questioning tone seems curiously absent from his voice.


"Cut the attitude, Paul. I wanna know what the fuck's going on with you and Jake's precious Bella?"

Paul grunts and finally manages to button the snap on his jeans. "The girl's not Jake's anything. And absolutely nothing is going on." Yet.

A pained groan is Sam's response. "C'mon man, you've been stalking her or some creepy shit, and I know for a fact you haven't gotten your rocks off in like three months."

"Nice of you to keep my calendar, Mrs. Secretary. I am not being creepy either, dickwad."

"Whatever, you ass. Just stay the fuck away from Bella Swan. I don't need two of my best fighters wrestling over some insignificant human girl while we've got a vampire circling. Got me?"

Paul manages to contain the growl rising up his throat at the insult to Bella. He gives a curt nod and continues home. Why people are all up in his business is a mystery, but Paul doesn't give a shit. He has a swan to catch.

His patience finally pays off, almost three months after his stealthy campaign had begun. The pack had the redhead cornered, but she'd gotten a little too close to Bella's father. Innocent, little Seth, in a haze of lust-filled idiocy, blurts it out to Bella. The poor kid's left in the dust the minute he's done speaking, bewildered and a little worried that he should have, for once in his short life, kept his mouth shut.

At any other time, Paul would have agreed, but the only wolf available to take the little swan to the station to check on her dad is yours truly. The consummate gentleman, he helps her into the passenger seat of her truck—no way is he sitting bitch—and they set off.

She attempts to chew on her already abused nails during the ride, but he isn't having that. He wants those suckers long enough to dig in once he gets her naked. So ignoring the fact that he's perilously close to cuddling, he grabs her hand and drags her to the middle seat, trapping her next to him with his hand over hers, pressed against the heat of his thigh. He expects her to pull away, but she doesn't, instead relaxing into his body and resting her head on his shoulder.

When they arrive at the station, Paul finds himself praying for a break. He figured he'd been really fucking patient and he deserves to reach the promised lands. Right the fuck now.

Luck is with him. When they enter the small, one story office building, the Chief's nowhere to be found. They're kindly informed by a portly deputy that they can wait in his office; he'd been called out on a residential alarm.

The minute the door shuts and they have a modicum of privacy, he has her pinned to the wall.

"Paul?" There's fear in her voice, but it's overridden by desire.


"What, what are you doing?"

He nuzzles her neck and starts to place soft kisses along the side of her throat. "I'm planning on making love to you."

"What?" she shrieks as quietly as she can manage.

"Hush, now. Don't you want to know what it feels like? To have me so deep inside you it's like we're one person? To be so connected to someone?"

Paul pulls back and holds back a triumphant grin when he sees the answer in her eyes.

"Yes," she whispers, attempting to hide her face against his chest.

He grips her chin and pulls her gaze back up to his. "Don't. Don't do that. There's nothing to be ashamed of. Sex is natural. Beautiful. I'm gonna make you feel so good."

A breathy "Please" leaves her lips as he begins walking her toward the battered sofa along the far wall, his movements so smooth it almost appears a choreographed dance. He lays her down gently and follows her with his entire body, stretching until they touch from head to toe.

She expects it to be hard; he can see it in her eyes, but he isn't the most loved dick on the Rez for nothing. It starts with just his fingertips, featherlight down the slopes of her cheeks, tracing the curve of her neck all the way down the satiny skin of her shoulders. So pale she glows, he watches as his dark, roughened hands draw her body in the air.

He could do this for hours; the way her skin flushes pink in the wake of his touch fascinates him. So he does it again, and again, and again. Eventually she can't take it anymore; her body lets him know, hips arching, a frustrated moan rising from her throat.

"Hush, little girl. Don't want Daddy to hear you."

Cheeks flooded with heat, the anxiety beats out the lust, just for a moment, and she tries to crawl out from under him, sliding an awkward few inches across the leather couch. His open mouth on her throat stops her.

"That's it," he breathes, working his way down the vee of her shirt with lips and teeth and tongue. "Oh, you like that."


For a second, he thinks he's imagining things. Is she busting through the rainbows and lollipops? He tweaks a taut nipple through her t-shirt. "That what you want?"

"Yes," she groans, tangling her small hands in his hair. "Please."

"No need to beg." He hauls her forward and tugs her shirt over her head before unsnapping her bra and tossing it on the Chief's mahogany desk, all in a series of easy movements.

A wave of shyness washes over her, but he isn't having that. "Let me see you." He tugs her hands away from her small breasts and feels his dick jerk. "Perfect, little girl. You're fucking perfect."


"Let me show you."

Paul skips the preliminaries this time around, enclosing her left breast in his mouth and pulling hard. Hearing the catch in her breathing, he does it again while dragging the flat of his tongue across the tip. He takes his time, working her breasts until she's pliant beneath him, body arching at each graze of his teeth and soft brush of his lips.

When he finally makes it to the snap on her jeans, he's so worked up, he thinks there's a good chance he'll come in his cutoffs like an untried virgin. Not Paul fucking Lahote. He peels down her pants and cotton underwear, decorated with tiny butterflies, and takes care of her first.

Sweeping the wetness up to circle her clit, he slides a thick finger inside her. Jesus, so tight. Her moans are getting louder and louder, so Paul leans forward and captures her mouth with his own, muffling her cries with a seductive imitation of what his fingers are doing.

All it takes is a second finger, slid in next to the first, and she's coming apart in his arms. Beautiful. "You're so fucking beautiful."

He can't wait anymore. Slipping off his shorts, he goes to position himself, and realizes the small size of the couch won't allow him the right angle, so he picks her right up, gripping her by the tight swells of her ass, and backs her up against the wall by the door.

She's boneless, allowing him to do with her what he wants.

And oh, how he wants.

Using his impressive upper body strength, he lines them up and begins to lower her. He moves only her body as he brings her down on his dick back and forth slow inch by slow inch until he bottoms out in her heat. Clenched so tight by virgin muscles that he struggles not to explode right here and now.

"Oh, God. Paul," Bella cries out, her hand reaching out to grab something and knocking over a metal filing cabinet with a resounding clang.

He doesn't give a shit. This is nirvana. Just the right angle and just the right pace has them both covered with sweat and so focused on one another that he almost misses the door creaking open right next to them.

Placing one hand over her mouth to hush her keening, he holds her up with nothing but a single hand and his rigid length, using one foot to slam the door back shut.

"Hey, everything okay?" a gruff voice calls out through the flimsy wood. "What the hell are you kids doing in there?"

A grunted "we're fine" and Paul tunes it out, spinning around so his broad back is against the door. For a second, just a second, she hesitates, her lack of knowledge causing her to pause and meet his eyes, but a soft jerk of her hips helps her figure it out.

She's riding him now, taking him, gripped tight between her thighs, hips spread wide. Her hands keep sliding off the damp slopes of his shoulders, so she wraps one around the back of his neck. A swivel of her hips, just slightly to the left has him calling her name and her nails dug deep into his russet skin.

"Yeah, baby. You work that shit."

"Um … " a hesitant voice comes through the door at Paul's back. "You know we can hear you right?"

"Fuck off."

He needs to move. To cover her body with his. So he does, spreading her out over the Chief's desk. There it is. He's leaning over her now, one tightly corded arm braced next to her head, the other clasping her grasping hand. Palm to palm.

There's a vague noise behind him. A click and a slam and a shaky "Don't go in there."

Paul ignores it all. He's so close. So fucking close and she's right there with him. Her walls are rippling in anticipation, squeezing him in the sweetest vice.

"That's it, little girl," he breathes, his voice low and husky. "Come fly with me."

They fall of the cliff together and he can't remember ever coming so hard. It's like, in the middle of the fucking, she climbed inside his chest and tore him apart.

"Ah, Bella."

Falling to his knees, for the first time he finds himself bowed down at a woman's feet. He thinks he finally sees exactly what has everyone so hard up for a word of affection from her.

When they finally make their way out of the Chief's office, they're met with a wall of stunned faces and the red face of Charlie Swan himself.

Paul's fucked. He can tell.

Sweet, innocent Bella sports wild hair and puffy lips. And, goddamn it, her shirt's on backwards and her panties are hanging out of his cutoff pockets.

But that fire he'd seen, churning beneath the surface of her fragile skin, makes a sudden appearance. She grabs his hand and tugs him forward, defiance written all over that once innocent, little face.

"Hello, Daddy."

They pass her bewildered father, locked together once again, and Paul realizes he's dug himself so deep that he's never coming out again. There's something about his little swan.