Entry for Taste of the Forbidden II contest

First Place Judges Pick, Second Place Public Vote Winner! Also voted Most Irresistible Edward and Best Dirty Talk. Thanks to the gals for running the contest :)

Huge thanks to TwilightMomofTwo for using her amazing beta skills and being gentle with me.

I know I said I wasn't writing fic anymore but I was getting to the point with my OF that I had about ten different chapter ones. Ugh. So here I am.


Disclaimer: Edward Cullen is a hypersexual. Hypersexual = Sex Addict. Add it up, folks. And I know jack shit about actually treating people with psychological conditions. I read Wikipedia though.

I should have known that this was wrong. Known that letting him near me broke every cardinal rule between patient and doctor. I should have said no. I shouldn't have let him shove all the items from my desk. I shouldn't have let his hands close around my waist and lift me up.

I shouldn't have wanted to feel him against me, intimately. I shouldn't have enjoyed the way his kiss overpowered my senses. I shouldn't have enjoyed the way he ripped at my shirt, the buttons made little muffled sounds as they hit the carpet. My hands shouldn't have been in his hair as he bit at my nipple through the lace of my bra. I shouldn't have been full of anticipation as he pulled my bra apart.

I shouldn't have. And as he raised the cotton of his shirt over his head, finally that tattoo that had been hinting for the past month is staring back at me. The words are there, written across his collarbone like a warning:

Mea maxima culpa.


I should be used to the smell of this place by now. The smell of cleaner trying desperately to cover the smell of urine, and human wastefulness. My heels click along the clean tiled flooring, the ominous echo of my shoes bouncing off the white walls and high ceilings.

I flashed my badge at the electronic lock, and heard the minute click as the doors released. Shuffling the file I held from one arm to the other, I pulled the heavy metal door open and entered. Here the smell was slightly different. The smell of urine was no longer present; instead it smelled of old wood, paper and glue, and the ghost of past perfumes and cologne permeated the air.

I stepped to the second door on the right, and opened my office. My gaze fell on the comforting neatness after such a messy day. Sitting down behind my desk, I placed the file on the mat I kept to protect the surface. Grabbing the mouse for my computer, I moved it slightly to wake up the screen before typing in my password. The sun was just starting to set, but I didn't bother turning on a light, hoping to finish my running notes before total darkness.

Opening the manilla cover of the file, I started to type up the notes I'd made from my earlier session with my patient.

Made progress with Jasper Whitlock today as he was able to discuss past traumas involving his childhood, namely at the hand of-

I looked up at the knock on my door. It was Carlisle, one of the senior doctors.

"Isa, if you've got a moment?"

I nodded, and straightened the glasses on my nose. "Of course, do you want to come in?" He nodded, and I indicated the chairs in the far corner of the room. I turned on one of the lamps, flooding the room with warm, soft light.

Dr. Carlisle Cullen was a handsome older man, his once-blonde hair now a brilliant silver. There was a kindness about his eyes that most people found instantly comforting, myself included.

Taking the other chair, I opened my mouth to ask him why he was here when he spoke.

"I have recently had a new patient admitted and would like to assign him to you."

My brows furrowed in confusion. "And you couldn't just leave the file in my box?"

Carlisle pursed his lips, deep in thought. "This one admitted himself."

"On what grounds?"

Carlisle looked me directly in the eye. "He says he's a sex addict."

I felt my eyes roll. "Is this another high roller who cheated on his wife and didn't sign a pre-nup?" Thanks to high-profile celebrity cases, there had been a recent influx of people who claimed sex addiction when it really was just bad decision making.

Carlisle shook his head. "No. I think this may be a genuine case of Hypersexuality."

"Not that I mind having him, but why specifically me?"

"Because you are one of the best we have at treating impulsive behaviors." Carlisle looked at me, his face serious, and I tried not to blush with pleasure at his praise.

"When did he admit?"

"This morning. He does not have much of a file; his name is Edward Cullen – no relation. The nurse on the ward has the basics and will give them to you."

My mind started working on how to treat my new patient. Sometimes treating impulsive behavior was like solving a Rubik's Cube. Carlisle nodded and stood up.

"I'll take my leave; I would like you to keep me updated on this one and how you treat him."

"I will. Thanks for the heads up, Doc."

Carlisle smiled and left my office, closing the door behind him. I sat back down behind my desk and finished typing up my notes. My mind was on my new patient, and part of me couldn't just leave this evening without seeing him. I cautioned myself, and as the sun set, I knew I would need to get home.


I entered the ward Friday morning, Edward Cullen's file in hand. The lingering smell of breakfast plates served and collected met my nose, and I remembered I had not had time to have my own breakfast this morning. I had shoved a granola bar in my bag, but had forgotten about it.

Edward Cullen's case had been distracting me since Carlisle had mentioned him last night. I was thinking of possible treatments and avenues through dinner, until my husband had called from the other end of the table.

"Paging Dr. Swan to the dinner table."

I looked up from my plate and smiled. "Sorry. I've been assigned a new patient, and I'm looking forward to treating him."

Seth smiled back at me from across the table as our twin boys watched us interact. "I can actually feel those wheels turning from here. Must be a good one if he's keeping you back from my lasagna."

I looked down, and saw that I still sat with my fork poised above my meal.

"If you don't eat your dinner, you won't get any ice cream, Mommy."

I laughed softly. "Well, I better get started then!"

Though married to my husband, I felt sometimes I was also married to my work full time. Carlisle had warned me before and had forced me out the door a few times in the past. Seth was a stay-at-home dad and looked after the boys, so I could continue with my work. The dynamics in our household were a modern approach; traditional gender roles were blurred as Seth sometimes played both mother and father to our boys. We had gone through a bad patch recently, but things seemed better, less tense.

I brought myself back to the present as I knocked gently on my treatment room, and opened the door. My patient had his back to me; he was standing by the window. He was tall, and his bronze hair was slightly messy, but not in an unattractive way. He was lean, but I could see a hint of defined muscle on his arms, his back. He wore the issued patient uniform of white cotton t-shirt and elasticated pants. They were not supposed to be attractive, but he had a way of making them seem tailored for him.

"Mr Cullen?"

He turned to face me, his square jaw ticked minutely, his green eyes doing a once over from my feet to my face and back again. I was used to male patients assessing me; he wasn't the first, he wouldn't be the last.

"Would you care to take a seat?" I nodded towards the chair, and he folded his tall frame into the leather chair; it creaked and moaned as he got comfortable. I laid his file on the table between us, and sat in the chair opposite him, crossing my legs. He watched the gesture, a heated look on his face.

"Mr. Cullen, my name is Dr. Isabella Swan, and I shall be treating you during your stay here at St. Jude's. Do you have any questions so far?"

He shook his head, his face tense, and folded his fingers together, cracking his knuckles. His fingers were long, and his hands were large. Through his white t-shirt, I could see the hint of black ink written across his collarbone.

"Very well. This is our first session together, and usually with a first session we draw up the contract between doctor and patient. It's not something we are going to actually write down and sign, but more a verbal agreement on what is expected from both of us during our working relationship. Does that make sense?"

He nodded, and I continued. "I expect us both to treat the other with respect, and to recognize that what is said in this room is confidential. The only times I would break that rule would be if you threaten to harm yourself or anyone else. I may make notes from time to time, and this is for my own benefit. My notes are kept in a locked room, and no one has access to them but me. I may share what is said in here with my senior, who supervises me. Again that is with strict confidentiality; I would never mention you by name. We will meet twice a week at ten AM on Mondays and Fridays. If I am unable to make it, I will give you as much notice as possible. It is very important that we stick to a schedule. Do you understand?"

He nodded again, and I smiled at him. "Great, I'm sorry for going on but that is necessary before we are able to continue. Now for your part of the contract. I need you to tell me what you wish to accomplish with our sessions."

He cleared his throat and straightened in his chair. "I want to stop."

"You want to stop what?"

"I want to stop needing to constantly...to stop wanting..." He seemed to be struggling with the words, and I waited patiently for him to finish. He looked at me, as if he wanted me to finish his sentence for him.

"You will need to be definitive here, and as honest as possible with me. I cannot help you if you are not honest. I am not here to judge you; I'm here to help you."

"I need sex." The word seemed to linger in the air, and I tried not to pay attention to the way the word sex formed on his perfect lips.

I blinked as I realized he had continued. "...All the time. It's gotten to the point where I don't even care about my own health. It affects everything in my life. I was nearly fired from my job last week when they caught me-caught me masturbating in the bathroom when I should have been at a board meeting."

He stopped, and I watched his Adams apple bob as he swallowed.

"So you want to stop altogether?"


"Let me pose this to you: If you were addicted to food, would you be able to stop eating in order to stop your addiction? Is that sustainable?"

"Well, no."

"Okay, so what I want to make sure what we have defined as your contract is a realistic expectation."

He thought for the moment, his eyes staring down at something on the carpet, and then the ankle of the leg that was crossed over the other.

"I want to be well. I'm just tired of living the way I'm living."

I smiled. "Good. That gives us something to focus on. Through our sessions, we will explore your current situation and behaviors, and how you relate to them."

For a moment he seemed to relax, and some of the tension left him. He exhaled, and as he looked at me, I could see hope in them.

"I think that is where we will stop today. I will see you again on Monday when we will begin our work together. Are you settled okay into the ward?"

"Yes, Doctor. The food could be a little better."

I smiled broader. "Yeah, it's no gourmet. I'm glad you're settled in okay. Please let the nurses know if you need anything."

"There is one thing. Are there gym facilities in here?"

"There are. I will see about getting you scheduled in."

"Thank you. As early as possible in the morning, if you don't mind. And late in the evening. I miss my run."

I nodded. "I don't see why we can't try and accommodate that for you. We keep a basic gym as an encouragement for patients with anxiety and depression."

I stood up, and Edward Cullen uncurled all 6 foot something of himself. He almost loomed over my petite frame. There was something so attractive about him, something I couldn't quite place. It was like an energy that seemed to crackle in the air around him, electrifying and magnetic, and it enveloped me as he shook the hand I offered. The contact was brief, but it set every nerve of mine on edge.

I needed him out of here, out of this space which suddenly seemed small and enclosed. I watched his nostrils flare and his eyes look at my lips before he let go of my hand. I crossed to the door, so fully aware of him at my back. I resisted the urge to look over my shoulder at him, from beneath my lashes. My heart thumped in my chest, and I watched him go through the door, his body in close proximity to mine.

I shut the door, and felt shame color my cheeks.


"I don't know if I can do this, Carlisle." I was in his office, on his couch and he was in the adjacent chair.

"Why not?"

"I-I think I might be attracted to him."

"And this would keep you from treating him?"

"I know that I can help him. I want to help him. He seems so tense, so wound up."

"And there you have it: why you are here in the first place. Your own personal desires are superseded by the role with which you have been entrusted. Do no harm, Isa."

I sighed, exhaling the tension I'd felt in my chest all day after my encounter with Edward Cullen.

Carlisle spoke, his eyes serious. "Why this all of the sudden?"

"I don't know. I think I need to have a long talk with Seth when I get home."

"Is everything all right at home?"

"Yes. Everything is perfect. Seth and I have never been stronger. And the boys are getting so bright. Charlie told me I couldn't have ice cream last night if I didn't finish my dinner."

Carlisle chuckled. "It's good to know you have someone looking out for you, Isa. Why do you need a long talk with Seth?"

"I think I just need more from him, but I'm not sure what, and I suspect he might need the same."


That night, as I lay in Seth's arms, tracing circles on his chest, I sighed.

I should be thinking about the loving and soft way Seth treated me. The beautiful way he worshiped my body.

But all I could think about was Edward Cullen's hands, with their prominent knuckles and long masculine fingers, and what they would feel like against my skin, touching me everywhere.

Carlisle was right, and this was just a natural human reaction. I could treat this man for his impulsive behaviors and then send him on his way.

And I could go back to the softness of my marriage. I rolled over as Seth started to snore and buried my face in the pillow, the feather down smooshing beneath the weight of my head.

I wished for firmer pillows as I fell asleep.


"Take me through an average day for you."

He inhaled and exhaled loudly through his nose, and his body tensed even further.

"I wake up, I jack off. I piss, wash my hands. Brush my teeth, then go for a long run. I come back and take a shower. I jack off in there. I dress, go to work, get about half an hour early, and jack off in the bathroom at work. I sit at my desk, attempt to work on the projects I've been assigned, and when I get bored, I look at porn. At lunch, I jack off again in the work's bathroom. I have gone for lunch and jacked off in the bathroom at the restaurant before. I leave work and about four times a week, maybe more, I trawl through bars, looking for someone to come home with me. I like sex, like the feeling of my dick inside pussy, pumping my hips, feeling connected. For the briefest moment I'm alive. Lately, I've been trying to hold off, keeping myself from bringing someone home. If I go for too long, the sex is really rough and aggressive, but they don't seem to mind. It's always consensual.

"If I don't bring someone home, I go for a run, and then come home and jack off in the shower. Then I go to bed. I have woken up in the middle of the night before just to get myself off. I can't seem to stop." His fingers kept running through his hair, bunching it before continuing over his scalp.

I could feel that tightness in my chest again, and the thump against my ribs before it throbbed below, between my legs. I reached up to straighten the glasses on my nose.

"What is the build up before the release for you?"

"Do you mean physically or mentally?"

"Whatever you define it as."

"I feel like I'm being wadded into a tiny ball, tighter and tighter and the only way to come undone is to jack off. Or have sex. And then, for a little bit, that goes away. But then it starts all over again. If I leave it too long, it gets worse and worse. It's painful in my chest, my head. I break out in a sweat, and my mind just goes from one thing to the next, like it can't settle on one thing. It's...overwhelming."

"What is a bad day like for you?"

"The worst days are the weekend. My run is longer, the jacking off almost gets painful. The sex is just...it's out of control. Before I admitted myself, I brought three girls home at once. I fucked them. All three of them. One at a time while the other two watched or pleasured themselves. We fell asleep together in my bed, and I felt so pleasantly numb. Then we woke up about three AM and did it all over again."

I could feel the wet between my legs. I realized I was pressing my legs together, squeezing. I tried to relax myself but knew if I shifted, he would know. He would know, and I wouldn't be able to treat him.

I was superior and in control of the situation. "What would happen if you didn't give in?"

"I tried that once. I tried not to – do - what I was doing. It was painful. I lasted six hours from waking up in the morning, going for a run, and then at work. I went home early and fell to pieces."

He was vulnerable but strong, his deep voice confessing what was inside him. He slowly composed himself, and eventually his fingers left his hair. This time I shifted in the chair and re-crossed my legs.

"I'm going to treat you through a multifaceted approach: we will start with a prescription for some anti-depressants which will dull your libido while we attempt to identify what is causing the build up."

"Pills? I don't know if I want to take pills. I'm not crazy."

"I'm not saying you are, and people who take pills aren't crazy. Studies have shown that successfully treated individuals benefited from an initial regiment of anti-depressants coupled with cognitive behavioral therapy."

He nodded his assent, but I could tell he was ready to balk at any moment. Waves of suppressed energy radiated off of him. His muscles were tense, his leg bounced continuously and I watched as he clenched and unclenched his fist, his jaw ticking at the same time.

"Have you been sleeping?"

The bouncing leg paused as he regarded me. "Not really."

"I can also prescribe a sedative if you wish. Have you been abstaining from-"

"Yes," he hissed, and his knee started bouncing again.

"I think the sedative might be a good idea. I'll write it out for you but I'll tell the nurse it's optional. You must try to sleep. There is a group therapy this week for those with anxiety and stress. It's attended by out-patients, but admitted patients are allowed to go, so long as their doctor has signed them off. I'll put that in for you; it may be good to consider it. I believe they're working on relaxation techniques this week."

His tongue darted out to lick his lips, and I tried not to think about that tongue, those lips.

"I'm afraid."

"Afraid of what?"

"I'm afraid to be around other people. I'm not ready for that yet. I don't know if I'll be able to control myself."

"You're around me just fine."

He smirked, and there was a dangerous look in his eyes. "Cause I'm not trying."

"Trying? What do you mean by trying?"

"I'm not trying to fuck you."

Warning bells went off in my head as that word left those lips, and I ignored them. Ignored the other instinct to pounce on him. I sat there, like a deer caught in headlights waiting for him to make the next move.

We were interrupted by the phone ringing, and I took a shuddering breath in, straightened my glasses.

"I think that's enough for today. I will see you on Friday, Edward."

"See ya, Bella."

I looked up as he excused himself, hearing that nickname. No one had called me Bella for a very long time.

"Isa? Hello? Are you there?" It was Seth.

"Hi, yeah, I'm here. I was just finishing a session. Is everything okay?"

"Can you bring milk in on your way home?"

"Oh. Yeah, yeah I can."

"Is something wrong; you seem really distant."

I pulled off my glasses, and put a hand to my forehead before rubbing it down my cheek.

"Um yeah. Just a new patient I'm treating, and he's left me a bit dazed."

"Oh well, maybe you should speak with Dr. Cullen. It's not liked you to be dazed by a patient. You're always Doctor Control."

"Yeah, this one is different."


I sat in my office, a pen between my teeth as I stared off into space. Seth's words echoed in my brain over and over: Doctor Control. And the answering echo was Edward's voice I'm not trying to fuck you.

I'd had patients come onto me before and was always able to remain professionally distant and deflect it back to them. But for some reason that barrier between Edward and me was far too thin.

I blamed myself and my inability to maintain that boundary, and if I wasn't careful, I would do more harm than good.

Do no harm.

I closed my eyes and inhaled, trying to clear my mind. I would treat this man, and he would be better for having been treated by me. Dr. Cullen trusted me to treat him for his impulsive behaviors, and I would.


She walked into the room, and he was there, behind her all of the sudden. The fear was only for being taken by surprise. His strong arms wrapped around her, and her heart kicked into overdrive as he pulled her against his body. The very evidence of his arousal pressed against her backside, and she was glad she hadn't worn panties under her skirt for their session today.

His hands, with those nimble fingers, unbuttoned her blouse, and she could feel her breath quicken with anticipation as her skin flushed. Her blood was hot and thick in her veins. Pulling the blouse from her body, she bit her lip as he squeezed her breasts. One of his hands delved below her skirt.

She licked her lips as he touched her sex, and his deep voice was in her ear, travelling over her in hot waves.

"Bella, you dirty bitch. I can't believe you're not wearing panties."

I was startled awake by a small hand on my arm.

"Mommy, I had a bad dream."

My heart was pumping a million miles a minute. Seth snored quietly next to me, and between my legs, I could feel the wet of arousal.

"Give me a momen,t and we'll get you a drink of water, okay, honey?"

I could see the small nod of his head and blinked my eyes awake as he raised a small fist to his eye to rub it in tiredness.

"C'mon, let's get a drink of water. Nothing can hurt you. Mommy and Daddy are right here, and your brother is in the room with you."


Over the next few weeks, the back and forth between Edward and me wound me tighter and tighter. I did my best to separate myself from his treatment. We discussed his stressors; what triggered his need for sex, for release.

He told me about his relationship with his parents, his childhood, his strict Catholic mother, and his father who had retired from the military just recently.

Edward confirmed he'd only had one serious relationship, but she had cheated on him with his best friend, and he hadn't trusted being in a relationship since. He had recovered from the break up by proving he could sleep with as many women as possible. We pinpointed that along with his strict childhood and the way he dealt with the break up that it was too much release coupled with. too much stress at once. Sex had become as addictive as any drug or alcohol.

But for all the progress, there were instances where he would knowingly draw me in. He knew my tells, somehow he knew, and though I wished I could dislike him, I could not.

He would do little things, like one afternoon where we discussed relationships, from friendships to romantic ones, and how to relax his need to turn them all physical.

When I held the door open for him, he had that look in his eyes that made my heart beat faster. I could hear his voice again, as if he repeated it for my benefit.

I'm not trying to fuck you.

And as he brushed past me, he innocently touched my breast with his arm. If we had been on a crowded street, I wouldn't have taken much notice. I would have probably thrown a dirty look over my shoulder and continued on.

But this wasn't a crowded street. It was a sultry afternoon that begged for rain. The ceiling fan struggled to keep the room from being too warm. I could feel my blouse sticking to my skin, and as his arm touched my sensitive skin, it was too much. My nipples automatically reacted, and our eyes met as he did it. He knew exactly what he was doing.

I should have told him to apologize. I should have told him that if he touched me again, I would have to have him assigned to one of my colleagues. I should have reminded him that we are doctor and patient, and I had a professional distance to maintain.

I should have done a lot of things. But I didn't.

That had been our Monday appointment. On Friday, I was ready to do battle. I was angry at him, but more so myself for allowing things to go this far. I was treating other patients with success; why couldn't I just relinquish him back to Dr. Cullen?

This was his last chance.

And mine. Seth had noticed my distance lately. It had caused a lot of discussions. We never fought. It was something I had prided myself on. Our house was peaceful, and our boys benefited from the happy medium that existed in our home.

But I was growing more and more restless from the discussions with Seth. I was tired of seeing that wounded look on his face when I said I had a headache or just didn't feel like sex.

I was aware enough to know that this was unhealthy behavior. I told myself that I would finish treating Edward Cullen, and my quiet productive life would go back to normal.

I glanced out the window; the air was still heavy, waiting for the rain to come. The sun pushed itself higher into the morning sky. I stood and flicked the switch for the fan, knowing it was futile to expect relief from such a flimsy piece of equipment.

There was a knock at the door, and I opened it to Edward, his presence having an effect on me already. I took a step backwards, giving him a wide berth as he walked into the room. I thought I saw him smirk, but it was gone before I could believe it was really there.

He sat down in the chair he always sat in, and I took my place in the other chair. There was an odd tension between us, not just from him, and I knew I would need to address it sooner rather than later.

Crossing my legs, I pushed my glasses up my nose and began.

"Today we will be discussing relapse, and how to deal with avoiding one or working through a relapse. It is important for you to have the mental tools once you are discharged to be able to function through your daily life."

He smirked at me, and this time I definitely saw it.

"Did I say something funny, Edward?" My tone was slightly peevish, and I blamed the heat.

"Just the thought of relapse."

"Have you had any episodes since Monday that you wish to discuss?"

His square jaw ticked, and he shook his head. "No. But I really wanted to." For the first time in weeks, I watched him tense, and he clenched his fist.

"Really wanted to what?"

"I really wanted to jack off. I try to stick to a schedule, like you said. A routine that wasn't dependent on getting myself off. And I have. But it's been really...hard this week."


His eyes flicked away from mine and focused on my ankle. "I can't tell you."

I sat up a little straighter. "Edward, may I remind you that in order for me to help you, you must be completely honest with me."

His eyes met mine, and they were almost burning. They raked over my body before coming back to my face, meeting my eyes.

"I keep thinking about..." His knee started bouncing.

"What are you thinking about, Edward?"

"Dr. Swan, I want to squeeze those perfect tits of yours while I fuck your brains out from behind. I think about ripping off that expensive suit of yours and taking you on that old wooden desk in the corner. I think about making you scream as you orgasm around my dick. I fucking want it so bad, and I know you do too."

I didn't realize my mouth was hanging open until I went to speak. But I didn't know what to say.

There was a long pause until my voice, croaky and shaky came out. "You're wrong."

That look, that look that made me feel like I was something to be hunted down, was in his eyes again.

"Am I, Bella?"

"Yes. I need you to leave and return to your room. What you've suggested is entirely inappropriate and will never happen. My name is Dr. Swan, and you will address me as such."

Somehow I stood on shaky legs, and felt a trickle of sweat run between my breasts.

He stood as well, his hospital issue pants unable to conceal the very real arousal he felt.

"Tell me you don't want this, Dr. Isabella Swan. Tell me you don't think about it after you leave here and probably sit in some stuffy office with the door locked and your hand between your legs. Do you think about me when you touch yourself?"

I licked my lips. "I need you to leave before I-."

He sneered at me and took a step closer. "Before you what? Before you call security? Before you cream your panties? Before you-"

"Shut up, Edward."

He was standing in front of me now, only a small amount of space between us. Those strong hands of his wrapped around my arms tightly.

"Let go, Dr. Swan. Let go. Let us both have this."

I shook my head, and opened my mouth to call for security but the cry died in my throat as his lips crashed into mine. Our mouths mashed together, teeth crashing against each other. It was violent, and I briefly heard the loud clap of thunder from somewhere outside.

I should have known that this was wrong. Known that letting him near me broke every cardinal rule between patient and doctor. I should have said no. I shouldn't have let him shove all the items from my desk. I shouldn't have let his hands close around my waist and lift me up.

I shouldn't have wanted to feel him against me, intimately. I shouldn't have enjoyed the way his kiss overpowered my senses. I shouldn't have enjoyed the way he ripped at my shirt, the buttons made little muffled sounds as they hit the carpet. My hands shouldn't have been in his hair as he bit at my nipple through the lace of my bra. I shouldn't have been full of anticipation as he pulled my bra apart.

I shouldn't have. And as he raised the cotton of his shirt over his head, finally that tattoo that had been hinting for the past month is staring back at me. The words are there, written across his collarbone like a warning:

Mea maxima culpa.

But I don't care. I don't think as his lips are on my throat, his hands on my body. Another clap of thunder echoed outside and I tried to stifle the moan that crawled up my throat and and it came out as a whimper.

His hot breath was in my ear. "Fuck, I've wanted this since that first day. Tell me you've wanted it too."

And still I can't voice it. Even half naked on a desk, with my legs spread and my lips bruised from his kiss I can't let the words exist outside of my mind.

He bit my earlobe and pressed his arousal against me, against my sex still covered by my very damp panties. I make another desperate noise at the back of my throat.

"Say it, Dr. Swan. Say it."

He thrust forward again, his breath exhaled in my ear and I make another strangled sound, not ready to relinquish control of everything. He rears up, his hands on my underwear, and he pulls at it. I lift up so he can pull them off, and the feel of the material sliding against my skin is frustrating.

Then I can feel him, and this time it's just the tip inside me.

"Fuck, just say it, Bella. For both of us. Give in."

And because I couldn't take anymore, I surrendered.


Those hands braced on either side of my hips and he thrust forward, deep inside and I couldn't help the soft sound that escaped my throat as I felt him inside. He started pumping those hips forward, and over and over, I read those words as our skin slapped together.

Mea maxima culpa.

Mea maxima culpa.

Mea maxima culpa.

I could feel myself getting close, could feel the overwhelming urge to release, and it was so good to finally let go. I reached between our bodies and found the tiny nub that needed more friction.

His deep voice urged me forward as the desk creaked and the storm raged on outside.

"That's right. I want to feel you come around me."

And I was, my body jerking as he slowed down, and I felt an overwhelming shudder run through me, like a wave crashing over me, overpowering and deliciously pulling me under. I wanted to scream but knew I couldn't. He pulled out, still hard, and urged me to turn over.

I obeyed because it was what I wanted, and it felt good to let someone else be in control for once.

Edward's hands were on my breasts, kneading them, my nipples so sensitive that I nearly did cry out when he pinched them. I looked over my shoulder at him from beneath my lashes, and one of his hands reached up to smooth my hair back from my face.

I felt him at my opening, and he watched my face as he thrust inside. Watched as my mouth fell open, watched as my eyes must have looked so wild as he began a steady rhythm. As he went faster, I turned away from him, and those large hands squeezed my breasts as he pistoned his hips over and over. It was violent and rough, and everything I wanted. The sound of skin slapping against skin was thoroughly erotic; the smell of our sex mingled with the smell of that first summer storm outside.

"Oh fuck, Bella. Tell me you love fucking me. Tell me."

I don't even know what I responded, I only knew he went faster at whatever I said. And I could feel that wonderful coiling as he brought me to the edge again. I wanted it so bad, like I was running to a finish line, every part of me focused on the feel of him inside as he went faster, harder, deeper. I pushed back against him; his hands squeezed harder on my breasts until my entire body seized up, and I met him, thrust for thrust. He pulled out and his hands left my breasts as I collapsed forward on the desk. He worked behind me, and grunted as I felt the warmth of his cum on my backside.

As I floated back down, all I could see behind my eyes was that tattoo.

Mea maxima culpa.

He pulled his clothes back on first, then slapped my ass.

I heard his voice right before he opened the door.

"See you Monday, Doc."

Thank you for reading.