Title: Reverie

Penname: gabby1017

Rating: M

Fandom: Twilight

Pairing: Edward and Bella

Warnings/Disclaimer: Rough language, physical violence, and sexual content. All character are the property of Stephenie Meyer. No copyright infringements. Characters are on burrow. Storyline is mine.

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By Shawna Elizabeth

Summary: This is a Taste of Reverie. Edward Cullen is the Boss. He doesn't allow anyone to do his dirty work. Go against him and he retaliates on his own. Well, maybe a little help … just ask his wife.

My name is Edward Anthony Mason Cullen. I'm third generation Don of the world's largest organized, crime syndicate. No one touches me or my own. My family ... I rule. This is my Mantra. I recite it every morning and every night.

I'm a master of disguise, an actor of deception, and the supreme, silent assassin. My outward appearance is never the same, my voice is never repeatable and I change my weapons, after every hit. No path leads to me. No one can touch me. Well, no one other than my wife, Isabella. She matches my talents in every way.

Isabella is my muse and my inspiration. Before any job, or any decision, she plays me like an instrument, plucking my strings or pounding my keys. We take our music to high crescendo and bask in our afterglow of low decrescendo.

This early morning, before the sun rises, I awake with her legs entwined between mine. Her breath is smooth and rhythmic, her hands are in my hair massaging my scalp, and her feminine, heat radiates my molten core. Her devilish smile and playful tug of my unruly locks tells me she is ready.

My Isabella untwines herself from me, leaves the bed, and stands across the room with her arms up over her head leaning on the stark, white wall, legs apart and very still.

Our bedroom is white on white. I like a clean environment. Since I change my appearance every time I leave my home, I desire a constant simplicity to surround me in my privacy.

Isabella's creamy, white skin is my addiction. I gaze at her in her nakedness; her beautiful brown hair all messy in a knot on her head, her delicious, pale skin, her long, slim legs and voluptuous curves of her ass.

I stand behind her, running my hands down her fingers to her arms, down her body and caressing those full cheeks. Her natural smell ignites every nerve ending of my body, as she moves with my hands.

She stills and allows me to pepper tiny kisses over her shoulders, as I massage between her folds. Her breathing quickens with a tiny whimper. Ah, she wants more.

Slowly, I move myself closer to her, body to body. She feels my hardness against her back. Still not a word. She knows her place. She knows to wait.

Grabbing my shaft, I taunt her with slow movements in and out through her wetness. I do not enter her. I only drag myself back and forth. I place one hand over her flat stomach, as the other controls my erection.

I back away, giving us a little room between us, as I slap the head of my cock on each of her rounded cheeks. The sensation of quick jolts of skin on skin tightens me further. We both hum in pleasure from the sting and I massage her redness.

Slowly, I dip my head into her wanting sex. My movement ceases, as I fill her completely. She flattens her body against the wall, as I withdrawn and ram into her with all of my might. We both gasp and I proceed with deep, quick thrusts. Her cheek flattens up against the wall, as she pants with each lunge of my cock.

I whisper into her ear, "Don't cum, Isabella, until I tell you."

She stiffens and nods her head in agreement, as I continue to push into her with a regular rhythm.

The fire builds, I feel my release start to rise and tell her to follow my lead and 'cum with me, Baby'. I drop my hand from her stomach to her clit and roll my fingers over her sensitive, fleshy trigger. We move together in a rapid dance, until our music peaks and I fill her three, full times with lyrical pleasure.

Isabella rests the back of her head on my heaving chest and I massage her hardened nipples with slow, gentle waves of my fingertips. She coos and sucks in air through bowed lips. She turns slowly, as my cock slides from her and drops to my thighs. She shoves me towards the bed and growls, "My turn!" There are flames in her eyes.

Losing control, I stumble backward hitting the bed and falling on the mattress. Isabella climbs over and straddles me. With her Marilyn Monroe impersonation, she breathlessly moans, "Just lie there like a good boy, Mr. Boss Man."

She pulls her hair free from the tie and her long, mahogany waves fall past her shoulders, cascading down her back.

The vibration in my throat echoes around me. Her eyes meet mine and she proceeds to sink down my body, leaving a trail of wet flicks from her tongue. I watch her blow into my navel with puffs of air, trailing down my hips to my pubic line. She fingers through my dark curls to my growing length. My cock throbs with every stroke, every twists on her palms.

I growl, "Do it!"

We continue to stare into our eyes. She flattens her tongue at the base of my cock and slowly drags her tongue to my sensitive head to suck hard over my opening.

Gripping my hands through her hair, wrapping it around my wrist, and cupping her head down, I push her to deep throat every inch and glide through her accepting mouth.

Tension builds. Isabella strokes my shaft and sucks hard. I pump faster, lifting my ass from the bed, until I shatter in many, little pieces. Slowly, I lay back down in silence, as I hear my love swallow every drop.

She rests her head on my chest. We take in our every breath. Isabella clears her throat and looks up at me. "When will we be leaving?"

I smile at her and stroke her jaw to her cheek. "Soon. You made me more than ready."

By nine am, I get into a rental Caddy as a 53-year old man, salt and pepper hair to my shoulders, mustache and brown contacts. I wear a three-piece, dark navy with gray pinstripe, Giorgio Armani suit that fits me like a glove. The shoes are Armani Derby in Brushed Calfskin, a matching blue.

Isabella arranges for all of my cars and their pick up. She plans my clothes and disguises for an entire year. Each daywear hangs in my closet with all accessories from wigs, makeup and jewelry. She is quite proficient in her duties. I would not be what I am, if it wasn't for her.

She accompanies me, today. She, too, is in disguise with a long red wig, larger breasts and green contacts. Her black-knit, Donna Karan dress hugs every curve and hems at her mid-thigh. And her black, leather Jimmy Choo stilettos let her legs go on forever. She makes me want to go back inside and forget about … business.

Isabella arranges all meetings to clockwork. Today, we meet at one of the 'family' warehouses. We always arrive a few hours ahead, strategizing our security with my brothers; Emmett and Jasper with our first cousins, Garrett and Jared. Always in that order with me the first.

We enter through the side door and walk to my office. No sooner do I sit in my high back, leather chair, I meet with the sound of Emmett's voice.

He and Jasper enter the office, while Garrett and Jared drag a huge tarp and place it over the floor in front of my desk.

"Edward, I haven't seen you in three days and you look old enough to be our father," he chuckles.

I join in his laughter, as Isabella sits on my lap. Garrett and Jared stand by the door, chuckling. Jasper looks pensive and watches on.

Emmett roars in displeasure, "The fuck you are doing, Edward. Bella's going to kill you."

With Marilyn still in full-bloom, Isabella taunts Emmett with pursing her lips, "Ooooo, Emmett, you don't like my new look?" She grabs her breasts in each hand and squeezes them together. "I kind of like them."

I boldly laugh, as Emmett's mouth drops to his chin.

"Wow, Bella, I didn't recognize you." He shakes his head.

"The point exactly," Bella hums. "If I can fool you, I can fool anyone."

Jasper adds, "But we are a tight team. You really don't need the disguises. No one will get past us."

I interject, "It's not an issue of not trusting you, Jazz. It's about mistakes that can happen." I rub Isabella's back. "Nothing and no one are perfect. I don't leave any stone unturned. I can't risk the chance. When I step down, I want to go about my everyday life without worrying who's going to try to pop me next. Leaves us all free to come and go without interruptions."

There's a slight knock at the door and Jared opens it to find three, diminutive men in untidy, cheap, business suits with bruised faces. In my thoughts, I see Curly, Larry and Moe. I bow my head into Isabella's shoulder and snort.

She quietly questions, "What?"

I whisper into her hair, "I'm waiting for Moe to hit Curly."

She giggles.

I straighten up and lean forward. Isabella climbs off and stands to one side. I crack my knuckles and slowly look up at them, lowering my voice, "Explain."

The middle brother comes forward onto the tarp, while the other two cower behind. "We were ambushed."

"No excuse," I drone.

The brother on the right pleads, "We didn't know. They came at us." His arm point to his face and brothers, as his voice rises in tone, "Look at our faces. We are bruised all over. We didn't easily give them the money."

I add, "And don't forget the fucking drugs. They got my money and my drugs!"

The last brother speaks up, "But we fought back." He bows his head. "We were out-numbered."

Again, I add, "The odds were the same. Three teenage boys."

"They were stronger," the first brother shakily cries.

His whimpering gets under my skin. "Yes, three snot-nose, pimply teenagers beat the fucking shit out of the three of you. Neither of them had a scratch. That would tell me your fighting back was nil to none. Not to mention they fucking outsmart you, as well."

With heads down, they say nothing and my blood boils.

I smack my palm on the desk. Everyone jumps. "This is not chump change, Huey, Duey and Louie! I don't pay you to lose my fucking money and fucking my merchandize!"

I walk around the desk and stand before the three stooges with my arms across my chest. All three fall to their knees. "And do you have any idea who has possession of my money?" They all shake their heads. "The competition, you fucking idiots! I gave you a chance, last summer. You fumbled a job back then. Instead of killing you, I put you back out there."

"But we haven't messed up," the middle one moans with eyes down.

"But you messed up, now, fucking big time. I don't fucking tolerate second chances," I shout.

"We'll get the money back, Mr. Cullen. Give us a chance to make things right." The middle brother pleads.

I say nothing, smooth my jacket down and walk back behind my desk.

"I don't give fucking, second chances."

I reach into my jacket, pull out my Glock and fire. The middle brother falls over onto his back with a bullet between his eyes.

Both brothers grab onto him and cry. "You shot him. He's dead."

Two shots go off and the other two lay upon their brother in a pool of blood upon the tarp. I nod at Garrett and Jared.

Isabella looks at me with surprise, as she returns her gun to her hip holster.

"What? They annoyed me."

I nod with a smirk. Every bit my equal.

Jared and Garrett drag the bodies out on the tarp. Not a word of complaint. They do their job.

Jasper begins to rant, "Why does this always come down to this? Edward, for Christ Sake." He turns toward Isabella. "And you? I expected more out of you, Bella?"

"They were fucking expendable, Jazz," I roar. "As I said before, there is no room for error. We have to keep a neat ship. I don't need anyone rocking my fucking boat."

"But you are drawing attention. These men had families. Someone's going to want retaliation," he argues.

I say slowly, "The trail never comes here, Jazz."

He leans over my desk and gets into my face. "People knew they were coming to see you."

"And?" He looks at me blankly. "Jazz, you're my brother and you haven't seen my face in years. My home is secluded. What are they going to do?"

"Maybe put a hit on someone you love?" He screams.

"And I have you and Emmett that are fucking foolproof in security, you tell me!" I scream back.


"Look, this meeting is over and I want to go home and fuck my wife." I grab Isabella around the waist. "I suggest you go home and do the same." I start to fade out. My voice wavers. I hear a groan.

"Yeah, fuck my wife." I reach out, as the warehouse office fades. The room is dark with slight ray of light peeking out from the shade. "Yeah, hmm, fuck my wife."

A soft murmur, "Edward, wake up, Honey." A tug to my arm.

A moan escapes my lips, "Fuck, my wife."

"Edward, please, stop grabbing at me." A slap to my cheek.

I sit up in bed and look around rather dazed. "What?" I moan, "Fuck my wife."

"Ah, Edward, you did that two hours ago." She smiles.

"Bella?" I try to focus.

She giggles, "Were you having one of your Mafia dreams again, Baby?"

I rub my eyes and snort. "Man, it was so real, Bella. I could feel the gun, smell the saltpeter and the blood."

"As you always do … " she trails off. "Let's go back to sleep."

I spoon her back and whisper into her ear, "Say it."

She turns to grab my face, nuzzles close, and says, ala Marilyn, "Just lie there like a good boy, Mr. Boss Man."