Disclaimer: I don't own Twilight. It belongs to Stephenie Meyer.

It's late at night and I have to get up early in the morning, so I'll keep this short and sweet:

Mauigirl60 is amazing and I can't wait to meet her in person this summer before I attend the TwiFic Meetup in Nashville. :)

Dear readers, you are fantastic. Your support overwhelms me with gratitude. This chapter is super long. Please enjoy!


I'm not sure what I'd expected when Mr. Masen said he'd order us dinner, maybe pizza or Chinese food, which is what Seth and I usually get at home. It turns out that Mr. Masen's idea of take-out is something very different. After setting the table for one and lighting tapers, I join him in the kitchen; he tells me to put the food in serving bowls before he heads into the dining room, bringing our wine and glasses with him. I open the Styrofoam boxes to find what has to be a dinner from a fancy restaurant: an orange creamy-looking soup for starters, followed by a rice dish with mushrooms, sautéed vegetables, some kind of meat with puff pastry around it and a dark red sauce. I have no idea what any of this stuff is called, but the smell is absolutely mouthwatering. Carefully transferring the soup to a bowl, I grab a ladle, soup plate and spoon, and carry them to Mr. Masen, who's already seated at the head of the table and smiling at me. I notice he's drawn the curtains and put on music, creating a cozy setting in the large room. The gift I brought him is sitting next to him on the table.

"May I serve you, Sir?" I ask.

"You may."

After placing the plate in front of him, I'm surprised that he doesn't eat; instead, he pulls me onto his lap, making sure I'm situated comfortably before offering me the first taste. I close my eyes, savoring the flavor—it's delicious and warm.

"Mmm," I hum.

"I love watching you eat," he tells me, smiling as I open my eyes.

"I love eating, so you're in luck, Sir."

He grins at me, taking a spoonful for himself.

"It is good," he agrees.

"I didn't know upscale restaurants deliver," I say, accepting the spoon again.

"They don't, usually," he says, "but I'm a very good customer."

"You go there a lot?"

"All the time. I can't cook and a man's gotta eat. It's a very nice place."

I nod my head.

"Maybe I'll take you there sometime," he says, lifting my wine glass to my lips.

He'll do what now?

Wide-eyed, I drink the bubbly wine, staring at him.

"You want to take me out . . . in public?"

"Why not?"

"Well, you're you and I'm . . . me. I won't fit in over there, in such a fancy place. I'd embarrass you!"

He shakes his head disapprovingly.

"What you are, Isabella, is a smart, beautiful young woman. Yes, you're not used to the finer things in life, obviously, but I don't see how you'd ever embarrass me. In fact, I'd be the envy of most men if I were to have you at my side."

"Thank you, Sir," I whisper. "Aren't you worried what people might think, though? About us, I mean."

"Well, I assume they'd think you were my lover, which is true," he says, shrugging as he eats some more soup.

Lover? Wow, that's just . . . wow.

My stupid heart flutters in my chest. I'm his lover? That sounds a lot better than what I've been calling myself in my head since entering into this arrangement. Does he really think so highly of me? And why can't I do the same thing? I don't think any less of Mr. Masen for paying me, so shouldn't I give myself a break?

"You are my lover, aren't you, sweet girl?" he asks, reaching up to caress my cheek.

"I'm whatever you want me to be," I whisper, leaning in until our noses are touching. "I'm here for you, Mr. Masen, to worship you."

His lips mold themselves to mine as he kisses me slowly, tightening his arms around me. When I moan, I feel him smiling, before pulling away.

"Are you ready for the main course?" he asks, running his hand up my naked thigh.

I'm not sure if his double entendre is intentional or not.

"Whatever you'd like, Sir," I say.

He grins in response, lifts me off his lap, and tells me to heat up the entrée. I carry the dirty dishes out with me and quickly warm up the rest of the food, before carrying it to the table along with clean silverware and a new plate. I have to make take two trips and, again, Mr. Masen doesn't offer to help. Instead, he watches with a look of satisfaction on his handsome face.

We eat in relative silence, but it's not uncomfortable. The food is amazing and I can see that Mr. Masen really does love watching me eat, because I definitely get the biggest share of the portion.

"I can't wait for dessert," he tells me afterward in the kitchen while I'm frosting the cake.

"I'm not sure it'll do the rest of the menu justice," I tell him honestly.

He bought us what has to be a gourmet meal and I've made him a simple chocolate cake.

"You made it for me," he says, embracing me from behind, "to please me."

"Yes," I admit.

"Then it'll be perfect," he whispers, placing soft kisses on the side of my neck. "You may serve coffee in the living room when you're done. Bring a cup and plate for yourself."

"Yes, Sir."

"Good girl," he tells me before he leaves.

Thankfully, Mr. Masen's coffee maker is pretty standard and I'm able to brew a pot without difficulty. I put everything on a tray and walk slowly out of the kitchen, realizing I have no idea where the living room is located.

"Mr. Masen?" I call out. "Where are you?"


Is he for real?

I can't help but grin as I follow the sound down the hall. He's just such a weirdo. I never know what to expect from him, but I realize that's actually one of the things I like about him. None of his many personalities are unpleasant. I quite like all of them.

"Polo," I say softly, entering the living room.

"Very good," he says, motioning for me to place the tray on the coffee table.

This room is just as beautiful as the rest of the house, furnished impeccably to fit Mr. Masen's masculine taste with dark wood and a large comfy-looking couch. There's a huge flat-screen TV mounted on the wall, throw carpets on the hardwood floors and, next to the present he's brought with him, a few newspapers and magazines on the table. Finally, a room that actually looks somewhat lived in.

"Join me," he says, sitting down on the couch.

"I need one more thing," I say.

He nods once, and I hurry into the dining room, bringing one of the lit tapers with me.

"You didn't have any birthday candles," I tell him, as I join him on the couch. "But, you know—"

I clear my throat.

"Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday, dear Si-ir," I sing, drawing out the word.

He laughs in response, eyes lit up as he looks at me.

"Happy birthday to you," I finish, holding the candle out to him. "You wanna make a wish?"

"I don't believe in them," he says seriously. "I make my own fortunes."


I don't know what to say to that.

"You make one," he says, "on my behalf."

"Um, okay."

I wish . . . I wish Mr. Masen will find happiness.

Blowing out the candle, I send it wherever wishes go, hoping it'll come true. There's definitely sadness within the man next to me, but I don't know what caused it. I think he might be all alone in the world, but of course I can't be sure.

"Thank you, Isabella," he says, taking the candle from my hand. "Already, this has been the best birthday I've had in years."

And there's the sadness.

"Do you have family, Sir?" I whisper.

"I'd rather not talk about it," he responds, looking straight at me.

I nod my head immediately. He respected my need for privacy earlier when I mentioned my mom and I won't push him for information now. Instead, I cut the cake, serving him a big piece along with a cup of coffee. He digs right in, humming in approval.

"Wonderful," he says. "Have some for yourself."

We eat in silence and I notice his eyes drifting to the gift-wrapped item more than a few times. Might as well get it over with.

"You . . . can open it, if you'd like," I say, pushing it closer to him.

"I think I will," he says calmly.

I can see this spark of excitement in his eyes, though, which he can't hide.

"Just . . . it's really nothing much," I warn him, wringing my hands. "If I'd known it was your birthday, I would've gotten something bet—"

He holds up his hand and I stop talking. Almost like a child would, he holds up the square box and shakes it to guess what's inside. Of course, it doesn't make a sound, so he proceeds to unwrap it while I hold my breath. I don't know why I want him to like it so much. I just know I do.

"Oh," he exhales, pushing the wrapping paper away. He runs the tips of his fingers across the front.

"This is really something, Isabella . . . thank you."

"You're welcome. I didn't know if you already had them?"

"No. I did, once, but I never got around to replacing them. I can't believe you bought this for me."

"You said they were your favorites. It's not a big deal."

"It is to me," he says, smiling faintly.

He looks at the box set again.

"The fourth movie is on here," he says. "I never found the time to watch it."

"Yes. It's all of them, I think."

"You haven't seen them, either?"

I shake my head.

"I think I saw some of the older ones when I was a kid, but definitely not the newest one."

"Well, in that case," he says, smiling widely. "I would like you to join me for a movie, Isabella."

"I'd like that, Sir," I tell him, honestly. "May I use the bathroom first?"

He shoots me a wicked grin.

"What would you do if I said no?"

"I'd hold it, Sir."

He gazes at me for a moment.

"Yes, you would," he concludes.

I nod my head, maintaining eye contact.

"Of course you may use the bathroom," he says, smiling. "You don't have to ask again."

Well, that's a relief.

After a quick bathroom break, I'm back on the couch, watching the opening credits with Mr. Masen by my side. He's eating his second piece of cake, eyes glued to the screen. After a few minutes, he puts the plate on the coffee table and pours both of us more wine.

"Cheers," he says, clinking his glass to mine. "Thank you for all this, Isabella."

"My pleasure, Sir," I whisper.

"Your pleasure? Yes, we'll definitely get to that later."

I move closer, taking a big sip of wine before putting it on the table. Mr. Masen looks me over, wetting his lips with the tip of his tongue.

"You need it bad, don't you?" he murmurs, his free hand slipping underneath the hem of my dress to caress my thighs. "How long has it been for you, pretty girl?"

"S-since what?" I gasp, feeling his fingers easily locating the place where I feel the most.

"Since you came on a cock," he says roughly, pulling my legs apart to push a single finger inside me. "Since you were fucked until you came, screaming."

"N-never," I moan, leaning into him, spreading my legs wide open for him. "I've never done that, Sir."

"Fuck," he mumbles, lowering his head down to gently bite my naked shoulder. "I'm going to enjoy this so much."

"Enjoy what?" I ask, moving around to get him to touch me more.

"Enjoy showing you what it's like. You'll be insatiable once you get a taste, I know it. You'll be begging for me to fuck you."

He pushes another finger into my pussy, causing my back to arch.

"Won't you?" he whispers, licking up my neck, making me groan with pleasure.

"Yes, Sir!"

Abruptly, he stops touching me, and I want to scream. But instead of going back to the movie, he turns off the TV and stands up, grabbing me by the hand.

"C'mon," he says, practically dragging me from the living room.

"Where are we going?" I finally manage to ask as we reach the third floor, where I know his office is located.

"To bed," he answers. "I need more room to do all the things I wanna do to you."

"W-what do you mean?" I stutter. "What are you going to do to me?"

He stops and turns, right outside the door to the room where he's headed, and looks me up and down, the heat in his eyes making me shiver.

"Whatever I want."

Just like that, we're back to the first night I met him and the giant leap of faith I took, getting into his car. He watches me closely, gauging my reaction to his words while his hand around my wrist loosens slightly. I draw a deep breath and remember that this is the same man who playfully fed me dinner, who brought wine all the way back from Italy just for me, and who, most of the time, looks at me and treats me as if I'm precious to him, even calling me his lover.

"Whatever you want, Sir."

He doesn't reply, but smiles at me before pulling me inside the room. I look around, breathing out with relief that it is, in fact, a regular bedroom and not a place with whips and chains, which it could've been if Mr. Masen had been lying all along.

He turns on the lights, which is a bit weird. We're going to have sex so it should be dark.

"Undress," he orders.

I step out of the heels, enjoying the sensation of the soft carpet beneath my bare feet for a moment before turning my back to him.

"Will you unzip me, please, Sir?"

He helps me remove the dress and I place it carefully on the bedside table, now standing naked in front of Mr. Masen.

"Lie down on the bed," he directs, "on your back, legs spread."

I do as I'm told, breathing rapidly from both nerves and excitement. Mr. Masen opens the drawer in the bedside table, pulling out what looks like one of those sleeping masks I've seen people wear in movies.

"Put this on."

"Why?" I whisper.

"You'll feel more," he says, "and tonight, I want you to feel everything I do to you."

I slip it on and close my eyes.

"Hold on here," Mr. Masen says, lifting my arms up and wrapping my fingers around the edges of the pillow underneath my head. "Don't let go, no matter what happens."

"Yes, Sir."

I'm restrained by his words only, but vow not to lower my arms, giving him the control he wants. The bed dips beside me, as he climbs in next to me.

"It's beautiful," he whispers. "Your submission."

I don't know what to say about that so I keep quiet. His hands trail down the length of my body and I arch up in response.

"You're such a good girl, Isabella. Anything I ask, you do. You've been so patient tonight, letting me delay your pleasure."

I gasp as his fingers part me, sliding into my pussy without resistance.

"You're so fucking wet," he growls, "so needy."

"Please, Sir," I breathe, letting my legs fall completely out to the sides.

I feel his breath against my neck before he trails lingering kisses down my torso, pausing to suck on my nipples for a moment. All the while, his fingers fuck me deeply and his thumb moves over my clit, making my hips lift off the bed to gain more of the delicious friction.

"You have no idea, do you?" he asks from somewhere above me.

"About . . . what?" I pant.

"How fucking desirable you are," he tells me. "I've been hard all day, knowing you were coming over tonight—knowing I'd get to do anything I want with you."

"Yes, please, you can," I moan, practically incoherent at this point.

"You're going to come for me, Isabella. First, on my fingers . . ."

He curls them inside me, touching something that makes me gasp loudly.

"Then, on my mouth," he continues, covering my lips with his in a searing kiss.

"And, finally, you're going to come on my cock," he says, pressing his still-covered erection against my hip. "You're going to come so hard for me, sweet girl. Is that clear?"

"T-three times, oh!" I pant, bucking my lower half up, so very close. "That's impossible, Sir."

"We'll see about that."

I feel his mouth on my chest again, his tongue flicking over my nipples while his thumb rubs my clit with purpose. Moments later, I come. And it's nothing like I remembered; it's better—so much better. My body curves upward; I moan loudly as I clench around his fingers and then relax down onto the mattress again.

"Thank you, Sir," I exhale, trying to catch my breath.

"Don't thank me yet," he mumbles, kissing his way down my upper body. "You can do better than that. You can come much harder."

I don't know that I can, but I'm afraid to disappoint him by telling him that what he just did was pretty much the most fulfilling sexual experience of my life; I doubt it gets much better than that.

"Have you ever had your pussy licked, Isabella?"

"No," I admit, suddenly happy about the sleep mask I'm wearing so I don't have to look at him while I answer.

"Fuck," he groans, nipping at my belly. "You're practically a virgin."

"I'm not," I protest softly. "I've had sex."

"You haven't been fucked properly. You haven't even had real foreplay. Whoever he was, he neglected you, so he doesn't count. I'm your first."

I inhale sharply as he spreads my thighs and I feel his mouth on my pussy, his tongue licking slowly from my entrance to my clit.

"Say it."

His hands snake up my body and grab my breasts, none too gently before pulling my nipples.

"You're my first," I groan out.

His hands return to their place underneath my ass and he holds me up slightly, keeping me open wide for him. Knowing that he's inspecting me so closely makes me want to cringe and pull away, but after a few seconds his mouth is on me again, and I forget those thoughts.

"Mmm," he hums, zeroing in on my clit with the tip of his tongue.

I can't accurately describe the sensation, but it's somehow deeper than when he used his fingers, more acute. I'm so sensitive now and squirm around a bit, trying to get away from his very insistent stimulation of my clit.

"Please, Sir," I protest weakly.

"Lay still!" he snaps at me, "and don't you dare move those hands."

I hadn't noticed I'd let go of the pillow and quickly grab it again.

"You can come again," he says, softer now. "I know you can."

I don't get a chance to answer before his mouth is back: licking, sucking and tasting me, as though he's ravenous. His hands knead my ass roughly, adding to all the sensations I'm already experiencing. I have no idea how much time passes, but after a while the near-painful sensitivity turns into something else entirely and I find myself pressing up against his mouth, gasping wildly. Suddenly, I feel something brushing against a place no one has ever touched before. I realize Mr. Masen's right hand has moved ever so slightly, his fingers now busy spreading my wetness around between my cheeks.


The pressure increases, and as I open my mouth to protest the intrusion, the tip of his finger slips inside and he sucks down on my clit, hurtling me into a powerful orgasm. Everything clenches, or so it seems, and I very nearly lose my breath as he continues lapping at me, drawing out every last ounce of pleasure. The moment he lets go, my legs flop out to the side and I can't seem to care at all. Faintly, I hear Mr. Masen moving around and then the sleep mask is dragged up and off my face. I squint against the bright overhead lights; soon, my attention is drawn to Mr. Masen, who has opened his pants and pushed them down. Fisting his cock, he leans down, dragging the head up and down the length of my pussy.

"I'm clean and I want to fuck you bare," he growls. "Are you covered?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Good girl."

Resolutely, he lifts my legs up and with a swift thrust, pushes his cock inside me, making me yelp.

"Fuck," he groans, grinding against me to get even farther inside. "You feel good."

All I want is to sleep, or at least rest for a little while, but the way he looks at me lets me know that's not an option. Surrendering to his will, I draw a stuttering breath, trying to adjust to his size and the feeling of being completely filled.

"That's it," he says, leaning over me, and staring straight at me while he begins to thrust. "Let me fuck you. Let me be in charge."

When he lets go of my legs, I wrap them around his waist; he uses his hands to caress my breasts, my belly and my hips.

"You're so beautiful," he moans, thrusting harder.

"Thank you, Sir."

His fingers slip between my thighs and touch eagerly.

"And so wet," he continues. "I knew you'd love a good fucking."

His harsh words have the opposite effect of what I would've expected. Rather than repel me, they arouse me.

"Don't you?" he whispers harshly, reaching up to grab my hair, forcing my head back and exposing my neck.

"Yes, yes, Sir!" I cry.

Satisfied with my answer, he starts massaging my clit and I whimper in response. I'm so tender, but he feels good inside me so I attempt to focus on that. I've never enjoyed actual sex before. It felt good being close to Mike and sharing an intimate experience on an emotional level, when we started going out, but there hadn't ever been actual pleasure involved. Until now.

"Oh," I moan, clenching around Mr. Masen's very hard cock as he pushes inside again. "Oh, God!"

"That's it," he encourages, thrusting harder. "Take it like a good girl. Let me feel you come."

"Please!" I gasp. "More . . . I . . . it's . . ."

"Yeah?" he pants. "You need more? More cock?"

He fucks me relentlessly while I writhe beneath him. I feel so small and vulnerable, completely naked and at his mercy, and yet I somehow know he won't harm me.

"Fucking come!" he commands. "I'll turn you over and spank your pretty ass if you don't."

Arousal surges through me and he notices immediately.

"Oh, you'd like that, wouldn't you?" he practically taunts.

"Sir, yes, God!"

I don't know what I'm saying anymore. I need for him to never stop what he's doing. I tremble under his hands as he runs them up my body, cupping my breasts before framing my face. He covers my body completely, and at the end of each thrust, rotates his hips so that he presses against me. His face is inches from mine and I can't look away.

"Come," he orders softly. "Let me feel it. You're so fucking sweet. Give me this, too."

He moves his hands to my wrists, pinning me down, fucking me into the mattress. I can't move. I'm trapped. I'm his. I'm his. I'm . . .

I come, screaming, but I don't think I make a sound. He takes my body and gives me this feeling in return. And in that moment, it's so worth it. I never want it to end. Of course it does, as all good things do, and I feel him sitting up between my legs. I watch, still breathing harshly, as he pulls out, jerking his cock twice before he comes on me, gasping my name.

"You're mine now," he pants, rubbing his still hard cock against me, spreading his warm come all over my pussy. "You're mine."

"Yes," I agree, sighing as he practically collapses, half his body on top of me.

He kisses me with surprising tenderness before exhaling deeply and resting his head on my chest. Acting on instinct, I run my fingers through his hair and realize my mistake too late.

"I'm sorry, Sir," I whisper, lifting my arms back up.

"No, don't stop," he says. "It feels good."

Smiling to myself, I stroke his head, messing up his neatly-styled hairdo. I know I should probably contemplate what transpired here: my discovery that sex can be utterly mind blowing and the fact that I want to do it again—very soon—but I'm just so tired. I drift a little and I think Mr. Masen does, as well. It's peaceful and quiet.

After a while, he stirs on top of me and climbs off the bed, saying something about the bathroom. I stretch my body, smiling lazily at the ceiling. I can't remember the last time I felt this relaxed. Mr. Masen returns after a few minutes, holding a wet rag and a small towel. Obligingly, I spread my legs and let him wash between them, which he does very gently.

"You're still so swollen," he comments, tracing his thumb over my clit before circling my entrance with what I'm guessing is his index finger. "And wet," he adds.

I feel a bit embarrassed that his simple touches are making my heartbeat faster and causing my body to awaken once more.

"You have the prettiest tits," he says, leaning down to trace around the tips of my breasts with his tongue. "And look how they respond."

It only takes seconds and my nipples are hard, silently begging for more stimulation.

"Oh, to be young again," Mr. Masen says teasingly, tapping my clit with his fingertip. "I knew you wouldn't be able to get enough, once you were properly fucked."

I blush, feeling a bit like a hussy, but I can't help it; he's right.

"Would you like more cock, sweet girl?"

"Yes," I admit, ignoring the feeling of shame that automatically creeps up on me when I voice my desire.

"You'll have to wait a little while," he says unapologetically.

I understand. He's forty years old, after all, and while I don't mind waiting, time is an issue for me tonight.

"What time is it, Sir?" I ask.


"I have to be home by midnight."

He smiles.

"Or you'll turn into a pumpkin?"

"Not exactly," I say, returning the smile. "It's just . . . my friend is expecting me."

Mr. Masen's eyes leave my body and snap up to meet mine.

"And what is this friend's name?" he demands.

"Alice," I whisper.

"Oh. I see. Why is she expecting you so late?"

I squirm a bit, this time not from horniness, as Alice would call it.

"Well, she's not, really," I lie. "But I thought it might be safest if someone knew where I was and who could call . . . someone, if something happened to me."

Mr. Masen stares at me.

"I won't hurt you," he finally says. "I'd never do that."

"I know," I whisper. "It just seemed safest for someone to know where I am."

He nods.

"I understand. And I'm glad you're being careful, Isabella. The world can be a dangerous place."

He runs his hand down my upper body, tickling my belly until I smile.

"This Alice . . . does she know about our arrangement?"


"And?" he asks, looking into my eyes.

"She's cool. She won't tell anyone else, I promise."

"She's a good friend?"

"The best," I answer immediately.

He smiles at me.

"I'm glad you have someone in your life you can trust. C'mon, let's go downstairs again. You can call your Alice and tell her you're spending the night."

He stands and holds his hand out to me, an expectant look on his face.

"Spending the night?" I ask, sitting up slowly. "The whole night?"

"Yes, that's not a problem, is it?"

Actually, it is. If it were just a matter of telling Alice, it would be fine, but her mother is there, as well, and she thinks I'm out working as a server. What kind of server stays out the whole goddamned night?

"No, it's fine," I lie, taking his hand and getting up off the bed.

Mr. Masen purses his lips, giving me a look.

"Isabella, I don't want to force you to do anything. If you'd rather not stay the night—"

"Really, it's okay," I say, but even I can hear how weak it comes out.

"If you're worried about spending the night with me, don't. I have a guest bedroom that I'd want you to stay in."

"Oh. I wouldn't stay in here with you?" I ask, motioning to his bed.

"No. I sleep alone," he says, rather curtly. "Always."


"Well . . . if we're not sleeping together, would it maybe be all right if I go home when you go to bed?" I ask, holding my breath.

Please, say yes!

"Yes, I suppose that does make sense," he agrees. "But until then, you're mine, and I like to stay up late on my days off."

I beam at him.

"Yes, Sir!"

He chuckles, seeing my happy expression.

"I guess you like sleeping in your own bed as much as I do, sweet girl."

No, that's not it at all.

Of course, I don't say that. I merely keep smiling as he helps me put the black dress and heels back on and leads me downstairs to call Alice, while I pray she'll be able to convince her mom that it's perfectly normal for servers to stay out until the middle of the night.

Well, that happened. :) Hope you enjoyed it.

Take care until next time! :)