Chapter Four

Bella


Have you ever had that feeling?

Like you're standing on the edge of a cliff?

Like you know you should just back up?

Just turn around and run like hell for familiar ground?

You can feel the caress of security from behind you.

Beckoning you...

Reminding you of all the things that are real...

And of all of the things compiled that make up your life...

Trying to convince you that you're about to make an irreversible choice...

And even though the sinking feeling in your bones confirms that what you're doing is foolish, none of it is enough.

You don't heed the warning.

Because you're aware of these things already.

You know what you should flee to.

What you should be fleeing from.

You've acknowledged and dismissed the inevitable consequences of lingering on the edge, contemplating the plunge.

And the scariest part of all isn't what awaits you at the bottom...

It isn't the looming blackness below...

It's the fact that despite all of the sane, rational reasons why you should turn back and run...

Despite every ounce of common sense gnawing at you...

Despite the voice of reason in your ear and the validity of its pleading...

You made the decision to jump before you ever reached the edge.

The tragic irony is that all of the luring, beckoning, reminding...

The warning, the sinking feeling, the consequences...

They are unsuccessful in tipping the scales.

They only propel you further toward the abyss...

~o~

My whole body starts as the alarm screeches. Before I can fully focus my eyes, I reach over to slap it off. I take a moment to just wake up before I have to actually get up. Rubbing the heel of my palms into my eyes, I breathe in deeply. My first thought is not a very reassuring one: Is it already today?

Today.

D Day.

Saturday.

On the way to the bathroom, I internally recite the pep talk that I've been giving myself all week.

You can do this, Bella.

You're a grown woman.

It's just sex. People do it all the time.

No one has to know about it.

You get in, get enough money to make it through the year, and you walk away.

You will not let...Charlie be right about you.

Shedding my clothes and stepping underneath the hot water, I think back on this past week.

After I'd been left gaping at the spot where Edward had been standing, I managed to gather myself enough to get dressed and leave. There may or may not have been stomping and ranting while doing so. Even though he infuriated me to no end, it was my own self that I was more upset with.

I let him do this to me.

I let him play me like a puppet.

I lapse into some sort of a trance every time he's near me.

For the life of me, I can't figure out how to make it stop. I start out determined to hold my ground and maintain my dignity. And the next thing I know, he's manipulated my mind and body into submission. I hate myself for making it so easy for him. For how cooperatively I obey him. Every ounce of resolve I walked into that penthouse with dissolved the minute he set his sights on me. The second he whispered my name. The very moment that I felt the familiar shiver that accompanies him.

The rest of my weekend was spent trying to focus on school. The operative word being 'trying'. While I knew I had an essay due in a week's time, it was the last thing I could concentrate on. I was a ball of nerves, and it only made me that much more frustrated. The entire point of this twisted arrangement was for me to make the money I needed as well as free time up for me to dedicate to school. Yet there I was, antsy and completely on edge. The residual effects of Edward Cullen.

Monday morning, I called the clinic that Edward had given me a card for and was told I could be squeezed in immediately. Perhaps I should have been a tad suspicious of that, but I figured the sooner the better. Besides, I had a feeling that Edward Cullen tended to get what he wanted. The entire process was fairly quick. My filling out a questionnaire on my medical and sexual history and giving a blood and urine sample, as well as a physical examination. It wasn't exactly a comfortable experience, being hoisted up in stirrups and spread eagle, but the doctor being female put me at ease and it only took a few minutes. I had to admit that the birth control shot I was put on was quite convenient. Well, for someone else it would've been. It's not like I would be getting any other action on the side. I was told I'd receive my results by the end of the week. On my way out the door, I was given a sealed envelope by the receptionist and told to have a nice day. Once in my car, I opened it and was shocked to find Edward's test results. Clean. I dare say it was the most courteous thing he'd done. And considering that the gesture itself was to assure me that I wouldn't be catching a venereal disease from him, it wasn't saying much.

Tuesday and Wednesday were a blur of work and school. Those were actually my favorite days. I didn't have any free time to sit and stew about the disaster I was jumping into headfirst.

Thursday, however, was my least favorite. That was the day I had my full Brazilian waxing. It was the only day I had a long enough break between classes to fit it in. I'd never hated Edward more than I had in the hour I spent atop that table being flipped, turned and tortured. By the time I'd gotten back to the dorms, my thighs had perfected the art of walking around each other.

And yesterday? Well that had been interesting as well. While elbow deep in decoratively folded toilet paper, Angela burst into the break room in her usually subtle way.

"Hey bitch. You having fun with your pretty poopy paper?"

"Ha ha." I continue stacking the rolls back onto my trolley.

"You didn't like that? How about Decorative Dookie Diggers?"

"Angela...ew."

"Ass hankies?"

"There is something very wrong with you. Are you just here to impress me with your vast knowledge of all things shit, or did you need something?"

"Well, as a matter of fact, I did have a reason. I came down to find you because you left your cell up on twelve. The beeping is annoying the shit out of me. But don't worry...I didn't read it." She reaches into the front pocket of her uniform and pulls out my phone, all the while giving me a sly look. "Who is E.C. Asshat anyways?"

Her tone of voice carries more innuendo than I can handle at the moment. I snatch the phone from her hand and slide it into my pocket. "No one. I just...it's a telemarketer. I saved the number so I'd know to ignore it." I have no idea where the lie comes from. With what I hope is a nonchalant expression, I look up at her. With one eyebrow raised and her lips pursed, she just stares at me with suspicious confusion.

"Do telemarketers text you often, Swan?"

Yeah, didn't think that one through. Shit. Think, think, think.

"It's a voicemail, not text. Same alert."

Please leave it alone. Please leave it alone.

"Alrighty then." She gives me the 'no sudden movements around the crazy lady' look and turns to her locker.

"I'm so fucking tired. I'm going to go home and sleep for two days, I swear."

As she pushes out of the break room door she calls back to me over her shoulder.

"Later Swan! Remember, we scrub toilets, not spoon them!"

One time. One time I fall asleep on a toilet lid and she'll never let me live it down.

Hearing the beep again from my pocket, I take my phone out.

1 new message from E.C. Asshat

Having learned from past experiences with him, I brace myself before opening it.

'Congratulations, Isabella. You've made the cut. Don't be late.'

Charming as ever.

Showered and dressed, I stand in front of the mirror and try, for the thousandth time, to get my shit together. After days of driving myself crazy trying to figure out what to wear, I give up. I'm fairly certain that whatever I choose won't matter. Or be worn for long.

I decide on the nicest pair of matching bra and panty set I have, which isn't saying much. Just black lace boy shorts and a spaghetti strap bra. My eyes wander to the back of my closet and land on the sun dress I bought on a whim the year I left for college. It's short and tight. And I was petrified of wearing something like it, so I never did.

Jeans and a sweater it is then.

I'd looked up his address and am relieved that it is only about a twenty minute drive from the dorms. Unfortunately, those twenty minutes feel like two as I stand on the sidewalk staring up at the high rise in front of me.

Walking into the lobby, I feel extremely underdressed. A twinge of aggravation scratches at the back of my mind. I never care about these things. And I shouldn't care now. This is just another place. Granted, an overwhelmingly luxurious place that makes my dorm look like a sardine can, but a place just the same.

The immaculately well-dressed security guard behind the desk in the lobby gives me the once over with his eyes and looks less than impressed. Yeah, me too buddy.

"Can I help you?"

"Uh...yes. I'm here for...to see...Mr. Cullen. Edward Cullen. Please."

My voice is shaking and I'm wringing my hands in front of me. If I don't calm down, I'll drop on the spot.

"Are you okay, ma'am?"

He's regarding me carefully, no doubt readying himself for the possibility of removing me from the building.

Taking a deep breath in and forcing my hands apart and to my sides, I try to lace my smile with as much sanity as possible.

"I'm fine, thank you."

"And you said Cullen? You're sure about that? What's your name?"

He's got a surprised look on his face.

"Yes, Edward Cullen. I'm sure. I'm Isabella Swan."

He taps away at his keyboard and must find what he's looking for.

"Right. Okay, well, you're going to want to get on the elevator and press the P button. His is the only unit. I'll let him know you're here."
"Thank you."

As I walk away, he's still giving me a confused look and I wonder what it's all about. And, of course, the basket case in me swears he can see right through me and knows why I'm here.

Standing outside his door, I close my eyes...and freak the fuck out.

I can't do this. What the hell am I doing here? I can't do this.

I turn to leave and stop in my tracks. I feel my breath shorten and my entire body freeze in its place. Without approval, my eyes are closing and I'm suddenly several years and more than a thousand miles away...

I'm sitting in the back seat of Charlie's old red station wagon. It smells of gasoline and lumber. I stare out the window, seeing Forks whiz by in about five minutes time. I shake my head slightly and scoff.

'"What's going on in that flighty little head of yours?" Charlie's voice is caustic. He doesn't care. He's sniffing for a fight. I look up at him in the rear view mirror as he drives, one arm slung out the open window and the other gripping the wheel at twelve o'clock. His eyes never leaving the road, the look of disdain never leaving his eyes.

Turning back to my left , I answer him. "Nothing."

"Bullshit." He's not going to back off. While there are never 'good' days in the Swan house, today had been a fairly placid one at least.

There goes that.

"Nothing Ch-Dad. I'm just tired." I immediately close my eyes and sigh, regretting my words and wishing I could retract them. Just reach right out and snatch them back. Every single syllable I just uttered was nothing but ammo for him. From the corner of my eye, I see him straighten up a little in his seat and grip the wheel tighter.

I never make him happy. Never make him proud. Praise is, at best, hypothetical where I'm concerned. I stopped trying to earn it long ago. But this? This I never fail to do for him. There is very little that I say or do which doesn't trigger his ire.

"Tired, huh? Yeah I can see how that would be. All that doing nothing. It's got to be exhausting! Tell me, Bella, how do you do it every day? How do you manage to wake up, pay for nothing, contribute nothing to this family, mooch off of me, sleep and still find the time to do all your fancy day dreaming? How do you handle being so fucking selfish all of the time?"

He shoots a sharp glance at Renee in the passenger seat and then away again. Her eyes are on the road ahead, but I know she sees. Though she doesn't react, this speech is nothing new.

He's back to me. "And what the hell did I tell you about calling me Charlie?! I'm your father, goddammit!"

The volume of his voice makes me jump. I can feel the tears swelling up and try to avoid blinking. If they fall now, where he can see, it'll only draw this out.

"Sorry, Dad." My mouth rejects the taste of the words, but I've had plenty of practice with my poker face. 'Dad' and 'Charlie' are not at all synonymous to me. And I virtually choke on it every time I say it.

By this time, we're pulling up at the mill and Charlie throws the car into park, turning it off and going inside to pick up his check. When the driver's door slams, two tears fall in sync with each other. I wipe them away quickly and sniffle.

"That's enough of that. Won't do you any good." She never looks at me, her eyes still straight ahead. Her voice is free of any concern. She sounds bored.

My fists ball and I grit my teeth to keep from screaming out in frustration. In hurt.

"Wh-why don't you say something, Mama? Anything. How...how can you let him talk like that?" My voice stutters and I know I need to calm down before Charlie comes back. I press my forehead to the back of the driver's seat and close my eyes, willing the tears away. When I turn my face toward Renee, I'm startled to see her head turned in my direction. Her eyes are scanning my face, squinted a little, like she's sizing me up.

"Don't be naive, Bella. This world isn't what you think it is. Stop sniffing around here for more." I see a brief softening of her eyes before she glances up at the door of the office. When she looks back at me, her face is blank, tired.

"Get out, Bella." Her voice is tired, hollow.

My chest tightens. What? Is she...kicking me out? Before I can ask her about it, Charlie wrenches open the door and plops down in his seat. Renee has already turned back to the front and is once again staring out the windshield, blank and bored. The car is in gear and moving, but my mind is still back at the mill.

On Renee's words.

We don't talk the rest of the ride home. Charlie drinks the night away on the couch watching TV and Renee goes to bed early, as usual.

Upstairs in my room, I lie awake. Tossing and turning and hearing her words echo in my head.

Get out, Bella.

Get out, Bella.........

My eyes blink open and I look around, momentarily confused about what just happened. I hadn't thought of that afternoon in years. It was the summer before my senior year of high school. Right before... I shake my head and push it all back.

I can't go there right now.

I don't know where it came from. I'll question the timing of the unwelcome trip down memory lane another time. To be honest, I'm grateful to it. It was the kick in the ass I needed to keep me from getting back into that elevator and running away.

With a renewed sense of confidence, I turn back toward the door and ring the bell. I may not have the upper hand in this arrangement. I'll probably fall short of every expectation he has for me tonight. Walking over this threshold means sacrificing a piece of my dignity that I can never get back.

But I'll be damned if I'll let that stop me.

Years of living with Charlie Swan didn't leave me completely unarmed for a bastard like Edward Cullen. I knew getting from where I was to where I wanted to be wasn't going to be easy. And I'm so fucking close. Right now, there are only two words I can focus on: Get out. And accomplishing that is worth whatever waits for me behind this door. It has to be.

It's not for nothing, Bella. Don't over think this.

The door whips open and there he is. If disdain and sex had a scent, this was it. His warm, spicy smell washes over me. On him alone, it's intoxicating. To experience it here, from the source, is electric. Immediately, I feel a fraction of tension leave my body.

And then it slams back into me like a freight train when I realize he's shirtless. Low on his hips are hanging a pair of black dress pants, the belt buckle undone and dangling. His feet are bare.

He's standing there giving me the trademark arrogant smirk. Normally, that's where my attention would be. But I can't seem to pry my eyes away from his naked torso. Broad shoulders and defined arms. The grooves of definition in his abdomen make my fingers flex with the need to feel them. He's not overly muscular, but the upkeep of his body is obvious. The alabaster color of his skin is beautiful.

I'm minutely aware of how embarrassed I'll feel later for openly ogling him, but I can't help it. I'm so unaccustomed to the way his presence makes me feel. I'd never felt this...responsive to a man before. Even the few I'd actually slept with. No one had managed to evoke such a visceral reaction in me the way that he could. Just standing there. It's just my luck that said capability would be attached to an asshole.

"If you're finished gawking, Isabella, perhaps you'd like to come inside? Feel free to keep the gaping mouth. I think I could put it to good use."

Damn. My mouth was, in fact, gaping. Way to go, Bella. Just fan the flames.

"Sorry."

Turning on his heel without a word, he leaves me at the door. It's then that I see it. A tattoo. From his shoulder blades down to mid-back, and covering the entire width. Line after line of script. Black on cream. I can't be sure because of the exaggerated slant of the words, but it doesn't look like English. I don't have any more time to wonder before he's around the corner and out of sight.

I walk inside and close the door. I feel out of place, just like in the penthouse back at the Westin. As I walk through the foyer, I pass a large mirror hung above a table on my right and purposely avoid my reflection, scared of what I'll see.

Turning the corner, I halt in my tracks. The first thing I see is the absolutely stunning view he has of the city and the Puget Sound. Three of the four walls are floor to ceiling glass. No drapes, no coverings of any kind. The sun is beginning to set and the light pink and purple hues of the skyline dip down to meet the deep blue of the water. It's surreal.

The decor is contemporary, sterile. Dark wood and plush, cream and taupe furniture. The floor plan is spectacular. Spacious and completely open. One room bleeds into the other. The grey marble countertops of the kitchen are bare, save for a cordless phone and base. The stainless steel appliances situated into the pale wood of the cabinetry are top of the line, just as the television and surround system in the living room area seem to be.

While it is no doubt one of the most gorgeous places I've ever laid my eyes on, it feels...cold somehow. Aside from a set of keys and cell phone lying on the table in the foyer and a stack of mail on the coffee table, it seems vacant. No pictures, no dishes, no mess. Not a single throw pillow out of place or piece of stray clothing left lying around. None of the things that make a home feel lived in.

It suits him perfectly.

It isn't until I see him approach from behind me in the glass that I realize how close I'm standing to the patio door. My heartbeat increases and my palms begin to sweat. He's close, so close, but not touching me. I feel his body heat hovering.

Without a single word, I watch in the reflection of the glass as his right hand reaches around me and swiftly undoes the button and zipper on my jeans. His eyes are burning into mine in the glass. His expression is devious. He's daring me to object.

Out of pure reflex, my body tenses in panic and my hand starts to block his. Immediately, his voice is in my ear, sharp and commanding.

He arches an eyebrow. "Ah ah ah. Hands at your sides. Be a good little whore."

Though his face is turned in toward my ear, his eyes glance at me in the glass from under his eyelashes. Whore. The word burns me inside. I want to whirl around and slap his face.

"Are you ready to safe word already, Isabella?"

Fuck. Shake it off, Bella. "N-no."

"I didn't think so. Now..." His hand snakes down and into my jeans, stopping when he meets the fabric of my panties. "Not sure why you bothered with these. Next time, don't." The tips of his fingers tuck into the top of them and he uses his entire hand to slide over and cup my bare skin. "Very good, Isabella. I see you followed my instructions." He presses down lightly with the heel of his palm and my breathing stutters. The pressure, however slight, is glorious. I fight to keep from leaning back into him. "Now...for the rest of the rules."

He begins a steady massage with the palm of his hand. Firm enough to feel, but light enough to drive me crazy. I want...more. How the hell does he do this to me?

"You seem like a marginally intelligent person, so I'm sure you remember what I've said to you before. But just for shits and giggles, listen carefully."

The pulse of sensation that he's maintaining with his hand doesn't falter as he speaks.

"No kissing. No talking. No touching. I can think of much better uses for your mouth. If I want to hear your voice, I'll fuck it out of you. And if I want you to touch me, it'll be on my cock and only when I tell you to."

My eyes close. My mind is torn between reacting to the affront and reveling the touch of his hand.

"Just say the word and this is over. The word, Isabella, is 'stop'. Say it and this ends. Your ass will be out and you will not come back. There'll be no second chances."

"Don't fucking look at me. Keep your eyes on the floor or closed. At. All. Times."

His mouth rests beside my ear again. Hostile and tight.

"And when you come here...after I've had enough of you...after you've served your purpose, don't drag your feet. Get up and get the fuck out. When I'm done, you're done. Are we clear?"

My voice cracks and my answer comes out embarrassingly breathy. "Y-yes." One of these days, I'll figure out how to uphold coherent speech around him.

"Good." Abruptly, his left hand snatches back my head by my hair and his voice lowers. "Don't test me, Isabella. I have no patience for your ignorance and no interest in holding your goddamned hand through this. Put your big girl panties on. Well, figuratively, of course."

Slowly releasing my hair, he exhales a long, deep breath through his nose. My body is humming in anticipation. I have no idea what he'll do.

"Enough talking. I'm ready now, Isabella."

Without warning, he thrusts what feels like three fingers inside me and I have no time to stifle my reaction.

"Aah!"

"Oh, look, you're ready too." There's a playful sarcasm to his voice. Taunting is like foreplay for him.

His fingers plunge in and out of me only a few times before he removes them and his hand from my pants completely.

"Turn around." It is an order. I turn immediately and lower my eyes to the ground.

"Open your mouth." When his words are met with even a second of hesitation, he is roaring at me.

"Right the fuck now, Isabella!"

I startle and drop my mouth open. I can feel my hands start to shake and tears lick at the back of my eyes.

"Look at that. You made a mess all over my hand. Clean it up like the little slut that you are." He shoves his three fingers into my mouth and I immediately want to gag. Being yelled at and humiliated like this is too much for me. Why does he feel the need to play this game? Why can't he just get it over with already? The tangy flavor of myself is something I've never experienced before. It's not exactly pleasant, but it could be worse, I suppose.

He snatches his fingers out of my mouth and I keep my eyes lowered to the ground.

"Strip."

I decide the only way to make it through this is to act before thinking. I close my eyes as my fingers curl around the edge of my sweater and I raise it up and off of my body. I try to pretend I'm alone at home and not standing here obeying the commands of man so intent on my humiliation. I slide my shoes off one by one as well as my socks and move them aside with my feet, but flinch at the sound of his voice.

"Hurry the fuck up."

I hastily remove my pants, but my false bravado falters as my fingers brush against the front clasp of my bra. Not wanting to incite him further, I swallow down my hesitation and undo it. The cool air hitting my nipples causes them to harden. Without giving myself time to think on it, I hook my thumbs into my panties and slide them down. No sooner than they're kicked from around my ankle, he descends.

"Get over here."

I open my eyes, careful to keep them lowered. He's standing off to my right, near a beige colored chaise lounge. From my periphery, I see him motion toward it.

"On your knees. Bend over it."

I swallow the objection that tries to force its way from me and do as he says. It's easier this way. Just do what he says and it'll be over sooner.

I move to stand in front of him, facing away, and lower myself to my knees. My torso is lower than my hips, and my ass is on display with no room for modesty. As I rest my stomach and chest on the lounge, I catch his reflection in the glass. Both of his arms hang at his sides and his jaw is clenching violently. He's barely containing himself. His eyes are narrowed and focused on my body.

He quickly removes his pants and lowers himself to his knees behind me. I can't see him in the reflection anymore. The back of the lounge is blocking my view. I close my eyes and focus on sounds instead. I hear the rustling of fabric and assume that he's removed his boxer briefs. I feel oddly...cheated out of the visual of his cock. I don't even get that much?

When I hear the crinkling of a wrapper and the condom being rolled on, my nerves are launched into overdrive.

This is it. No turning back now.

With an abrupt snatch of his hand on my waist, he pulls my hips back further toward him, which causes all but my arms to slide from the chair. My position leaves my breasts hanging from the edge.

Before I can adjust to the shift, he drives into me without caution. The force behind the movement momentarily lifts me off of my knees.

"Oh fuck!" I yell out and my breaths are borderline whimpers.

Buried inside of me as far as he can go, I can feel the warmth of his hips on my ass. Flesh on flesh and he stills.

"Keep quiet or I'll spin you around and gag you with my cock."

I clamp my lips together and my body seizes up. Although I can't see it, I don't need visual confirmation to know he's substantial in size. I can literally feel every inch of length and girth within me as my body attempts to adjust to him.

"Such a slow fucking learner, aren't you? But I think you might be getting the hang of things."

He pulls back and thrusts forward hard and deep.

"How does obedience feel, Isabella?"

I don't answer him. Even if I thought he wanted a response, I was beyond coherency. He unleashes a grueling cadence behind me.

Inside me.

Around me.

"Goddamn. You're tighter than I thought you'd be. I think I can do something about that, though."

Leaning forward, he uses both hands to pinch and twist each of my nipples...hard. I start to react out loud and bite my lip. His muted chuckle sounds so out of place amidst the slapping of skin together.

"Good girl."

His assault on my pussy never waivers. He is a master at what he does. Physically and verbally. Although none of this is meant for my benefit, this fact doesn't register with my body. I don't even try to comprehend why I'm so aroused, but cannot deny it either. I bite down on my lip in an attempt to...do something.

Anything.

I begin to fantasize of what I'd do, if given the freedom.

I want to moan out loud until my voice quits me.

I want to challenge the motion of his hips with my own, meet him stroke for punishing stroke.

I want my hands free to reach back and grip him.

His hip...his hair...his ass.

My mouth longs to fall open and release the words that are screaming so loudly in my head.

Yes!

Oh God, yes!

So fucking good.

Please don't stop.

I need to come so bad.

I want to come all over your cock.

Harder!

Faster!

One rational thought makes its way through the barricade of sensation just then: If you do it, he'll stop. I can feel it in my bones.

And it's more than enough reason to obey. I begin to feel the burn. That blessed heat that carves the way for the fire I so desperately want to feel. Need to feel. I'm too far gone to feel ashamed. I can't find it in me to care about the warring I've done with myself for the last two weeks. The outrage I should feel by my need for what this man's body does to mine is irrelevant. The anger his derogatory words should ignite in me doesn't even register.

He punctuates every thrust with a grunt and I swear to God I can feel my heart in my throat. My fingers grip the edges of the chair until they throb.

And then I feel it. The last thing I expect. Emptiness. Abruptly, he's pulled out of me. I clench my teeth to keep from screaming.

Before I can flex the muscles in my jaw from frustration, my hands are freed. Immediately, his right hand pulls at mine roughly and guides it between my legs. He slaps the back of my hand sharply, causing my palm to hit against my pussy, while his own hands disappear behind me. His movements are swift and sure. Not at all impulsive. He knew how close I was.

I hear the snap of the condom being ripped off just before he embeds his left hand into my hair and fists it, pushing my face sideways into the cushion and keeping my hips in the air with his right hand. He squeezes my hip in a silent command to stay put and lets go. From the corner of my eye, I can see the sharp jerking of his hand on his cock.

Strained, but forceful he rasps at me. "You wanna come, Isabella? Then do it your goddamn self. You don't deserve to come on my cock. But I'm gonna come all over this ass of yours."

Slap.

"And it's gonna be mother fucking rosy when I do."

Slap.

I'm stunned into stillness until another palm lands on my ass, harder this time. I don't want to feel this much pleasure from his striking me, but I do. It can't be helped. I begin to move my fingers in a circle over my clit and it sends a jolt through me that I can't hide. He alternates between my left and right ass cheeks and the burn is delicious.

"That's right. Greedy little bitch like you can't be lazy. You want to take and take and take. But not from me you won't. Work that pussy, Isabella." His words confuse me. That's twice now that he's lapsed into a tangent that doesn't seem to be meant for me. Where is it coming from? The hostility he inflicts upon me...for something I simply can't have done.

His breathing becomes shallow, his movements lose rhythm. Unbeknownst to him, his rough handling of my body and the dirty words he spat are exactly what ensures I'm not left reeling.

"Fucking Christ!"

His entire body lurches forward, his left arm is a mirror image of my own. We're both bracing ourselves. He is careful, even mid-orgasm, not to touch me. His torso is bowed over the back of mine. I can only imagine how misleading in appearance it all would be to an outsider. What appears to be a protective stance over me is nothing more than his pristine self-control.

No unnecessary touching.

Heat radiates from him and I can feel his rough exhalations blowing across my back. The sweaty ends of his hair barely grazing my shoulder. The jerking motion that his hand on his cock creates. The friction from my fingers...steadily rubbing my clit and dipping inside myself in a constant circuit. All of these sensations unite and I'm drowning...gone. I bite into the material of the cushion. My muscles clench violently inside me just before I feel him come hot and wet all over me. It follows the contours of my skin and drips down my ass and the backs of my thighs.

After expelling a deep breath, he stands and speaks with disgust.

"You're money is on the table by the front door. Get the fuck out."

Almost instantly, he's inside the bathroom, door closed.

I run my fingers through my hair and rise on shaky legs. I scan the room for anything I can use to clean up and spot a box of kleenex on the end table. Wiping away the traces of him as well as I can, I rush to redress as his warning about making myself scarce echoes in my ears. Just as I have my sweater over my head and have rounded the corner into the foyer, I hear the bathroom door open. Even though I'm out of his sight, I stop cold, panicked.

A loud crash from behind me makes me jump and I lunge forward, grabbing the door knob and turning it carefully. In my haste, I nearly miss the white envelope on the table to my left. I grab it, fold it in half and shove it in my back pocket.

Another crash sounds, along with Edward's angry yell.

"Goddamnit!"

I have no idea what's wrong with him, but I'm too afraid of his reaction to stay and find out. I back out of the door and close it silently.

It's not until I step out onto the cold, dark street that the reality of what I've just done washes over me.