Disclaimer: Twilight character names belong to Stephenie Meyer. No copyright infringement is intended. All intellectual properties associated with this one shot belong to the author: Bronzeyhperion. Plagiarism is theft. No copying or reproduction of any of these works is permitted without expressed written authorization. Thank you.

This oneshot is a part of the Countdown to 2012 Farewell to 2011

Countdown to Thanksgiving - Ever the thankful Cullen

Category: I'm Thankful For

Pairing: Bella & Edward

364 DAYS

Five years ago today, I fucked her for the first time.

One year ago today, I fucked her for the last time.

Bella.

I swear she gets me harder than any other girl in the times between our fucks or anyone before I met her.

And believe me, my bed's been full since I was seventeen. I've fucked on counter tops, desks, in elevators and in the backseat of cars.

But no one can compare to Bella, to the connection I feel soaring through me, seeping into flesh and bones when I am inside her. The mere thought of her bouncy handful tits and her tight pussy is enough to make me yearn for release.

So try going without the best fucking lay ever 364 days a year.

It's hell. Pure fucking hell.

But today is the day I see her again and after five fucking years, it's time I find out more than just her name. Claim more than just her body.

Today, Thanksgiving day, I'm going to make sure I don't have to wait another 364 days for Bella after she's gone tomorrow.

*The day before*

"Any plans for Thanksgiving, Edward?"

Ugh, my name rolls off her tongue with dripping seduction; it's supposed to be the kind of sultry that would make your cock hard in an instant.

But Tanya Denali is so fucking annoying. After fucking her once on her desk the day I hired her, I've tried to avoid her like she was the black plague in person, which is hard since she is my secretary and I kind of need her to do things for me.

That however, does not include any sexual favors. One time was enough. She may be pretty by some odd, plastic standard fashion and celebrity magazines advertize but her attitude and her oral skills are far below par.

"Edward?" she asks as she leans into me, giving me a peek at her "no-natural" cleavage.

I roll my eyes at her lack of subtly and count to ten before I push her off my fucking desk.

"No plans that include you," I say icily. "Get back to work, Tanya. I have things to do and so do you."

She looks at me intently and it takes me two more eye rolls and a crude flip off to get her to leave my office. Seriously, what the fuck is wrong with people that they can't take a hint?

I snap out of my irritation when my cell phone buzzes.

"Jasper," I greet my best friend. "How did the meeting with Fine Dining go?"

"It went well but they requested to meet with the big boss before they make a decision."

I rub my face and fist my hair in frustration. This is not what I expected. Jasper is a very competent presenter and he knows perfectly well how to pitch a concept.

Never do people ask for me to step in. I don't pitch; I don't negotiate. I create the concept and Jasper pitches it. That's our dynamic, and it works. Not because I think I'm above selling our services as CEO of Cullen Advertising but because I don't know how to present in public without screwing up.

See, I have this tendency to go all Gilles de la Tourrette's where I throw in a few fuck yous every other sentence. Not the best tool when presenting a marketing concept.

"Ed?"

"Fuck, Jasper. You know I don't do well with pitching a concept."

"You don't have to pitch, Edward, it's just that the owner wants to meet the elusive Edward Cullen. Look man, I have to go. Just think about it. I'll catch you later. You still coming over for a pre-Thanksgiving dinner? Alice is expecting you."

Jasper has been married to my baby sister, Alice, for two years and while she in no way agrees with my "fuck you and go, please never call me" attitude, she also thinks I am hopeless and need a constant reminder of my failure, therefore I am invited to their house for dinner at least twice a week so she can remind me and show how much she pities my sorry ass.

You want to know the worst part?

I willingly eat dinner with them twice a week because I'm fucking pathetic.

"Yea, I'll be there."

I sigh, rubbing my face again as I hear Jasper ending the call. I think about the huge deal we could close with Fine Dining; a string of 60s diner type eating establishments but with actual high quality diner food. It's one of the most successful up and coming places to eat in the greater New York area. The concept was created by someone named I.M. Swan three years ago. Now this same person – I have no clue if this is a man or a woman - wants to meet with me and it would be one of Cullen Advertising's biggest deals yet if Fine Dining chooses us for their advertizing and marketing campaigns.

If I blow this deal - and fuck me if I'm not quite capable of doing just that - Jasper will make sure board members find out at the next shareholders meeting. And I can't afford for Carlisle Cullen, my uncle, and his son, Emmett, to sell their shares or demand my resignation. But I know Jasper will not hesitate to tell them about my screw ups and my often appalling behavior, therefore I am forced into a corner and am basically required to throw myself into this meeting, hoping I'll be able to pull it off.

"Fuck!" I exclaim as I slam my hands down on my desk.

The only thing I am good at is creation. If you leave me alone in my office with nothing but the product you want to sell and a whole lot of silence so I can focus, I'll give you a dream concept. My brain is filled with that shit. Creation doesn't need a social filter. You can give your mind free rein with no restrictions.

Jasper is the suave salesman and Emmett is good with numbers. The three of us work like a well-oiled machine but that's solely because so far they've put up with my shit. They've accepted I'm the "talent" they need to appease as much as they need to rein me in. The petulant wonder child with a severe attitude problem.

No way are they going to tolerate that shit forever. My ideas may often be brilliant but they are tainted by my behavior and my inability to sell my own concept. Not exactly how a CEO should behave, right?

I take a few deep breaths and try to focus. How hard can it be to have a normal conversation with someone who owns a company? Someone who's eager to hear what Cullen Advertising can do for them. If I focus really hard, surely I can keep my self-proclaimed Tourette's at bay long enough to look professional in front of this mysterious I.M. Swan. It really shouldn't be that big of a hurdle. I can be charming; the notches on my bedpost are proof of that.

I know I have to fucking do it so I make a mental note to have Jasper fill me in on the specifics on Fine Dining before I meet with them.

I spend the rest of my afternoon working on a commercial idea for dog food. Not too exciting but Pedigree is paying enough, and by the time it's 6:00 PM I feel more at ease and soon my mind drifts to tomorrow.

Thanksgiving.

I can honestly say it's my favorite day of the year. Not because I get to spend it with my family or because I'm looking forward to a culinary feast of sorts.

Tomorrow I get to see Bella.

My holiday fuck.

And what a lay she is.

She's fucking perfect.

"You should call Mom."

Alice gives me a stern look as she scoops more mashed potatoes onto my plate. She proceeds by plopping down a spoon full of cranberry sauce next to the mash and then hands me the messy looking plate.

We're having a catered Thanksgiving dinner a day early because she and Jasper are jetting off to the Bahamas tomorrow. And I don't fucking care anyway because I have plans myself.

"Why?" I demand.

"Why?" She pipes up, screeching like a fucking banshee. "You seriously want to know why the fuck you should call our mother?"

Tourette's apparently runs in the family.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Alice hisses.

I shake my head because I wouldn't dare to kid with my sister. She would cut my balls off if I tried. My question is 100% legitimate. I rarely talk to our mother and I fail to see why I should pretend to care now just because it's a holiday.

"Yes," I tell her seriously. "I want to know why I should call our 'don't give a fuck about my children except when I can show them off at holidays' giver of birth. Does she fucking deserve it? Fuck no."

"Jazz!" Alice yells in frustration. "Tell Fuckward here why I want him to make an honest effort to be nice to our mother."

I can tell by Jasper's grimace he doesn't want to get caught in the middle of a Cullen sibling verbal fight but knows Alice's wrath if he doesn't speak up.

"We're having a baby," he says simply. His face is glowing and his smile, albeit faint, betrays his inner happiness.

I sit there, mouth agape for a second. I know they've been trying because Alice hasn't stopped booty calling Jasper's ass when she decided it was baby making time.

"Yes," Alice says. "And I want a harmonious pregnancy without family drama. Our baby deserves a grandmother and an uncle who can get along."

"Jasper has a mom; can't she play grandma?" I mutter but obviously that's the wrong thing to say because Alice's eyes start blazing while Jasper makes throat cutting gestures at me behind her back.

"Listen asshole. I don't need your dimwitted humor. God, you didn't even say congratulations." My sister fumes. I wonder if pregnancy hormones make someone who curses like a sailor and punches like a man a walking weapon of mass destruction.

"Congratulations," I mumble, feeling an odd sensation in my chest.

It's guilt.

"Yes, well. If you mean it, you will call Mom," Alice quips before she digs into her food and barely speaks to me for the rest of the evening.

I feel bad for acting shitty and making Alice upset even though she is a pro at manipulating emotions. I feel guilty because having a baby is a big deal for them. I feel guilty because this kid is going to have a shitty uncle. And a fucking shitty grandma.

My mother is a sensitive subject to us both. To me, as her eldest child, she's always been a massive bitch because I resemble her ex-husband so much. Our dad left when Alice was 6 years old because my mother was, and is, bat-shit crazy jealous and accused him of affairs he may or may not have had.

My mother got a nice sum to keep her in the upper class of society but the divorce mostly left her with a hate for men, my father in particular, and because I am his spitting image she hates me too. She adores Alice who looks like her and kind of acts like her as well.

My father continued to pay alimony until we both turned 18, and then we each got a trust-fund and we saw even less of him than we did in previous years.

Sometimes we have dinner around Christmas time but only if he's in town. He has another son; our half brother Riley who is the proverbial apple of his eye. The kid's five years old, cute and his mother, Bree, is a nice woman, so I guess it makes sense Alice and I can't compete with his new family.

I personally care very little for either of my parents. I know I have my father's business drive and creativity and a piece of my mother's bat shit personality and that's enough in good and bad ways. The only one I care about is Alice and she thinks I'm a shitty brother and in six months I'll be a shitty uncle.

I really do need to fucking try to do better. And so, reluctantly and with a heavy heart, I dial my mother's number.

Lucky for me, she doesn't pick up.

*Thanksgiving Day*

I am not a nice person in general. I don't give a shit about anyone, except maybe my sister and Jasper and to an extent my Uncle Carlisle, Aunt Esme, my cousin Emmett and his wife Rosalie. If something were to happen to any of them, if they were in some sort of trouble, I would bail them out and make sure the motherfuckers responsible would get properly acquainted with the phrase "payback is a bitch."

Alice often calls me fucked up and she's right. I am. I often don't understand people and they usually don't understand me. I curse so much it looks more like a gimmick than an actual character trait, and while I graduated cum laude from Harvard Business School and can be considered a smart and self made man, I am ultimately a screw up of epic proportions.

I own a penthouse deluxe apartment on the Upper Eastside, I have more money than I'll ever be able to spend on myself and yet, when I wake up in the morning and jerk off to the vision of my Thanksgiving angel – she's the only one who can do it for me when I have to do it to myself - I always feel incredibly lonely afterwards.

Alice once told me she used to feel the same loneliness but that it all changed when she met Jasper. Now, while she still acts like a harpy and a loudly wailing banshee with Tourette's, especially when I'm around, she is happy.

And if I had any clue what happiness felt like, I'd be happy for her too.

I hate these inner musings with a fucking passion because I always feel like I'm trapped inside myself. But all the money in the world can't buy me a new personality or a more caring nature.

That's what I love about today; Thanksgiving.

I fucking swear it's my Christmas because for one day I get to be a little more normal.

All because of her.

Bella.

And it's not because we have fucktastic sex, although it is truly fucktastic. I can talk to her, really talk to her about anything, yet we never share personal information and always keep that part vague, and she takes me and my Tourette's ass totally serious and treats me like a normal guy.

The first time we met, Bella was shy and blushing at every word I uttered. But by the end of that night, thanks to some good ol'Jack Daniels, she turned into a potty mouth sex kitten. A smart and witty potty mouth sex kitten. My type of girl.

After we had mind blowing sex in my car, we'd parted ways, both aware and in agreement that this was a onetime thing.

But then the next year we met again and this time we had sex in her car.

By the third year, we exchanged names and last year I actually took her to a hotel only to find one side of the bed cool and abandoned the next morning.

It's always one day. Thanksgiving Day.

And this year I am set on changing that.

"Happy T-giving, Eddie!"

I push back a growing irritation because Emmett, my large, built like a quarterback cousin, is a cool guy even though his abbreviations and nicknames are ridiculous.

"Emmett," I greet him politely."Happy Thanksgiving."

"Thanks, dude. You coming over for some Turkey dinner tonight?"

"No, I have plans."

"Oh!" he says eagerly. "Plans that require panty dropping, ripping, or any of the sort?"

Before I can say a word or tell him to fuck off I hear a slapping sound and a whimpering Emmett grunts into the phone in pain.

"Rosie, damnit. Why did you hit me?"

Rosalie is Emmett's wife and she takes shit from no one.

"Because you're worse than a pig's asshole sometimes," I hear her say and it makes me chuckle.

"Well, you heard her," I say before I wish both of them a happy Thanksgiving again and hang up.

I get dressed swiftly in black jeans, a black wife beater and a dark blue button down. Some navy chucks on my feet and I look like a regular twenty nine year old on a mission.

See, what I do today is probably the most selfless thing I do all year and even then I have an ulterior selfish motive because I get to see Bella.

I spend my Thanksgiving giving back to New York's poorest. I volunteer at a soup kitchen in the Bronx.

As does Bella.

And that, besides her name is all I know about her.

"Edward, so good to see you!"

I smile and give the tiny, red haired, sixty plus woman a loose hug.

"Hello, Victoria, it's good to see you. How's everything? Is James' arthritis still playing up?"

She and her husband, James, own the soup kitchen and while I make a few donations throughout the year, today is the only day I actually help out.

"It's better, dear. He's on new medication."

"That's good to hear."

Yes, today for some fucking reason I am almost a pleasant person to be around.

But my mood rapidly sours when I look around and don't see Bella anywhere. And she's not one to be late.

"Are you looking for Bella?" Victoria asks me as if she can read my mind. "Because I haven't seen her yet."

I nod curtly.

"Well perhaps she is running late," Victoria adds. "I'm sure she'll be here soon."

But an hour later Bella has yet to appear and suddenly what's supposed to be a happy day for me is turning into a fucking disaster.

This is not the plan; this is not how we do it. For one day a year we meet here and we talk and we fuck and we're happy. Well I am happy at least and I know my tongue has the expertise to make Bella very happy as well.

But where the fuck is she?

By the time the homeless and/or partially sheltered crowd shows up for the food we've prepared, there is still no sign of her and my frustration turns into worry.

I glance at the clock and look outside. It's getting dark and there's no Bella.

I can't keep my mind from wondering to bad places. This is the fucking Bronx after all. Maybe someone mugged her. Maybe she's lying somewhere on the street – bleeding.

Fuck, what if I never get the chance to learn more about her?

"Edward?"

I turn and find James standing behind me. He's smiling politely and hobbles on over to me. It sure doesn't look like his arthritis is under control but maybe Victoria prefers to see it that way.

"James," I greet him politely. "How do you feel?"

"Oh, you know, the old bones are cracking and the muscles are sore. But I'm alive, happy and have been married to a stunning woman for forty years. That's a lot to be thankful for today and any day."

I nod, envying him and pitying myself. I'm such an asshole. Here I am, whining every darn minute when this man sees bliss in life and can still be thankful for things despite the fact he got dealt a shitty hand with his health.

"What are you thankful for?" James murmurs as he looks at me intently. "It's Thanksgiving after all."

I want to give him a no bull shit answer, even if it makes me look like an asshole.

There is nothing I'm thankful for. Nothing. Not my money. Not my family. Nothing.

The one person I want, that I could be thankful for, isn't here.

"I uh…"

And then, before I bare my soul and show James I'm not a good man and that my volunteering here is a fluke, the sweetest and most melodic voice interrupts me and as soon as I watch her mahogany locks dance around her as she rushes inside, I can't help but smile in relief and anticipation.

Bella is fucking here. Finally.

"Sorry I'm late. There was a work emergency," I overhear her tell Victoria and it makes me wonder what kind of work would force her to go in today.

Was she a doctor? A veterinarian? A cop?

No, probably not a cop. And she never smells like animals. Nor vomit. So maybe she's none of those things.

"It's alright, dear," Victoria assures her. "You're just in time to help with the pumpkin pies."

"She's something else, no?" James tells me before he pats me on the shoulder and walks away.

Bella comes breezing in and she and James greet each other with a hug before he leaves and she stalks toward me.

I stand there and watch her intently as she reaches closer and closer.

So many emotions course through me. I'm happy and angry and elated and fucking turned on because she looks so hot in her tight jeans and black V-neck sweater that dips low enough for me to get a peek at the mounts of her ivory tits.

"Hi," she greets me almost shyly, as if she senses and expectsmy wrath.

"Hello, Bella," I greet her coolly, as I busy myself with unwrapping the pies and cutting equal slices.

"Do you need help?"

I want to tell her to fuck off but I know that my anger is unjustified. She was late and had a reason to be. Besides she doesn't owe me any explanations.

"Sure," I mutter as I push a crate toward her so she can unpack it and unwrap the pies so I can cut them.

"How are you?" she asks me sweetly while she gets to work.

Her natural scent of strawberries and freshly-mowed grass hits my nostrils as I breathe her in and I want nothing more but to pin her to the wall to fuck her brains out; to punish her for making me worry and pleasure her for being so exquisite.

"Fine."

I want to fuck you.

"You look good," she compliments me. "I like your chucks."

So do you. You look very fuckable.

"So do you. You were late," I say, my voice cool and accusatory while my skin feels white hot as electricity hums between us.

Bella ignores my tone and explains.

"I'm sorry. I had a work crisis. One of those things that had to be dealt with right away. There was no one else who could take over, so it was all on my shoulders."

The most obvious question burns on my tongue.

"What kind of work requires crisis management on Thanksgiving?"

For a moment it appears that she'll answer me but then she wags her finger playfully.

It gives me an instant hard on. I like stern Bella.

"No way, Edward. I'm not answering that," she says teasingly but then she leans in and adds in a seductive voice. "We fuck, we talk philosophy and criticize the fucked up world we live in but we don't share details about ourselves, remember?"

I shudder as my awakening cock chafes against my jeans. I want her so fucking much.

In so many ways.

"I want you," I say huskily. "Right fucking now."

"We need to finish up here first. Where do you want to go after?" Bella asks almost innocently but the burning edge in her voice lets me know she wants me too.

Her question is an interesting one though. Normally – well, last year - I booked a hotel. This year I haven't done any of the sort.

This year she's coming back to my place.

"Somewhere on the Upper East side."

The night drags on quite slowly but finally - fuckingfinally!-we are done and after helping James and Victoria with the clean-up, we find ourselves standing outside with leftover pumpkin pie shoved into our hands by Victoria, both smiling a bit sheepish as the elderly couple wishes us a good night.

"So, we're going to the Upper East side?" Bella asks coyly.

I want to answer but I'm too mesmerized by the way the street lights shine on her hair and reflects in her chocolate eyes.

I'd fuck her in an alley but that's too cheap. She deserves more.

"Edward?"

"Hmm?"

"Where are we going? Do we need a cab? Because I am without my own transportation."

"I have a car, it's out back."

"Well, then… lead the way."

"This is not a hotel."

Bella has her nose pressed against the passenger window of my Aston Martin as she stares at the tall building.

My building. I own it.

"No, it's not," I say as I maneuver the car into the underground parking garage.

"Edward, where are we?"

"My place."

"Edward," Bella scolds me. "You can't bring me here."

I frown, wondering why the fuck not. I feel like she is shooting me down before I have gotten the chance to explain why I brought her here.

"Why not? What does it matter? Would you rather I take you to a hotel like a cheap whore?"

The sting on my cheek from her unexpected slap is surprising and deserving.

"Don't you fucking call me that."

"I'm sorry," I apologize sincerely as I reach out to touch the lip she keeps biting on. I lean in and force her to look at me. "I don't think you're a whore. You're not. You're a goddess."

Bella rolls her eyes but flashes me a small smile. "I thought we agreed to stay on neutral grounds. That this is a one time a year arrangement."

"It was," I agree. "But I want more."

"More?" she asks. "Like dinner, movies, full names, phone numbers? Like we're dating?"

Dating. She makes it sound like a dirty word. It's clearly not what Bella wants and I don't know if it's what I want but not for the same reasons. Dating sounds so fucking mundane. I want that but more. More excitement, a deeper connection. I want to fucking consume her body, heart and soul. Even if that makes me a fucking creep.

"Well?" she demands. "Tell me what the fuck you want!"

"I don't want to wait another 364 days to see you again when I wake up tomorrow. I want to be able to call you; talk to you. Be more than your Thanksgiving fuck."

Bella looks at me intently but then nods. "You want to get to know me."

"Yes."

Another nod.

"You know everything will change if I go upstairs with you."

My turn to nod.

"That's what I'm counting on."

"Nice place."

I snort, knowing that Bella is either being polite or entirely sarcastic. My apartment is anything but nice. It's clean and sterile and looks like it's straight from Architectural Digest.

The walls are white, the carpet is grey. Two large black sofas are positioned opposite each other with a designer coffee table in between. There's a neat stack of "politically correct" magazines on top of it.

The kitchen is spacious black stainless steel with the best appliances and a breakfast bar I never use and a fruit bowl that's empty.

I have a bathroom with a Jacuzzi and a recreation room with a built-in cinema and a music system that concert halls would kill for. I never watch the giant plasma TV and the only music I listen to is what I produce myself on the baby grand I keep in one of the spare bedrooms. There's a gym and a sauna I never use.

My whole house exudes wealth but there is nothing nice or homey about it. It's displayed richness without anyone enjoying it.

"You don't have to lie," I admonish her teasingly as I watch her walk toward the large wall to wall glass window panes. "I know it doesn't scream warmth or coziness."

I walk over to the mini bar I have in the corner of the living room and throw some ice cubes in two glasses before I pour two fingers of Jack Daniels over them.

Taking the glasses I walk over and stand next to Bella who is now staring out of the window. I hand her one of the glasses and clink mine to hers.

"Cheers."

"Happy Thanksgiving," Bella says softly.

We stand there for a while; Bella mesmerized by the city lights, me enchanted by her presence in my house. I've dreamt of this many times in the past five years. More times than I'm willing to admit.

"The view is amazing," Bella comments as she takes a sip. "Not everyone can afford to see the sun rise and the night fall over Central Park"

I move to stand behind her and breathe her in. "Can you?" I whisper before I moved her hair away to nip at the spot under her ear.

I can hear her bite back a moan. "It's not my style." She breathes.

"What is your style?" I ask seductively, my innuendo seeping through.

"Definitely not this. Though I've never fucked against a window with a view on Central Park," Bella deadpans.

"Well then," I say, as I take the glass from her and put it aside with mine on a side table. "Let's get you your fuck with a view then."

I kiss her roughly as I force her against the cool glass. She moans in my mouth and grabs my shirt, ripping buttons as she tries to pry it off my torso.

"What's your full name?" Bella whimpers as my mouth finds the pulse point on her neck.

"Edward Anthony Cullen."

"Cullen?" she says and it sounds like a gasp. I don't know if that's because she's shocked for some reason or because my fingers have found her heat and are stroking her through the fabric of her jeans.

"Fuck," she hisses.

"What's yours?" I demand as my fingers leave the spot between Bella's legs and claw at the sweater she's wearing. With a little help I manage to pull it over her head. I toss it aside to admire the black lace bra that's covering those two supple tits that fit into my hands so perfectly, as if they're made for me. The black fabric contrasts beautifully against the glowing ivory of her skin. Even though I have seen this sight before, it's still like unraveling the most amazing treasure every single time.

With a few inches between us and the momentary distraction on my part, Bella starts to strip out of her jeans, revealing those legs that go on for miles and a body that could belong to a super model would it not be for the fact Bella is only 5'3".

I snap out of it when she twirls in front of me in her underwear before her hands find the button fly of my jeans.

"You're extremely overdressed," she states firmly as her fingers make quick work of my fly. She rips my jeans down in one swift move, taking my boxes with them.

My cock isn't shy as it springs free and Bella isn't shy either as she slides down on her knees.

But before the heat of her mouth can engulf me and bring me over the edge, I speak, demanding.

"Your name?"

Not that I really fucking care. Right now I'd rather she sucks me into oblivion than to give me her credentials or whatever. But it does seem fair I learn that much about her since she now knows my full name.

That's enough to Google someone nowadays.

"Isabella Marie," she whispers before taking my rock hard cock into her mouth.

I try to concentrate on how ethereal the name sounds but the sensation her tongue creates as it swirls around the tip of my cock is too much sensory overload to keep my brain functioning.

"Shit." I groan, loving the way she laps up the pre-cum off the tip and takes me into her mouth deeper, suckling and nibbling like I'm a juicy piece of Thanksgiving turkey.

Okay, that's cheesy but fuck it if Bella doesn't show the right kind of affection and taste for my cock.

"Tell me more," I beg, knowing it's an absurd request because she can't talk right now with her mouth full. "Where do you work?"

She releases me with a pop and rises, my cock whimpering at the loss of her hot mouth and perfectly plump lips.

I want to demand her back on her knees but I'm not a fucking animal. Although I do look like a fish with the way I stand there gaping while my cock stays at half mast, mocking me for asking stupid questions that have apparently distracted Bella from blowing me.

She meanwhile eyes me as if I've grown a second head which I suppose I did. But she's not looking at the one that's begging for her attention. She is looking at my actual face, her eyes scrutinizing me.

"Do you want to chat or do you want to fuck?" she demands, her words sound hot but her voice is like sharp edged ice.

She's not amused.

The fucking problem however, is that I want both. I want to fuck her; it's all I've thought of for a year. But I also want to know more about her. My brain and my cock are battling for the same thing - her attention.

"Both," I answer sheepishly. "I told you I wanted more. That's why I brought you here."

Bella walks around the living room as I stand there naked with a cock that wants to stay attentive and a mind that's getting distracted with the way she is circling me like I'm her prey.

"Edward Cullen," she says. "Your apartment is stylish. But cold. Not personal. I see no photo frames with pictures of loved ones. Which probably means you hate getting attached to people."

"Is this Psych 101," I counter mockingly. "If so, it's your turn. Share something about yourself."

Bella moves closer. "I told you my name. I told you I've never been fucked against a window before. That seems like enough information for now."

And then she strips out of her bra and loses her panties along the way before she halts in front of me. Naked and perfect.

"It's Thanksgiving," she points out. "I'm thankful to be in the vicinity of your glorious body and your amazing cock. I don't care about who you are or why you decided that today you need a human connection when this apartment clearly shows you go without any type of connection most of the time. I just want to fuck all night long like we did last year."

I stand there and my cock is so willing to plunge into Bella's folds and get lost in the sensation just by the way she's talking dirty.

But her words strike a nerve. They bother me because it seems like she doesn't want to expand what we have at all. She wants to fuck me, use my body and cock and go on her merry way.

That girl I met five years ago was different. Less abrasive and demanding.

I guess Bella lost her innocence.

"I'm thankful for the four previous years where we spent Thanksgiving together. I'm thankful you're here now. But unlike you, ironically I don't want to 'wham-bam-thank you ma'am' you. Yes, I want to bury myself inside your heat and make you scream my name," that gets her attention, or at least her tits respond by pebbling their rose bud nipples, "but after I do that I also want to hold you and have you spend the night and maybe have a decent conversation over breakfast. I want to know you 365 days, not wait another 364 to have you for 1 day."

We both stand there, butt naked and breathing hard. It's like a battle, guns drawn and ready to aim and shoot. I don't know who decides to make the first move but suddenly we're buried in each other's arms; kissing, sucking, tongues dancing an erotic rhythm. I lift Bella up and slam my cock inside her as I carry her over to the window.

Once I'm certain the glass pane holds Bella steady I start moving in and out slowly, making her whimper and beg me to go faster.

I don't oblige straight away because I want to look at her, feel her wrapped around my cock. The moonlight creates a beautiful halo around her.

"You're magnificent," I whisper.

"Faster, please," Bella begs as her legs tighten around my waist, taking me in deeper.

I grunt in response as she starts milking me for all I am worth. I suck on her neck as she winds her hands into my hair. As my release builds so does the need to fuck her hard and since Bella keeps begging me, I step up my pace and start fucking her with wild abandon which makes the glass tinkle because of the movement.

"Fuck, Edward," Bella moans loudly. "I can't… I can't… I'm coming…"

"That's the point, love. Let it go. Come for me. Let me claim you," I demand as my balls slam against her pussy while I ram my cock inside her tightened folds.

"Only if you come for me too," Bella says and then she clams down around my cock, claiming my release as she rides through her own. The window is fogging up as we both spasm against each other and the glass.

Bella pulls my head to hers and kisses me lazily.

"Happy Thanksgiving, Edward."

Happy Fucking Thanksgiving indeed.

The next morning I wake up to bright sunshine filtering into my bedroom. I groan and reach out so I can protect my eyes but the moment I find the pillow on the other side of the bed, memories of the previous night seep into my mind.

Bella and I fucking on the sofa. Bella and I eating some left over pumpkin pie we took from the soup kitchen. Bella and I fucking in the sauna I never use. Bella and I talking about sports – she's a Yankees fan, I prefer the Red Sox. Bella and I fucking in my bed. Bella falling asleep in my arms.

I sigh as my hand traces the cool spot beside me.

I tried to change our dynamic last night. But to no avail because she did not stay.

As my hand fondles the pillow, it comes into contact with something solid.

A square piece of paper.

I lift it and squint against the bright light to read it.

Fine Dining Company

Isabella Marie Swan – CEO.

A phone number.

Underneath the number a message written in an elegant script.

Call me. And don't wait 364 days.

~THE END~

As always - big thanks to my friend and BETA Parama :)