EPOV
"Samantha!"
Shit.
Shit shit shit shit shit.
I shot out of Sam's bed like a bolt and started groping around the dark room for my clothes.
"The chair!" she hissed, her eyes wide in the glow of the moonlight. I bent down to quickly kiss her full, lush mouth and snatched my clothes off the back of her husband's recliner. Her husband's fucking recliner. These exploits were growing increasingly dangerous to my health. Throwing my shirt over my bare chest I made a beeline for the bay window and frantically hopped into my jeans.
"Sam? Where are you?" He was closer now, pounding heavily up the stairs. I had about three seconds to get my ass out of sight. I didn't want another attempt on my life.
Fuck...my shoes. Where the hell were my shoes? I made a mad dive under the bed where I had kicked them off. Stumbling back to the open bay window, shoes in one hand, holding my pants up with the other, I was ready to jump.
"Cullen!" I froze.
Or not.
Samantha's 250lb redneck husband barrelled into the moonlit room looking distinctly homicidal.
"Cullen I'm going to get you this time, boy!" He lumbered to the closet and produced a metal baseball bat. Shit. I squeezed my eyes shut, said a silent prayer and flung myself out the window, pants around my knees.
I rolled down the slanted Spanish tiles and landed noisily in the bushes below, cursing as sharp twigs broke off and branded my naked flesh. I half rolled half crawled out of the shrub and managed to pull my pants on in the process.
"Edward!" I heard Sam cry.
"I hope you broke your neck, boy! 'Cause it's gonna break one way or another!"
"Good to see you again, Mr. Dayton!" I chuckled, wondering briefly if the fat bastard had cameras in the house. He always seemed to know just when to come home. Last time Sam and I had been sprawled out on the Italian leather sofa in the living room, and he'd burst in and damn near taken my head off with his shotgun. I smiled at the fond memories.
I shoved my shoes on, ran across the street and dove into Rosalie's convertible…which I'd taken in a last minute stroke of brilliance for easy access. The verbal ass fucking I'd get later would be worth it if I could save myself from a baseball bat ass fucking from a fat oil tycoon. At least Rosalie had soft hands.
Dayton was still bellowing vile threats against my tender young life as Rose's Bentley Continental roared to life. He looked like King Kong hanging out of the window flailing his beefy arms.
"CULLEN!"
I peeled away from the curb and flew down Sunset blvd, stretching my aching limbs, the sounds of Pink Floyd filling the cool California night air.
Jasper was still up when I got back to the pool house.
"Hey word. Why the blood? Narrow escape again?"
"Yeah...old lady Dayton's house. Pacific Palisades. The Texas ranger came home early."
"You took Rose's car, didn't you."
"I did."
"You got blood on it, didn't you."
"Maybe."
"She'll rip your balls off in the morning."
"Won't be the first time."
He went back to his game and I went to the bar and poured myself a stiff drink...nothing like Black Label after satisfying an older woman. I took my drink to the bathroom with me and gingerly peeled off my blood spotted t-shirt, jumped in the shower and let the hot water wash my cuts and scrapes as I languidly sipped my whiskey. The cuts stung, but they didn't seem too deep. I'd have Carlisle look at them in the morning.
Jasper sauntered in to brush his teeth.
"Open the hot water and die, motherfu-AAAAAHHHMOTHERFUCKER!"
"Sorry. Hey listen, your plans for me banging Jessica have all failed spectacularly. I need some fresh angles."
I stuck my empty glass out at him from the shower and he dutifully left to refill it.
"You tried jealousy tactics?"
"Yeah...made out with that girl whose locker's next to hers. Right in front of her. She didn't bat an eyelash." He stuck the whole fucking bottle of Johnny Walker through the shower curtain at me. I moaned gratefully and swallowed two gulps, relishing the burning sensation. I felt the warmth of it radiate through my chest, already numbing my throbbing welts and bruised ass.
"Did you cop a feel during Spanish class at least?"
"She gave me a purple nurple, dude. It's still purple. Or morado, if you prefer." He chuckled.
"Huh...what about the sex note in the locker? That one's foolproof."
"She thought it was from that idiot Mike. I think she gave him a quickie in the bathroom. I can't win dude."
I got out of the shower and wrapped a towel around my waist, picking up my own toothbrush. .
"Hrrk shurr effur uuck bee?" He garbled. I cocked an eyebrow at the mirror and he spat. "Think she'll ever fuck me? I really need to get laid, man."
"Invite her over and get her drunk. How hard can it be? She's serviced half the school…and a couple teachers, I believe."
"Think she's dirty?"
"A body condom might be a wise choice."
"Noted."
I rolled my eyes at my reflection. Why he went for high school girls was beyond me. Why, bratty, stuck up Beverly Hills bitches who'd sooner shove a $700 shoe up your ass than smile at you appealed to him, I'll never know. The man was just too green when it came to girls. His southern charm and mild mannered ways seemed to have the opposite effect on Beverly bitches and more often than not they just mistake him for gay. So he compensates sometimes. He gets slapped a lot.
He flat out refuses to come with me on my nightly house calls. I even offered a tag team once. He seemed offended by the sentiment.
I rinsed my mouth and opened the medicine cabinet, looking to find a catalyst for the Jack Daniels to do its job. I found a bottle of codeine with only a few pills rattling inside, and realized I'd have to make another visit to Carlisle's stash again soon. My uncle was a highly successful plastic surgeon – It had its perks, I won't lie. Like my car. And the healthy supply of Milfs wanting to fuck me to get on Carlisle's extensive waiting list. Everyone always assumed our good looks were surgically fabricated; people just figured if you're good looking, live in Bel-Air, live with a plastic surgeon...
Beverly Hills was full of assholes. This place is so much different from Philadelphia; plastic and phony smiles, women who spend hours at the beauty parlour and come out looking like photo shopped pictures. Shiny painted Barbie dolls. Our high school alone was a who's who of celebrity spawns and Hollywood brats. Vapid bitches, cocky motherfuckers who dressed like assholes with popped collars, and the very air was rife with pretension and affluence. Everyone wanted to be a fucking actor. Everyone knew the A-list personally. The school parking lot was a fucking auto show.
I missed real women. Real fucking women. Who don't care where their jeans are from or how much their daddy spends on their sweet sixteen. Women who don't snap their gum in your face and don't treat you like a fucking wallet. The closest thing to a real woman I could find here were older women. Lonely housewives, tired of being ignored and kept only to be paraded during parties and galas. Women married to dickless men who couldn't satisfy a woman to save their lives.
Some of these women were very eager to welcome a willing and skilled 18 year old into their marital beds.
Like Sam, for instance. My eyes glazed over hornily as I remembered the look on her face when I gave her the shocker. They never see it coming.
"You've got that look in your eyes again. I'm locking my door tonight. Last night you came into my room moaning Darla's name. I don't feel like being sodomized in my sleep."
So I had a healthy sexual appetite. He should be flattered I tried to sleep hump him. And Darla...well she was one of my VIP milfs.
And I sleepwalked.
Sometimes I'd wake up at the computer googling weird shit or standing in the shower like an asshole. More often than not I just freaked people out. Sometimes if Jas left the door unlocked I'd wander out into Aunt Esme's "garden of Eden"...and I call it that because our property looks like some fucking botanical gardens. She's got every species of flower, bush, and tree known to man.
Sometimes when I got on her bad side she'd drag me out onto the bench swing under the huge magnolia tree and she'd torture me with plant rhetoric, pointing out little patches of her "babies" and talking my ass off for hours. But despite myself I enjoyed these serene moments with Esme; she brings out the good in me somehow. I'm docile as a fucking lamb around her. She has that effect on people. Carlisle on the other hand...finds me perpetually exhausting. Can't say I blame the guy.
"I'll soften her up for you at school tomorrow. I have English with her. She's been trying to milk me again since grade 10. Now go strap your dick back on and get some sleep, tomorrow's Sunday." I walked to my dresser and pulled on an old Zeppelin shirt and black sweats. "Are we doing Laguna again?"
"Let's see if you can make it to the beach, if Rose doesn't castrate you first."
"Hopefully Emmett'll have his dick on tomorrow too." Fortunately my linebacker cousin was the size of a small building. His girlfriend Rosalie lived with everyone else in the main house, and was hell bent on giving me premature grey hair. She was an incessant bitchy thorn in my side. Emmett was so fucking head over feet in love with her that most of the time he just smiled lovingly while she ass fucked me.
Jasper rolled his eyes and closed his bedroom door. I heard him hesitate, and then lock it. Pussy.
I winced as I got into bed. Pulling the comforter over my head, I groaned as I looked at the clock: three a.m. The witching hour of horniness. I rolled over onto my side, trying to remember the last time I'd gotten laid, wishing I hadn't brushed the taste of pussy out of my mouth.