.
.
.
She knew she'd leave sometime before the sun started to kiss the shiny steel and glass buildings of the city with its early morning light. She knew she would watch him sleep, memorize the way he looked, savor the peace on his face because she knew she was about to destroy it.
They fucked.
Grabbing, clawing, skin slippery with sweat, she dug her fingernails into his back as she felt the world start to slowly shatter around her.
He whispered his secrets to her, told her how much he'd missed her, and then wiped away the tears. She told him she was happy he found her. It wasn't a lie.
She would run away, slip from between the cotton sheets of the hotel bed, search the dark room for where her clothes had landed, pull them on quickly. She would do all this silently, choking back the sobs, tears running down her cheeks.
She traced every part of his body with her fingers, tasted the salt of his skin with her tongue, found places that made him cry out her name in guttural, low tones that made her smile.
Run away. That's what Bella Swan had learned to do because the Volturi wouldn't stop until she was dead. Run away because if anyone didn't deserve to be happy in the arms of the man she loved it was her.
So they fucked and she savored every single moment. She knew it might be their last. "Find me," she hissed in his ear as his jaw went slack with desire. She knew he would do everything in his power to comply with her demand.
"Find me," she whispered as she stood over the bed watching him sleep one last time. "Find me, Jake."
.
.
.
