ENTRY FOR THE PLOT BUNNY CONTEST

Story Name: Honey, Butter, and Caramel
Penname: Dazzledin2008
Rating: M
Word Count (not including header/author's note): 4,683

To see other entries in the Plot Bunny Contest, please visit the following C2:
http:/www(dot)fanfiction(dot)net/community/Plot_Bunny_Contest/82048/

This is the plot bunny I was given: "Plot Bunny #2: Bella works at a daycare facility in the toddler room, She works hard and loves the children she watches over. A new child is enrolled there and behaves really badly..What happens when Bella has to call the parent, single dad Edward, and finds his voice intoxicating? Feel free to change out the players in the story I tend to think in E/B format."

And this is what I did with it... Hope you like it! :)

"JESSICA!" I screamed at the top of my lungs for the second time in three minutes. "I NEED SOME MORE FU-" Whoopsie. Almost said one of the forbidden words. "... FLIPPING WET WIPES... NOW! I am NOT kidding! This is DEFCOM1 in here!"

Renesmee Cullen had just made a toxic doodie in her pants, and now I had to clean the shit up. Literally. And the changing station was out of wipes, so I was just standing there, elbow deep in the smelliest crap - again, literally - to ever come out of a living being, and Jessica was nowhere to be found. She was probably painting her nails, or updating her status on Facebook, or something equally inane. So far, she had proven to be an absolutely useless intern.

Jesus Christ, this stuff was everywhere! Renesmee was a lost cause. She was covered from head to toe, and I was slowly reaching critical mass myself, just from trying to hold her still, which was no easy task.

And it's not like she was a sweet, little, tiny infant or anything. Renesmee was a fricking 40-pound 3-year old who could obviously chow down on some grown-up human food, but for some reason, couldn't seem to shit in a toilet like the rest of us. Maybe she was really a midget or something.

I ran the toddler room at the "Rainbow's Children" daycare center outside of Chicago. Yeah, I know. "Rainbow's Children" was a cheesy name. It sounded like either a bunch of kids who had crossed over to the other side, or the progeny of Chicago's gay and lesbian scene. I had worked there for five years now, two since I graduated from Northwestern University with a Master's in Early Childhood Development. Little did I know, however, that what I would be developing was a tolerance for nuclear-grade shit smells. And puke smells. And really pungent pee smells. Forty-grand a year, well spent. Good thing it was scholarship money. If that had been my personal cash, I might have considered either ending my own life in an overly-dramatic fashion, or going postal and taking some folks out with me. Thank God I loved what I did, and I was good at it.

Renesmee had only been with us a week or so, and she had been hell on wheels since day one. Not a well-behaved child by any stretch of the imagination. She smart-mouthed all of the adults, she hit and bit other kids, she pulled out every toy she could find, and she refused to pick up after herself. She had spent more time in the Time-Out chair than she had in the play area. I thought she might just be some sort of demon spawn.

Just as I was mentally compiling a list of her transgressions, she decided to make a run for it and twisted out of my grip. Of course, I couldn't really hold onto her the way I should have because she, and my hands, were still completely covered in shit, and she easily slipped out of my grasp and rolled to the floor. If I had the fucking wet wipes like I had been screaming for, this wouldn't have happened. Well, maybe. I really couldn't put anything past the little beast at that point.

At first, I was mortified, because I thought she might have been hurt, having fallen to the ground from the height of the changing table. Most kids her age would have broken a bone or something, but not pudgy little Renesmee. Instead, the little shit-covered cherub bounced and rolled like a professional stuntman, and then took off running, naked from the waist down, across the changing room and out the door.

"Shit!" I screamed, immediately regretting the lapse (but laughing internally at the irony in my choice of curse words) and whipped my head around quickly to make sure no small ears had heard.

I started running down the hallway, my crap-covered hands high up in the air like a surgeon who had just scrubbed up. I was trying to figure out where the little shit had gone. I froze when I reached the hallway.

Renesmee, being the thoughtful little imp that she was, had left me a trail to follow. A shit trail. All over the fucking walls. She had spread it around in her chubby little handprints, like fingerpaints. It was like she had wiped her hands on the wall, and then reloaded from her body in order to continue. It was everywhere. I was gonna kill that little turd.

I could hear her tinkling little giggle from down the hallway, and I tore off running in that direction. Her giggle sounded just like the evil children in those devil movies, you know, when they sing a single note repeatedly: "La la la. La la la." This is right before the Rottweiler comes around the corner and eats the Nanny.

As I was running down the hallway, looking at the crap smeared on the wall, all I could think of was munchkins from Oz singing "follow the yellow shit trail, follow the yellow shit trail." I grabbed a towel from the linen closet and started wiping down my arms and hands as I searched for her. The trail ended at the doorway to the day room where the younger children played, and when I turned the corner and looked in the room, I was shocked. I mean, I had seen some crazy shit in my years here, heard some wild stories, but this took the fucking cake.

Renesmee was sitting in the middle of the room, covered in shit from head to toe, and playing quietly, like an angel. But that wasn't the shocking part. Before she sat down to play, apparently, she had rubbed her smelly crap on every single child in the room, every surface, every chair, every table, every wall. How she acted that quickly, I will never know. It wasn't humanly possible. But of course, Renesmee was no average human child. I really didn't even think she was human.

I had to force myself to calm down before I acted. Toddler blood sprayed across the room wasn't going to help this situation at all. So I took a couple of deep breaths, which were not exactly cleansing considering the pervasive stench, and I walked to the intercom on the wall by the door.

"ATTENTION COUNSELORS. I NEED ALL HANDS IN THE DAY ROOM - STAT - FOR IMMEDIATE ASSISTANCE. AND I MEAN NOW. OVER." It was going to take every adult in this building to clean up all of these kids, as well as the room itself, before the parents started arriving for afternoon carpool. I would leave that to the others. The demon spawn, however, was mine.

I walked calmly over to little Renesmee, wrapped her completely in the already filthy towel, and threw her over my shoulder in one quick motion. She was wrapped up in a tight little cocoon, her arms safely tucked inside. She really couldn't move, which was exactly my goal. But she could scream, and she did.

"Let me goooooooooooooo," she wailed, as I walked calmly back down the hallway towards the bathroom. I could hear the groans and screams of the adult workers as they started to filter into the day room. Well, that was their problem now. I had my hands full with Renesmee. "Help! Help! Heeeeellllllp!" You would have thought I was butchering her alive. "Dadddddddeeeeeeee! I'm gonna tell my daddddddeeeeeeeeeeee!"

Good, tell your Daddy, you little shit, I thought to myself. And then, I would have several choice things to tell him as well. What kind of parent was he to allow his child to act like this and get away with it?

I had never met her father, but, according to the other counselors, he was drop-dead gorgeous. Like tongue-wagging, panty-dropping, motel-room-renting gorgeous. Which, of course, made no difference to me. I had been dealing with hot-to-trot dads for years. They were always looking to score a little college-aged tail on the side, and I had always managed to avoid them unaffected and unscathed. Also, Mr. Cullen was a single dad, so we only dealt with one parent. Apparently, the mom took off right after Renesmee was born and never returned. Maybe she was psychic, and she knew what was coming. Smart lady.

But he, the dad, was all the other girls could talk about for the last week.

Whatever.

I tuned out the piercing howl in my ear as I entered the bathroom, then locked the door behind me. I was determined that she wouldn't get away from me again. I hadn't yet moved her from my shoulder, despite the increasing number of kicks she was landing on my back with her chubby little feet. I turned on the water in the bathtub, unwrapped her, and tossed her in, clothes and all.

She sat in the middle of the tub and wailed.

After I had us both cleaned up, I dragged Renesmee, kicking and screaming, to the nurse's office. I gave the nurse explicit instructions to keep the door closed and locked, not to let her out of her sight. I made sure the nurse knew not to trust the little Houdini for a second.

Then I stormed over to the office to make a phone call. It was time to call Daddy.

Jesus, I still stunk of shit.

I closed the office door behind me and quickly found the parent roster. Under "Emergency Contacts," he had listed a home phone, a work phone, a cell phone, his assistant's phone, his email address, and his Blackberry PIN number. Good God, how narcissistic was this man? I had a feeling this blowhard would blame me for everything that happened anyway, that his innocent little angel couldn't possibly have done anything wrong. Then, he would probably sue me for defamation or some other legal crap. Wait, was he an attorney? Shit. I checked the roster again for place of employment. "Cullen, Whitlock, McCarty: Attorneys at Law." Fuck. I was screwed.

I picked up the office phone and started to dial his cell. I figured it would be better to go right to the source than to hit a string of voicemail boxes. I tended to leave long-winded, nasty messages that I would inevitably regret. I punched in the 7 digit number and waited. But instead of hearing a ringing phone line, I heard Jessica's whiny voice on the other end.

"Um, hellooooo? I'm on the phone here!"

Crap. She was probably gossiping with one of her little skank friends. She could be on the phone for hours. I slammed the phone back down.

I was too keyed up and too pissed off, and I didn't want to wait any longer. Mr. Cullen needed to hear about his daughter's latest stunt, and he needed to hear it now. I pulled my cell out of my pocket and dialed his number.

This time, I heard ringing. Once. Twice. Three times. Then the line connected, followed by a giggle. What the hell?

"Mr. Cullen's office." More giggling, followed by a rustling noise. Jesus, now what. Was he boinking his secretary in the middle of the workday?

I started to speak, but then I heard his voice. Or what I assumed was his voice. He was far in the background, I could barely understand him, but I could tell by the tone of his voice that he was angry and losing patience quickly.

"Lauren," the voice said sharply. "Give me the goddamned phone."

Okay, so who was Lauren? His girlfriend? His assistant? Whoever she was, she apparently took his phone and answered it, and he was not happy about it.

More giggles from Lauren.

"Lauren, I'm not fucking kidding. Give it to me."

Then she giggled again, and muttered under her breath in an attempt to sound seductive, "Oh, I'll give it to you, alright."

This was followed by some more rustling noises, then the muffled sound of a hand over the mouthpiece.

"Out."

It sounded like he had finally wrangled the phone from her and was now ordering her out of his office. She whimpered a little, and I think I actually heard her pouting, if that were possible. Then the door slammed, and he cleared his throat.

"Edward Cullen."

Wow. His voice. Very smooth. Liquidy. Heady. I felt suddenly warm all over, like I had just downed a shot of brandy or something. I know I should be saying something, but, for the life of me, I couldn't remember what it was. I wanted him to talk some more. Then it all came back to me as the smell of his daughter's shit wafted up to my nose.

"Mr. Cullen, this is Isabella Swan from Rainbow's Children," I said tersely.

"Oh my God, is everything okay?" He rushed through his words. "Is Nessie... is she hurt, is she okay?" Wow, Nessie. Really? Like Renesmee wasn't bad enough, so he gave her the same nickname as a mythical Scottish beast? No wonder this kid is screwed up. But it's kinda sweet, in a way. He sounded really worried, like he really loved her. All fatherly and concerned. Damn, that was hot. He kinda made my ovaries ache. I felt the need to jump right in and set him straight, so he didn't worry.

"Oh no, Mr. Cullen. She's fine." He sighed loudly, releasing a breath that he had been holding.

"Thank God," he said softly. "Then, what can I help you with Ms...?"

"Swan. Isabella Swan." I had to take a second to clear my throat, as well as my head. The sound of his voice was making me dizzy, and I needed to fill him in on today's events. "There was an incident with your daughter, but no one was hurt." I suddenly wanted to make him comfortable.

"Oh." Apparently, he had been on the other end of this particular phone call before.

"Your daughter," I was just unable to use her name in a sentence without laughing out loud, it was just so ridiculous. How was I going to put this delicately... "smeared her feces all over the day room. The walls, the tables, the chairs," and I paused here for effect, going in for the kill. "And the other children."

"Oh, crap."

"Exactly, Mr. Cullen."

"I am so sorry, Ms. Swan. This will not happen again, I assure you. I will speak to her about this tonight." I had never been so turned on before by a man's voice. I wondered what he was wearing. How his hair felt. How he smelled. I had to focus and get back to the matter at hand.

I was just about to launch into a diatribe on disciplining your children and what a daycare center should not have to put up with when he interrupted me.

"Um, Ms. Swan, I really hate to do this, but I'll have to call you back. I'm terribly late for a meeting. Please excuse me. And thanks for calling." Click. What?

He did not just hang up on me!

Okay, it was on now. I was going to be firm, but polite, but the rule book just got tossed. I planned to be at work early in the morning, and I would confront him when he dropped "Nessie" off. I could have waited for him tonight, but I smelled like shit, and I knew that I needed to calm down and compose myself before I spoke with him again. If I saw him tonight, I might go off. Not good for business nor for the continuation of my career.

I packed up my bag and headed home.

A half a bottle of wine later, things were looking up. I had taken a quick shower to rid myself of the majority of the filth and the stench, then settled into a hot bath laced with my favorite freesia bath oil. The room was lit entirely by candles, and I had classical music playing softly in the background.

I was so relaxed. I had closed my eyes and let my mind wander.

I started thinking about Edward Cullen's voice. In my mind, he was faceless, featureless, nothing distinctive. Just that voice, whispering filthy things in my ear while he touched me. My hands became his hands in the dark, steamy bathroom, the bath oil slick on my warm, wet skin.

And then my cell phone rang.

Fuck. I was well on my way to a glorious - albeit solitary - orgasm, and the ringing phone wrenched me back into the present. I didn't recognize the number, and I almost let it go to voicemail, but something told me to answer it.

"Hello?" It came out in a slurred whisper. I was half drunk, half asleep, and half orgasmic.

"Ms. Swan?" Holy shit. That voice. It was him, Mr. Cullen. Why was he calling me at night? And how did he get my number?

"Mmm hmm." I tried to sound uninterested, but I think it sounded pervy instead. I might have freaked him out a little - he paused for a couple of seconds before clearing his throat and continuing.

"Ms. Swan, this is Edward Cullen, Renesmee's father." Warm honey. Melted butter. Gooey caramel. His voice was everything warm and sweet and sticky, and I wanted it all over me. "I apologize for calling so late. And for hanging up so abruptly earlier today. And of course, for my daughter's unforgivable behavior." Jesus, who says abruptly and makes it sound like a sexually explicit act? "I will speak to her as soon as I get home." Oh, he was still at work. Sitting in a dark office, I imagined, the only light in the room coming from his small desk lamp. His suit jacket was thrown over a chair, long since abandoned. Crisp white dress shirt unbuttoned at the neck, tie loosened, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. I was getting carried away.

"Ms. Swan? Are you there?" Oh shit, I've really got to pay attention. Focus.

"Bella," I said softly, fingertips rubbing the bath oil into the skin on my thighs.

"Excuse me?" He was really very well-mannered, very polite. I wondered if he ever lost control. And what that would sound like.

"You don't have to be so formal, Mr. Cullen. It's 10:30 at night, I'm half drunk and in the bathtub. I think you can call me Bella." I wanted to laugh out loud. I didn't know what the hell I was saying. Why did I just tell him that I was in the bathtub? Crap, now he knows I'm naked. "We can talk about your daughter in the morning, if that's okay with you." There was no way that I could be serious with him right now. I was too drunk and too horny.

"Alright," he said after a moment. He sounded like he was grinning. Can you sound like you're grinning? "But only if you'll call me Edward."

Fuck me.

"Okay, Edward. Now that we're on a first name basis," I hummed, "can I tell you something?" I knew I was going to regret this when I sobered up, but it seemed like a good idea at the time.

"Anything." Warm, soft fudge. Marshmallow creme.

"You have the sexiest voice I have ever heard..."

He didn't say a word, but I heard him suck in a shaky breath. That conjured up a brand new series of images, and I ran with it. Edward naked, on his back, in my bed. Edward, underneath me, covered in a light sheen of sweat. Edward, whispering my name in the dark as he came inside of me.

His silence unnerved me and cleared my head. I realized what I had been doing, with the father of one of my kids, and I was suddenly mortified.

"Oh my God, I'm sorry. That was wildly inappropriate. Please forget that I said that. I am so embarrassed." I kept mumbling my apologies when he interrupted.

"Bella." His voice actually vibrated inside me, every nerve in my body tingling. "That was the hottest thing anyone has ever said to me. Please don't apologize." His voice sounded an octave lower than it was a minute ago, and I never wanted him to stop talking. "Of course, it could also be because I know you're naked and wet."

Holy fuck.

"How do you know that I'm wet?" I used my best porn voice, but I could barely get out the word "wet" without giggling.

"Well, you did say that you were in the bathtub..." he teased.

Oh my God. Now I was really embarrassed. I thought he meant something else.

"Unless you meant..." he whispered, "wet."

Okay, so he did mean what I thought he meant. I moaned out loud. I couldn't help it. My fingers slipped beneath the water, between my legs.

"God, yes, Edward. Please, don't stop... talking." My eyes were screwed shut, imagining this faceless, featureless stranger touching me in places that hadn't felt skin other than my own in months.

"Bella?" he said in that soft, deep voice.

"Yeah?"

"Are you... Um... Oh God, please say yes..." he mumbled. I couldn't tell if he was talking to me or to himself. "Are you... uh... touching yourself?" He whispered the last two words, like he was embarrassed. Or hopeful. Actually, they both worked for me.

"Do you want me to, Edward?" I liked saying his name. I liked the way it sounded on my lips. I wanted to scream it. I hitched one leg on the edge of the tub, and water was sloshing over the side in regular intervals, matching the movement of my hand.

"Yes." His voice was softer now, but he was breathing harder. I could hear it over the phone, quite clearly. Back to my mental image of him sitting alone in his dark office, eyes closed, leaning back in his leather chair. Where were his hands?

"Yes, Edward. I'm touching myself." I threw in a long, soft moan for effect. Of course, I actually was touching myself, so it wasn't much of a stretch.

"Tell me," he growled. "Tell me what you're doing. Tell me everything." He sounded demanding and desperate and breathless.

"I will, but on one condition." I smiled to myself - I knew what I wanted now.

"Anything..." he whispered anxiously.

"I want you to touch yourself too." He made a little noise, kind of a gasp-moan. It was incredibly arousing, and I wanted to hear more. He hadn't answered me yet, so I decided to push him a little. I wanted to see, or rather, hear, that carefully composed exterior come completely apart. "Edward, slide your hand down your stomach, between your legs. Stroke yourself through your pants." I paused for a moment, gave him time to get there. "Tell me, Edward... are you hard for me?"

I heard the soft rustling of fabric, then another groan.

"God... yes... so hard."

"Unbuckle your belt. Let me hear it." I was really getting off on telling him what to do. It was so rare that I got to have the upper hand in a relationship with any of the parents. I always had to defer to their needs and wants. It was hell being in the service industry. The customer was always right, and it fucking sucked. But I had complete control over Edward Cullen, at least for this telephone conversation, and I planned to take complete advantage of it.

He must have lowered the phone to his waist, because the metal clicking of his belt was suddenly very loud in my ear. Jesus, I could really hear it, and when the noise stopped, I knew exactly what it looked like - his belt hanging open at his waist, one hand on his hard cock, the other gripping the phone. And he was waiting for my next command.

"Pop the button on your pants. Then pull the zipper down," I ordered. "And I want to hear the zipper."

Again, rustling of fabric. Followed deliciously by the very slight clicking sound of metal teeth opening. Now we were getting somewhere. I could hear his breath again, quick and heavy, as he brought the phone back up to his ear.

"Edward? Are you there?" We were both ready now, and we needed to get down to business.

"Yes," he croaked. It was kind of funny. He was so verbose earlier, and now, all I could get out of him were one word answers.

"Slide your hand inside your underwear and pull out your cock." God, I wanted to see him. I wondered if I could convince him to send me a picture from his cell phone. No, that was a really bad idea. This entire evening was a bad idea, but having photo proof would be exponentially worse. And then I would feel compelled to reciprocate, and then next thing I know, I would get fired. Or arrested.

"Edward? Are you holding your dick?" He wasn't giving me any feedback, and I was having to assume that he was listening, following my instructions. Every now and then, I could hear him breathing, and don't get me wrong - it was hot - but what I really wanted was to hear his voice again, and then I wanted to get off.

"Yes, I'm holding... it." He was shy. It was cute.

"I want you to start stroking it. Are you stroking it?"

"Yes."

"Yes, what? Tell me what you're doing. I need to hear your voice." It was the blind leading the blind. I was having to pull the words out of him, coach him. I needed to figure out some way to get the dam to break, open the floodgates.

"Yes, I'm stroking my... cock." He kind of coughed out that last word, but he said "cock" and I was loving it. "Jesus, Bella... I'm so hard. I've never been this fucking hard before..." Wow. I want to hear him say "fuck" over and over. I think I could come just from hearing him say that word alone. "This is so fucking hot... I've never..." He's muttering again, and I can't really understand what he's saying, but I can clearly hear his movement. Very rhythmic. He was really going at it now. And he was breathing hard again, panting.

That was all I needed, and I really put my fingers to work. I was so wet, I could feel it between my legs, a different kind of slickness from the bathwater. I just needed a little more.

"Oh God, Edward, I'm so wet right now, wet for you. You sound so fucking delicious... make me come with your voice, let me hear you..." I was moaning and panting myself now, so close to the edge, needing to finish up with this man, but wanting more.

"Bella..." he moaned, deep and throaty, and that just about did it. Then he started talking again, drizzling his honey voice all over my skin. "Bella, I want to taste you, I want to make you come with my tongue, fuck you with my fingers. I want to hear you scream my name..."

And then the phone started ringing.

I was confused. I mean, I was on my phone. How was it ringing?

I opened my eyes and saw my phone sitting on the edge of the tub, ringing, lights blinking. The bathwater had turned cold.

It was just a dream. All a dream. I had fallen asleep in the tub, fantasized the entire thing. Edward Cullen had never called me. Shit. I wanted to cry. It was so real. I wanted it to be real.

I grabbed the phone with my cold, pruney fingers and quickly checked the caller ID. Not a number I recognized. And it was only 7:30 (not 10:30 like in my dream), but no one called me this late at night. I wanted to throw the phone across the room, watch it shatter into a million tiny pieces. But I didn't. Instead, I hit the SEND button and answered the phone.

"Hello?"

"Ms. Swan? This is Edward Cullen."

If you liked this story, PLEASE VOTE FOR ME AT: http: / www(dot)fanfiction(dot)net / u / 2318066 / plot_bunny_contest#

Voting ends THURSDAY AUGUST 12, so please vote now, and thanks! :)

A/N: Thanks, as always, to my best friend and fabulous beta, LibbyLou862!