Thanks for the amazing feedback, guys! It feels great to be writing again.

Thanks to twilightmomoftwo for handholding and beta duties, and thanks to lynzylee for being just plain awesome.

It wasn't warm enough for Spring but I didn't care. This was my favorite time of year - the transition between Winter and Spring that was neither one or the other.

I drove fast in the dying twilight of the day; my arm was coasting on the chilly wind, my fingers grabbing fruitlessly at the air. It had been crisp and sunny earlier but the clouds were misting over the last dying pinks and darkening lavenders of the afternoon.

My hippie mother would have an apoplexy if she knew I was wearing leather and probably seize up and die if she knew it was my father's old jacket. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, my dad, died when I was a kid, and he was never to be forgiven for something that wasn't even his fault. Where my mother saw a man who had stolen too much from her and gave nothing back, I had gotten over being angry at him. In my mind he was a hero, the dad I never knew, some sort of guardian angel who was there when I needed to not feel so alone.

It also helped that my great aunt Tilly shared her memories of him whenever I visited her. She was this silver-haired, hard-as-nails descendant of the original settlers in the area. Her roots went deep, and she was very proud of them. Aunt Tilly had helped me make peace with my father's death and had always supported me. She looked after his old house and his belongings that my mother wanted no part of. It was Aunt Tilly who made sure my father's Ford GT and leather jacket were given to me.

I can still remember her words as she gave me the keys.

Bella Swan, you got your daddy's wild streak in you.

I gave the Gran Torino more gas, and the engine purred, making the car vibrate around me. This car was my pride and joy; the outside was a slick oil black with shiny chrome detail. I couldn't wait to get out of the city limits and let the GT run on the longer, quieter roads that linked me back to the small town that was my father's hometown. I should probably have planned to visit Aunt Tilly while I was in the area but it wasn't going to be that kind of trip. I had a weekend of drunken pool games and late nights planned.

The last of the city limits faded in my rear view mirror; concrete landscapes transitioned to more pine trees and less civilization. I glanced in the mirror, but nothing but the road was there. I felt like something was following me; I had this odd nervous feeling in my stomach like someone was there, waiting for me. I shook it off and turned the radio up louder.

I loved this drive. I loved the solitude of it and how I was able to really stretch my mind out and think as the car around me satisfied a need in me to go fast and loud. I could relax; I could be myself.

I was alive in moments like this.

Hours later I passed the sign welcoming me to Forks, Washington, Population 3175. Nothing like rediscovering honky-tonk roots in a small, honky-tonk town. I tried to keep as close to the town's speed limit as I could as I neared my motel in the center of town. After checking in and throwing my overnight bag on the bed, I brushed my hair, freshened up, put more make-up on and found a nasty pair of heels I had bought just for the occasion at the bottom of my bag.

That night I played pool. That night I enjoyed the company of Jack Daniels and his friend Jose Cuervo. Jack and Jose led me to meet Mick. Or Mike. Or maybe it was Miles.

I just remembered that he was tall, and blond, and he whispered his order to go as he nibbled on my neck. He smelled of cigarettes and something woodsy that made my blood pulse faster whenever he leaned closer.

My hotel room was closer than his place. We fumbled with clothes as the door crashed closed behind us. I threw off my father's jacket, tore at the black t-shirt I wore as he fumbled with the fly on my jeans. I raised the shirt over my head and he did the same with his own. His generous lips nipped down my throat and now exposed collarbone. I could feel my pulse beating in every sensitive nerve ending as he made his way lower to the swell of my breasts.

I needed; I wanted.

He straightened, his lips finding mine and our tongues tangled. My hands were on the front of his jeans searching for that familiar shape that told me he was ready. He moved to my neck again as I grabbed, clasped, rubbed, and his breath broke in my ear.

I unzipped his jeans the moment he unzipped mine. There was a moment where we both disconnected as we shoved our jeans off and then we were back again. I felt hot, the slick feeling of desire pulsed between my legs as his cock brushed against my hipbone. I grasped it in my hand and he groaned as my thumb rubbed over the tip. I heard the sound of foil tearing and then his hands brushed over mine as we rolled the condom down the length of him. He grinned at me; I saw the flash of his teeth in the sliver of moonlight peeking through the curtains.

He picked me up and dropped me on the bed. I landed with a gasp of surprise as he followed me there and covered my body with his. His mouth was on my neck again, and I arched towards him as his hands kneaded my breasts, squeezing, as I spread my legs wider. I groaned as he thrust forward; I was more than ready for him.

He kissed my neck softly, and I moved my mouth to his ear, biting his earlobe. "Quit playing with me and fuck me."

And Mick or Mike or whatever the fuck his name was must have been raised right, because he obviously knew how to obey a woman when she gave a direct order. I remember screaming something as I came, as my body felt like it was racing and then flying. I hope it was the right name. Or maybe I just said Fuck.

Who knows. Neither of us cared.

We both got what we came for.

Thanks for reading.