Title: Sonnet 141
Pairing: E/R (Ewwww)
Rating: M
Recipient: jadedandboring
What you should read of theirs: The Kubler-Ross Model - angsty, real and amazing.
Prompt: Roseward - Must have hot lemons
Songs: Ugly - The Exies, Control - Puddle of Mudd, I Hate Everything About You - Three Days Grace
Dear Friend: Thank you for being there to put up with all my insanity when I'm writing - especially when I was freaking out. I don't know that I could have finished We Don't Break without your help. I love you so much I'm writing Roseward for you - and you and I both know that's saying something. Also - you make gorgeous boy babies.

~0~

When he opened the door and found Rosalie standing there, no part of him was surprised. It was inevitable. Despite Edward's best efforts, he hadn't realized until too late that she was watching him at that Oscar's after party.

To Rosalie Hale, Edward Cullen was invisible unless he was interested in a woman who was not her. Then, she appeared in a black cloud of smoke and evil, dressed in something sinful with knowing smirk on her face. The minute he opened the door he was assaulted by the scent of the perfume she wore. She knew that particular aroma drove him crazy. It was mouthwatering, and she'd trained him enough that, in true Pavlovian style, when he smelled it, he automatically grew hard.

Rosalie only ever wanted one thing from him.

It wasn't about the sex - though he knew for a fact that he was the best she'd ever had. It was about the fact that she knew he was thinking about someone else. Imagining her naked curves under his hands. Imagining her moans and the way she would call his name. Imagining tasting her, and touching her, and seeing her become undone because of him.

It wasn't enough, to Rosalie, that she was most men's fantasy. What drove her crazy was the thought that she wasn't Edward's.

Oh, they'd had their turn. When there were both fresh faces among Hollywood elite, tabloids always sighed that they were perfect for each other. Why not? The bad-ass, blond bombshell and the suave, sexy leading man were the Hollywood equivalent of the head cheerleader and the captain of the football team. At some point they were just inevitable. But Edward had quickly grown bored with her.

To add insult to injury, she'd left her then-boyfriend Royce King for Edward - a move which caught her no small amount of scorn with the gossip rags. Then he'd ditched her faster than you could say, "Vapid blondes aren't my type."

He supposed he shouldn't complain. After all, this was Hollywood. Exes in this town seemed to take great pride in just how thoroughly they could destroy one another. Angry, hate sex with your former significant other was supposed to be a perk.

Except that Rosalie wanted the one thing that Edward prized: control. He prided himself in being a gentleman where most in the game were scoundrels and fakes. He hated playing games. More than that, he hated being played, and Rosalie - like some pockmarked, glasses-wearing, Mountain-Dew-addicted nerd who still lived in his mother's basement - knew every button he had.

Edward put his hand against the doorway, blocking her entrance. He said nothing. Experience had taught him that she would twist his words against him.

She scoffed. "Invite me in. You and I both know you're not busy with Norma Jeane," Rosalie began.

"Go away," he said flatly, instantly trying to slam the door in her face. Rosalie was too quick, swiftly putting her stiletto heel in the doorway. She cried out as the door caught her heel and part of her foot.

And even though he knew she was counting her first victory - slamming the door in any one's face was something Edward considered rude and unnecessary, hurting her was worse - his immediate response was to open the door.

Rosalie leaned heavily on him. "You ass. You could have broken my foot."

"My suggestion is that you not put it in the way of a shutting door next time," he barked at her, but he put a steadying arm around her waist as he said it. "Oh, stop moaning. I'm sure it's fine. Come sit here." He helped her hobble to the couch in the sitting room just to the side of the entryway, rolling his eyes at her dramatics.

Kneeling, he slipped off her heel, examining her foot. "I am going to make sure you're capable of walking, and then you're going to leave. Are we clear on that?"

She swallowed a yelp as he pressed her tender skin. "I don't know why you're so angry with me, Edward. I haven't done anything to you."

"Cut the crap. I know you saw last night," he spat, glaring up at her as he rotated her foot gently. "That's why you're here." Confirming for himself that her foot was just fine, Edward stood and stared down at her, his arms crossed.

Rosalie looked up from beneath long lashes, her face awash with innocence and her lip pouting out ever so slightly. "Of course. Your date was quite the catch, even for you. I just wanted to catch up. Chat a little about your good fortune." She smiled at him, brushing his thigh with the back of her hand. "Isn't it high time we tried to be friends?"

Batting her hand away, Edward took a step back. "We're not going to be friends. If you just wanted a little friendly chatter, why come here unannounced? Were you hoping to catch her here?"

Her look turned just a little condescending - like one might tease a good friend when he was being slightly obvious. "Like I said before, I knew she wasn't here." She tilted her head as if deep in thought. "She's different than a lot of the rest of us, isn't she? She doesn't seem the type to go home with a man she's only just begun to date."

"What makes you think we've only begun to date?" he countered.

"Please. People's Most Eligible Bachelor and Hollywood's shiny, new toy? You two have lit up every website and landed in every paper as of this morning." Her voice betrayed a hint of bitterness.

"Green isn't your best color, Rosalie," he sneered, walking away from her and to the bar against the wall. He hated that she made him feel this way: vindictive.

"I just don't understand the appeal, that's all," she replied with practiced nonchalance. "Bella Swan is as plain vanilla as they come. She's...wholesome. Where's the fun in that?"

Edward knew all of this, of course. It was part of what had drawn him to Bella in the first place. In this town, everyone came with baggage; everyone was hiding something. Bella Swan either hadn't learned the game or didn't care to play. She was an open book and hadn't lost the naive innocence yet.

"Your earlier comparison hardly fits then, does it?" he bit out. Even he could hear the warning edge in his voice.

Because people were cruel and wanted, in their heart of hearts, to see her bleeding and raw, Bella's naiveté meant she was often hurt by the things people said and did. Outwardly, she held herself tall, but Edward had seen the pain in her eyes when it happened. He felt inexplicably protective toward her; as if there was nothing more he wanted than to shield her from the barbs that came with being a part of their world.

Rosalie was exactly the kind of person he wanted to keep away.

"I suppose not," she acquiesced. "Marilyn Monroe was beautiful after all."

Edward slammed the tumbler of whiskey he'd poured down on the bar. He struggled to control his fury.

"She'll bore you," Rosalie was saying, and he heard the rustle of clothing as she stood. "She won't have a clue how to please you," she murmured near his ear, standing right behind him now.

"As if you would know what she's like in bed." Edward didn't bother to turn around to acknowledge her. She would be standing there with that knowing smirk of hers.

She snickered and reached past him to pick up a glass of her own. "Mike Newton told me," she said as she fixed herself a drink. "He said it took him forever to get between her legs, the frigid cow, and that it wasn't worth the effort. He stopped calling her after that."

Rosalie was amused.

Edward was livid.

"Have you ever thought it was Mike Newton's performance that was lacking and not hers?" he asked venomously, moving quickly away from her and to the window. "I seem to recall you didn't have many good things to say about the nights you spent with your legs in the air for him. Flopping fish, and five minutes in the dark, wasn't it?"

Her answer was to step behind him again, only this time she didn't stop. She pressed herself against his back as she snaked one hand around, cupping him through his pants. "She won't satisfy you," she said against his ear, her tone sultry and promising him pleasure that he knew for a fact she could bring.

He took a deep breath, summoning his willpower. Usually he had no problem sidestepping women who all but threw themselves at him - he was a celebrity and ridiculously good-looking after all - but it was different with Rose. Her smell surrounded him, making his head spin. Her fingers worked over him expertly, making his hard-on go from barely present to unmistakably there. His irritation was likewise growing by the second.

As she moved for his zipper he grabbed her, his long fingers circling her wrist in an almost-harsh grip. He kept hold of her, turning around and bringing himself to his full height. She was a statuesque woman, but he was still taller and wider than she was. He leaned down, his face so close that his breath made the skin of her nose hot. "Don't touch me, Rose."

Rosalie was not one to be intimidated. She stepped forward, forcing him to step back until his back was up against the window. The glass, cold against his back even through the cloth of his shirt, was not enough to cool the spiking heat between them. He wanted to throttle her.

He wanted to kiss her.

Given that he couldn't hit a woman, he knew how this would end and so did she. Her hands were in his hair then, pulling his head down the few inches she needed. "Don't tell me what to do, Edward."

She kissed him then, her lips hard against his and her hands flat on his chest. His body ached to respond to hers - itched to pull her toward him because he knew he could be rough with her. There had never been anything soft or tender between the two of them.

His self-control was nearly gone.

And if it was going to go anyway, he was damn well going to be in control of it.

His hands shot out, grabbing her arms and forcing her arms length away from him. Then he spun her around and to the side, pressing her front first against the wall. Before she could even gasp he'd wound her long, golden hair around his fist, pulling it to the side and sinking his teeth into the skin of her neck. "Don't mark me, you asshole," she yelled sharply, but her neck was tilted to the side as she spoke. "I have to work tomorrow."

He snickered, dragging his lips up to her ear. "Don't tell me what to do, Rosalie," he sneered. "I'm sure your make-up team has had to cover up much worse." He nipped hard at her skin again, making her pant. "Don't lie to me. You know I can tell when you're lying. You just don't want to explain this to Emmett, do you?"

"You are such," she gritted out as he attacked her neck, "a fucking prick."

With his hand still gripping her hair, he pulled her head back, causing her to cry out. She was stunning like this: neck and shoulders arched in a graceful curve, her pretty face flushed, her breasts heaving as she panted. Her eyes met his, burning with hate and desire at once. "This is my house, and you started this game, sweetheart," he said lowly. "Are you telling me you can't finish it?"

Her mouth turned up in a Cheshire cat grin. "He's bigger than you are, you know. It behooves me to keep a man around who can actually satisfy me."

In response he released her hair, moving instead to the zipper at the back of her dress. He ripped it down, the long ziiiippp echoing in the large room. He moved his hands to her shoulders and yanked the fabric down. "If he's so fucking satisfying, why the hell do I find you at my door every month or so? Hmm?" As he spoke he pulled the dress all the way down, spilling it in a puddle around her high-heeled feet. "Fuck," he muttered, taking in what she was wearing beneath the very little dress she'd had on.

Garter belt. Black. Bra. Sheer black and showing every curvaceous inch of her cleavage. Panties. Missing.

The humph sound she made was supremely satisfied. "Silly boy. I told you before. I don't come here for me, I come here for you." She pushed her fit-perfectly-in-his-palm ass back, grinding it against his crotch. She leered at him. "Do you think you'd ever have Bella Swan like this?"

His hands smacked sharply on either side of her ass as he pressed her hard against the wall, effectively stilling her movements. "You're right. I'd never have her like this because when I fuck Bella, I'll want to look her in the eyes."

With his hands still on her hips, he pulled her away from the wall, propelling her forward the few steps to the couch. He pushed her over the arm, loosening the clasp of her bra as he did. He paused for a second then, catching his breath. It frightened him that he could get like this - that he could enjoy seeing her so exposed at his hands.

"Whatever you need to tell yourself," she said, waving her ass at him tauntingly. "It makes it easier to pretend you're someone else anyway."

With a growl he positioned himself over her, He pushed down his pants and boxers quickly, using his knees to spread her legs further apart. She had such gorgeous, long legs. "Tell me something Rosalie," he said as he rubbed his cock teasingly along her folds, letting her wetness coat him, "Emmett would see a bite at your neck, but what about here?" He bent down, biting down hard enough to leave a mark on one pert ass cheek. She yelped and he admired his handiwork, enjoying the way the red crescent impression stood out against her white, satin skin. He chuffed. "I bet he never gets you naked - just finds the nearest convenient hole and plunges in."

"Jesus you talk too fucking much," she grumbled back. "It's no wonder you want such a boring girl. She'd be the only one that could stand to listen to you for more than five minutes."

He grabbed a fistful of her hair again, hauling her somewhat upright. "Maybe I shouldn't give you the pleasure of fucking you. Maybe I should make you shut up by finding something else to do with that dirty mouth of yours."

Rosalie twisted in his grasp, grinning at him with a smile that was all teeth. A wordless threat.

That was the trouble with hate sex. If you tried to get a blow job you were more than likely going to get a spite bite.

He let go of her hair, placing one hand on her upper back and forcing her down. Without any further teasing he thrust himself inside her with one, two, three bucks of his hips. She let out a low moan. Her position may have been degrading, but from the noises she was making he could tell it hit her in all the right places.

He didn't bother to start out slow, pounding into her hard and fast. His skin slapped against hers with a satisfying thwack with each thrust into her. Rosalie arched her back, her moans increasing in volume and pitch as he fucked her.

"Fuck, you always were such a noisy bitch," he muttered, never admitting that the sounds of her cries riled him up in a way no one else had ever accomplished.

"Shut. Up," she said, her words choppy as her body rocked with the force he slammed into her with. "Fuck. Me. Harder."

He growled, complying with her request and upping his pace. She worked with him, pushing herself back at him at the rhythm he set. "Fuck, oh Jesus," he swore under his breath. She was tight and fit him so perfectly.

It took only minutes for them both to be worked up to the edge of coming. He could always tell when she was about to orgasm. Right before she could get all the way there, he grabbed her arms, forcing them back and pulling her almost upright. Rosalie outright screamed as he slid deeper inside her. "Fuck. Yes."

"Say my name," he demanded, squeezing her arms tighter.

She groaned. "Edward. Yes. God. Yes." He felt her begin to tighten around him, and he accompanied her in the throes of a screaming orgasm.

The aftermath was the complete and utter opposite of their whole encounter thus far. Edward's legs were shaking as he slid out of her and stepped away. Rosalie stood slowly, but he didn't look at her, instead stepping around her as he pulled his pants up. He sat heavily on the couch, his head in his hands. He hated this part - realizing he'd failed again. He'd used a woman's body for his own pleasure - hurt her even, though he knew that excited her. He'd acted with anger with something that should have been beautiful, or at the very least intimate.

For a moment he heard nothing, and then there was just the sound of her picking up discarded clothing. It finally occurred to him that the gentlemanly thing would be to help her. Frustrated with how completely he lost sight of himself around her, Edward stood and moved to help Rosalie zip up her dress.

"Don't," she hissed, twisting away from his hands.

Once, after a night much like this one, she had drunkenly admitted that she hated it as much as he did. She wanted to stop. She did. But somehow, she always found herself in front of his door.

She hated that he had that power over her. Rosalie Hale was a strong, stubborn woman, but for him, she was weak.

So she took back what power she could as she picked herself up, leaving him to just watch with a quiet ache in his heart. He never wanted to hate this woman. He even admired her a great deal.

Rosalie said nothing as she slipped her coat back on, clinching it tightly around her, and headed toward the door.

"Rose," he called softly.

She stopped but didn't turn around.

"I really like this one. I want to try with her." He paused, watching her shoulders rise and fall with her breath. "And I want to be your friend."

For a few heartbeats there was silence between them. Then Rosalie's shoulders slumped slightly as she sighed. She looked over her shoulder, and though she was smiling there was a hint of sadness in her eyes. "I don't make promises I can't keep," she said flatly.

And then she was gone.

~Fin~

A/N: Darling jaded... I hope you will forgive me this not so HEA. This is how the story presented itself. Ilysfm. Freally. Freaaallllly.

Huge thank yous to TwilightMundi who agreed to beta this collection of horror, and Giselle-lx who helped me in the middle of the night when I was yelling "omfg, am I writing this right?"