I think we all know this crew by now, but just in case—Fran is the beta. 2browneyes, Ninkita and Sunshine pre-read for me!

Gore rating—0

Her posture is tense as she stands with her hand propped on her hip, but as she takes me in, her head tilts and her stance softens. Her eyes jump to the fucking clump on top of my head before moving down to settle on mine.

There's an imperceptible widening, but she contains it nicely. "Edward," she says with a brow lift, and even that is enough to make my cheeks hurt I'm smiling so goddamn wide.

"Not quite." I smirk and take a step in her direction. My fingers are tingling as they anticipate the feel of her skin. "But I will be soon."

She takes a step backward for each one I take forward, frustrating me to hell and back. I've been to hell and back. Coming home to her standing in my penthouse was never even a thought, but now that she is, I just want to fucking touch her—and change clothes—but one urge overrides the other.

I take a larger step, coming to a stop just a foot in front of her, and when she starts to shuffle back, I reach out and grab her arm. "Please don't." My voice is strained due to the energy that courses between us. "I need something good right now."

She pauses, her dark eyes more open and inviting than they were when I first arrived. "Why do you look like that?"

My eyes fall closed at the fucking reminder—Anthony Fucking Masen—a pain in my ass this go round. I release my tight grip on her arm and run my hand up to her shoulder as I take a step closer. That energy from earlier zaps at my palm, but it also arcs to fill the small space between our bodies.

"I've been away," I hedge, hoping it's enough for her, but the slight narrowing of her eyes tells me that it's a fucking no. "For business." I lift a brow to accentuate my meaning.

It takes a couple seconds, but realization dawns and just a tiny bit more of her attitude fades the fuck away. My hand trails from her shoulder down her back to the small dip at her waist, pulling her even closer. Now, there're only inches between us, and it feels fucking glorious.

My eyes automatically jump to her mouth when it opens. "It's been days," she says, and her tongue peeks out to wet her lips, driving me fucking mad.

"I'm sorry, Bella." I don't know if I'm apologizing for leaving without telling her—because I fucking am—or if I'm apologizing for what I'm about to do. But either way, I am sorry.

I don't hold back, even though I probably should. I'm not even myself right now, but I can't be bothered to fucking care. She's everything I never hoped would be waiting in my home, and I don't have the strength to resist her lure.

My lips make a soft pass, and when she doesn't slap me, I attempt it again, only this time, my tongue dances along the seam that's keeping me from invading her entirely. A soft sigh escapes and I take advantage, thrusting my tongue inside her mouth to tangle with hers. And goddamn, just like every other time we've been in this position, she's all fucking in. Her hands grip at me fiercely, moving across my chest while a fucking primal battle rages between us.

It isn't until she wraps her hands under my arms and claws at my back, her fists tightening in the material of my shirt, that we run into a fucking problem. Well, I'm the goddamn problem—I jerk away, yelping like a little bitch, while she stands there panting and staring at me like I've lost my goddamn mind.

"Fuck!" I curse to mask the pain. "Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!" I stumble my way toward the sofa, ridiculously pissed at myself for getting sliced by a crazy old hag. I almost flop down, until images of my cock spurting cum all over it stops me—that motherfucker has to be burned.

I make a last-minute move toward my chair, causing even more pain to shoot down my chest and arm. I land with the right side of my fucking face crammed into the back while gripping my left arm, just fucking praying that the pain will lessen to only a throb.

"Edward, what is it?" Bella's voice is panicked as she loiters near the chair, unsure whether to approach me or not.

"Goddammit." I breathe through the pain, pushing that shit down as much as I possibly can. "Just give me a minute," I finally pant.

I don't see where she goes because my eyes are fucking squinted as I work to overcome the burn, beat it the fuck back, get control of the misery that is my body right this moment. I'm not sure how long it takes, but fucking finally it begins to lessen, and I'm able to slow my erratic breaths. My eyes open, and I lift my head.

At first, I don't see her, which sends its own surge through me—panic—it almost hurts just as goddamn bad. But as I swivel my head, her form fills my periphery, and then I'm looking at her completely.

She's huddled on my sofa—yes, the fucking cum-stained one—wringing her hands and casting me wary glances. "Bella," I say on a fucking sigh, positioning myself in an upright position and shifting to one side as much as I'm able. "Come here." I tilt my head to the vacant arm of my chair—the right fucking side, of course.

She's so timid in her approach that a swell of guilt blooms in my gut. I was so desperate to have her in my arms, and then to invade her so thoroughly that she'd give in, that I pushed my ailments aside. I pulled her into a situation that she had no chance of winning, because I wasn't physically ready for her response.

My head lulls back, and I widen my arm in invitation for her fantastic ass to cuddle into the crook. "Please sit. It won't hurt."

Her expression is dubious, but it doesn't stop her from gently perching on the arm of the chair, where I immediately close my arm around her and lean my head against her back.

"I'm sorry," I mumble, mostly because I'm too busy inhaling the scent of her laundry detergent. "We should probably talk."

"What happened, Edward?" she asks as she twists so she can pin me with inquisitive eyes, but she's not being bitchy like you'd expect; she's truly concerned.

"Fuck, Bella," I say, her goddamn eyes hypnotizing me with our faces this close together. "I'm not sure what I should say, hell, what I even can say. It's fucking complicated as hell, and I'm not sure you really even want to know."

She lifts her arm but pauses, eyeing my right shoulder. "Am I going to hurt you again?"

"As long as you stick to the right, it should be okay," I reply, and she props her arm across my shoulder.

Her fingers brush the mass on my head, and her eyes spark with amusement as they flick to mine and then back to my head. The hard glob prevents me from enjoying her touch, and it pisses me the fuck off. Slowly, she works her fingertips between the dry clumps finally reaching my scalp. I fucking sigh it feels so goddamn good.

Absently, she strokes back and forth as she gathers her thoughts—she's cute as fuck, looking all contemplative and shit. "So let's talk about what we can then. You're hurt. Where exactly?"

"That's fair," I agree, nudging my head deeper into her hand. "Don't stop." My eyes fall closed as her fingernails scratch against my scalp, but when I forget to fucking speak, she balls her hand into a fist. My eyes jump open. "Okay! Sorry, shit!" She smirks and gets back to work. "It's my left shoulder. A cut. It wouldn't be so painful if it weren't for the small infection that developed before I made it home."

"Did you go to the hospital?" she asks, those dark eyes once again peering at me with concern.

I give a little head shake—not enough to move away from her fingers, though. "I saw a doctor, if that's what you're asking."

"That's what took so long," she says absently with a little nod to herself.

I perk up, making sure to follow this little lead. "How long did it take?"

Her lips purse slightly while she considers her response. "Over three hours," she says as her brows furrow. "But why aren't you asking me how the fuck I got in your penthouse?"

A loud bark of laughter erupts from my lips, simply because she does her best Edward Cullen imitation for the last half of her sentence. "There's only one possible answer to that question, so I already know. The real question is whether I'll be thanking him or whacking him for it."

"Definitely not whacking," she says, narrowing her eyes playfully.

I lift my hand from where it's been cupping her delectable ass and bring it up to run the length of her hair. "No, definitely not whacking."

Instead of responding right away, she just stares. And we're stuck. The space between us starts to fill with that familiar spark that's already gotten us in trouble once tonight. It's so fucking hard to ignore. Instead of backing away, I find myself pushing closer, willing to be consumed by the fire no matter the consequences.

Bella allows our lips only the slightest of touches before she gets her shit together and balks, fisting my hair and pulling away. "We've already proved that isn't an option for tonight."

I lick my dry, kiss-thirsty lips. "What are our options?"

"How about we go back to questions because I do have an important one," she says, giving me the bitch brow.

Knowing I'm walking into a trap, I give her a nod to continue.

Instead of maintaining her attitude, though, she looks off past my shoulder as she speaks. "I thought, even though you were drunk, that we'd made some progress last time we were together. I even, foolishly I suppose, thought you'd come looking for me … at the very least." Her eyes jump back to mine, and the hurt I see there is more than a tad bit disturbing. "I can see you've been doing whatever it is you do, but would it have hurt to send a text, a phone call, a message at the club, something?"

My heart slams against my ribcage because I felt the same fucking way. I wanted to call her. I just didn't want my stalker tendencies out in the open, and now it's caused her to doubt my fucking intentions. Intentions that have only gotten stronger with my time away. Words are goddamn powerful, and it's time I use them while I'm sober.

I grip the back of her neck and pull her down, so we're brown to blue—fucking Anthony and his icy eyes. "Baby, I want you to listen. Just let me talk, okay?"

She nods, but it's a barely there action.

"I'm not a good man." She starts to disagree with a head shake, but I tighten my hold. "No, listen. I do bad things. That won't ever change, but though drunk, I remember every word we spoke, and it was exactly what you thought." I flick a finger between the two of us. "This right here. This is something I want. I was serious about that, and I'll treat you right, I swear I will, but you need to recognize going in that it won't be permanent. I'm not that kind of man."

I hold her eyes and wait for her response with my heart lodged in my fucking throat. There's still so much to be worked out that she isn't aware of, starting with her dad, but this is the biggy—the deal breaker. She can't think she'll be the one to change me.

She rolls her eyes and leans back, breaking our intimate cocoon. "Please don't give me the 'I'm so awesome, don't fall in love' speech. I know what this is. Of the two of us, you're the most likely candidate for that one."

Even though we're joking, a faint sliver of somberness makes its way through me, but I tamp it down and give her a smirk because that smartass mouth never fails to amuse me. "I'll try to keep myself in check."

"Yeah, you do that," she replies all cocky and shit.

Though we're going into this eyes wide fucking open, I want her to know that she was on my mind. I lose the smirk and cup her jaw. "Calling you was the first thing that came to mind when I learned about this fucking trip, but I wasn't sure you'd approve of my methods."

"Your methods?" she asks, nuzzling my hand.

I brush my lips against hers as a distraction before saying, "Yeah, ya know, getting your number and shit. Like I can know your every move … if I wanted to." I shrug my right shoulder to make it seem like business as usual, but it's not business as usual since I kind of do have her under surveillance.

Her body goes rigid and her eyes narrow, the first real sign of fire I've seen since those elevator doors opened earlier in the evening. "So," she starts, dragging out the word, and I brace myself. "You mean you could've called, but you just chose not to then?"

Of all the things I expected her to say, that wasn't it. I might even be speechless, just moving my lips with no words coming out. "Err," I start but pause because how do I respond? She's actually pissed that I didn't get her number. I soften my voice and try sounding reasonable. "Bella, I was trying not to invade your privacy."

Judging by her reaction, those were the wrong fucking words. She stands abruptly, moving so fast I don't have time to stop her, and takes two steps away before turning on me with a furious expression.

She barks a hard, sarcastic laugh. "Are you fucking kidding me right now?" she snaps, her arms becoming just as expressive as the rest of her. "Invade my privacy, my fucking privacy! Do you honestly think I'm so fucking stupid that I didn't notice one of the club cameras was suddenly pointed directly at me? Or, or what about that greasy blond who tries to follow me home every night? I may be a fucking idiot for even considering sleeping with you again, but don't act like I'm stupid!" She's agitated as fuck and has taken to pacing the small strip of carpet between the sofa and coffee table.

If I wasn't so pissed, I'd fall to the ground and latch onto her legs, begging for forgiveness, pleading with her not to leave and apologizing for having ever treated her so flippantly. But I am pissed, fucking irate, and that's the emotion I'm most comfortable with.

I jump up and take one step, positioning myself so that when she rounds from her angry pacing, she ends up right against my chest. "What. Do. You. Mean. Tries," I say, and I can guran-fucking-tee it is not a goddamn request.

Apparently, my words aren't registering because her face transforms from outrage to confused pretty fucking quickly, but it only lasts for a second before her temper flares. She jabs her finger in my chest. "Oh, don't you even try it! Breaking out the 'I'm a big bad mobster' attitude will only piss me off more. Where was that when you needed my fucking phone number?"

She tries to turn, but I grab both her arms and hold her in place. "Bella, I understand you're upset, and I acknowledge it. I'll even go so far as to say you're right. Fuck your privacy. I should've goddamn called you." At this point, my patience is a fine, flimsy thread stretched to its breaking point, but I keep my voice as even as I possibly can. "Now, tell me what you mean when you said he tries to follow you home."

I watch as she works it out in her head, and then she fucking huffs as she snatches her arms from my grasp. "You've got a lot of nerve, Edward. First, you try to act all decent and proper, like you're doing me a favor. And then, when you're called on your bullshit, you act like you've been fucking wronged. Well, I have news for you, this isn't anywhere close to what I consider treating someone right. I know you're not always a good guy, and I was willing to overlook it, but I won't be treated like shit by someone I'm just fucking."

She spins on her heels so fast her hair flies out and slaps me across the face. I don't reach out because I might just wring her fucking neck. Instead, I breathe deeply through my nose. In and out. In and out. My teeth feel like they're about to crack I have them clenched so hard.

But epiphany is a motherfucker, and it slaps me hard across the face when I watch her go to my entrance table and grab a backpack I haven't even noticed sitting there. Slinging the straps onto her shoulders, she gives me one more scathing glare before turning and marching toward the elevator—which, might I add, automatically opens for my departing guests.

The ding echoes through the sound system, and her heels click across my marble, moving farther and farther away. I'm frozen fucking stupid, my mind screaming fuck that bitch, yet my heart is beating at a frantic pace. I'm torn between rage and yearning, already missing her presence.

My feet start moving without me even giving the order, and I come up behind her so swiftly, she doesn't know I'm there until it's too late. Using my body, I push hers against the back wall of the elevator, spinning her to face me at the last second.

"Please, don't go," I say gruffly and just fucking breathe her in, feel her body against mine, and savor the moment she's allowing.

She stays stiff, unmoving, and I'm patient, giving her the time she needs to decide. When her body finally melts into mine, I breathe a fucking sigh of relief and pull back so I can see her face. "I'm sorry."

She nods and lets out her own sigh. "Okay."

I cup her jaw. "Bella, I wasn't"—I shake my head—"not. I'm not mad at you. I swear, I'll never let propriety keep me from you again."

With an eye roll, she jabs me in the stomach, and on instinct, I jump back with a laugh—only it turns to a fucking grimace as my shoulder gives a little throb. "Shit."

"I'm sorry," she says, even though she doesn't look it.

I shake my head and grab her hand, leading her back into my penthouse. When we get to the living room, I pause. "I love that you're here, even more because you came looking for me, but fuck, Bella, I need a goddamn shower." I motion over myself with the hand that isn't holding hers. "I need to be me again."

She tugs at her bottom lip with her teeth. "Do you need help?"

I can't even hide the fact that my eyes just grew ten fucking sizes—because I felt that shit. But my mind's already processed that and moved on. "You gonna wash me, baby?" I give her one of the smirkiest smirks I possess.

"I think we both know that's just asking for trouble," she replies casually, totally squashing the images that had already invaded my mind. "I can help you get that shirt off, though, and I don't know, maybe a rain check?"

"Fuck yes!" I give a fist pump and immediately regret it. "Shit."

"Come on." Bella tugs my hand, and like an expert, she knows exactly where my bedroom is.

When we get to my room, the first thing she does is remove her backpack, sitting it along the wall by the door. I can't help but notice that it's a Jansport. I briefly wonder how she'd feel about a Fendi instead, which leads to thoughts of all the other fantastic shit I could buy her.

"Get your clothes, and I'll help with your shirt."

"Could you run back to the kitchen and grab the scissors from the drawer to the right of the sink?" I ask as I head to the closet. Not willing to cut every shirt I have, I just grab a pair of shorts to wear until I can crash naked in my bed.

Bella reenters right as I exit the closet. "There were a few take-out menus, also. Want me to order some food?"

"I could eat," I reply, sitting on the edge of the bed. "Just cut this up the middle of the back and toss it."

She hands me the menus, and as I peruse them, her gentle fingers work to get my shirt opened. I can tell the exact moment she sees the wound because a small gasp escapes, even though she tries to contain it.

"God, Edward. In another spot, this could've been fatal." Her voice is both astounded and horrified.

I peel the shirt away and toss it and the scissors on the floor before pulling her to stand between my knees. "This is me, Bella. The very core of me. I won't ever not be this man."

Those goddamn dark, expressive eyes bore into me. They're looking for more, but she has to accept that it just isn't there. A monster lives inside me, and these are the type of wounds that scar my soul.

She leans down and brushes her lips against mine so softly I barely feel it, but the sentiment behind it reverberates along my nerve endings and settles in my bones. Never in my life have I felt so much from so little.

I shake my head to clear away the fucking pussy bullshit and break the moment, moving her aside so I can go drown myself. I wave toward the discarded menus. "Order from any of those. Filet, medium rare for me, please."

I only use the rain shower head, afraid that a wayward jet might get ahold of my wound, but that doesn't mean I'm any less thorough. The water stings for the first few minutes, and then my shoulder goes numb to the feel of the spray. I'm able to scrub almost every single inch of my skin and hair—twice. It even feels good when my eyes burn, because they're my fucking eyes and not those goddamn contacts that went down the toilet as soon as I entered the room.

I don't know how long I stay in the bathroom, but it feels like a long fucking time. So long that I even have a fleeting thought of Bella bailing, but then I realize it may be for the best—at least until I'm in shape to fuck anyway. It may sound harsh, but that has to be the reason for these un-Edward-like qualities I'm exhibiting when it comes to her.

Get my fill and then tolerate—that's the status quo, and I keep fucking that up royally—first alcohol and now a wound. The chase is all about the completion, and we just can't seem to get there again.

Maybe it's time to cool off until we can.

I sigh, tossing my towel in the hamper, and slip on my shorts. With a clearer head, I make my way out to find Bella and ease her out the door, instead of playing fucking house.

I totally love this chapter, so I hope you do too!

I haven't been quite as productive this time as last, but hopefully I'll get to work for you today. Exciting things on the horizon—I think anyway. The most you'll have to wait is the normal 2 weeks, but I'll do my best to slice a few days off it.

See you next time :)