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Okay, well that's about it, keep reading and enjoying, leave me feedback people!

Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight. I own art.

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One week.

One week before my opening and I was barely finishing up my last piece for my studio.

I had been digging around in my closet, only to find the canvas that was mostly blank except for the beginnings of the woman's hip and what looked like a mirror that I had begun when I first met Edward.

I decided to finish it.

I had set up in the library early Monday morning, sunlight streaming in through the two wide windows on the east wall and I hummed happily as I sketched.

It was coming along beautifully, and as I drew I found myself becoming absorbed in the strokes of my charcoal pencil. It was black and white, but I would accent it with certain colors when I was finished. It had been so long since I had just let myself get lost in my art, and it made feel happy and at calm. It hit me full force again just why I had decided to make this a career.

I heard the door creak open and I didn't even turn, already knowing who it was.

"Morning sleepy head." I smiled.

I felt strong arms around my waist and his scratchy chin stubble nuzzling my neck.

My smile grew.

He let go and I inwardly frowned at the absence. I hadn't truly realized how much I had grown attached to his presence, his conversation, his touch…

And still no kiss.

My frown intensified.

I heard Edward sit in an armchair and yawn loudly.

"Why are you up Edward? You have another two hours before you have to go in, don't you?"

"I'm not going in today, that's tomorrow."

"So it's your day off, why don't you rest?"

"Because I'd rather be with you."

I blushed at the double meaning in his words.

"Hmph."

He laughed lightly behind me.

"Besides, I figure this'll be a good time to think out some of the finer details for my next article."

I traced the contours of a woman's naked hip on my canvas.

"Which is?"

"Freedom of speech in the workplace: taking out the free and leaving the dom."

I absentmindedly filled in her right breast, then began to draw a mans hand holding her waist.

"Sounds interesting."

"It is. I have interviews tomorrow with some work abuse case sufferers."

He fell silent, just watching me sketch.

Time passed quickly when I was submerged in my work, but I wondered if he wasn't growing tired of watching me.

He didn't speak, but I could feel his eyes on me as I drew. The idea of my drawing was becoming more and more pronounced, and I could see where it was going. I stepped back for a second to look at my progress and felt a jolt in my stomach.

The back of a woman, fully clothed, wearing jeans and a black t-shirt. Her hair cascaded down her back, and she was staring into a mirror. The reflection in the mirror was her naked body, and behind her could be seen the silhouette of a man, hands holding tightly onto her hips.

The symbolism was not lost on me, and I was sure not on Edward either. I knew what color accents would grace the painting even as I looked at it.

Her lips would be red, her eyes brown. His eyes would be a piercing green, with a slight hint of bronze in his hair.

It was beautiful, of course, but it wasn't just any painting. It meant something. My thoughts always came out in my art.

It wasn't finished yet, but soon it would be. And I was certain it would be one of my favorite pieces.

I started slightly when I felt Edward's hands grip my waist, taking care to place every finger along the curve of my hip, just like the woman and man in the painting.

No, of course he knew.

He spoke softly in my ear.

"She's clothed, hiding. But in the mirror, she stands fully bare, exposed for him to see. He's protecting her. It's her reflection. It's your reflection."

I felt a light shiver travel down my back.

He turned me and pulled me to him, and I was looking up into his eyes as he looked down into mine. I could feel the air change between us, and I thought, 'this is it, he's going to kiss me.'

There was an unreadable expression in his eyes for just a moment, and his face lowered slowly closer to mine, and I shivered in the anticipation.

My eyes closed. My heart raced, and I was tensed in waiting…

His lips pressed to my forehead, and he released me.

"It's beautiful Bella." He whispered, before he walked quickly from the room.

My face fell.

I had been sure….

What had I done wrong?

***

After that I felt my inspiration leave me, and I cleaned up and fled to my room, opting for a long bath instead of a shower.

I wanted to repress my thoughts, but found that I couldn't. It's not like that's any good anyway. Better to get it all out.

I took calming, deep breaths as I got into the warm water, which instantly relaxed my muscles.

He just didn't want to kiss me. And I would have to deal with that. It's not like it should matter anyway. I didn't have feelings for the jack ass. It just so happened that we got along, and he had been blessed with the gift of giving.

I mean, just because I wasn't cursing at him and calling him gay didn't mean we had to get all…lovey dovey on each other. We were friends. With benefits. Nothing more.

The moment when we were looking at the painting was nothing. Really.

He didn't have to kiss me.

Except I really wanted him too.

Dammit, what was so hard about it? I mean, he could lick my pussy and twiddle around with his fingers down there all day long, but just putting his lips to mine, 'oh, no' god fucking forbid!

Obviously he wasn't disgusted by me, he had proven that in more ways than one. And then, sometimes, the things he says, the way he says them, or a certain look in his eyes makes me think that maybe he wants to be more than just…what we are now. Whatever that may be.

His mixed signals are colossally pissing me off. One minute, he's being all cute and sweet, and horny, and then, he kisses my forehead.

Like Grandpa Swan.

He can suck on my clit until four in the morning, and then he goes and kisses my forehead, and flees the scene.

What is wrong with this guy? Maybe he's waiting for me to make the first move. I could do that. But I didn't think our already fragile friendship could survive the fall if he were to reject me. If he just…didn't want to kiss me.

And then I felt frustrated because I didn't see why it mattered to me so much. It's not like I could get any sexual gratification from making out. And that's what this little arrangement was for, right? Good conversation, and hooking up. Kissing didn't even come into that equation.

Perhaps it's because it's personal. Maybe you want personal with Edward.

Maybe you love him.

I actually scoffed out loud at my stray thoughts as I got out of the bath. Love? Please. I felt more irritated and confused then before, and I decided that perhaps I should just suppress everything in the future.

I mean, to think that there could be anything between Edward and I that was more than we had now was ludicrous.

Ridiculous and impossible.

Even if I desperately wanted it without knowing it.

***

I ambled downstairs to watch some TV, hoping to distract my mind for an hour or two. Edward was sitting on the couch when I entered the living room.

He looked up and smiled, patting the spot directly next to him.

So he wasn't acting weird or different….

I sat down huffily, watching as he changed channels.

I saw my favorite show on the screen and I jumped up excitedly.

"HOUSE! Leave it here, Edward!"

I saw him roll his eyes.

"You like this show? It's so… predictable."

I kept my eyes glued to the screen.

"People who think they know it all find everything predictable Edward."

"Okay then, it's gay. The show is gay."

"You're gay. It takes one to know one."

I kept watching, Edward occasionally making comments about how ridiculous his diagnosis was, or how he was giving him the wrong dosage of medication.

"Right, because you know so much, Edward."

"My father was a doctor Bella. He showed me a few things."

I expected things to get tense, but at that moment the actor on TV began vomiting and hallucinating on screen.

"Preeee-dick- tuh- bull."

I swatted him on the arm.

"Shut up, he's going into cardiac arrest."

"That doesn't even make sense."

"What makes sense is I'm going to break your face if you don't stop hating on sexy Dr. House."

He got a sudden look of disgust on his face.

"You think that old man is hot? That's blasphemy Bella. I'm ashamed of your taste."

"Well, my taste just happens to include you, so really you're hating on yourself."

"Fuck what I would do to that doctor." I said absently, staring at the screen.

He scoffed, but his expression suddenly lit up and his eyes darkened.

"Care to play some doctor Miss Swan?"

Doctor? Freaky Edward. Freaky.

"Oh doctor," I said, putting on my best bimbo voice, "I seem to have a problem. It seems that I can't get rid of this ache between my legs, and-"

He scooped me up and threw me over his shoulder as he ran up the stairs.

I giggled and smacked at his butt.

My eyes widened in shock when he kicked the door open to his room.

His room. We hadn't done that before.

He tossed me on his bed, and his mouth was on my neck, even as I wished it was on my lips.

But that thought was quickly forgotten when he trailed his lips up to ear lobe, biting and nipping. And oh how I liked that.

"Now Miss Swan, let's see if we can cure that ache you speak of."

I felt the sudden urge to dominate, and I flipped him over and sat on top of him.

I pulled my shirt off quickly, then began to work on his.

I wanted to be skin to skin.

His shirt came off quickly and I begin kissing my way down his stomach, giving each little section of abs its own special attention.

I pulled his shorts and boxers off, stroking his hard dick quickly, building him up.

I was moving fast I knew, but I also knew I didn't want to take it slow. I would never grow tired of his body.

I guess we wouldn't be able to play Doctor today. What a pity.

I began to put my mouth on him, to lick his shaft up and down, and I looked up at him, trying to show him all my want and need in one glance, hoping maybe he'd just get it already and kiss me.

I was surprised when he suddenly pulled me up. We were face to face, already breathing hard and panting.

His expression was written over with passion.

It made my stomach clench.

He flipped us over again.

No kiss.

This time, as he made his way down my stomach to the promise land, I let my disappointment go as I tangled my hand in hair. If you can't beat 'em, join 'em.

As his mouth began to work over my panties, I was going to just let it happen, and get there the easy way.

But no, I had decided I wanted to take charge of the situation. So I flipped him over again, and sat directly on top of his crotch. I still had my panties on, but thankfully they were deliciously thin, so I could really get things going.

He gave me a confused look, wondering why I hadn't let him skiddle over my happy part.

"Self diagnosis Dr. Cullen." I was too gone to be embarrassed by how breathy my voice sounded.

I started a slow grind on top of him.

With any other man who was not Edward Cullen, this would not have been enough. I would not have been able to cum by just grinding.

But as it so happens, this was Edward Cullen. He had abs like a god, and was currently wearing a 'fuck me' expression. Even though I wasn't going to fuck him. It wasn't time yet. We were still new with this, and we weren't bored with what we were doing, so for now, no penetration.

Besides, he hadn't kissed me. I wasn't going to fuck him if he wasn't going to kiss me.

My hips began a slow, rolling dance above him while I undid my bra and began rubbing and playing with my own breasts. My eyes were clenched tightly and when I opened them, Edward's hands were behind his head. He was watching me, letting me do all the work.

That was fine by me.

I began moving up and down just a little bit, allowing my tits to bounce slightly, giving him the visual stimulation while I intensified the friction between my clit and his cock.

I fisted my hands in my own hair.

It was building slowly, like a clenching in the pit of my stomach, and I could feel him twitching beneath me.

I threw my head back and let out a low moan. "Yes." I whispered.

I continued my grind, my dance, being slightly jealous that he could feel more than I could with these panties on.

I began to move a little faster, just rolling my hips around and around, hoping for some assistance, when suddenly his hands were gripping my hips in a vice, and he began moving me around like a rag doll.

I loved it when he used me.

Another loud moan escaped my lips, and his hips began thrusting into mine as he moved me around and around, pushing me down into him.

He was a sight to behold. Eyes screwed shut tight in sexy intensity, sweat matting his hair to his forehead while he clenched his stomach, making his abs stand out more than usual.

His mouth parted slightly and a strangled groan fell past his lips.

Our eyes met as when looked at his face again.

"Bella." he whispered.

"Edward." I said, my fingers reaching out to trace his lips.

His thrusting intensified, and he moved me a little bit harder.

And then I fell over the edge, throwing my head back and whining as the waves of pleasure flew threw me. Edward grunted and came soon after, my body limp in his arms.

We lay there for a while, as I replayed the way we whispered each others names.

Was it just in the throes of passion, or did I imagine a flicker of love in his eyes?

It was passion. Definitely passion.

***

We were eating in the library. I had decided to finish my painting. After my afternoon with Edward, my inspiration had magically come back to me.

Edward bit into his Hot Pocket grumpily.

"You couldn't have cooked?"

"Not if I wanted to finish my painting. Besides, Hot Pocket's are God's gift to earth."

He rolled his eyes.

"Don't roll your eyes at the Pockets, Edward. They're bomb."

I finished my second one and got up to set out the easel.

It was time to put on the finishing touches. The accents.

You know, I told myself, you don't have to make his eyes green. They could be blue, or brown, or-

But it wouldn't feel right. And my art always had a feeling behind it.

I busied myself coloring in his eyes. They looked beautiful. And her lips, my lips.

When I had finally finished I looked at it in surprise.

I never, ever finished my work so quickly. It was a process of months of deliberation and hours upon painstaking hours of sketching on paper, erasing and fixing, ruined canvas.

But here I was, and it had taken me a little over three days to do this. When this idea struck, it struck hard. And Edward was right. It was beautiful.

I felt my eyes get unexpectedly teary. It was Edward in my painting. There was no mistaking it.

Then he was standing beside me, and he cleared his throat gruffly.

"Bella… I-"

"I know, Edward."

He wanted to reassure me, to tell me things that didn't need to be said. To say that it was beautiful, and full of feeling.

But I didn't know if these were my feelings or specifically the painting's. Or if they were mine, if he would ever return them.

His hand reached out and grabbed mine, we stood there, looking at the canvas.

So many feelings were being connected through our hands. Longing, Happiness, A little bit of awkwardness, Security and Comfort.

Who was I kidding. This man wasn't just a friend.

Edward turned his head to face me and I looked at him. He gave me a shy smile and I returned it.

Love.

Downstairs the doorbell rang. But Edward and I were in our own world.

Alice would get it.

The doorbell rang again. And again. And again.

Alice wasn't here.

I reluctantly let go of Edward's hand.

After the look we had exchanged, it seemed weird to just say something normal to the other.

"I should-" he cleared his throat, as the doorbell rang again, whoever was on the other side annoyingly persistent.

He started out the door.

"I'll get it."

Our little bubble felt abruptly shattered, and I sat down on the ground with my head in my hands.

I heard Edward's approaching footsteps. I looked up as his head peeked in the door.

"Bella, someone here to see you. He wouldn't tell me who he was."

I frowned.

I headed down the stairs warily, wondering who would be standing there waiting for me.

My breath caught in my throat as I came in view of the doorway.

Jacob.

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Just when things might be working out, we gotta throw in the ex.

-g