I do not own Twilight.

College: Freshman Year

Post-coital bliss has never been more accurate, I think to myself as I lay in my provided bed, head on Edward's bare chest, arm wrapped around his taut side.

The first month of college is a ride in itself, not made any easier by the absence of Edward. We've never been apart for this long, and seeing each other for the first weekend we are both free…

It's been a small miracle.

"Where's your roommate?"

I blink slowly, trying to pull myself from the haze of sleep that threatens to pull me under and tilt my head to look up at Edward. He's glancing over at the adjacent bed, complete with dark purple comforter and basketball pillow propped against the wall. Rose has dragged me to a few games since we've met, thrown together in the roommate selection randomly.

I shrug around him and yawn, "I think she went home for the weekend."

He looks down his nose, green eyes meeting brown. I grin, unable to help myself. He smirks, presses his lips to my forehead.

"You didn't ask her to leave, did you?" he mumbles against my skin, hot with the packed heat in the room. I'll have to open the window soon. The small fan blowing is not doing its job, though neither are Edward's fingers as they stroke along my waist, doubling back at my ribs, moving back down. Each swipe takes his fingers further, and then higher. I've just had him, but I already want him again. I don't know how we're going to be apart for four years.

"No," I breath, trying to quell my thumping heart.

It's racing for two reasons: Edward's fingers, and the lie that slips effortlessly.

His ministrations pause, the thumping doubles.

"Why?" he asks. I can feel his eyes on me so I look up, knowing avoiding eye contact is the worst tell.

"Why what?" I ask cautiously.

He stares at me for a moment before shaking his head and pulling away from me, sitting up against the headboard. I move up quickly, resting on my arm.

"You don't want me to meet her," he says. It's not a question. And then, "You don't want her to meet me."

I'm already scrambling to sit up, pulling the sheet with me, covering myself.

"What are you talking about? Why would you think that? Why do you always assume the worst, Edward?" I'm rambling, but it's defensive and I think he knows that as he looks away from me, his jaw tense. I move forward on my knees, getting as close to him as possible without touching. I'm straddling one of his legs, leaning forward. "Yes, I asked her to leave for the weekend because I wanted to have sex." His head turns slightly towards me. "Is that so wrong? To want to have sex with my boyfriend, without having to worry about my roommate barging in?"

He's looking at me now, studying my face, and, even though I'm still lying, I think my anger is enough to hide it.

"Sorry," he mutters and glances away towards the empty bed. His brow furrows and his gaze flickers to me.

"It's okay," I whisper, a small smile playing at the corners of my mouth. I lean forward, pressing my lips to the corner of his. Distraction is my only technique now, guilt racking me quickly because I didn't ask her to leave for the sex, though it was a positive by-product.

I had asked her to leave because I hadn't fully explained Edward to her yet, and I didn't know if I wanted to. She had her own opinions of people, and I wasn't sure how to sway an opinion of Edward. I knew she'd latch on to the controlling, possessive personality—the way he looks at me, looks at others around us. I could practically picture the raised eyebrow as she glances at me, disapproving of his domineering arm around my waist.

And what happens if one of the guys I know talks to me, someone from class? What would Edward think about that? How would he react?

I already know how he would react, and I already know Rosalie's response. She would never put up with something like that. She's too strong; she'd see me as weak.

And maybe I am.

Edward's hands reach out to me and I let him pull me into him, his fingers clasping onto my skin like he's trying to merge our bodies.

"Really," he whispers, "I'm sorry." He presses his lips to my chin and I reach up, sifting my fingers into his messy hair. "I trust you."

His words take me by surprise, and I don't know if I should be annoyed that he thinks something I said is worthy of such a phrase, or guilty because he shouldn't trust what I'm saying. I lean forward, pressing my lips to his. He moves his hand between my legs, brushing against me and my mouth goes slack.

He chuckles.

"Did you plan on having sex all weekend?" he asks quietly, his face close to mine. He lets his tongue dart along the corner of my jaw.

I smile and kiss him quickly, deeply so that he can't read anything else on my face. He pulls me closer and I feel him between my legs. He tugs at the sheet, dropping it from beneath my arms so that I'm bare to him again.

His kiss does nothing to suppress the moan that builds in my throat as he presses himself inside of me, and his whispered words of love do nothing to suppress the guilt that still holds me.