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BAG BOY

CHAPTER 13

Bagboybagboybagboybagboybagboybagboybagboybagboy

At no point during the night did Bella unspoon me. I woke with her right arm flung over my hip and her lips pressed to my shoulder. She was rarely this cuddly in her own bed—ghosts of men past, maybe?—and I wanted to savor the moment.

But I also had a rager between my legs, and I didn't want to waste that either—not with just twelve days left. With all my packing still ahead of me and my folks making me work right up to the last day, Bella and I didn't have many more leisurely mornings to lie around like this.

I leaned back into her warm body, sighing as I pressed my back against her tits. Damn, I was going to miss those tits.

Her hand inched down my belly and closed around my dick. "Morning, cub."

"Sorry I woke you," I mumbled.

Her laughter fluttered across my shoulder. "No, you're not."

"You're right." Her palm gripped my shaft, and I flopped onto my back to give her full access because I'm helpful like that. "God, that feels so good."

"See what I can do when I have my hands free?"

"Point taken," I said with a chuckle.

I reached over to stroke her pussy, and she rolled backward and opened her legs. We were like two fallen dominoes lying on top of each other—two horny dominoes with our hands all over each other's genitals.

"Mmm, somebody's wet. Were you dreaming about me again, Bella?"

"How do you know you were in my dream?" she teased.

I turned my head to shoot her a look, only to find her grinning back at me. "Well, whoever it was must have been very naughty."

"Look who's talking, Mr. Morning Wood," she said, sliding her hand up and down my pole. "What were you dreaming about?"

"I wasn't dreaming; I was remembering . . . how hot you were last night, all tied up and helpless, especially when I was tickling your feet." Her hips picked up the rhythm of my fingers gliding through her slick opening.

"I guess life is good when reality is better than dreams."

As if I needed reminding about the awesomeness of my reality, she slid her other hand under my ass. She knew how much I loved it when she played with my taint while she was giving me a blowjob or jerking me off. In fact, she knew everything about my body—where to touch to get me revved up, how to keep me that way with a simple word whispered in my ear, how to keep me satisfied and desperately wanting all the damn time. These things, my body gave her without an ounce of resistance.

"You won't hear me complaining," I retorted. Not while my reality was here with her, anyway.

Soon enough, this whole fling would be a memory. No matter how safely tucked away, the edges would blur first. The way her fingernails danced up and down my oiled-up shaft, ten bright red devils playing on my pale, defenseless dick while she edged me for an hour. The sweet but sophisticated taste of that delicate skin behind her ear. That sadistic glint in her eyes when she watched me do the outlandish, desperate, and often depraved acts I'd do only for her.

After that, I'd lose the essence of what we had. The joy of a phone conversation when the rest of the world was sound asleep. The way she opened for my kiss, my secret password into the fortress of Bella, when her tongue would surrender after holding out just a half beat. Those deeply intimate moments when the invincible cougar would shed the trappings of wealth and power and perfection, the need for costumes and play-acting and games, and trust me with that messy, insecure, human side she worked so hard to hide.

At some point, I'd have to wonder if I hadn't, in fact, dreamt it all.

Her fist stopped moving at the first twitch of her orgasm, but she remembered me about halfway through her freefall of bliss. Hitching her leg over my hip, she rubbed her pussy against my balls and slicked up my dick with her own juices. With her face nestled into the crook of my neck and the smell of her shampoo swirling in my head, I came hard against the soft, smooth skin of her belly.

After, I stroked my fingers through her hair. We dozed.

I woke to her laughter as she tipped away from my body, the splooge pulling like taffy between us. "I feel sorry for the next people who have to sleep in this bed."

"You've got a point," I said, pulling her into my body and causing her to squeal when our sticky skin slapped together. "We should just stay here forever. It's the right thing to do."

She cocked an eyebrow. "As tempting as that is . . . didn't you ask me to pack my bathing suit for a reason?"

CougarCougarCougarCougarCougarCougarCougarCougar

"Are you just gonna sit there and watch?" That grin of his, that shit-eating, gotcha grin, sent a tingle down the back of my neck.

Edward hung, dripping, arms casually folded over the side of the pool, muscles swollen from exertion, his chest rising and falling quicker than normal from thirty minutes of crawl stroke. Even the massive amount of pool water his hair had taken on hadn't tamed the wild mess.

I set down the book I'd been pretending to read. I should've known better than to think he'd been fooled. "I was going to swim, but then I realized you needed a focal point for your rhythmic breathing, so I sacrificed my workout for you."

His grin opened into a full-on smile. "That was extremely selfless of you."

"Eh, it's just who I am," I said with a shrug.

"Well, I'm about to switch to breaststroke, so if you really want to provide me with some inspiration, you could untie your top . . . or something."

I giggled at his woo-woo eyebrows. "I'd rather not get arrested today. I guess you'll have to use your imagination."

"That won't be a problem." He shot me a dirty wink, settled his goggles over his eyes, and disappeared under the water.

Good god, why had I waited so long to watch him swim? He was a stunning sight, cutting through the water with ease and confidence, the flex and pop of well-tuned muscles working together in perfect harmony. There were a few other guests lounging around the pool, and I'd spied them watching Edward, men and women alike.

He pushed off from the wall, and his blurred, underwater form shimmied halfway down the lane before punching through the surface. Unlike his smooth, quiet crawl, Edward's breaststroke read more like a wrestling match. The water buoyed him, then crashed over his head as he bobbed under, parted with an agreeable swish for his choppy approach, then swirled around to slosh against his sides as he passed through. Edward pushed back with a swift kick; the water chased after him. I didn't blame it. I appreciated the joy of being Edward's sparring partner.

He'd finished his laps and given up, finally, on the idea of my joining him. I gaped shamelessly as he pushed himself up onto his palms, hung there while the excess water poured down his shoulders and arms, then slapped his feet onto the pool deck before stalking toward me.

Unfortunately, he hadn't worn the tiny speedo I'd fantasized, but he was still plenty pretty in his bright orange Syracuse trunks, sucked soaking wet against his skin. Pretty enough, it almost hurt to look at him, knowing that time bomb was ticking away behind every moment of pleasure. I saw it in his eyes, too.

I stood and tossed him the towel from the lounge chair beside me. He dabbed at his chest, then tossed the towel onto the chair.

"I wish I didn't have to go to work today."

"Builds character," I said.

He stepped so close, it was hard not to touch him the way I wanted to. "I don't want character," he said. "I want you." His words formed a dark cloud in the sunny sky between us. I wanted to riffle my fingers through his hair and tell him we still had plenty of time, but it would have been a lie. "Swim with me," he said.

"But I'm so much better at watching you swim."

He rolled his eyes but not without indulging me with one of his sweet grins. "What if I want to watch you for a while?"

"I can promise you I'm nowhere near as graceful as you."

"With all those yoga classes? I'm sure that's not true."

"Yoga is a land sport. With air and . . . not water." Okay, that was lame. "I enjoy breathing."

He was having a hard time hiding his smile. "I would be happy to provide you with a focal point."

"Your focal point is far too distracting." I folded my arms over my chest. Case closed.

"Okay . . . how about we just tread water together? No fancy breathing required."

"What's the point of basically standing in the pool?"

"Oh, I dunno. We could talk to each other?"

"We're talking to each other right now. Seems like a lot of extra work to have to hold ourselves up."

Despite my best efforts, he refused to be perturbed; in fact, I began to think he was enjoying the debate. "You could float on your back, and if that's too much trouble, I can hold you up. We don't even have to move."

"Sorry, but I don't see the point of doing that in the pool when we can do the same thing upstairs in our bed."

Edward leaned forward, placing his lips near my ear. "Maybe I just want to see what happens when that little yellow bikini gets wet."

"Did you happen to notice we have an enormous tub in our bathroom . . .?"

"Not the same thing."

"Water is water."

"Yes, but this water is nice and cool and nipply." The p's made a soft pop inside the shell of my ear.

I pulled away so I could see his lusty grin. "Oh my god! You are such a boy."

He snapped back as if I'd slapped him. "A boy? In case you've somehow failed to notice, Bella, I'm a man."

I might have failed to notice before that blindfold, but I knew better now. "Sorry, I didn't mean it that way. Just . . . boys and boobies, y'know?"

"If I ever get too old to appreciate a great pair of breasts, I hope someone will put me out of my misery." He seemed to have forgiven my slip of the tongue, but that kind of knee-jerk reaction hadn't come out of thin air. "Swim with me, Bella."

"You're not going to let this go, are you?"

He shrugged. "I'd really rather not."

"And what if I told you I can't swim?"

He shifted into serious mode. "Then I would say, 'Let me teach you.'" He placed his hand on my arm. "Bella, can you really not swim?"

I stared into his beautiful, earnest eyes, the sun glinting off fifteen different shades of green. I half wanted to pretend I couldn't swim just to have him teach me. It wasn't hard to imagine being held by those arms, having his attentive, protective gaze focused on me, seeing his pride when I mastered each stroke.

"Nah, I can swim," I told him.

His expression darkened. "Oh, man." He glanced over his shoulder at the pool, then turned back to me, shaking his head and laughing. "You are so lucky there are witnesses, or you would be in the deep end right now."

"And you're lucky we're out in public, or I would be jumping your bones."

He stood back, shrugged the towel off his shoulders, and spread his arms wide. "Go for it."

"I think you know how I feel about PDA."

His hands found his hips, and his smile flattened into a thin line. "PDA, huh? How about eating? Is lunch in the hotel bistro too public for you?"

"I hear the room service burgers are pretty tasty," I said, waggling my eyebrows at him. The expected reaction never came.

"Room service," he said, jaw clenched hard. He turned his head to the side, pushed his fingers through his hair, and huffed. "Sounds great. Maybe I should take a separate elevator?" The hurt in his voice made me cringe. As I'd feared, our post-bondage reality had already reared its ugly head, and we hadn't even checked out.

"Edward—"

"What?" His merciless gaze cut a hard slash across my heart.

"Come upstairs with me." Let me make it up to you, cub. "Please?"

He twitched his mouth into a terrible smile. "Whatever you say, Bella."

~#~#~

Edward was slow to respond to my texts that afternoon, and when he finally did answer, he claimed he was too tired to come over.

Sorry, worn out. Had to switch to closing shift to get morning off. Talk tomorrow?

So, he didn't even want to talk. Ouch. If he needed some time to lick his wounds, the ones I'd apparently inflicted, I'd give him the night.

I thought better of asking him for any kind of commitment the next day, opting instead for a quick message that didn't require a reply: Good morning, sunshine. I tacked on a cute sunglasses-wearing emoji to keep it light. When he didn't answer, I nixed the idea of an impromptu parking lot visit.

I watched the clock like a hawk around three. He knew I had his schedule, and he knew I knew he knew. Yep, that's where my thoughts had spiraled to by 3:18 when he texted me.

Packing today. Blah.

Really? Was it blah or was he avoiding me like the plague? Well, I was not about to sit home and wither away while my cub cooled his jets. Double blah! I'm heading out but message me if you need a break from the drudgery.

He fired back: Will do. Have fun.

I tried, but Alice noticed right away that I was off. Bless her intuitive heart, I couldn't hide a thing from that woman. She signaled for the waiter and ordered me a dirty martini before my butt hit the chair.

"Actually, make that a Clase Azul, rocks with a lime twist," I said.

"Excellent," the waiter replied, calculating his tip on my overpriced tequila as he rushed to the bar.

"Oh boy. Trouble in cougar paradise?"

"Hello, Alice. And how are you today?" I gave her my sweetest don't-go-there smile.

"Got it." She twisted the thin stem of her Cosmo glass. "I'm happy to see you out and about."

"Please, drink up. Don't worry; I'll catch up."

A thousand questions crossed her expression, but she held them all inside, raised her glass, and sipped her drink. "So, I met someone."

"What? How? When? Tell me everything!"

Off she went with a giggle. Tindr something something. Jasper something something. My drink arrived in the middle of it all, and she barely paused for breath. Something ranch something cowboy.

"Wait, what?" I set down my drink after taking a hard gulp. "Did you say this guy you're dating is a cowboy?"

She sank back into her chair with a loud, orgasmic sigh. "I did."

"Well, don't stop there, girl!"

It felt good to sit back and absorb Alice's happiness. My mind barely wandered to Edward and our awkward goodbye at the Roosevelt yesterday.

". . . he's taking me riding tomorrow. I bought this really cute peasant top to wear with my denim shorts and ostrich boots."

"Oh Lord, Alice. You can't ride in those shorts; they barely cover your ass! If you get saddle sores, you won't be able to screw for a week."

"Oh. Hmm, shoot. I guess I'll bring a pair of jeans to change into. Anyway, I can't wait for you to meet him."

"Sounds great. I'm happy for you. Truly." I downed another two swallows of tequila and watched Alice's smile fade.

"Okay," she said, "have we had enough alcohol to talk about you?"

It didn't take much of the good stuff to loosen my tongue, and Alice, despite her chatterbox ways, happened to be a great listener.

"Eh. I kind of messed things up, but this was as good a way to end it as any, I guess."

"Oh dear. Is it really that bad?"

The image of Edward walking out of our hotel room, shoulders set, duffel bag in hand, caused the lump to return to my throat. "I think it is."

Alice shot me a brave smile, hoping it might inspire one of my own. It did not. "If I know you, you'll have the next cub locked down in no time."

Locked down. My eyes drifted shut with the muscle memory of being blindfolded and cuffed to the bed, Edward drawing out my pleasure.

Edward, who was currently making an art form out of giving me the cold shoulder. I'd turned my sweet cub into an ice sculptor. A dark laugh escaped me, and I opened my eyes to find Alice staring, wide-eyed and anxious.

"Yeah, I don't think there's gonna be a 'next cub,' Al. I think this one might've broken me."

"I'm so sorry, Bella." She reached over and clasped her hand over mine.

I shook it off as I raised the drink to my mouth again. "See? This is why I love you. No 'I told you so'—even if you're thinking it."

"Never," she said, covering her sad smile with the rim of the Cosmo and taking a dainty sip. "We should probably order some food. Have you eaten anything today?"

I had to think for a second. "Nope."

"Oh, Bella. Let's get some carbs in you."

"Sure. Why not?" It's not as if anyone was going to see me in a bikini anytime soon.

BagboyBagboyBagboyBagboyBagboy

Out of pure habit and maybe a little FOMO, I checked my phone first thing the next morning. Nothing from Bella. I'd messed with the scales of power; there was bound to be backlash.

Didn't much matter. I had work till three again and another pass through my worldly belongings to prove to Mom I didn't need yet another trip to Bed, Bath & Beyond.

Still, how did Bella not miss me enough to reach out . . . after everything? Y'know what? Fuck her.

Not fair, said that annoying little voice that reminded me I'd pushed her away pretty hard after that nonsense at the hotel, but she could've pushed back. Did she even care that we hadn't spoken in almost two days? Hard to tell.

Okay, maybe it wasn't entirely rational of me to be pissed at her, but when had that ever stopped anyone from being pissed?

Ten more days and I'd be far from all of this—Mom and Dad's rules, Bella's bullshit, Tanya's bitchiness, and this goddamn poop-colored noose around my neck. Until that day, I'd do what I had to do, and that started with dragging my khaki-clad ass to the store.

I showed up at two minutes before seven and shoved my timecard into the clock with more force than was entirely necessary.

"Rough night, Cullen?" I didn't need to look over my shoulder to know that weasel-faced James was breathing down my neck. I'd had enough of that jackass, too.

"You know what? Fuck you, James." I was on a fuck-you roll today.

"Actually," said the weasel, "fuck you. Guess who has a delivery to 2637 Morgan Street this morning?"

What the actual fuck? I wheeled around and used all my might not to punch his ugly face. "Are you sure that's not my delivery?"

"Early bird gets the cougar," he said, his nasty smirk so close, I could see bits of his breakfast between his teeth. My grouchy attitude only made him more insufferable. "Call came in for a watermelon delivery to your girlfriend's. You weren't here. So . . . care to share any customer service pointers?" He pushed his eyebrows up and down. I hated the fucker.

"Yeah. Pick a small watermelon so you'll have less splatter to clean up when you drop it. Excuse me, I'm on the clock."

I pushed past him, sick to my stomach. Who the hell needs a watermelon delivered at seven fucking a.m.? Was this Bella's charming way of summoning me to her doorstep since she obviously didn't have the decency to invite me to her home like a human being? Would she be waiting for me, naked except for that bath towel, horny as fuck, when James rang the bell?

Did she even care who showed up? Were we all interchangeable now? Had she moved on so quickly? Would she invite James inside to carve her watermelon? Would they spit seeds at each other and make googly eyes across the kitchen island?

Should I call and warn her, or would she just see that as weakness?

Fuck fuck fuck fuckety fuck!

I was losing my ever-loving mind. This chick had messed up my head beyond repair . . . and for what? A little sex?

Okay, a lot of sex. And maybe I'd thought it could have been something more, but clearly Bella had not.

As I watched James choose Bella's watermelon from the giant cardboard corral outside, I mentally ticked off the pros and cons of warning Bella about him. In the end, it was James who tipped me over the edge at the register with his obnoxious comment about Bella's melons.

I slipped outside and texted her: Heads up! They gave your delivery order to James.

She immediately sent back a frown emoji . . . followed by a poop emoji and a message: Was hoping we could talk.

Okay, she could have gone about that differently, but at least she recognized the need to talk.

Can I call you on my break?

Please. I miss you.

I texted her back—SAME—and smiled through the next three hours, especially when James returned from his delivery with nothing to brag about.

I jogged to my car at 10:30, and for the next twenty minutes, we talked—really talked. She apologized for treating me like a kid. I apologized for getting prickly about keeping us a secret. We both acknowledged that our real enemy was time, and we didn't have enough to waste any more of it on stupid drama. We made plans to get together after work. I hung up, feeling much relieved.

What, really, did I have to complain about? So what if we never went out on an official date? How many guys would have given anything to skip the wining and dining and get right to the sex? I'd fallen asleep between her million-count sheets and woken up next to her every morning. I'd had my wicked way with her naked, bound body, and I know she'd seen me, really seen me, as an equal when I pulled back that blindfold.

I was content to play by Bella's rules now that I'd seen who Bella could be when she wasn't working so damn hard to prove she was in control.


A/N: "And the cougar fell in love with the cub."
"What a stupid, stupid cub."
"What a sick, masochistic cougar."

...or is it the other way around? Hmmm. Oh dear, nobody ever said it was going to be easy to break this cougar!

Can these two find their balance again?

XOXO ~BOH