Nine

I've never seen a sky more clear in New York. But tonight it's putting on a show. We're snuggled up under blankets with outdoor heaters behind us. The air held a slight chill, but it wasn't windy.

It's so incredibly warm snuggled into his arms. He'd made us martini's and ordered pizza from the nicest place in the city. It was delicious. Carb heaven.

There were a few candles lit surrounding us. He'd put music on a small speaker as we ate. We'd laughed, sipped our drinks and I'd let him steal a few more kisses.

"This has been the most romantic date any human on earth has experience. You have totally beat every romance movie and book," I have my head against his shoulder, but I look up at his face as I speak.

My cheek is pressed into his bicep.

"It's honestly not that hard when you have a woman so beautiful and worthy of the impressing," he looks down and into my eyes, "even when you put clay all over your face."

"I actually thought it made me look better. Sexy even," I sit up more so I can look at him, my legs tucked beside me, leaning into my hand less than him so I can twist my body ever so slightly to look at him fully.

"You're always sexy," he moves a hand to tuck a stray bit of hair behind my ear.

"Always? I bet you couldn't say that to my morning breath and mean it," I cuddle back into his chest affectionately.

"Stop, you'll turn me on," he growls out playfully.

Giggling I snuggle in closer to him, enjoying the feel of his muscle beneath my touch. He's a dreamboat of a man and I'm having a difficult time with the fact he's here with me.

"So you make pottery, you like to cook, you play piano. You're the CEO of a huge corporation. What else are you a prodigy at?" I ask.

"I'm not a prodigy," he chuckles, "I'm just good with my hands."

"Every woman's favourite sentence," I tease, "you strike me as someone who would be good at sports too."

"I'll show you sometime if you like how good my hands can be. But I played football as a kid," he nods, "then through high school I was a bit of a jock."

"I was a nerd," I take his hand in both of mine, fiddling with his thumb as I speak, learning the curves and lines in his skin with my own fingertips.

"How so?" he asks.

"I kept my head down in books and rarely made myself known. I was quiet," I say, "I didn't really bloom until college. My biggest rebel moment was losing my virginity to Mike Newton in his stupid car overlooking La Push beach."

"How romantic," he teases, "lucky Mike Newton."

"No. It was… bad," I laugh, "very bad."

"I think everyone's is," he squeezes my arm, kissing my forehead.

For a little while we enjoy each other's silence, cuddled close, watching the night whisper to the city.

"Should we go and collect your work of art?" he asks.

I want to say no. Because moving means I can't be cuddled up against him like this anymore. Safe and warm in a way that I have never experienced it before. But he moves his arm, sitting up before I can stop him.

As we take the elevator back downstairs each holding our glasses, our pizza boxes, I stare at him. I help him tidy up before he brings me my ceramic vase. I laugh as I take in my sloppy art work.

'B E' with a love heart around it sits on the front of the vase.

"It's so corny," I say.

"Next time I'll take you a tree to carve it into the trunk," he smiles, "I should probably start to get you home."

"Oh," I look down trying to hide my disappointment.

"Unless you wanted to do something else?" He asks.

"No it's just… your brother," I say.

"My brother?" his eyebrow kinks up slightly in confusion.

"He's at my place. Rosalie and he… last night," I try my best to fuse the sentence together but he's giving me this look that's preventing words from occurring correctly.

"He already slept with her? Christ that kid moves fast," he shakes his head laughing, "he mentioned at the dinner he'd go for it. But I didn't think she'd let him pass her that easily."

"She's really into him," I nod, "I just.. Rosalie is loud and from the description she gave about the type of lover he is."

"Gross," he wrinkles his nose up.

"I'm sorry," I grimace, "I just… I can walk home. It's not that far and by the time I get home they'll probably be asleep."

"You think I'd ever allow you to walk home alone?" he shakes his head.

"Well I have my vase to protect me," I shrug.

"Even if you had an army with crossbows behind you I'd never allow it," he says, "You can stay at my place."

"What no way," I shake my head, "I'll be fine."

"Bella," he looks at me sternly, "I'm not subjecting you to my brother's bullshit all night. You can stay with me. I have a spare bedroom. I'll be a complete gentleman."

I can't convince him out of it. He ushers me back downstairs, to his car and soon enough I'm standing with my mouth open taking in his mansion in a skyscraper. He owns the top two floors, plus a rooftop pool. His apartment has a spiral staircase, moody dark tones and a grand piano by the window which overlooks the city lights. His kitchen has two ovens, two sinks and a huge stovetop. His living and dining space would be likely too much for the British royal family's budget. Everything looks expensive, dripping in money.

"Your place is incredible," I say.

"My mother is an interior designer. She had fun with this one," he glances back at me as he moves around his space comfortably.

He opens a wine fridge in the kitchen pulling out a bottle, pouring us both a glass.

"Does she design for celebrities?" I ask accepting the glass from him.

He motions for us to move toward the lounge. It's in the shape of a giant U meaning he could sit anywhere… but he sits beside me. Just an arms length separating us. The temptation to touch him is incredibly strong.

"She has done a few," he nods, "I'm her favourite client of course."

"Did she design Alice's place too?" I ask.

"She did. But Alice is really nit picky. I just let my mother go for gold. I don't really care so long as it's functional," he shrugs, "it makes her happy to spoil us."

"You're a sweet son," I sip my wine watching him.

"Least I can do," he shrugs, "they saved me."

"I know Alice's story. You were adopted to?" I ask.

"I was. My real father and mother passed when I was quite young. They got caught up in a nasty debt thing. Police found their bodies. I'd been sleeping in my crib. The neighbours heard my insistent crying until someone finally came for me. Carlisle saw the story come across his desk while he was still working as a journalist. Then he reached out to foster," he explains, "Then Esme refused to let me go to anyone else. As far as she was concerned I was her son. You see she couldn't conceive on her own. So they adopted the three of us. Each of us popping into their lives when we needed them and they needed us."

"That's so beautiful of them. They're kind souls," I say, "But they're lucky to have you too. I'm sorry you had to go through that so young."

"Thanks for saying that," he smiles at me, "how about you? What are your parents like?"

"I'm a child of divorce," I shrug, "My parents split when i was three. My father lives in a small town in Washington. I lived with him for most of high school. My momma lives in Arizona. She got remarried to a school principal."

"Your father never remarried?" he asks.

"He doesn't really understand women. He goes all bashful," I smile fondly, "I love him though. He's a good father. Incredibly socially awkward, but kind hearted. He's the local sheriff so he was really not a fun driving tutor."

"Did he ticket you?" he asks.

"Once yeah," I nod, "he pulled me over for speeding. I was late to a dentist appointment and he was cranky because I'd forgotten to take the trash out like he'd asked me."

"He sounds like a great guy," he means it, "to deal with a teenage Bella. He'd need a medal."

"I was not that bad thank you very much," I laugh out in defense.

"You're pretty bad," he moves his hand to cover mine, studying the way his fingers engulf mine, "that lap dance was definitely far from angel behaviour. The dirty sentences you whispered in my ear were naughty."

"That lap dance was purely Tanya's fault," I roll my eyes.

"I'm kinda thankful she suggested it though," he looks over at me.

Part of me wants to offer him a second helping. But before I can spit the suggestion out he's standing, holding his hand out for my empty glass for the dishwasher's taking.

"I'll show you to your room. You need a shirt to sleep in?" He asks.

"Yes please," I nod.

He leads me up the spiral staircase. With each step up my mind spirals deeper into a pit of confusion. Was he a three date kind of guy? Maybe I'm too eager.

"This is yours," he pushes open a door at the top of the stairs and leads me in.

There's a large bed styled and dressed as if it's a hotel room. A shaggy rug, an inviting arm chair by the window and what appears to be an ensuite. It's homey and warm.

"Let me go get you something to change into," he says, "Feel free to take a shower or help yourself to anything else that you need. Make yourself at home. I'm pretty sure there's toothbrushes and other toiletries in the bathroom cabinet."

I do as he says, feeling pleased I get to freshen up a little. There was still clay under my fingernails. When he returns I'm testing the water temperature, just my bra and panties left on.

"Stuff is on the bed for you," he calls out, "do you have a fresh towel in there?"

I glance back at the doorway, realising I hadn't completely shut it. He steps into the doorway, holding a fresh, folded towel in his arms.

"Shit sorry," he turns his head, beginning to back away.

"It's fine. I'm covered," I turn to look back at him, "this shower… why are there so many controls?"

He smiles at me, walking into the room, his initial bashful reaction traded in for something more confident. I watch him place the towel down on the vanity, as he nears me. I step back slightly letting him reach into the shower. He twists and turns handles until he invites me to try the temperature.

"Perfect," I smile at him, "and how will I turn it off?"

"Turn this handle here toward the wall," he points at one, "the others are for steam and switching to the hand held head."

"I only have one option in my shower," I look at him, "I gotta put a complaint into the landlord."

"You're welcome to come use it any time you like," he turns to the towel rail to dry his arm with a hand towel, "you think you'll be all okay?"

"I think so," I nod, "thank you for tonight. It was honestly the best date I've been on in my life."

"What a title to behold," he's fighting to look any further south than my chin.

"I'll see you in the morning?" I ask.

"I'll take you to get some breakfast. I don't need to be in the office until ten," he begins to move toward the door.

"Wait," I grab for his arm, "are you seriously…"

He reads my mind. Stepping back into me to take my waist in his hands, he presses his lips tightly into mine once again. I let him tug me close into his body as his mouth guides us toward sensational bliss. It's tauntilisingly slow the way our lips move against each other, with passion lacing each moment.

My hands wrap around his torso so I can pull myself in closer, press up against him. Fusing myself to his hard body. His hand drifts from my hip, down my back to graze the curve of my ass.

His mouth pulls back, but his hands stay in place.

"You're ruining it," he whispers.

"What am I ruining?" I keep my eyes shut, hoping his mouth will return to mine.

"I'm trying to play the long game here," he moves his hand further down, taking my ass cheek in his grip.

My eyes fly open as I moan at the pressure of his fingers tightening around the flesh.

"I wanted to do this right," his eyes meet mine, "but you're fighting so unfair. Grinding your ass into me, telling me you masturbate to the thought of me and then this. Standing in underwear that I would pay to have outlawed, to ensure no one else ever sees you in it again."

Letting out a breathy laugh I push myself closer into him.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," I shrug.

"I need to leave this room. You need to have your shower," he gives my ass a playful smack, "because waiting is going to make this hotter. I just know it. I want to take my sweet ass time with you."

"Really because I just want you to bend me over and…"

His hand flys to cup my mouth, muting any continuation of the filthy sentence.

"Don't," he says darkly, "don't you dare. Get your shower otherwise I'll make you regret it."

I laugh as he leaves the room, fists balled tight, shoulders tense.

"Tomorrow morning you'll know what I'll be waking up to do," I call after him.

"Good night," he calls back with an unsure finality.

He wants to play the long game and I totally respect it. I'm going to let him do that. But a little rule bending makes every game fun.


thanks for reading x