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I'm lucky enough that Carlisle doesn't force much conversation out of me through the rest of the car ride, though I'm very aware he's keeping an eye on me. I half expected Edward to be back by home by now so when I enter into an empty house, part of me feels a little gutted. He must be at Emmett's and that just made the rooms colder.

As if to confirm my point, Carlisle closes the door behind him and shrugs the rest of the rain off of his jacket

'So quiet when he's off playing with the Boys, huh?'

I nod and force another smile on my mouth but he's already climbing the landing in large lounging steps.

I look once more around the living room. The piano was in the far corner, close to the door, by the window that was technically a floor under mine. To the adjacent wall, the large TV hung above the unused mantle, a few feet in front of the rectangle coffee table and closer to the arm chair. On the left of the arm's wing, sidled against the backdrop of the stairs (which had neatly been carved with shelves for books) sat the pristine couch, startlingly cream with a few patterned blankets thrown over the side. As I turn around, I take in the oak dining table, our chairs neatly placed under it as it hosted a stack of medical books and notepads, once more surrounded by a little alcove of more bookshelves filled to the brim with material. Then you had the kitchen parallel to the front door and on the right, the staircase.

Tilly was only half right. To all extent and purposes, the material, especially in the living room, belong only to the boys with my stuff neatly packed away in drawers and cupboards upstairs. Everything in terms of the entertainment goods were the boy's choices. However, I'd certainly made some additions. All the shelves, the units, the cupboards and glass wardrobes had all been chosen (and built) by myself.

How could it not be my home?

'Here?' Cullen descends the stairs, his scrubs turning a darker shade around the shoulders where the rain has taken surface. He picks apart the coloured towels in his hands, throws one along his shoulder, passes me one and unfolds another across my shoulders.

I shudder, hard before wiping my face dry with the towel.

'Remind me never to do that.'

'Stand in the rain?' He guesses, rubbing the tops of my arms dry with the ends of the material. I shudder again and nearly fall off balance but he steadies me before stepping back to dry himself off.

'Argue with someone in rain. My hair's all knotted.' I swoop the rat's tail that is my hair over my shoulder and squeeze some of the liquid from it. He grimaces, drops the towel from his neck and wraps that one around my shoulders, too.

'What about you?' I ask, confused.

'I'm not still shivering,' he says softly.

'It is cold.' I agree, letting myself shiver a few more times before squeezing all possible warmth from my, now, three towels.

'Why don't you go have a bath and warm up and I'll make some food?'

'I'm not-' I start to say but a sigh takes over. Food would be good. I needed food if I was going to get work done. And I wanted to get work done. 'That would be nice, thanks.'

He smiles once again, his usual beam lighting up his face like I was the best thing in the world and steps back to clear a path towards the staircase. My foot reaches the fifth step before I turn round.

'Urm, Carlisle?' I say cautiously. He's just walked into the kitchen but comically pokes his head round the corner, both hands on the door frame.

'Yeah?'

Err.

'Urm. Thanks for… today?'

'Pardon?'

Shit, now he's suspicious.

'No, nothing just-er- thanks for… being worried?'

'I thought it was a pain?' He says smartly, smirking and raising a damp eyebrow.

'It is.' I say quickly. 'But… the intention is sweet, I guess.'

He stops leaning and stands properly so that half his stature is in view. He's not saying much though it looks like he keeps trying to say things that just won't-

'The quicker you have your bath, the quicker I can shower.'

Oh.

Right okay and without a second's thought, I climb the rest of the staircase.

The bath was meant to be something of a relaxed idea but after burning my body with the hot water, scraping off every cell with soap and a loafer and positively scrubbing until I was both achy and sore all over- I am more panicked than I had been before I got in the car.

And my wounds, now without fabric, were less than attractive. It is with genuine disgust that I realised my aching chest wasn't handling any of this shit and if I wasn't careful-

'There's a hot drink on the landing for you, Es.'

That did it. My chest caved and as ridiculous as it was considering 'nothing' happened, apart from theft of underwear, I continue to cry until I am sure I was going to die from dehydration. I am sat in a bath full of dirty water, tired, bitter and sore, sobbing into two hands while trying to stay as silent as possible.

Ten minutes later, still crying and still pathetic, there's another call from closer, perhaps from the hallway.

'Don't be too long. Dinner's nearly done and I really need to shower before I eat.'

I can't reply because tears have invaded my every word.

'Es?' There's a gentle knock on my door. 'Es, you alright?'

For some stupid reason, I've started to hold my breath in hopes that will stop my wheezing.

'Esme?'

The wait is painful now and I breathe heavily.

'Out in a minute.' I croak. 'Sorry, just finishing up.'

I let the bath water drain then decide to quickly re-wash my body with the shower, this time allowing to scrub at my hair a few times while trying to detangle it.

When I finally make it downstairs, dressed in jeans and an oversized jumper with my wet hair curled in a high, messy bun, I find Carlisle sat at the island stirring with one hand while trying to study from his textbook with the other.

'Bathroom's free.' I say as introduction.

He looks over, surprised to see me and turns down the radio with his left hand. I hadn't realised he had something on.

'Mind taking over, quickly?' He asks, indicating the spoon.

'Course not.'

'Thanks, Love.' And putting his hand to his mouth, he sucks a drop of sauce from his thumb before squeezing my arm gently and moving past me.

…

Wait, was that Hon or Love? Did he call me Love? Is Love a new nickname? Were we doing pet names now? Love?

I'm losing it. Why would it be Love? It was obviously just Hon… And yet 'Hon' was still a blessed presence. It was just less affectionate than Love...

Argh, shit. Dinner.

I take a look into the pot and grimace. It wasn't much, just chilli but I guess it would do. I take a small spoonful with disgust and shudder.

For Chilli, it was vile. So I add a few more bits into from the fridge; peppers, herbs and spice fro the top cabinet and continue to stir before adding a saucepan of rice on the back hob. Better. It looked better in colour, too.

I turn the radio back up and switch to music from my phone, going back to the same band that played earlier in the car. Funny how that felt days away rather than hours. It isn't long till my fixed pan is both smelling and looking a lot better. It isn't crazy spicy but it certainly had flavour and is warm to the tongue rather than bland. But that's how I'd always made it and I wasn't going to change now.

There's a heavy bounce of footsteps on the landing and before long, Carlisle's back in the doorway.

'How's it looking?' He asks, still squeezing water from the back of his head with a hand towel just like he was doing earlier.

'Better. Much better.' I say honestly.

'Your cooking has always been better.' He grins a little before grabbing both a new mug and my one and placing it to the boiling kettle. 'Drink?'

'You're really homing in on that British stereotype now, aren't you Cullen?'

'After too many coffees, yes I certainly am. I was hoping to sleep tonight but now I've killed that chance off by a long shot-'

'You'll be fine.' I interrupt. 'Soon as you eat something, you'll have an energy spurt and then you'll crash.'

'I don't want to crash.' He adds tiredly, putting the cup to his lips and taking what he thinks will be a sip. Unfortunately. he's just realised it's empty and dejectedly places it back to the counter.

'I think you're meant to put something in the cup before you drink it, Sweet.'

If I wan't so distracted this evening, I might have wrapped my arms around him. Sworn my loyalty to him based on this move alone.

It is breathtakingly adorable.

'Yeah, yeah.' He says playfully, scratching the front strands of his hair back. 'As I was saying. I don't fancy crashing anywhere if I've got to drive still.'

'Why? You going somewhere?' I ask, confused and stirring the two pans.

'Aren't you?'

I look down to my everyday jeans and jumper then to his jeans and white t-shirt, taking a specialised amount of time to stare at his socked feet.

Lived with the guy all these years and I couldn't think of a time I'd seen him deliberately choose not to wear shoes. He normally walked around the house in slip on trainers, too. Everyday socks was an unusual step. Particularly as he's awake.

'Hmm?'

'You?' he asks with a smile. 'Aren't you going somewhere?'

I smile guiltily. 'I do want to get my submission piece done.'

'See.'

'I never said you had to come with?'

He sits up from leaning against the side and offers his hand for the spoon. I tip a bit of the sauce onto it, blow a few times and offer it up to him but instead of taking it from my grip, he simply leans to take the spoon in his mouth and smiles.

I shouldn't have let him do it but it's only he and I eating and it's not like I have a leg to stand on if I refuse to eat anything tongue had grazed but snuck into his covers that evening. The real concern was if he'd want me contaminating him.

But I'd showered and I'd scrubbed and I'd washed. And he seemed not to be revolted yet.

'I've always loved your chilli,' he compliments with a flattering intake. He's pouting now, hungry, impatient. Playful.

'You're avoiding the point.' I realise, moving around the island and across the kitchen to grab two bowls but as the taller one, he stretches over me and gathers them down safely, placing them into my hands.

'Alright, as tempting as sleep sounds right now, I know I'm not going to be unconscious for another few hours.'

I put the crockery in the microwave for a minute or so to warm them up and then look at him. He's looking a little bit shy as he stares at the apparent amusement of our kitchen tiles.

'Point being?' I push.

'May I come with?'

I raise my eyebrow at him, patiently waiting for the confession to come out. They don't. He just avoids looking at me.

'What for? To keep an eye on me?'

He lightly bites his lip before apparently looking at mine and relaxing. I run a tongue back along my lower lip, briefly over the rough line of skin which lead to the bleeding earlier. Still a little sore but doing much better than my wrist. Hugely better than my thigh and incomparable to my ass.

The matter of my internal tearing didn't seem a considerable thought in relation.

'This may come as a surprise to hear it but I do actually kinda like being with you?'

I stand still for a few more seconds, waiting.

'That and I've got studying myself to do. It sounds convenient?'

'Convenient, huh?' I ask, grabbing the crockery from the microwave and spooning a bigger portion of rice into his bowl. Raising an eyebrow, he gently cups his right hand over mine to take the spoon from me and adds a little more into my dish.

Had I ever really noticed how warm his hands were? The inside from palm to fingertip iss not over-coarse, as you'd expect from someone who was often up doing various DIY jobs with me as well as offering to fix Edward's motor on the bad days. Rather, it is slightly dry, probably from the latex gloves he wore all day.

'I'm being rude, aren't I? Honestly Esme, if you'd rather be alone, I understand. I'm really not trying to impose.'

Despite myself, I smile a little.

'You can just tell me to shut it and I'll just drop you off and pick you up, I honestly don't mind.'

'I'm not expecting you to pick me up, Carlisle. I'm planning to be there all night? I'll just walk home?'

Since my car has gone AWOL.

'Walk home?' He repeats painfully and again he's right. Campus is a forty minute drive away. 'You do realise we live in a country without gun control?'

I don't say anything, just force a taste of dinner into my mouth to avoid responding. I couldn't be arsed to have an argument once more.

'Anyway.' He continues, 'All night? You need sleep, too you know?'

Once more, I return his infamous eyebrow. He stares for a second and then realises. He's doing that parenting thing again and it's weird.

'What I meant to say was- There's no deadline, what's the hurry in getting it done right now?'

I finish plating up and push his bowl towards him but he's already grabbing a drink- except he's changed his mind and is going for a cold one from the tap. It's a shame and grumpy as I felt there was nothing that has me fawning quite so hard as when he is unintentionally endearing. I wanted him to do something typically, forgettfully silly so that I could grab his jaw and affectionately nuzzle the bridge of his nose.

Or rather, perhaps that's what a girlfriend would do. His new girlfriend. His first one. Maybe I should be giving Tilly the tips on how best to make him feel adequately um... appreciated.

'Because I want to apply as soon as possible?' I respond a little distracted. Because I want to quit my job as soon as possible.

'That makes sense, I guess. Water?'

'Thanks.' I grab the glass from him with one hand and my dish with the other before heading to sit at the dining table in the living room. He takes the seat closest to me at an angle and pushes his books further to the side.

Typically, he waits till my mouth is full of food to ask any more questions.

'So urm. Can I come still?' He asks nervously, his ears reddening just slightly.

Using my phone, I skip a few of the songs in queue and lower the volume a little.

'What about getting some sleep? You know, that thing you were sent home from work to do?' I say playfully, mixing my dinner together before taking another spoonful.

He grimaces but it soon changes into a goofy smile. Alright, enough games now.

'Of course you can come with me, Carlisle? You know you don't need to ask.'

'I just don't want to bother you.'

'You don't bother me. You know I get creeped out I get by old buildings at night.'

Especially in the Art Building. Countless amounts of times I'd been in there, while it was pitched black outside and pitched black inside, maybe apart from one shade of light, when something odd would flash and I would leap out my skin like it was hell on earth.

'Says the Architect?' He adds with a grin.

'You hate what you love and love what you hate.'

He frowns a bit, but otherwise, stays silent as he hoards dinner into his mouth, every now and then looking up to offer a smile my way or simply watch me as if I held the key to the entertainment channel or something.

Not that kind of entertainment. At least not today.

If he wanted that kind of entertainment, he had plenty in his room and Tilly was now offering her services- and what the fuck am I saying? It's Carlisle, even when he's half dead, he's gorgeous. If he asked I would offer in heartbeat.

Again perhaps on a day that wasn't today.

He seems to like the band that's playing because every so often, he perks up and asks what the song is called and then proceeds to demand an essay on why I like it so much.

'I just like it. I don't know why.' I sigh eventually, pushing my bowl from me in defeat. I hadn't eaten as much as we'd both hoped but then there was no way in hell I was going to force more dinner down me. I was already pushing it by playing with the risk of nausea in my stomach.

He takes my plate for me, thanks me for dinner (despite the fact he started it) and puts the crockery in the sink as I empty out my wet shoulder bag. Shit, my camera. If I've lost that fucking photo I'll cry.

'What about this one?' He asks, replacing his textbook into a back pack and helping me to collect a few of my bits together like my pencils and stuff.

'It's a different band now.'

'Why do you like this song?'

I brush through my the loose strands of my bangs with my fingers, combing out some of the damp curls before giving in and clipping them towards the top of my head. He's staring with fascination.

'I don't know. It's passionate? I've always loved passion. Now, are you coming or are you just going to stand there all evening?'

He smiles, grabs his trainers from behind the sofa and his black zipped hoodie before switching all the lights off and following me out the door. The series of music questions continue to fly my way in the car.

'So what about dance music? You like a lot of modern stuff?'

To him, modern was anything that included lyrics and no flute.

'I like some modern stuff,' I amend. 'Obviously, not all of it.'

'It mostly sounds the same to me.' He complains, putting his elbow up against the window and letting in the bristling air.

'It's because you're an old man at heart. You've only got a love for the violin and piano.'

'I'll have you know I know quite a few modern tunes.'

'Yeah? Name one song that has been released this year!'

He flounders, as expected, and decides to spend the rest of the thirty minute journey trying to conjure up a title. In his flustering way, he doesn't get very far.

He follows after me, locks the car doors and takes the bag from my shoulder to carry as I lead him through the double door entrance and insert a passcode. I place a fingertip to my mouth and let him in.

This is certainly my favourite building on the campus, if hidden round the back of the Design quarter. I love how amazed Carlisle is by the art work as we pass though the hallways, too. Just as I did in my first building on my first day, he appreciates every part of it, stopping to take a detailed look every so often as if he were committing each piece, each statue, painting and photograph to memory.

'This way.' I say, pointing ahead.

As expected for eleven thirty on a Thursday, it's dead and I'm happy to lead him to an empty opten workspace. It's basically a studio with tables and computers and various other expensive equipment at the back that I am planning to use though it differs significantly from the buildings he knew me from.

'Woah.' He mouths, looking up around him.

'Bit different to your operating theatres, huh?'

He grins a little loopily and settles himself to a spare table right at the back of the studio. For some reason, it makes me laugh, a lot.

For his benefit, I put on the radio as I walk past it, making my way to the computer and plug in my potentially damaged camera. I'm flicking through the current photos on the desktop, surprised by how many there were of our Christmas party last year. Though to be fair they were mainly shots of Emmett and Jasper being silly and the occasional one of me drunkenly posing with Alice.

As I click through the remaining pieces, I finally fall upon his photograph by the trees. His eyes to the camera seeming a little surprised but smiling. I liked it. Except his hands are blurred by movement and Red-eye and various other things like Sun-glare from the camera which was going to take up so much more of my time to correct.

'What's the matter?' He asks from his chair, apparently reading my groans of frustration.

'No, it's nothing. It's just- Urgh.' I gesture to the monitor before rubbing at my eyes. It was such a beautiful picture too.

'Eurgh.' He complains now standing by my side with a look of disgust written all over his face.

'What?' I ask.

'That?' He says, grimly.

'What?'

'You want to use that?' He repeats, clearly unimpressed.

'I did. But it's going to take so long to correct all the errors that I doubt I'll get it submitted in a week's time.'

'It's hideous.'

'Shut up Carlisle, it's perfect.' Was perfect. Why was I foolish enough to only take the one shot? I should never had called his attention him, I might've had options then. I might have had something viable.

He makes a noise of disapproval and pokes out his tongue. 'It's vile, please don't paint that.'

'Don't say that. It's one of my favourite shots. Please don't make me get rid of it.'

'It's foul.' He says with an honest face and I groan a little more.

'Well unless you're willing to pose for me right here and now, I've got nothing better!'

He tilts his chin towards me and frowns.

'You want me to model for you?' He asks with a whine.

My head explodes on the spot, and my mind immediately comes up with the various ways I could distort his posture to make it even better. The thing is, he's also wearing the right kind of thing. Casual. Natural looking. Easy to distort. That's what I need.

'You'd do that for me?' I ask sweetly, making my eyelashes flutter a little as I smile at him as lovingly as possible.

He brings his head to the ceiling, rubs at the back of his thick hair. 'Esme,' he whines dramatically, his cheeks glowing.

I wrap my arm around his and squeeze.

'It would really be a huge help-'

'Fine.' he conceeds, rolling his eyes. 'Just keep the flash off.'

I owe this man so much more than my life.

Obviously, I get to work as quickly as possible just in case he changes his mind. I shut the door, lower the lighting and pull down the blank canvas from across the room to give me a clear space.

'Where do you need me?' He sighs, though when I look at him properly I see he's trying not to pout.

'Just,' with him so close by all I can smell is that gorgeous cologne of his that is so enticing… 'Just stand in the middle.'

He does as he's told and clasps his hands in front of his groin, watching my reaction. I hesitate, place the large camera to my eye but stop myself.

'What?' He asks curiously as I pull back to observe.

'Come here.' He leans closer to where I am and accepts the fate of my hand fussing with his hair. 'Okay, now don't look at me, look more….'

He steps away, rolls his shoulders back and angles his chin to the right of me so that I can see the shadow of his jaw.

'Try not to look so dreamy, Mister. I'm trying to get a good shot here.'

He rolls his eyes, smiling crookedly.

'Don't smile.'

'I'm not.' He says playfully.

My hand brings the camera up to focus once more but I frown a little.

'Just take the damn picture will you?'

'I can't.' I whine, letting a grin slip through once more. 'You're too tall?'

He groans.

'Maybe if you try sitting? And take off your hoodie.'

He shakes his head warningly and eyes entirely on me in threat, moves to sit upon the floor. With a grimace, he wipes his hands on the sides of his legs to dry up the apparent dirt.

'Like so?'

'Jacket.' I remind him. He pulls the zip down and tosses the fabric aside, now showing off the pristine shine of his shirt under the light and even better those arms...

I put soft finger under his hard jaw. 'Towards me.'

He smiles and does as he's told, looking up as if he knows exactly what I'm asking for. He still looks tired but oddly confident, too and certainly in a good mood. I snap it several times.

'You don't seem content?' He murmurs after a while, still trying hard to abide my rules by not smiling.

I obviously have to check my footing and decide to kneel in front his knees but to the right, directing his legs to a particular position and take another close up shot. As much of a difficulty as they'll be to correct and paint, I like the ones where he's smiling. Especially where I've caught him laughing or frowning. I can't use them. I know I an't use them but they provide nice detail.

Nevertheless, something's still not right. I can see what I want, I want him to look more animalistic, more predator like I just can't see how best to achieve it without him mocking me and without making it seem like a joke.

...

Well, if you don't ask, I suppose...

'How about snarling?'

'Snarling?' He repeats, pathetically. 'You want me to snarl?'

'Show me those teeth.' I say gleamingly, grinning with my full set to show what I mean. My hand encourages him to get on with it so he does it a few times, cackling with laughter when he realises the ridiculousness of it all.

The comedy effect is immeasurable and despite myself I can't help but laugh too because he's adorable and tired and so unexpectedly willing. I kow he had a confidence streak, it seem to flare up like unexpected cases of bloating would except this time, his streak had seemed to remain for a little longer than expected. At most I'd get maybe twenty hours of a cheeky remark. Maybe an eyeroll. Most likely a smirk.

It's almost been two days, three of this. This humur and this swagger, the wit or the shine in his eye... and while it didn't make his shyness any less worthy, it was also drawing me to him like rope.

After half-an hour of this modelling thing, it's getting unbearably warm under the lights. He's also got me laughing so hard and so regularly that I'm quite literally losing weight with the stomach laughter and even though we're closer than we were, the heat is getting stifling. We're both shining with a sheen of sweat and he still looks too human. In fact, after doubling over in cackles, the humidity is too much and soon I have to strip off my jumper to cool down so that I'm left in just a t-shirt and jeans. Like him too, I suppose.

He stares at my jaw, keeping very still which gives me an idea.

'Take off your shirt.'

If my shit-of-a-brain shortcuts once more to the coffee shop, I'm going to scream.

'Pardon?' He guffaws, covering his mouth to hide his shock. Despite taking my jumper off, I'm still as flushed as before.

'Urm, please?'

He has given into me a lot this evening. Let me had my way and spoiled me with my demands. This might now be the line. He stays unmoving.

'Please?' I repeat softer, tilting around to look with a held dimpled smile on my lip. If I flick my eyelashes any harder, they're going to come off and he'd going to see through me.

'Why?' He asks in a way that somehow just certifies I've got my way.

'You work-out, Carlisle. Why be insecure?'

He pouts a little, takes a careful, measured breath as his thumb and forefinger grip the bottom of his shirt. He keeps his eyes on mine as he pulls the fabric over his head, ruffles his hair a little, the muscles of his shoulder standing out like the perfect example of a fitness ad you'd ever want to see. He's leaning on his arms on knees still, cautious, if smiling.

He might have looked unsure before, but he seems... shyly confident. He was too busy looking at me to notice he was half naked.

Holy fuck- no stop it. You're not perving, you're working. You're working. This is all very professional. Completely un-suggestive. Get this done, just get this done... Could it get any more remarkable that body? Those Goddamn gorgeous shoulders and that remarkable torso?

'What next, my pants?'

Close your mouth, you Whore.

'W-what?' I stutter

'My pants, too?'

My mouth breaks into a smirk, I can't help it and I'm trying not to but holy fuck, what is he saying right now? Never mind saying, fuck me, he was so hot.

'No.' I say grinning. 'No you're fine, just relax.'

'Less human enough for you, Miss Platt?'

I wind the strap of the camera around my wrist and pull myself away to think artistically about my piece. His piece. The piece, fuck. Focus Esme.

'Lay down?'

'You're so pushing your luck right now.' He says with a groan, laying himself down to the cold floor and finding a space of comfort though it's hard.

Urgh, hard. If I thought hard muscles were enough of a turn on what the fuck was I ever do if I saw him- hard.

Well... I guess there were several things I could do...

Argh, working.

'Look up at me.' I instruct nervously.

'But you said-'

I roll my eyes and push my fingertips lightly (and very deliberately) on his marbled chest so that he lies back down, his whole torso on beautiful display while I drool all over it.

My fingertips are fizzing at the touch.

He eyes the camera with brightly dark eyes and tries to stop the smile creeping up again. Again, I capture it a few times.

'Okay, put your arm out like you're clawing-'

He already does so, forcing his grip to be tight as he tries not to guffaw out loud.

'Yes good, but keep your face relaxed.' I pull a stool out now and bring it to his side to stand on. 'Stay exactly like that!'

'Paint me like one of your French Girls?' He quotes pathetically.

I tilt his chin towards me once again and climb on the stool to do another aerial shot, he's trying not to smile except it's hard when I'm apparently hilarious.

Man, he was gorgeous, so inhumanely beautiful and so sweet and yet still so…humanely and morally good. My feet carefully push me up higher. I do a few birds eye shots and they're fantastic, they're so brilliant- but I just want something…more intimate? I think.

'What did you not tell me about yesterday night?' I ask after a while, mainly in an attempt to make this whole scene a little less awkward.

He grimaces, his teeth sinking into the bottom pink lip.

'So what you're asking me to do is pass the embarrassment from me to you?'

'I don't get easily embarrassed.'

'Ha!'

'Carlisle, relax.'

The studio stays silent for the moment, still a little stuffy and the pale colour of his flesh warms a little to reflect it.

'Go on?' I encourage, hiding behind my equipment.

Those eyes look away from me to elsewhere in the studio.

'Can't I explain another time?' He begs meekly, his cheeks lighting up a little. His hand is fidgeting now. He'd usually place it at the back of his head about now. The blush would creep and out of discomfort, he'd fiddle with the longer ends of his hair, tucking it into his collar maybe. Combing the strands into submission.

Not exactly what I need for my predator piece, though still worthy of my attention.

'See, I'm not the embarrassed one.' I tease, nodding again to his tensed hand. With an eye roll, he softens it. Arranges the hold into a hard attempt at something candid. 'You are.'

'Yeah, yeah. Easy for you to say now.' He mutters. 'You know how difficult it was to persuade you to put on at least one item of clothing?!'

I gasp out-loud and shove him very lightly.

'Oh that so did not happen, you Liar!' I say with a testing grin. Is it hot in here? I think it's still really hot in here. I think I need water.

I think I should soak him in water. That'll be a shot. Hey, make it a bucket load and he can dance for me instead. Perfect early start to my weekend. Work. Dinner. Coursework. A show?

'That's not even the least of it.' He chuckles, his chest rising evenly. His cheeks are as flushed as they would be in a heat wave.

'I think you're completely exaggerating.' I stage playfully. 'I've never had such a great night's sleep.'

He rolls his eyes and fights his natural urge to smile.

'My foot is right by your stool, Miss Platt. I wouldn't assume the higher ground, here.'

'Is a threat, Mr. Cullen?'

Just the right thing to inch his ego.

There is something about having the excuse to stare at his half naked body which inflamed some sort of dirty desire deep in my gut and without meaning to, I found myself eyeing him like a dessert piece.

'Playing with fire.' He warns with a grin. 'Playing with very hot fire.'

Urgh! You're telling me.

'See, that's where you're mistaken. The fire would be a lot hotter if it wasn't sleeping on the job.'

A perfect reference to his slightly dark eyes but he takes this in great sport. In that he kinks an eyebrow at me with patience.

'Oh? Is that so?'

With the flat of his shoe he wobbles the leg of my stool so that I nearly lose my footing.

'Cullen!' I warn, showing the camera in my hand. His smirk couldn't be wider, perfect lips exposing perfect teeth on a perfect jaw of perfect face of a-

'Hmm. Cullen or Carlisle, huh?'

Playfully, he moves the stool again so that I wobble.

'Carlisle.' I squeal, squinting my eyes in warning as I fight to regain my balance. Okay, sooo not funny.

'See? Best of both worlds now. So what were you saying about that fire?' He's caught his tongue in his teeth in one of those smiles that makes me want to throw myself at him.

'Not funny. Very expensive piece of kit that you're teasing, right here.' As as indication, I wave the camera.

He grins, making that humming sound in his chest as he uses his shoe to play with my source of safety again 'Are you referring to yourself or your model?'

'Ha!' I mimick.

He smiles widely, grinning again and pulls the stool inwards with his foot. As expected, I squawk and come crashing down except I'm not crashing because he's leant up and caught me at the perfect time and-

The flat of my hands are on his bare chest.

Oh my Gawd. Let me die now in blissful happiness.

'You nearly broke my camera.' I complain breathily.

'It was perfectly safe,' he promises softly.

My hands. They're stretched over those flawless pectorals so that I can feel his heart beating heavily beneath my right hand. He's so warm too and unexpectedly soft. Not over defined as I once feared. He's shaped, so aptly amazingly shaped, his very skin leaving my hands to tremble on him. It's so hot. He's so hot, I just wanna- like..not even-.

God, I just wanna cuddle into him.

And then fuck him.

Senselessly fuck him. All the while my hands are here. On his skin. Over the agonisingly slow beat of his heart. Demanding.

He keeps looking at my face so that all I can see in his eyes is exhausted amusement.

'I think you're saying the things I want to hear.' I utter, feeling the blood in my veins rush to the surface of my skin. He leans closer, his lips within millimetres of my lower chin his cool breath brushing words into my collarbone.

'Might I be so bold as to say, you're mistaken?' He says with a smirk.

He raises a hand up to move an escaped piece of my hair but instead changes his mind and removes the clip so my waterfall of brown waves slip down my back and shoulders. He sighs, twirling a particularly long stand between his fingers before reaching up to place the same hand against my cheek. I lean backwards out his reach, letting his touch slip from me. So I stretch my left leg over his waist. To straddle him.

My knees ache a little as I lean up into them so that his chin is now at my chest. Grabbing the camera once again, I lean back as far back as I can afford to be, my open legs, the angle of my posture directing attention to the camera. I lean further, balanced ever so finely away when he shifts his left leg, bending it so that my spine is supported just by a thigh. With an essence of pride he watches my every move, letting me push gently on those beautiful shoulders till he's against the floor again. His dark eyes are on me, hooded. His lower lip bruised with the lost sounds from a dripping tongue as he stretches. He tenses, he arches and grips and gives and-.

At the click of the shot, I gasp.

That smirk makes it. I've got it, I've actually managed to fucking get it-

The door rattles and because we're in such an intimate posture, I completely throw myself to him as if I'm trying to cover up my bust…. Even though I'm completely dressed?

The sound of his laughter acts as a relief and with a wry smile on my mouth, and a half encouragement from his fidgeting fingertips, I climb up out of his lap to go complain.