All characterizations, plot lines, backgrounds and details belong to the author. No copying or reproduction of this work in any language is permitted without the express written authorization of the author. Stephenie Meyer owns all things Twilight. Thank you. August 2010.

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A million thanks will never be enough for MizzezPattinson who graciously agreed to pre-read this chapter for me. XO BB.

*Blinks innocently.* Please don't hate me. I know this chapter is later than normal in posting. I had a new story which was validating and is now posted. You can check out my new collaboration with MizzezPattinson if you like hot, Mustangward: Of Mustangs & Men over on Twilighted.

Thanks to all reading and reviewing. Your reviews mean the world.

Let's check in with Edward. I wonder what kind of a day he's having? Let's see. Come, join me.

EPOV

Chapter 26

I'm leaning against my desk, taking in the half finished piece I started as soon as I got home this morning. This morning…the shower…Bella in the shower…a visual I will not soon forget and I hope to see again…very soon.

This piece is softer, more careful, muted tones with an intensely vivid halo of gold framing the edges. Is it possible, that after all this time, after all the fuck ups, that I've finally found the person to pull me out of the sinking abyss my life has become?

When I think about what this means for her, how she's let me, of all people, into her life...it's nothing short of staggering. I'm well aware that I don't deserve it...I don't deserve her. But I want to.

I also want her to know how much she's changed my life, and to fully understand that she needs to know just how fucked up it's been. How I've treated women, Carlisle, even the fucked up scene of the allegedly prim and proper art crowd that Jane introduced me to. It's not as if its part of my life now, but for a brief time, it was. The women were willing…more than willing to try anything, especially if it meant the latest talk of the art world was involved.

While Brahms fills the studio, my mind wanders back to the parties that Jane used to take me to. Looking back, it was for her benefit only. I was a means to an end for her. I was a million dollar meal ticket that she fully cashed in on.

I think back to the dark rooms housed in the basement of the expensive mansion of the woman who bought the first painting in my collection. To an outsider, it's an overstated, posh home of a rich and extremely pampered house wife, whose husband takes frequent business trips, turning a blind eye to her indulgences, which include extremely young and desperate men who are willing to engage her erotic fantasies. I'm not one of them. I've done a lot of shit- God knows I'm anything but a saint- but even I draw the line at women and men disguised in masks, and willing to engage in voyeuristic, hedonistic group sex. No. Fucking. Thank you.

So, while Jane engaged in whatever the flavour of the moment was, I spent time upstairs, making idle chit chat with beyond wealthy art collectors and slipping out early…usually with some hot woman who was also not into the scene downstairs, but who wanted to fuck with no strings. That's who I was. Most of the time, I didn't even get their name. Those names I did get, I just wanted to forget in the morning. I shudder when I think about the person I used to be.

I'm blending a dark mix of reds together, my mood matching the paint, when a persistent knocking interrupts me. Fucking Jane. I know it's her, and my patience is wearing thin. I leave the palette on the desk, switch off the iPod, and take the stairs two at a time to the door. She's got the red power suit on today, which means she's all business.

"Painting again?" she asks, cocking her head to the side as the rain pours down.

"Isn't that what you want?" I ask.

"How is it coming along?"

"I would get a lot more done if I wasn't constantly interrupted," I say, shutting the door behind her as she saunters in like she owns the place.

"I got a call yesterday from Jessica Stanley. You remember her? The one whose house you walked out on about a year ago after she bought your first painting?"

"Yeah, I remember. I'm pretty sure you know my views on this. She's into shit that's just not my scene, and it's not going to be."

"Oh, relax. She's just wondering about your collection. Rumours are starting to circulate about it," she says.

I look at her skeptically. "That should make you happy, then."

She snickers and takes a step towards me. "You know I only want what's best for you, Edward."

"You only want what's best for you, Jane. I'm working, so unless there's something you actually need from me..."

"How's your piece coming for the auction?" she asks forebodingly.

"It's almost done," I admit.

She smiles almost devilishly. "May I see it?"

"I think you know the answer to that."

"This is me. If you can't show it to me, who can you show it to?"

"Jane..."

She sweeps her eyes down me appreciatively and I feel slightly nauseous. I seriously do not have it in me to have this conversation with her again. "You seem less tense since the last time I saw you. Does this have anything to do with the ladies running the auction?" she asks, arching an eyebrow and issuing me the look.

"I already told you I met someone. It shouldn't be a surprise to you, and why do you care, anyway?" I bark at her.

"You know I'll always care about you. Even if we aren't…together anymore, I'll always be interested in your life," she purrs, running her hand up my arm.

"And your point is?" I ask, twisting from her and crossing to the kitchen.

"If she makes you happy, then I'm happy for you. Does she?"

"Does she what?"

"Make you happy? Does she give you everything you need? Everything you want?" she asks suggestively, and I know where she's going with this discussion.

"I'm not having this conversation with you."

"I know what makes you happy, and you could have it so easily. I know what you like. I know it's not as hardcore as what happens at Jessica's, but there are things I can do for you. Things I have done for you."

"You don't know anything about me and what makes me happy. Not anymore. Whatever we had is in the past and that's where it's going to stay. You are my art dealer. Period."

She closes the distance between us and looks up at me possessively almost. "Is it really that easy for you? To forget everything we had?" she asks.

"It was over a year ago. I was a different person, and if I remember correctly, you were fucking anything that looked your way, so don't stand here and pretend that we had something, because I can assure you, we didn't." I know that sounds harsh, but honestly, I'm not sure what else to do at this point.

"Hmmm. You keep telling yourself that," she murmurs.

"You know, I would think you'd understand the need for me to paint. You're not helping yourself. The faster I get this done, the faster you can sell it, make your commission, and we can go our separate ways."

"Is that what you really want? For us to go our separate ways?" she asks.

"I think that's for the best. Once this collection is done, I'm not even sure what I'm going to do. I might take some time off."

She huffs and shakes her head. "You're an artist, Edward. You couldn't stop painting if you wanted to. It's in your blood."

I run my fingers through my hair. "I know." Fuck I hate that she knows me this well.

"Look, I only want to see you succeed. For people to recognize how talented you are. Jessica is having a get together on the weekend. It would be a good chance for you to get back out into the community. You've been hiding away for too long. People need to see you, Edward. They want to see you. You could even bring this mystery lady of yours," she suggests.

"I'm not taking Bella anywhere near those people."

She snickers and shakes her head at me. "Doesn't sound like she's exactly your type."

"I don't have a type, and she's different than anyone I've ever been with."

"Oh my God. Edward Cullen is in love? She must be one fantastic lay," she says mockingly.

"This isn't your concern," I seethe.

"If it's affecting your work, it is my concern," she challenges.

"My work has never been better," I counter.

"Prove it." She's practically daring me. Fucking bitch. While I hate every Goddamn minute of this, she knows exactly what she's doing. She knows this is only fuelling my desire, my need to paint.

"You know the way I work. I don't let anyone see my work-"

"Before it's done, I know," she finishes dismissively, rolling her eyes. "God, you've gone all tortured artist on me all of a sudden."

And now, I've had enough. "Why the hell are you here? Why are you asking to see my work when you know what the answer is going to be?"

"I'm promoting you the best I can, but without seeing it myself, it makes it difficult," she admits, and on some level, I know that she's right, but I'm not about to give in that easily. I don't want her to see it.

"I'm fairly certain you'll figure it out. You're a smart woman, and you know what you're doing."

She sighs in defeat, knowing she's not getting anything more from me. "Will you at least consider coming to the party on the weekend? It's not just Jessica and the group from the gallery. Riley Biers from the New York Gallery of Modern Art is going to be there," she says casually.

I'm momentarily speechless and I feel my heart start to race. "The New York Gallery?" I ask, praying I heard her correctly.

She smiles at me and nods her head slowly. "Riley and I went to university together. Let's just say, he owes me," she says rather cryptically.

"And you've told him about my collection?"

"He saw your first one and I told him you were getting close to releasing your next. He was...intrigued, to say the least."

"Intrigued, as in..."

"He wants to see it. When it's done, of course. They're opening a new exhibit in the fall," she says, watching me closely.

"So, my work could be hanging in the New York Gallery?" The mere thought of a life long dream coming to fruition is overwhelming. I feel the adrenaline spike as I consider the possibility.

"It's entirely possible, yes. A few artists are going to be there on Saturday. It's a good opportunity. That's why I stopped by. Contrary to what you seem to think about me, not everything I do has an ulterior motive," she says dryly.

"I'm sorry, Jane. I didn't realize you were..."

"I was what? Doing my job? Get over yourself. As you've pointed out countless times before, I am your art dealer. I know what I'm doing. So let me do it."

I just nod my head, feeling like a scolded child, which quite frankly, fits with my behaviour. I mean, Jane is persistent when it comes to what she wants, which was, I thought, me, up until today. This has thrown me for a loop, to say the least.

"Call me when you've decided if you're going to make an appearance. Oh, and tell your girlfriend I said hello." She turns on her heel and lets herself out into the morning rain, leaving me with a hell of a lot to think about.

This is one of my dreams...The New York Gallery, The Tate Modern, The National Gallery. All on the list of museums I want to see my work hanging in. I make my way quickly back up to the studio and whip the covers off the canvasses, my heart racing through my chest at the possibility of seeing these hanging in the places Mom always talked about. In the same gallery as Matisse and Ofili. The gallery we had planned to visit, but never got to. I owe it to her to try to do this. I owe it to me. I recover the completed pieces, turn the iPod back on, and get lost with my brushes in a sea of possibility.

XXXXXX

It's a damn good thing I remembered to set an alarm on my phone. When it goes off, I'm practically dripping in paint and I have no idea how the time has managed to slip away so fast. I clean off the brushes methodically, and then, spend as long as I possibly can in the shower, trying to remove the paint from my skin.

It's six-twenty when I pull up in front of the Bella's and I'm feeling pretty damn proud of myself, because for once, I'm actually early. I turn the key to her house repeatedly between my fingers, wondering if I should actually just let myself in. As tempting as that is, I decide against it and knock on the door.

It's a mere nanosecond before she's wailing open the door and standing with her head cocked to the side at me. Oh fuck. What now? "You look-" I start, but she cuts me off.

"We need to talk." Nothing good ever comes from those four little words.

"What's wrong?" I ask, still standing outside. At least it's not raining anymore.

"What exactly is Jane to you?" she asks, still holding the door and not letting me in.

I swallow loudly. I didn't see that one coming. "Pardon me?"

"I know she's your art dealer, but clearly, something else is going on or was going on between you guys," she says warily.

"Why would you say that?"

"I saw her today."

"Where? Where did you see her?" I ask, panic starting to take hold as I go through the possibilities.

"At James' studio." What the fuck?

Anger spikes and my heart pounds. "What the fuck were you doing at James' studio? I told you not to go anywhere near him, Bella."

She puts her little hand on her perfect hip and looks really pissed off. "I am not a child, Edward, and I was there with Rose. We went to see his work for the auction."

"Oh, fuck," I mumble. She's seen the painting. The painting I neglected to tell her about.

"Wait…what does that mean? Have you seen…do you know about what he's painted?" she asks, looking horrified.

I shut my eyes, wishing to hell I never went to James' studio. "I saw him yesterday. I was at his studio," I answer, bracing myself for her reaction. I've got no idea how she's going to feel about this.

"And you just forgot to mention that? That he's painting a fucked up bondage portrait of me?" she asks, her voice rising.

"To be honest, last night, my mind was on other things," I say like the idiot I am.

"Other things? Things that would make you neglect to relay this little piece information to me? Do you have any idea how that made me feel? To see me tied up? My legs, my arms? A little warning would have been nice, Edward. God, you're an ass sometimes," she rants, opening the door further and letting me in before turning away from me.

"Bella, I didn't think…"

"That seems to be a reoccurring theme with you," she barks, and I totally deserve it.

"I'm sorry and you're right. I should have said something. It's just…when I got here, I was late, and then there was the photo shoot and the wine-"

She puts her hands up, as if in surrender, and shakes her head. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't be yelling at you. It's not like you're the one painting it. I am curious about something, though."

"Ok…" Oh dear God. What is she curious about?

She bites her lip and stares back at me, her expression worried. "Jane was talking like bondage was something you're…you're into. How would she know that?" she asks innocently.

I rake my fingers through my hair. "I'm not into bondage, Bella. At least, not the way I'm sure she made you think." I can only imagine what Jane has said to her.

"You and Jane used to be together, didn't you?" she asks quietly, taking a step back from me.

I nod my head. 'It was a long time ago, but yeah."

"What's a long time ago to you?"

"Last year," I confirm. Fuck my life. If there was a way to turn back the clock…

"That's not that long ago," she says softly. "And you guys used to…forget it." She fidgets nervously with her shirt and looks anywhere but at me.

Jesus Christ. I will not let Jane, of all people, come between us. "Bella, I'm not going to lie to you. Jane was into some stuff that's outside of what most people consider to be a normal relationship. There's this whole other lifestyle that a lot of people don't really know about or understand out there," I try to explain, knowing it's pointless.

"And you're into that sort of thing?" She looks appalled at the thought.

"No. I mean, I enjoy pushing the boundaries, a little, but not to the extent that Jane does. I'm not a whips and punishment type of guy. And I'm definitely not into bondage. I want your hands free to explore every inch of me," I tease. She looks at me skeptically. "She really upset you, didn't she?"

"I think it's safe to say that even though it's over for you, she doesn't share that sentiment. If she could have brought me down with a look, it would have been done this afternoon."

I close the distance between us and tentatively take her hand in mine. "I'm sorry. I'll talk to her," I say softly.

She stares back at me and sighs. "I really wish you wouldn't. It will just make it worse, I'm sure." She squeezes my hand in reassurance. "We should probably get going. I'm sure there's some disaster brewing in the kitchen at Mom's place."

"Could I ask you something, first?" I wrap my arm around her waist and bring her flush against me. "Could I, maybe, kiss you?" She smirks and nods her head quickly. I still my lips over hers. "You are so beautiful. Please don't doubt how much you mean to me, Bella." I spend the next ten minutes trying to show her how much.

We pull up to a small bungalow where the front lawn is home to large dream catchers and wind chimes nailed to the mature maple trees that sit in the yard. Colourful garden gnomes peek out from the over grown plants that wrap around the house. There are two Harley's sitting in the driveway, and I do a double take of the plants along the side of the house as we make our way to the door. "Bella?"

"Yeah?" She stops at the electric purple coloured front door and looks up at me.

"Are those pot plants?" I whisper.

"Yeah. Phil's a legal medical marijuana grower."

I just about drop the bottle of wine I've brought. "Are you being serious?"

"Does it sound like I'm joking?" she asks, smirking at me.

"How do you become one of those?"

"There's an application online. It's all totally legal," she says as if this is the most normal thing in the world. She knocks and walks into the house at the same time. "Mom? Phil?"

A clamour echoes through the small house and then a whirlwind of flailing arms and crazed curly brown hair, sprints towards us, followed by a hairy, black dog that looks just as excited as she does. I'm not sure which scares me more, this woman, or the dog.

"Bella, honey!" She's barefoot and has on a blue flowery skirt that goes to her ankles and a white tube top that leaves nothing to the imagination. Holy shit, Cullen! Look away! The dog, who is wearing a red bandana around his neck, takes up house on my leg and begins humping it while I try to discreetly shake it off.

"Hey, Mom," Bella says as her mother envelopes her into a hug. "This is Edward. Edward, Renee."

"Well…let me look at you," Renee says, taking my hand and running her fingers over the palm while she eyes me closely. "He's hot, Bella."

"Mom…" Bella turns a fascinating shade of pink while she shakes her head.

"Hmm, hmm." She scans down my body, nodding her head, and then pulls me into a hug while the dog continues its assault on my leg. I'm assuming this means I pass inspection from both Renee and the dog. "Welcome, Edward. It's been quite a while since Bella has brought anyone here."

"I wonder why that is?" Bella asks incredulously.

"It's nice to meet you, Renee. Um, your dog is…"

"Oh! Get down, you fool!" she says, gingerly removing the mass of fur from my leg. "Sorry about that. This is Molson."

"You named your dog after beer?" I ask.

She laughs and shrugs her shoulders. "Phil named him. They like to enjoy a nice, cold one together on the porch sometimes," she explains.

"What kind of dog is he?"

"That's a good question. We don't know, actually. Part shepherd, part husky, part something else." Molson barks once beside her as if he's agreeing with her description. "He just appeared on our doorstep two years ago and we couldn't turn him away, could we, baby?" Renee crouches down in front of me and starts kissing the dog's the neck and pulling him towards her. I divert my eyes because I can see right down her tube top and the last thing I need is for Bella to think I'm checking out her mother, especially since I know we have a hell of a lot more to talk about, given the way the night started out.

Bella rolls her eyes and takes a step into the kitchen. "What are you cooking in here?" she asks.

Renee claps her hands together. "Oh! Wait until you see! It's Spanish Paella. Vegetarian, of course, dear." She wraps her arm around Bella's shoulder and guides her towards the kitchen where we are just about overcome by the smell of garlic that permeates the small room.

The kitchen is a bright, vibrant yellow…and I mean everything is yellow. The cupboards, the walls, the table, the homemade cushions on the old mismatched chairs, even the floor is a shade of yellow.

"Mom? How much garlic are you using?" Bella asks, moving to the archaic, miniscule stove that looks like it's from the 1940's. She stirs the large pan that's on the oven and raises her eyebrows to Renee suspiciously.

"I don't know. You know I don't measure anything," Renee says dismissively, moving to the counter and pouring wine into a large, yellow plastic wine glass. She hands it to me and I place the bottle of wine I brought on the lemon coloured counter, trying not to shudder from the fact that I'm about to drink wine from a plastic glass.

"Oh, we'll use the wine Edward brought, instead!" Renee gushes, looking at the bottle appreciatively. I take a sip of the wine she's given me and almost cough it back up. "It'll be way better than Phil's daily special."

"Phil makes his own wine," Bella informs me. Of course he does. Somehow, I'm not surprised.

Renee frowns. "Yes. This latest batch is a little dicey, I must say." Renee takes her glass to the sink and pours the contents of Phil's homemade mystery wine down the drain. "Phil! Bella and Edward are here!" she yells at the top of her lungs, shaking her head. "He's probably watching Monster Garage or some other stupid reality show. He's addicted."

Molson barks and disappears into room beside the kitchen. Renee nudges Bella out of the way, takes over stirring, and starts nattering on about the ingredients in the recipe. I ask her a few questions about the recipe, intrigued that she's taking cooking classes; although, to be honest, judging from the state the kitchen is in, I'm not sure she should be trusted in the kitchen. There are pots and pans scattered everywhere, overflowing in the sink, as if she's had several failed attempts to make the dinner before this one was successful.

A throat clearing in the doorway gains my attention and I turn to see a very tattooed man leaning against it, his arms crossed in front of him, looking menacing to say the least. Renee is oblivious to his presence and continues to explain how her new found love of Spanish cooking has resulted in her and Phil planning a trip to Spain next year. "Bella!" Phil's voice booms, and he crosses the room, pulling her into a hug. His tattoos are amazingly detailed, and I find myself studying them closely.

Bella pats his back and then pulls away from him. "Phil, this is Edward."

"Good to meet you, Edward," he says, grabbing my hand and squeezing it tightly, narrowing his eyes at me. "If you hurt her, I'll break your balls. Are we clear?"

"Phil!" Renee scolds from the oven. "Just ignore him. He's all talk." She points the spatula at Phil in warning and resumes stirring.

Judging from the look in Phil's eyes and the sheer amount of ink he's sporting, I'm not so sure I believe her. "I would never hurt Bella," I say assuredly.

He nods his head at me once and roughly releases my hand. "Good," he says. Clearly, and thankfully, that little conversation is over and he makes his way to Renee, wrapping his arms around her waist and kissing her neck. "What smells so good in here, baby?"

Bella shakes her head and hands me a corkscrew. I'm thankful I have something to do other than watch while Phil feels Renee up not so subtly in front of the stove. "Ok, Mom? Seriously? Are we going to eat, or would you two like some alone time?" Bella asks as I hand her a plastic glass filled with wine.

Renee giggles and empties the paella onto a large yellow serving tray, placing it in the middle of the rickety kitchen table. "Let's eat!" Renee says excitedly. Phil takes a seat at the head of the table while Renee hands him a massive helping of the questionable looking paella, which he digs into eagerly.

"Hmm. It's fantastic, baby. You're a genius!" he compliments her. She blushes and scoops out large amounts of the concoction onto our plates. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't just a little afraid to try this. The spices are overwhelming and making my eyes water, but Phil seems be enjoying it, so I dig in.

I regret that decision almost immediately. My entire mouth is on fire, and I choke back the helping of paella, swallowing it while it burns my throat. I drink down the entire glass of wine while Renee and Phil laugh at me. "It's spicy. Probably should have told you that," Renee says.

I spend the rest of the meal alternating between the wine and miniscule bites of the paella while Phil watches in rapt amusement. I contemplate trying to stealthily feed Molson who has decided to take up shop under my chair, but I wouldn't want to injure the poor dog's mouth.

The good news is that the wine has loosened us all up and by the end of dinner we are laughing loudly while Renee reminds them of her frequent disasters in the kitchen. Apparently, tonight's dish was her best ever. I wonder just how bad things had to be to make this meal the best she's ever made.

Before we leave, Renee gives Bella three crystals which she claims she needs to help give her strength. Renee then takes my hand again and studies it closely, tracing the lines in my palm. "You're a good man, Edward. A little lost maybe, but you have a good heart. Don't fuck this up," she says firmly.

Phil has to pry Molson off my leg when we try to open the door after Renee is done with her psychic assessment of my life. Molson lies down on the porch with his head on his paws, watching as I lead Bella to the car while Phil and Renee sit in the swing on the porch and start making out. The whole experience is a little surreal and eye opening. Bella is nothing like Renee, and I wonder what her father was like. I wish I could have met him.

"I'm sorry. I completely understand if you never want to see me again," Bella says, only half joking while we pull away from their house.

"Don't be ridiculous. They're fantastic," I say, trying to reassure her.

"I should have warned you more about Renee's cooking. She's a spaz in the kitchen."

"It was fine. Stop worrying."

She laughs. "Do you think you're going to get lucky or something tonight?" she asks.

"What?"

"Edward, that meal was horrific. You don't need to pretend that you liked it."

"OK. So, she's a little creative in the kitchen. That's alright. She's trying, at least," I offer.

"You are trying to get lucky tonight, aren't you?"

"Maybe. Am I on my way?" I ask hopefully. Please say yes…please say yes.

"Depends," she says playfully.

"On what?"

"On whether you feel like parking tonight."

"Parking? What are we seventeen?" I ask, although the idea of making out with Bella in my car is a definite turn on.

"I want to show you something."

"Oh, really?" I tease, picking up speed towards her house.

"Yeah, really." She moves her little hand to my thigh and my dick -which quite honestly has been frightened for most of the night- immediately takes note. She directs me to Queen Elizabeth Park, which I had been to during the day with Mom, but never at night. It's uncharacteristically clear tonight with only a few stars, the moon no where in sight.

The parking lot is deserted and she gets out of the car, extending her hand to me and leading me across the grass, stopping in front of a sculpture that I recognize immediately.

She turns to me and smiles. "This is…"

"Henry Moore's Knife Edge," I say, staring back at her.

"Oh, you know?" Her face falls. "Of course you know." She shakes her head and turns in the direction of the fountain behind the sculpture.

I rest my fingers under her chin and tilt her face up to mine. "Hey. It's beautiful. I've never seen it at night. It's a completely different experience than during the day."

"It's exactly the same," she protests, pouting at me slightly, and I can see that, somehow, she's disappointed in herself.

I brush her hair behind her shoulder and shake my head. "No. It's not the same. You just have to look at it differently."

She crosses her arms in front of her and gets that determined look on her face that I'm coming to know and love. "How?" she challenges.

"Come here," I say. She takes a small step towards me and I lace my fingers with hers, squeezing gently and then tear my gaze from her to the sculpture. "This is one of Moore's earliest pieces. It's iconic, really. See the space between the two parts?" She nods her head and tilts it to the side as if that can make her see it better. "You can see through it. This piece blends nature with art. It invites you to enter it. So, you're not just a spectator, you can become part of it." I drop her hand and walk around the sculpture, watching as her fantastically beautiful form comes in and out of view while I circle it. "Moore always said that art should have a mystery about it. He didn't just want someone to look at one of his sculptures blankly, and keep on going. He wanted people to think about what it means, how it makes you feel."

"And what does it mean to you?" she asks.

I walk back to her and cup her face between my hands. "I think it's a delicate balance. Sharp, solid cuts across the sky and gives way to smooth curves," I whisper, running my hands down her side and cupping her glorious ass, coaxing her towards me. She giggles and runs her hands up my chest. I shut my eyes and breathe her in. She feels so right, so perfect, so unbelievably sexy.

"Is that right?" she teases, moving her hands from my chest to the back of my neck, lightly tracing the hair there.

I open my eyes and brush my lips in front of hers. "There's tension between the pieces, but somehow, they work together. And now, at night, the light from the stars, the light from the fountain, the movement of trees that you can see between the two pieces, brings it to life." Her breathing elevates and I smile at the affect I seem to have on her. "A lot of people think this is a static and cold piece. But I see energy and vitality. What do you see?" I move her hair to the side and skim my lips across her exposed neck. Fuck, she feels amazing.

She tilts her head back to give me better access, which I greedily take, nipping and tasting, wanting to loose myself completely in her. "Two big pieces of rock," she breathes. We both burst out laughing and she moves her hands from my neck into my hair.

"Yeah, there's that, too," I agree, kissing her slowly, our lips melding together, my want and desire growing with each minute I spend with her. She shivers as my hands travel down her back, pressing her closer to me. "Are you cold?"

"No," she murmurs against my lips. I smile and trace the top of her jeans with my fingers before moving them up under her shirt, skimming my fingers over her bra, eliciting another shiver from her.

"Would you like to get out of here?" I ask.

She nods her head and then tucks it against my shoulder as we walk back through the empty park. I am in awe of her and how she wanted to show me this. "Thank you for bringing me here," I whisper into her hair.

"You've seen it before," she says in protest.

"Not like this and not with you."

We arrive at the car and she wraps her arm around my waist, squeezing me gently. I push her against the door of the car, pressing my embarrassingly hard erection against her. I need her. I need her right now. I bring my lips to hers, begging and pleading for her to want me. She pulls on the bottom of my shirt, grinding herself against me, our tongues thrashing against each other, our panting become louder while she works on the button of my jeans.

Jesus you're in a parking lot!

Unfortunately…or not, my dick is in full control of this situation, and as such, my ability to protest has been obliterated and replaced by my shameless thrusting against her in an effort to find some sort of friction.

All I feel, all I want, is her. There has never been anyone that makes me this crazy…this out of control. She tugs the zipper on my jeans down and wiggles her hand in, the pressure threatening to release as she strokes me hard. "Fuck, Bella. Don't stop," I groan. I rest my head on her shoulder and she presses forward, her breasts flush against me. She bites down on my neck before pushing my jeans down further and freeing my dick which I'm sure I hear whimper slightly in thanks. Right now, I don't really care that we're in a public parking lot. "Please, baby. I'm dying here."

"Do you like it when I touch you?" she whispers, just about sending me over the edge as she throws some of my words from this morning's fuck-hot shower back at me.

"Fuck, yes," I murmur, my head lolling back while I place my hands against the car on either side of her. Something in the back of my mind registers the distinct sound of a car starting and revving. She kisses me hard, and she tastes like hot spices and wine. My mind spins, intoxicated by her hand that's expertly circling my tip and then stroking slowly down. Teasing, tempting and making me weak with want. She already knows exactly what to do to drive me insane.

She kisses along my jaw, her hand starting to set a steady pace. She takes my bottom lip between her teeth and bites down lightly, before licking across it with her tongue and sighing softly. I desperately claim her lips, one hand leaving the side of the car to cup her ass. She squeezes me tighter. "Edward, tell me what you want," she growls, pulling back and licking her bottom lip, her breathing elevated while she waits. Holy fuck. It's taking everything in me not to fuck her right now against the car.

Then, something changes and she stops abruptly. I'm about ready to explode or protest, I'm not sure which, but when I see the look on her face, all rational thought leaves me. She's frozen, her eyes wide in terror, the colour drained almost completely from her face. I turn to see the lights of the revving car start to speed their way towards us through the otherwise empty parking lot.

Chapter End Notes

God, I hate it when that happens.

Thanks for reading and reviewing.

Brahms Piano Quartet in C Minor, Opus 60. Simply amazing:www(dot)youtub(dot)/watch?v=IDaBUGBBTa4

A visual on Henry Moore's Knife Edge: .

Yes, you can grow medicinal marijuana legally in Canada. Yet another reason to love us Canadians!

Twitter: CarLemon