I walk out of the bathroom, towel around my neck in my boxers, and smile at Bella who rolls over and rubs her face against the pillow. "Morning," I say and walk over to my closet.

I liked waking up with her in my bed this morning. I liked everything about it—the warmth, the security, the way she wrapped her leg around my waist in her sleep. Everything. It took more strength than I care to think about to actually get out of bed. But alas, real life.

"You have work today?" I ask even though she didn't acknowledge my good morning with more than a soft, completely unthreatening growl.

"Haven't decided yet," she murmurs.

I turn and quirk an eyebrow at her but she just pulls the comforter up to her chin and closes her eyes again. I pull a pair of pants on but don't button them immediately. There's no use in constricting myself until absolutely necessary.

I walk over to my nightstand and pop open the Advil bottle. I shake a couple of pills out until the ring lands in my palm. When I look up, she's staring at me curiously. I feel my cheeks heat in slight embarrassment at being caught doing this.

I wrap my fingers around the ring and close the bottle up before slipping it into my pocket.

"Really?" she asks softly. "I thought after… you know what? It's none of my business."

I smile slowly at her and then lean down, putting a hand on either side of her head on the pillow until our noses are touching. "What if I bump into Julia Roberts in the street? You know she lives in the city now."

"I wouldn't wanna get in the way of that kind of obvious fate," she says and her voice is rough from sleep. "By all means carry on." And with each word, her lips touch mine lightly.

"That's thoughtful of you," I whisper and then dip my head lower, covering her mouth with mine. I take her lower lip in between both of mine and suck on it.

Her arms come out from under the blankets and wind around my neck. "You're a brave man," she mumbles against my lips and then pulls me closer. I bend my arms slightly and give her a curious look. "Going where my toothbrush has yet to go today."

I laugh against her and then climb onto the bed. I settle my knees on both sides of her hips and slide my hands into her hair. "I couldn't care less," I tell her and then press my mouth against hers again.

One hand gets tangled in my hair while her other squeezes my shoulder and our tongues battle for dominance. I press my tongue against hers until she recedes with a sigh and let's me enter her mouth. Her fingers rub my scalp and she wiggles slightly beneath me.

"Shit," I breathe out and pull away. "I'm gonna be late for work."

"So don't go," she says and the combination of her dark heavy eyes, puffy swollen lips, and low hoarse voice make something inside of me tighten. Fuck me.

"I can't," I say and shake my head but make no effort to get off of the bed. I'm sitting on my feet right above her thighs.

She laughs. "You can but you don't want to. There's a difference."

I stare at her and know that my mouth is hanging open and that I probably look totally fucking retarded. I don't want to? I laugh at her now and lean forward so that my hips are pressed against her. I press hard enough so that she can feel it through the blanket.

I lean in so that my lips are against her ear and breathe, "You think I don't want to?"

I feel her shiver from the assault of my breath on her skin and I feel her arch up slightly, pressing closer to me.

"Staying here with you is the only thing I want to do right now."

"Then stay," she says simply and traces her fingers down my chest, over my stomach, until she stops right at the waistband of my still unbuttoned pants.

"Fuck," I whisper and try to hold my breath so that I don't pant like a dog in heat in her face.

She laughs again and tilts her head up. She takes my earlobe in between her lips and I let the breath out in one massive whoosh. I'm done for.

"Fuck," I repeat and roll off of her, dropping onto my back on top of the blankets, breathing heavily. "I need to call in."

"You do that," she says and I see her curl up underneath the covers. "I'll wait here like the bad influence I clearly am." And then she laughs this crazy, manic, adorable little laugh and I know just how fucked I am.

I am so completely fucked because I don't care about anything but being right here, listening to this crazy girl laugh. I ruffle the top of her head and sit back up, swinging my legs off of the bed, and reaching for my phone.

"Hi, Violet," I say and feel a finger tracing slowly up my spine. "It's Edward."

"Hi, sweetheart, how are you?"

I cough when she slides her fingers back down and beneath the waist band of the front of my pants. I grab her hand and hold it still. She laughs loudly from behind me.

"I can't come in," I tell her and squeeze Bella's little fingers in mine. "I'm not feeling well."

"Is everything okay?" she asks and I hear the wariness in her voice because I never call out, ever. And now I've done it twice in a month because I'd rather be with Bella."

"Yeah, I just think I'm coming down with something. Will you let them know?" I ask, and Bella turns her hand over and laces her fingers with mine.

"Okay, you feel better. And say hi to Izzy for me."

I choke and she laughs. "Bye, Vi," I say and hang up the phone. And then I drop back on the bed, my head on Bella's stomach, and cover my face with both of our hands. "I'm found out. I'm gonna be fired."

"Quit being dramatic; if every man who called out to get some when he was getting some got fired, the world would be run by women."

I lift our hands off of my face and peek up at her. "I'm getting some?"

The blush spreads over her cheeks rapidly and then she tries to tug the blankets up over her face, but I'm on them and she can't. I laugh and kiss her hand.

"You think I'd have a less chance of being fired if I just told the truth then? Cause I can call back."

"Yeah," she says. "Call back and tell Violet you won't be in today because you'll be discovering the better parts of me."

I roll over so that I'm lying on my stomach and rest my cheek on her chest. "You mean it gets better?" I ask and splay my hand out on her stomach over this fucking blanket that just needs to get the fuck out of my way already.

She turns red again and smacks at my hand. "If you keep asking questions like this you might as well go to work. You're killing the mood here," she says with a small laugh.

"No," I grumble. "I'm not killing the mood. This fucking waste of space blanket is." And I sit up and pull it off of her quickly.

And then I'm covering her with my body and my mouth, because this has been a long time coming. I kiss her again—I don't think I'll ever get over the way she tastes, just warm and sweet and all Bella. And then I trail my mouth down her throat in wet kisses, stopping only to nibble on her collarbone.

"I love the way you look in my clothes," I breathe against her skin. "But this shirt really needs to be gone."

I trail my fingers down her throat and then over the collar of the shirt. I tighten my hold on it and then just tear it straight down the middle.

She gasps and looks down at me through dark eyes. "That was supposed to join my collection," she says.

I shake my head and help her out of it completely before I throw it somewhere across the room. "I'll give you another one," I say and then lean down and kiss her again. "You're so fucking beautiful."

I let my hand trail down in between our bodies while I continue the assault on her mouth, and cover one of her breasts. She squirms and arches up into my hand and let's out a soft sigh. I brush my thumb over her nipple and nibble gently on her lip.

I nudge my knee in between her legs and she rolls her hips against my leg. And fuck, I forgot she wasn't wearing pants. I don't know who would forget that. But yeah...

I switch hands and start twisting and pinching her other nipple until she's writhing and rubbing herself against me frantically.

"I want you so badly," I breathe out and slide down her body. Every gasp and moan that comes with every pinch and roll of my fingers is making my dick twitch.

She reaches down and traces the outline of my erection through my pants. I hear some deep growl resonate from deep inside of my chest. I pull my hips away from her, reach and dip my head down and clamp my mouth hard over her nipple. She squirms beneath me and low, animalistic sounds come out of her mouth.

And then I slide my hand down her stomach, dipping between her legs, and press my hand against the warm, wet fabric there.

"God, you're so hot," I whisper and then suck harder on her nipple. I push the fabric to the side and slide first one finger and then a second inside of her. She groans and arches up into my hand when I swipe my thumb across her clit, circling it. Teasing it.

I move up again so that I can kiss her and she slips her tongue into my mouth. I groan and suck on her tongue as I press my fingers in deeper, harder.

And then I move away from her mouth again, trailing down her neck, and over her breasts and her stomach. I slip my fingers under the elastic of her underwear and then I pull it all the way down her legs.

I grasp the backs of her thighs and hook her knees over my shoulders, opening her wide up to my gaze for the first time. And then I press my tongue firmly against her clit, circling it with firm strokes, before I add my fingers.

She moans, arching her hips up towards me. "That's it," I whisper against her, "make noise, Bella. Show me what you like."

"Deeper," she gasps. "I want your fingers deeper."

I slide two fingers deep inside of her, as far as they'll go, and clamp my lips down over her clit simultaneously. I feel her legs and arms stiffen and then I feel her tighten around my fingers. I press harder against her clit with my tongue, drawing relentless circles around it.

I feel her shudder as her orgasm courses through her. I slide my tongue inside of her for one last, lingering taste. Because she tastes good; sweet and salty and hot against my mouth. The last quivers of her orgasm flutter against my lips and I groan, unable to stop myself from grinding my hips in response. Fuck, I need to get inside of her before I do something embarrassing like cum against the sheets.

She's relaxed- boneless as I crawl up on my knees. "I need a condom," I tell her when she just follows me with her eyes and a lazy smile on her face. She nods. I reach into the drawer next to the bed and pull one out.

I push my pants and boxers off at the same time and slide it onto myself.

She stares up at me as I brace myself over her and position myself at her entrance. "Are you ready?" I ask her even though I doubt I'll be able to stop at this point if she says that she's not.

She nods and reaches up, pulling my face down to hers, covering my mouth in a slow, sweet kiss. And I start the first slow, deep slide inside of her. She's so slick, so tight, like a hot, wet fist clamping down around my dick with every stroke. I begin to move faster, pumping her harder and harder because of the tight urgency building inside of me.

God, she's so pretty, so responsive. Her cheeks are flushed; lips deep red and swollen, elicit all kinds of fantasies of having them wrapped around my dick. Her chest is flushed too, the creamy flesh of her breasts is rosy-pink as I drive her higher and higher. The smooth skin of her inner thighs slides against my hips as she wraps her legs around me, urging me deeper, faster, as her hips rock up to meet every thrust.

She's so close. I need to hold off a few more seconds. I wanna watch her, see her face as she breaks into a million pieces. I slip my hand in between us and start to rub her clit with my thumb.

My back arches and I moan as I feel her body clamp down hard around me, milking, kneading my cock as her second climax hits. Her nails dig into my back and send me hurtling over the edge. I come in a body-melting rush, in pulses so fierce I feel like I'm gonna burst out of my own skin.

I collapse on top of her, savoring her scent as I gulp oxygen into my lungs. After a few minutes, I realize I'm probably crushing her and find enough strength to roll to the side. I pull her with me so that she's lying on top of me and close my eyes.

Holy, holy, holy fuck.

***

I should be tired after that. So tired that I would let myself drift back to sleep, but instead I can't fight the antsy that seems to have spread through me. A slow warm feeling that is keeping me from lying in bed like I want to be. A feeling that's nice and comforting and I almost want to kick it off like a heavy blanket. Cause I don't know what this feeling is, but it's making me need to move. Maybe it'll go away as long as I keep moving.

I hear the shower turn on and can't help but smile. He's going to shower, again. In some small part of my mind I want to feel insecure like he doesn't want to smell our sex all over him for the rest of the day, but I fully intend on taking one when he's done. Just because, well, I like to be clean damnit.

His room is barren in the way that it says nothing about him. Everything is perfectly placed and perfectly matched and I feel perfectly out of place. I walk around letting my fingers trail over several surfaces tempted to make a mess if only so I can feel a little more at home. Even his dirty laundry is perfect, all ceremoniously put into a hamper. I have a hamper; I got it as a house-warming gift. Mostly I toss my clothes in its general direction and call it good.

His closet calls to me and I fling open the doors and am unsurprised to find that his clothes are hanging neatly and yes, it's true, they are colored coded. I shake my head as I take it in. How does someone who lives like this find any appeal in a girl like me? I shrug away the unpleasant thought and pull one of his dress shirts off the hanger. He owes me one now anyway. I button it carefully and roll the sleeves several times so I can actually see my hands.

I've always had a thing for men's clothing. When I was younger my mother was sure that I was a boy stuck in a girl's body. Horrible thought to have now actually. Just because I liked to shop in little boys Gap instead of wanting to wear all those frilly ass dresses. I still don't do frilly.

The hanger from the shirt falls onto the floor and I want to leave it, but can't desecrate the masterpiece that is Edward's closet that way. I kneel down and reach for it. My finger wrap around the plastic and I replace it on the bar. It looks sad and lonely without its shirt, but it will have to deal.

I can still hear the shower, but there is nothing interesting left in here so I venture out. I push the door open and am almost instantly blinded by sunlight. Somehow I missed most of the apartment last night, but I'm not surprised that the rest of it seems to also be vying for a position in some decorator's portfolio. The main room is open with no walls between the kitchen and living room.

My eyes trail over every surface, looking for anything that represents the man who I have grown attached to, but find nothing. And then I see it. The only other door leading off the main space. It's closed and I can feel it calling to me. Instantly it's like the TV show my mother told me never to watch, I have to see what's inside.

My breathing picks up as I near the door and I have to chuckle at myself. I'm acting like I'm committing a crime like Edward is going to jump out at any minute and catch me red handed. And what would he accuse me of? Making myself at home? I can only imagine the roll of his eyes if he saw me. The thought gives me courage and I grab the knob and turn.

The door creaks and that damn ominous feeling is back again. The room is nothing. No paint on the walls, not furniture, not even a speck of dust. Just boxes. Piles of boxes sealed and piled neatly all over the room. I bite my lip and wonder if maybe he hasn't lived here long or if it's her things. The urge to back out of the room is strong, but not stronger than my curiosity.

I step further in and walk around the boxes carefully, not wanting to leave any sign that I was here. They each have simple things written in plain script on them. Hannah- summer clothes, Edward-junk. I laugh at the second one and wonder if that was his designation or hers. And I'm hit with it suddenly. How recently there was a Them. And how this was their place. And we just… in their bed. I back into a wall and slide down it until I'm sitting with my arms wrapped around my knees.

I should have paid that yoga instructor more for that one session, or I guess paid at all considering it was free. I am getting more out of my breathing techniques than I could have ever hoped for. I can't move, but my eyes dance from one box to another and the message resonates. Him. Her. Them.

This is what I get for snooping. I should have just left this door shut and rode out my post sex high, but no; I just had to open it. Slowly I slide back up the wall and try to force myself to leave, but there's another closed door. Why must I have these childish urges?

Just a quick peek that's all. I'm just going to open it, see more boxes like this and then force myself back outside. I take a deep breath and slide the door open. It's not boxes. It's nothing like the fucking boxes. It's Edward finally. This is where he's been hiding himself.

I sink to the floor once more and just look at all the pieces that make so much sense. A well-loved guitar case takes up most of my attention. I run my fingers over the distressed leather and smile. I knew he was a musician. Most people don't have fingers and hands that can do those kinds of things. I pull my fingers away only to pull a large cardboard box towards me. It's filled with records, the kind that Simon would kill to have in his store. My fingers dance across them, exposing each one to my eyes and I can't help the smile that breaks across my face. This is where I fit in. In this closet. Lord that sounds wrong.

I remember my boundaries just before I take a particularly worn Pink Floyd album and place it on the record player. But, I can't help that my fingers wrap around the strap of the guitar case and pull it with me out of the room.

Once bathed in the light from the main room I pull the door closed and make my way to the sofa. I'm hoping he won't care. I mean, this is Edward, he wouldn't care. I cross my legs underneath me and open the case slowly. It's a really beautiful thing. A Gibson. It's worn, but well taken care of, the strings in perfect condition.

I chew on my lip and stare at it for a while. A man's guitar is a very private thing in general, but so is a naked body. This rationalization seems weak especially coming from me, but I want to feel close to him. Close to the real him, not the one he tries so hard to pretend he is. So I pull it into my lap and just hold it for a bit.

My fingers run over the length and the strings, but I don't dare to adjust them, there are some things you just don't do. My fingers tingle as I strum the strings and hear the perfect pitch fill the open space. My lips curl into a smile, but I bite my cheek to fight it back.

The song comes easily. A slow haunting melody that is just begs to be played at the moment. And right then I feel more like his than ever before. More than when he was hovering above me just moments ago. Because this is him. I can feel it.

And so I lose myself it that feeling, that moment, and the notes coming from the guitar that I'm not even consciously playing. The feeling scares me because it's different and I'm not in control and I don't even care.

"What are you doing?" His voice breaks the moment and suddenly I feel even more naked then I am because in those words are more emotion that I thought was possible from him. I clutch the guitar to me and raise my eyes. He's marble, granite, rock, unmoving. His eyes are dead, nothing there for me to draw an explanation or comfort from. It sucks the breath right out of me.

"I knew you were holding out on me," I reply. I try to smile, I really try, but the tension is thick and it almost hurts to move. He must feel it too, because neither does he. I hold his gaze and wait. Wait for him to make this better, but he just stares blankly at the instrument in my lap.

"Where did you get that?" he asks. His voice remains cold and I swallow and lick my dry lips. I feel like he should know the answer to that question. I mean it is his. The terrible thought crosses my mind that it might be hers, but just as quickly it's ushered out by the surety that I know it's his.

"I, was, um looking around while you were in the shower and I found it in the closet," I offer. I suddenly feel its weight in my hands and gently lay it back in the case, recoiling my hands quickly like it might burn me if I didn't.

He breaks the tension, but not by speaking. I can't take my eyes off of him as he crosses the room. I recoil into the couch not because I think he's going to hurt me, but because I have to fucking clue what is going through his mind. He leans down in front of my and gently snaps the case shut and picks it up.

He walks determinedly towards the cursed door and opens it swiftly. I feel myself curl even further into the couch as I hear the sure sounds of him fixing what I obviously disturbed. The sound of the closet sliding closed echoes through the room and now I feel even more like I don't belong here.

When he reappears he pulls the door shut behind him and takes on my gaze again. I want to look away, want to push out of this place and ignore the burning sensation in my chest, but I'm stuck, glued to this spot.

He takes several steps towards me before stopping like he hit an invisible brick wall. His head drops suddenly and he shakes it like he's trying to rid himself of an unpleasant thought. I pull his shirt over my legs not wanting to be even more exposed.

"You shouldn't go through people's things," he states and I feel scolded. Suddenly I am the small child I was trying to fight off when I opened that door. I shake my own head and clench my jaw trying to keep my emotions at bay. The tears are just waiting to be called upon.

"I'm so sorry, I just, God there aren't even words, I know I shouldn't have, I just… Fuckety fuck," I breathe. I can't even speak now. My chest is heaving and I just want to go back fifteen minutes and stay in bed. I find the strength to lift my eyes and he just continues to stare. Just as I feel the burn of tears in the corners of my eyes he nods and begins to make his way to the kitchen.

"I'm gonna make some coffee," he says. Now I feel like I've been sucker punched. That's it? All that damned tension and emotion and he is going to make coffee. I take deep mouthfuls of air and try to calm my racing heart. He didn't yell and somehow that's the worst of the two options. Because even though it scared me shitless, that Edward was the one who played the guitar and the one I desperately want to know.

And while this Edward is familiar, he's easy; he's only the beginning of what I want from him. Cause if I am going to do this, it's got to be everything or nothing at all.

***

It was perfect. It was all just so, so fucking perfect. I should've known better though. Nothing is ever perfect for people like me.

And she's all curled up in herself on the fucking couch looking like she's gonna fucking cry and I'm making instant fucking coffee.

But that's just… it's mine. It was mine. The guitar is just… I can't look at it without thinking about everything. And I saw her holding it and heard her playing it and the notes still sound the same but just so much fucking better coming from her hands. And I felt that little piece inside of me that died such a long time ago come back to life.

And it fucking hurt. It hurt the way it hurts when you come inside from the freezing cold and your entire body starts to thaw out from the drastic change in temperature.

It hurt because nobody else has ever taken the time to find it. Until Bella. Bella who looks like she wants to cry or run away and, damn it, she can't do either one.

I look up at her curled into herself in my shirt and see her wipe her thumb across her cheek and feel my hand tilt. I didn't mean for it to tilt just like I didn't mean for this fucking hot water to spill onto my hand. Just like I didn't mean to make her cry.

"Fuck!" I scream and drop the cup into the sink as I turn the cold water on. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."

"Edward?" And now she's standing next to me, peering over my shoulder to look at my hand.

"It's nothing," I mumble and shake my hand under the water, willing it to stop hurting. To make everything stop hurting. "It's fine. It's okay. I'm sorry. I didn't mean… I'm just sorry."

"It's my fault, I shouldn't have been snooping. Now let me see your hand. I need to know if Mr. Bump is going to suffice or if we need to visit Dr. Dick."

And she takes my hand gingerly in hers and I want to laugh and cry all at the same time. Please don't cry. "It's just… it's mine. It's not. It's mine but it's not—not anymore. And I can't… I just can't hear it."

I feel the tears sting my eyes as she presses her fingers softly against the angry red welt on my hand. Just like she's pressing them against the angry red welt inside of me. And fuck if it doesn't hurt. It feels good but it hurts so fucking bad.

"You don't have to explain, Edward. I shouldn't have opened that door. It's not my place."

"Don't apologize," I whisper and forget my burned hand and just wrap my arms around her and pull her close to me. "Don't apologize. You can go wherever you want, it's all yours. I just… I can't hear it, okay? I can't hear it. I'm sorry."

And now I just feel like the ultimate fucking loser, pressing my face into her hair and letting the tears slip there so that she can't see them. I need to go into my room. I need to hear the songs and just let it out there so it doesn't all just seep out into her.

And then, with either the best or worst timing, there's a knock at the door.

We both stop breathing as the ugly sound interrupts this moment. And then she pulls away and wipes the tears off of my cheeks. "Keep your hand under the water. I'll get the door."

When she turns away from me, something inside of me breaks. Because obviously she's not leaving, but it feels like she is. So I reach out my hand because I want to hold onto her and start following.

She turns around with a stern face. "No, keep it under there or I am calling Sean."

I nod once because, well, that prick is the last person I need to see right now and return to the sink. I wipe my face and let the cold water pound down on my skin, calming the burn, calming me marginally, but keep my body situated so that it's facing the door.

If I crane my neck I can see who it is.

And Bella pulls it open and, with all of my fucking luck, Hannah smiles tightly back at her.

"Well," Hannah says shortly, "I would say this is a surprise, but I always thought you were rather loose."