Disclaimer: Twilight and its characters belong to Stephenie Meyer. The rest is my doing. Please do not repost the story without authorization.

Word Prompt: Succumb

Not beta'd.

He doesn't need to tell me. I understand how hard it is for him to admit he wanted to see me.

To show my appreciation, and make sure he doesn't feel exposed and alone, I say, "I wanted to see you, too. Would you like to come in?"

I step aside, intentionally leaving very little room. Our bodies touch as he brushes by, lending me that familiar surge of energy.

He sashays into the living room and gracefully lowers himself to the couch. I follow, about to sit down when he says, "I apologize for showing up empty-handed. I was thinking about going out for coffee but obviously that's impossible since you're in..." His eyes travel up and down my body. "...the middle of laundry."

The way he's looking at me makes my legs feel like Jell-O. I can't resist the urge to tease him as I take a seat.

"You could go home and change into your pajamas. Then maybe you wouldn't be so bothered by mine."

He grins, looking so pleased with himself that I know he's got a witty retort up his sleeve.

"What makes you think my pajamas would be any more appropriate than yours?"

I picture Masen lying naked in bed, his bare chest exposed, a white sheet tangled carelessly around his lower half. I honestly can't think of a more befitting way for him to sleep.

"I like inappropriate."

"Of course you do." He laughs and adds, "Sometimes, I wonder whether you realize the double meaning in the things that come out of your mouth. The better I get to know you, the more I'm certain that every word is intentional."

"Would it upset you if it was?"

He gives me a wry smile. "I'm learning to roll with the punches."

"I just don't see the point of being anything but honest, you know?"

He leans back into the couch, draping his arm along the back. "I think you're the most truthful person I've ever met. At the very least, you're the frankest. It's refreshing, really. I'm so tired of liars."

It's another clue about his past, relating to the betrayal of his trust, I'm guessing. No one likes liars, but we've all been subject to them in some form or another. I wonder why he's at his limit.

"You're not so good with the honesty thing," I say sheepishly. He's not exactly untruthful, but he's far from straightforward.

He snickers quietly and meets my gaze. His eyes are so self-assured. "Honesty isn't my problem; it's knowing whom to trust."

"So you don't trust me?"

He pales. His struggle to find the right words plays out across his features. Finally, he says, "I'm trying."

I don't understand his body language: tense shoulders, hands balled into fists, a blank mask securely fixed on his face. Then I realize he's braced for rejection. What has this poor man been through?

"That's all I can ask." Asking more would be setting us both up for failure.

For a moment, his expression gives me a glimpse of the innocent he once was, childlike wonder mixed with faith and peace. It's the greatest gift he's ever given me. He quickly slips back into his flirty self though, complete with my favourite lopsided grin.

"Can we have dessert now? The smell of whatever you've made is killing me. Will you stop at nothing to manipulate me?"

"How does manipulation occur when the allegedly manipulated party is not present?" I ask.

"Clearly you underestimate your talents."

I snort. "Clearly. Who knew all it took was some sugar and fat to make you succumb?"

"Sugar."

I raise an eyebrow. "Pardon me?"

"You had me at sugar," he tells me, smug and unapologetic.

I walk into the kitchen, shaking my head, with Masen right on my heels. As I pull the platter out from its hiding spot beside the fridge, his mouth falls open.

"So you're a sugar slut?" I'm giggling as soon as the words are out of my mouth.

His eyes flash to mine, alight with amusement.

"Did you just call me a slut?"

"Well, you called me sugar first."

"I did not!"

A rosy colour creeps over his cheeks as we stare at each other. Rather than offer an explanation for his blush, he laughs, warm and hearty. The sound takes up residence in a vacant corner of my heart. Slowly but surely, the pieces of himself that he's sharing are filling the hollow spots inside me, as though he were made to complement me. I wasn't even aware the emptiness existed until he came into my life.

"I kind of like the endearment. It's old-fashioned and romantic," I say.

"It's a perfect nickname for you."

I feign nonchalance. Inside, my heart thumps wildly.

"Because I'm sweet and irresistible?"

"I was thinking more along the lines of you feeding my sweet tooth, but that works, too."

He winks, and it's my turn to go red.

I make coffee while Masen digs into the donut holes.

"Holy shit, they're still warm. So good." He moans appreciatively.

My back is to him, thank God. Masen doesn't see me close my eyes and shiver in response to the noise he makes.

I imagine him flat on his back and me astride his hips, both of us naked. My arm is outstretched, teasing him with the sticky treat by holding it just out of his reach. He grasps my hips, shifting my body forward, stretching and straining for the offering. It takes everything in me to resist his strength, not so inadvertently grinding against him as I slide backwards. The images are so real that I press my thighs together looking for friction that isn't there.

"A penny for your thoughts," he whispers.

He's so close to me that his body heat seeps through the cotton I'm wearing, calescent against my bare skin. It's an effort not to slide back and rest against him.

His arm curls around me to take two mugs out of the cupboard.

I polish my reverie, but give him the truth.

"I was just thinking about how worked up you'd be if I teased you by keeping the donuts from you."

Turning to face him, he doesn't move back like I expect he will.

"You wouldn't do that, would you?" He's equal parts horrified and innocent, adorable in his put-on.

"Only if I could make it worth your while... and mine."

"I bet you have an idea how to do just that." His voice is low and husky, coaxing my lust in dangerous ways.

I can't tell who's moving, but the distance between us is closing.

"I do." My teeth worry my bottom lip as I nod, caught up in his nearness and the sparks between us. "But you'd have to be in those inappropriate pajamas you mentioned earlier."

My hands grip the edge of the countertop behind me. I'm pushing up onto my toes before I've given myself permission to move, rising up slowly with the hope that he'll meet me in the middle. There's a stage whisper in my head telling me to cease and desist. 'It's too soon, too much, too risky,' the voice warns. But it feels like an eternity and not enough and worth the gamble. I'm no longer in this alone like I was a few days ago. He wouldn't be here, so near that we're sharing breaths, if he didn't want more.

I'm stretched as tall as I'm able, unsteady, enkindled by a sea of green flames. I either pull him to me or wait.

I'm not feeling very patient.

My fingers move instinctively, hooking the hem of his t-shirt just enough to affect his balance. If he's trying to pull away, he'll fall back, but the inertia moves him forward and our lips meet.

A/N: My apologies for the delay. Thank you for your patience and support.

Finally a kiss :) Yay! I'd love to hear your thoughts.