Another update from our exhausting couple lol

Surprisingly, this is progress for them! *shrugs*

Thanks for reading.

13
- irreconcilable differences -

I feel stupid.

Embarrassed.

It wasn't even real but still.

I stand. Adjust my shirt. Start to pack my camera away.

Edward clears his throat and scoots forward on the couch, elbows resting on his thighs.

"You're not going anywhere, Bella."

"Watch me."

I fumble to get my camera in the bag, and then I'm moving toward the door.

He's impossibly fast and suddenly there between me and the exit, blocking the way.

"Move," I demand.

He stares down at me. "No."

"What, you're gonna keep me locked in here forever?"

"Not forever. Just for the night."

"Like hell you are," I spit. "Move, honey."

I say it spitefully.

Viciously.

"We're gonna hash this shit out, then I'll sign your papers, and you can be on your merry little way," he says with more control than I can possess right now.

I feel sick when my eyes land on the papers across the room. "It's over. What is there to hash out?"

"Everything. I think you owe us that much. Those papers state irreconcilable differences, and I call bullshit. You didn't even try. So tonight, you're gonna try."

"I didn't try? I told you how I thought you picked Maria because you wanted to fuck her! You dismissed me! You were so fucking insensitive and didn't even try to understand. I was… drowning. You flaunted Maria around, and you kept working with her. You made me so insecure and—"

"Yeah, it was all me, right? All my fault? I fucking told you that wasn't the truth. I didn't want her, and you refused to believe me. To trust me. After almost ten years of marriage, my word meant fucking nothing to you."

I shake my head, pissed that he cut me off. "Let me the fuck out."

Furious, he points above my head, across the room. "Baby, sit the fuck down."

He doesn't say the pet name in a taunting way or as an insult. He says it like he's been calling me that every day, like no time apart has passed.

I hate him.

I love him.

Hate that I still love him.

I drop my camera bag and shove him with both hands.

It feels good to lean into the anger I've been doing a terrible job at suppressing.

I push again.

Once.

Twice.

The entire time, he doesn't budge. He's built and sturdy, and I'm… nothing. Skin and bones and a broken heart. I'm a waif compared to him, especially as of this last year.

I tell myself that it makes it better. I'm smaller and weak and don't have the ability to hurt him.

So, I shove him some more.

Slap his chest.

He takes it.

I slap again and again, then slap his face with one hand and then both. It's not as hard as I want, and he just lets me do it, jaw tightening, fury flashing in his eyes.

I'm about to do it again, and he grabs me, his large hands enclosing my wrists entirely.

His touch is firm but gentle.

It makes me burn.

Yearn.

Makes me hostile and confusingly aroused.

"Enough," he bites, dipping his head so we're face to face. "No more." I breathe and breathe and breathe, chest heaving, this fury in me waning. "Are you gonna be a good girl and stop hitting me?" he asks, mouth so close to mine.

He waits and waits and waits.

Never lessens his grip on my wrists.

I breathe hard.

He stares harder.

I won't win this one, I know it.

I finally nod. He lets go, and I step back to turn away and suppress a furious sob.

"So, what?" I ask, still angry when I spin back around. "We stay here all night and have a heart-to-heart? And then in the morning, we part ways."

"Sure." He shrugs like this wasn't his big idea. "Whatever the fuck you want, Bell."

"Don't call me that."

"What would you rather I call you? Baby? Lover? Wife?"

I flip him off and move toward the minibar and chug another tequila. It goes down easy, but it's my eyes that burn this time.

I toss him a whiskey, aiming for his handsome face, and he catches it before it hits him.

"Look at us," he says sarcastically. "Already working together."

"You know people know where I'm at, right?" I remind him.

His laugh catches me off guard. It's real and deep and throaty, not laced with bitterness or hatred. He actually smiles when he laughs, eyes squinting.

My absurdity amused him. And for a split second, I almost laugh, too, from hearing his. It's infectious. It's pure. It's perfect, and it's him.

"People like who? Michael? The concierge who has a hard-on for you?" he asks with an amused sneer.

He's right. No one else knows where I am. I don't have anyone to share my day with.

"No," I lie. "Other people."

"You think I'm going to hurt you?" he asks resentfully.

No, I don't actually think that. It was a stupid thing to say.

He twists the cap off his whiskey, refills his glass, then removes his jacket and tosses it on the armchair.

"I'm not going to touch you, Bella," he mutters. "Not unless you ask me to."

It's my turn to laugh, but it's forced and not as pure as his. "Not happening."

He raises his brows. "No?"

I swallow. "No."

He strides closer to me. I step back until my shoulders and ass are pressed against the wall.

He searches my face. There's an intensity behind his gaze that haunts me.

"You really don't miss me at all?" he asks, his voice a low purr. "Don't miss my mouth between your legs?"

"I—"

He drops to his knees, his face right there.

I look down at him.

Find myself growing wet from memories of his tongue lapping and sucking, fingers curling and fucking.

Maybe I'd let him.

Maybe I want him to.

"Can I touch you?"

"Fine," I say like I'm not aching for it.

He leaves me buttoned and zipped, but with one finger, he traces my zipper all the way down to the inseam. He rubs between my legs. Then he does it again, up and down, firmer. It feels so fucking delicious, especially when he focuses on where my clit is.

"Didn't you once say my mouth was the best you ever had?" he asks, looking up at me with glazed eyes.

"Yes," I whisper, telling him the truth.

No sense in lying now.

He has years of memories involving my mind-blowing orgasms to prove me wrong.

Years of using his hot mouth, long fingers, and perfect cock.

"You can leave," he tells me, still rubbing and coaxing my arousal further. "I'm not going to force you to stay tonight. But if you go, I'm not signing those papers, Bella. Which is what I know you want…"

He presses a kiss to my center, through my jeans. I can feel his tongue moving against the material. I'm so fucking wet. I suppress a moan. Fight the urge to tangle my fingers in his blonde-bronzed hair.

Maybe one good thing will come out of this insane idea of his—maybe we'll fuck one last time and part ways.

But then he stands.

Shakes his head.

Leaves me breathless and unsatisfied against the wall.

"But we probably shouldn't make this more complicated than it needs to be," he says simply, adjusting the obvious arousal in his slacks and walking away.