Bella

I'm clinically insane. That must be the only explanation for my behavior. My room is dark except for the fairy lights strung to the frame of my bed. It's a little past eleven at night, and my wet hair sticks to the back of my shoulders as I sit down in nothing but a towel, heart racing. A droplet of water runs down my arm, making me shudder.

I tried talking myself out of this by forcing my mind elsewhere. By trying not to set an alarm for tomorrow morning. But I can't. I can't stay away, or look away from that window. I keep seeking him out like a crazy person. Seeing him stills an insatiable hunger inside me. I crave him, but there hasn't been much of him at all. I did see the back of his head through the window one night when he had just come home. I watched as he tied his son's shoelaces and kissed his forehead before he left. His hours away are a great many. And I don't like it. I feel like he's running away from me. Especially since the letter. It's as if he's punishing me, making me wait until tomorrow.

There are no casual encounters even though we live across the street from each other. He's making me wait. And it only fuels my desire. And it fuels the urge to make it extremely difficult for him to keep his hands off me.

I carefully laid everything out in my bathroom with only one thing in mind. Seduction. I'm not bad at flirting per se, even if I don't usually bother to try and bag a guy…but I feel like I'm out of my ballgame here this is a whole new thing: seducing my married, sex-on-a-stick neighbor. I have a feeling he likes to call the shots. So I hope he'll be taken aback when I show him exactly what I want. Him.

I blow dry my hair and get into bed wearing a silk nightshirt that feels like heaven on my skin. After tossing and turning for ages, I finally drift off to sleep.

Now that dawn is upon me, I feel ridiculous in my Nike bodysuit. So I zip up my big hoody to the top in an attempt for modesty. My hands grip the inside of the giant pockets, and the morning breeze ruffles the tassels on my socks. I redo my ponytail for the hundredth time and readjust my sunglasses. Again. And again.

There's nothing to do but wait. Again. The wait makes my insides tingle, and I grow hot just thinking about seeing him. The anticipation is half the fun. But the wait is torture, too. It makes me build things up in my head until I'm sure I'm hallucinating, and making our last encounter into something it wasn't. Then I think about Mr. Cullen's letter. And my breath hitches as I imagine him writing it, thinking about me. He did do that for me, I didn't make this up.

Tension grows, flowing through my veins. When I hear footsteps, I bite the inside of my cheek and pretend not to hear, bending over dramatically to retie the laces on my hightops.

"Bonjour, petite souris." His voice drips with lust. But it's effortlessly dangerous. It's the way Edward Cullen is built. He's pure sex. He's a pure alpha wolf in gods' clothing. Not sheep. He could never be a sheep. Sheep follow, Mr. Cullen leads.

I look at him after I turn, my ponytail almost smacking me in the face. This man is the epitome of handsome even in an Adidas tracksuit and a backwards trucker hat.

"Hey." It comes out more breathlessly than I anticipated. I feel foolish.

"You found my note," he says matter-of-factly.

"Duh." I roll my eyes but am rewarded with a stern expression that makes me shiver in the best way

"It was rhetorical, chérie. You didn't need to answer that."

"Sorry, sir…"

His eyes narrow as he purses.

"Kiss to make it better?" I cock my head to the side, eyes locked on his lips. I can't believe things like this just come to me when I'm around him. He brings out the worst in me. I lose total control and turn into a boner-crazed barbie.

Taking a deep breath, he walks closer to me. The birds chirping in the background seem to fade, my heartbeat so loud it makes me lightheaded. One hand reaches out, lowering my zipper with sloth's speed. My chest heaves, the sound of the zipper going down deafeningly loud. There has to be something wrong with me.

"You like pressing my buttons, don't you?"

"Another rhetorical question, Daddy?" I guess that'll answer his question. Something about this man's aura transforms me into this sex goddess who is not afraid to speak her mind.

"Do you like running, ma petite?" My hoodie drops off one shoulder, and I can feel my nipples harden at the cool, morning air. Mr. Cullen's eyes don't waver from my face, as if he's posing as a gentleman at the same time that he's undressing me with that hypnotizing gaze of his.

"I hate it with a passion." I lick my lips as he smirks, scruff on his face making him look more rugged, less like a corporate shark. I can't decide which look I like better. But he kinda looks dangerous this way. I love it.

"Mhm," he muses, adjusting his cap. "Then tell me, why are you here?"

"You want me, I come running…"

Edward's brow twitches seductively. His eyes darken as he takes in a breath.

"I don't do this." It's more an announcement than anything else.

"Me neither."

"Glad we're on the same page, petite princesse."

"I'm not a princess," I blurt out.

"Then do tell, what are you?" His gaze is playful, head cocked to the side. The sunlight hits his eyes as if they light up from within. As if they breathe green fire.

"Why don't you come find out?"

I'm being a brat, and I know that he gets off on it. I've seen it in his eyes before, in his laundry room. He loves this, this back and forth. He's a hunter. Not a chaser.

So I let him hunt, and I run as fast as I my legs will carry me.