Happy New Year! Thanks to Meg and May for pre-reading and Mel for working her magic ❤️ I don't usually do long lemons, but here we are... *nervous*

(Past)

Honey

Edward's office slowly comes back to me as he rises to his feet, his face painted darkly with all the lust I have for him. Arousal clings to me; the need to feel him moving deeply within me, to have him mark me in every conceivable way whispering across my skin; with hands and teeth and tongue, with his cock. I want him to obliterate the memory of James clawing at me and every dull sexual encounter I've ever had.

Reaching for the belt keeping his slacks in place over his visible erection, I find Edward gently intercepting my hand.

"Not now," he says, his voice strained.

Staring up at him questioningly, my tongue comes out to wet my lips. It throws me more than I would care to admit—having him turn down more. It's a foreign concept. They always want more.

"Soon," he assures me.

It's hard not to question his self-imposed restraint when it's so clear to me that he would love nothing more than to take me right here in his office. And I would let him.

"Where? When?" I shift so I can pull my skirt down, the bite of reality dampening my desire, forcing me back to some semblance of a rational person. "How does this arrangement work?"

His mouth quirks as he stoops and picks up my thong from his office floor. Instead of giving it back to me, he runs the soft fabric through his fingers, contemplation ruling his features.

With a small smile, he slips the red lace into his suit pocket and takes out his cellphone, unlocking it and keying in something before offering it to me.

"The only thing I need is your number. I'll arrange everything else."

I glance down at his phone, the contact name already occupied with the most nondescript name possible. Mike.

"And if I can't —"

"Then you can't." He shrugs, as if it's not a deal breaker for him. "Your family is your priority. I understand."

But not his family. Not his wife. Obviously.

"Good," I say softly, typing in my cell number and hitting the save button for him.

He takes nothing else—not even a kiss before he opens the door of his office and bids me a pleasant evening.

My head rattles as I make my way to the ladies' room and stare at my flushed appearance, the lick of feelings edging my heart at both his abrupt dismissal and the agreement I've made with him to become his paid-for mistress.

It isn't Edward cheating on his wife, or the power imbalance between us, that worries me the most right now. No, what I fear is already thrumming through my veins. It's a feeling, the one that's in every beat of my fluttering heart. The one that finds Edward both devastatingly attractive and completely irresistible, the one that has been flattered and traitorously excited by his pursuit of what he wants. Me.

"You'll enjoy every minute," I say, expelling the words under my breath in the confined space between myself and my reflection; as if this is a confessional. "But you won't fall for him." My breath clouds the glass, and when it clears, I can see my face is tight—my smile not quite meeting my eyes. I shut out the thoughts I'm not brave enough to utter aloud, taking my time ensuring our encounter is wiped clean from my appearance, before I finally head back to my desk in a now empty office.

The stillness of the large space is unnerving. Collecting my things hurriedly, I'm acutely aware of how late it is and mentally running through all the plausible excuses to explain my disappearing act to Riley should he ask.

Just as I'm leaving, I spy an orange Post-it on top of my empty cup of coffee. Picking it up, I take in the scrawled note with a deep sigh.

Lunch is on me when you're next in. R.

Tossing the cup into the nearest recycling bin, I walk out of the office.

Riley is a conundrum for another day.

•

Under the cover of darkness, a black car picks me up from outside of a wine bar in the city; it's a Mercedes, with buttercream-colored leather seats and a driver that knows me only as Maria Dwyer. He keeps his eyes firmly on the road and I keep mine looking out of the window as we leave the tight-knit city streets for Winnetka, where the houses are fewer and farther between and the average income bracket increases exponentially.

The house the driver pulls into is hidden behind a small forest of trees, hemmed in by solid stone walls and an imposing electric gate. The car idles, the driver reaching for a keyfob in his console.

As the gate slides back, the car rumbles into motion. Though it's dark, the house at the end of the driveway isn't—illuminated with uplighters, it reveals a beautiful building with all the essence of a French Chateau with a large four-car garage attached. It's that building we pull into, the car only coming to a halt once we're safely undercover.

The driver ushers me out of the car and gestures to a door on the right-hand side, where I spot Edward cutting a casual figure as he leans against the door frame.

"Thanks, Felix. You can go home now," Edward says.

Felix nods. "You got it, boss."

When Edward said he would arrange everything, he meant everything, right down to the gift he sent over to my house this morning.

To replace what I stole, the card that accompanied it read. Hidden in my childhood bedroom, I unwrapped a pale pink Agent Provocateur gift box secured with black ribbon, to find the prettiest matching lingerie set in sheer red tulle.

Felix gets back in the car, the engine roaring to life, and by the time he backs out, Edward and I are already behind a closed door and walking through an entrance hall so vast my mouth falls open at the size of it.

"Do you want a drink?" Edward asks as we move through the house. He's the most casual I've ever seen him dressed: in loose grey sweatpants and a tight black t-shirt, hair slightly damp. He looks younger and more approachable like this. Like he's not my boss and I'm not his intern. Like he's not my client and I'm not his whore.

I'm overdressed by comparison. My full length coat covers my favorite dark blue dress, and underneath that, the new lingerie moulds against my skin, soft and sexy.

Still, this is what men pay me for—to look like a prize some of them would never win otherwise. I could never get away with sweatpants and a t-shirt for nights like these.

"Sure," I reply breezily as I trail after him, taking in my surroundings, my perfectly crafted mask firmly on, wine red lips and all.

Focusing on the artwork that adorns the walls as we walk through the house, I find myself vaguely familiar with it.

The kitchen is the giveaway; I've seen it before in an ELLE Decoration cover story, an entire feature dedicated to their home. Tanya mentioned Edward multiple times so it ended up in a daily report for Jenks after it was finally published earlier this month, the photos taken the previous summer just after their renovations had completed.

My eyes drift around what I've seen in print and compare it to what I see around me—the pale grey Shaker-style cabinets and marble countertops, a large island taking up the center of the room. The fact Edward chose his home speaks volumes to me about just how little he must care for the "heart and soul" they poured into the place.

"Do you have wine?" I ask as I unbelt my coat and shrug it off.

"Are you nervous?" Edward peruses me from where he's leaning against the island, muscular arms folded. The long, lingering sweep of his gaze tells me he doesn't feel like I'm overdressed, especially the way he hones in on the swell of my breasts, spilling out of the top of the dress.

"Should I be?" I raise an eyebrow, placing my bag and coat down on the countertop so I can match his stance—calm, collected, a closed-off book.

He shakes his head, offering me a wolfish grin that pulls at a thread low in my belly. "I don't think so. We've done this before."

I bite back my smile. "That was different though. That wasn't planned. At least on my part." Just pure unadulterated desire. I look around again, at all the commodities that weren't aesthetically pleasing enough to make it into the glossy pages of a magazine.

"This is your home."

"One of them," he acknowledges.

I tilt my head. "I thought you would want to be more careful. Inviting me here isn't. Neither is having a driver pick me up."

"You don't need to worry. Trust me, Bella."

"I can't help it. No matter how planned out this is, I still have my reservations."

"Then let me help you relax."

Edward moves to the end of the island, where I already know there's an integrated wine fridge. Reading the names and ages out loud, we settle on sharing a vintage bottle of Chardonnay from a vineyard in Chablis.

"How does it usually go with your clients? When it's planned." He pulls two wine glasses out from a cupboard and rifles through a kitchen drawer for a bottle opener. "How would it have gone with Emmett? What were you expecting that day? With him. In the hotel room."

Men like Edward Cullen aren't insecure, so his question surprises me. Deftly he uncorks the bottle and pours the wine out for us; his first—aerating it with a swirl of his wrist, sniffing, then tasting it. Satisfied, he pours mine.

"I don't know. I suppose I'd have knocked on the hotel room door. We'd maybe have had a drink and then I'd have asked him what he wanted to happen, so we're both on the same page. If he had asked me to strip, I would. If he had asked me to get on my knees and give him head, I would. If he wanted to touch me first, I would have let him. If he just wanted to sit and talk, I'd have done that too. But he'd have got the two hours he paid for, and then I would've been gone."

Edward hands me my glass, settling in my orbit, as if he can't bring himself to have any distance between us at all.

"As simple as that?"

"Yes." I take a generous sip of Chardonnay, savoring the tart flavor on my tongue, and look up at him through lashes bolstered by the most natural-looking eyelash extensions I could find. "Does it need to be more complicated?"

"No, I guess not. Do you ever like any of your clients?"

"Sometimes. It depends on who they are. Depends what they want. It's hard if they're difficult, or into something I don't like. Or …" I repress a shudder when James's face comes to mind—his twisted mouth and eyes filled with rage, the feel of his hands trying to prise me apart.

"Like what?" Edward interrupts. "Your face told a hundred stories just then, and I'm not sure any of them are good."

I swallow thickly. "I don't tell."

Edward disarms me with a smile. "Come on, no names. Just one story."

Sharing with anyone other than Rose feels hard. Not because of client confidentiality, but because it exposes my own vulnerabilities. Thinking of something I hated is easy enough, though and it's not harmful to divulge it either.

"I had a client that got off on humiliation," I relent. "I don't really like disparaging people, but that's what he wanted. To be shamed. For me to tell him he was inadequate. I definitely found him difficult to connect with, but he got off on it so I suppose that's all that matters."

"Was it Emmett?" Edward half-jokes.

"No." I smile.

"Did you connect with him?"

"Emmett? Mhm." I watch Edward's reaction carefully for any sign of jealousy. His poker face gives nothing away so I add in details. "He was funny. Self-deprecating. What?" I ask when Edward snorts, ducking his head.

"Nothing." He composes himself then he says soberly, "Did you like the way he fucked you?"

I blink, a half-laugh escaping. "Why do you want to know? Does it bother you?"

"He's been in my life a long time," Edward tells me with a casual shrug. "If you think this is the first time we've had sex with the same person, you're wrong. It doesn't bother me."

I hesitate, then quietly I answer, "Yes. I liked the way he fucked me. He treated me like a person rather than a possession, and he made me come, which definitely isn't a given with clients."

"Multiple times?" Edward fishes.

"Oh, I see," I say teasingly. "You want to know how you compare?"

Edward doesn't reply to this, but his expression tells me I'm not far from the truth.

"Honestly, I wouldn't want to inflate your ego any more."

I empty my glass, my lipstick staining the rim, much like Edward has marked my life—boldly. He refills it without me having to ask.

"That's all I needed to know," he says, setting the bottle down firmly. He gazes down at me, his dark eyes intense and not at all unfeeling. "Because you can pretend I'm another client all you like, Bella, but deep down, I think you know this isn't the same. It's different from Emmett, different from all those others you share your body with. I think you would do this without me paying you. If the circumstances were different."

"Ego, Edward," I chide.

He laughs, deep and rich. "Not ego," he says. "Your body betrays you all the time."

"Does it? How?"

He takes my wine glass and places it beside me, my breath expelling in a rush as he lifts me up with large hands and sets me on the kitchen island like I weigh nothing.

"What are you doing?" I ask, my voice tinged with amusement. I part my legs to allow him closer, the scent of citrus on his skin tickling my nose.

"Showing you." His fingertips tease my dress up higher until the material is bunched around my hips and little fires have been lit under my skin.

"Like when I met you supposedly for the first time at the office." He brushes my hair over my shoulder behind my ear, his mouth ghosting along the exposed skin until he reaches where my pulse flutters. "This part. Just here gave you away." He kisses the curve of my neck, nipping at the thin skin with his teeth. I melt. "And definitely here." Heat pools as he works his fingers between my legs, caressing me over the thin material covering my pussy. "But mostly." His hand comes back to my face, cradling my head and forcing me to meet his gaze. "I see it in your eyes."

His thumb gently caresses my bottom lip as I burn, smearing my lipstick onto his skin. "I've been thinking about this for days."

He leans in and steals a kiss, intent laced on his tongue, his fingers gripping my chin with one hand and pulling me closer to him with the other.

"I want to take my time with you tonight," he murmurs, pulling back fractionally. "Would you like that, Bella?"

My inhale is shallow, no room for air with the way he's looking at me, like he wants to devour me whole—mind, body, and soul.

"Yes," I exhale.

"Good."

•

Sweat.

We're both slick with it. Edward's mouth is on mine as we kiss deeply—open-mouthed and breathless—my fingers woven into his hair. He slides his cock out of me slowly, only to thrust back in hard, his hand hitching my leg over his hip. The cry that leaves my kiss-swollen lips is as wild, desperate and slutty as I feel.

"Look at you," Edward marvels as he draws his body off mine, pulling out of me completely so he can appraise me spread naked for him on his desk, in his office, in his home, a continuation of what happened in the city.

I know what Edward sees. The flush in my face that's spread down my neck. My dusky pink nipples peaked in arousal. The goosebumps pebbling my skin. My legs parted wide just for him. My whole body wrecked and racked with pleasure. If he looked closer, he would see my facade slipping as I unravel beneath his touch.

"So beautiful," he tells me. "So fucking wet for me." He circles my clit with his thumb, slips a finger in between my folds, and pushes deep inside me. "Such a tight, pretty little cunt."

I want to chant more, more, more. I want to beg him to make me feel whole again, but as Edward heightens both our pleasure by drawing this out, I still won't allow myself to be completely at his mercy.

My hips arch into his touch as his interlude continues, another finger added to the first. Gripping the edges of the desk beneath me, my hips roll and a hiss escapes my mouth as I seek more friction.

"That's it," he coaxes as I writhe. My eyes flutter shut, concentrating on the heat building. I'm so close but not close enough. He adds a third finger, curling and stroking. "I want to see you fall apart before I fuck your cunt the way it should always be fucked."

I shatter like glass.

"Good girl," he praises, eyes dark with desire. He licks his fingers clean before his head drops in between my legs and he tastes me, languid licks from my asshole to my clit that drag me from the abyss I've floated into and toward Heaven.

When Edward said he wanted to worship me, this is what he meant; to leave me breathless and boneless, closer to God despite all my sins. At this moment in time Heaven is made of pleasure.

Roughly, he pulls me further toward the edge of his desk, slipping the swollen head of his cock between my folds over and over, coating himself in my wetness. "What do you want?" he taunts, finding my sensitive nub and rubbing against it.

I pant, I whimper, I growl with each pass. Edward hums in wicked delight as I press my heels into his back, trying to spur him into me.

"Not until you say it, Bella," he says with his devious mouth instead.

"Please," I say, at the sound of my name on his velvet lips, the throbbing ache between my legs becoming too much to bear. "Please, please, please, Edward."

His smile grows as he presses against my entrance, but when he keeps his cock there, I want to cry with frustration.

"Desperation looks so good on you, sweetheart." His hands land on my hips, and he squeezes my flesh down to the bone as, inch by delicious inch, he finally eases himself into me again. The sound of our mutual satisfaction reverberates around a room drenched in moonlight and the pale golden glow of a table lamp.

Hooking my legs around his arms, Edward sinks deeper until we're flush and the full weight of him settles between my legs. Withdrawing just a few inches, he looks between us, down to where his cock stretches me open wide, and a deep rumble leaves his chest as he groans.

With every thrust, his cock hits the sweet spot inside me that has my toes curling, the slow pace winding me up so tightly, I want to combust into a million tiny pieces. Edward seems to know this; he reads my body better than any man ever has. He picks up his pace and gives me what I've been craving so very badly. Harder and faster, until the desk is rattling beneath us and my words are an incoherent prayer.

My nails claw at his forearms, and I drown in the feeling of him moving inside me so deeply it hurts. Sensitive from the orgasm I've just had, the next one barrels into me without much warning, an explosion behind my eyes.

Edward's moan of delight as my pussy flutters and squeezes around him is followed by a diatribe of dirty praise.

"That's it. Milk my cock. Just like that. Fuck yes." He hisses as he rides me slowly through it. "Fuck," he growls, the tension in his body pulling taut as he starts to lose every ounce of his composure. Relentlessly, he pounds into me until his release grips him. With his dark eyes pinned to mine, he shudders as bliss no phtoto could capture flits across his face.

Hand wrapped around his thick cock to keep the condom in place, he pulls out of me and removes it, tossing it in the trash. Slumping unceremoniously into the leather chair just behind the desk, Edward runs a hand through his hair, chuckling as he swipes at the sweat on his brow and blows out a long breath.

"Damn."

I right myself, feeling dizzy as my feet touch the hardwood in his office, the imprint of his desk against my back. I'm not sure where to look or what to do because that wasn't just having sex with a client. That was my body betraying what I'd come here feeling like I could be strong enough to ignore.

When I finally meet his stare, I see him greedily taking me in, freshly fucked and glowing with it. Standing, I sway as I look around for my lingerie.

Edward lets out a small amused laugh as I slip on the sheer lace demi cup bra and search for my panties on his floor.

"Where do you think you're going?" he rumbles as he stands, fisting his cock again. His voice sends a shiver down my spine as his hand comes to my hip, and he presses his twitching dick into my backside. He ducks his head to the shell of my ear. "I'm not done with you yet, Isabella."

I don't want you to be either.

I don't protest when Edward takes me to his bedroom, where it smells faintly of the perfume of the woman he vowed to love and cherish forever and he fucks me again.

•

The sound of the dawn chorus barely makes it to my ears as I work him over, base to tip, with my mouth, my hair a thick rope wrapped around his fist. When he wants to be back inside me, I ignore the soreness. Our bodies come together in a satisfying rhythm that leaves me smothering my cries of pleasure face down into the comforter.

Edward turns me upside down and inside out. When I'm moving over him, my breasts in his face and his hands bruising my hips as they circle and swivel, I see the consequences dancing in his eyes, hear it slip from his mouth as he comes deep inside me again.

"Never enough."

Lying tangled in the sheets of his marital bed, I don't have the energy to feel any shred of remorse. I'm a trembling mess of sated desire and arousal, a burning pyre that absolutely nothing can douse.

"I need to go," I whisper to the ceiling, instead of to Edward, my voice hoarse.

"You don't have to. You can stay." It's a suggestion as much as it is a demand. "I don't leave for DC until nine."

But I can't because that's one rule I absolutely won't break. I won't stay the night and sleep with him like this is anything more than a transaction.

Edward doesn't give away any indication he's disappointed when I tiredly repeat my need to leave. A finger trails along the length of my spine as I sit on the edge of his and Tanya's massive bed, ducking down to find my underwear once more.

He pulls on a clean pair of Calvin Klein boxers, shrugging on a t-shirt over sinewy muscle that ripples in the hazy light of morning, before he leaves me alone in their bedroom. His absence allows me to gather myself, but in the back of my mind I can't help but wonder whether sometime soon, Edward will be having sex with Tanya and be thinking about me. That he'll reminisce about this night that has stretched from dusk to dawn and replay it.

"Catch." Edward tosses a thick roll of money to me as he returns.

My hands fly up, swiftly snatching it into my chest, my mouth going dry as I do so. "This is far too much," I tell Edward, my eyes wide as I flick through the stack, counting hundred dollar bill after hundred dollar bill. There's easily five thousand dollars here.

"No, it isn't," he assures me, kissing my cheek as he lies back down on the bed beside me. "Having you like this is priceless."