Disclaimer: I don't own the characters, Plot is my own.


Chapter 20

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I found Jacob on the upstairs back deck, arms folded over the railing, staring out at the ocean like he was trying to hold back the tide with his thoughts alone. The light of the day stretched long over the waves, casting everything in a bright hue.

Of course he'd find the most dramatic spot to brood. The man was allergic to a normal conversation indoors.

"You got a second?" I asked, stepping outside, my arms crossed tight over my chest.

He didn't turn. "Wow, she's asked. You usually just show up with a storm brewing?"

A flicker of annoyance crept up my spine. "You always this poetic, or just when you're avoiding me?"

That earned the smallest flicker of a smirk, but it faded just as fast.

"I'm not in the mood for one of your little verbal fencing matches tonight," he muttered.

"Good. Because I didn't come for a match. I came for an answer."

I could already feel that old ache pulsing in my chest—the one that used to twist itself up around Jacob when we were younger. I'd buried it so many times, told myself it wasn't what I thought it was. Comments from his sisters, or even people that grew up around us have constantly made sly remarks about Jacob's feelings for me. But lately, every look he gave me, every loaded silence, made it harder to keep the lid on.

He exhaled through his nose, still not looking at me. "Don't ask questions you're not ready to hear the truth to."

"You like me," I said flatly, cutting past the games.

Silence. Stillness.

I hated that I already knew it. Hated that part of me understood it—that it explained the way he started snapping at Edward the moment things got serious. How he hovered closer when he thought I wasn't paying attention. How he said one thing and did another, always pushing, always pulling.

"I'm not asking," I added. "I know you do. Even if it comes out sideways in that bitter tone and the protectiveness you try to hide under all that broody crap."

His jaw tightened. "It's not about that."

I let out a low laugh. "Sure it's not."

"Then what is it about?" I pushed, stepping forward just enough to force the question.

"It's about Seth. About you," he said. "I don't want either of you getting hurt. He's starting to like the guy—likes him for you. And you…" His voice dropped, like he hated even forming the words. "You throw yourself into things headfirst. You always have."

"And you think I need a leash for that?"

"No, I think you need someone who won't watch you burn and call it love."

I'd remembered Edward saying it me earlier. The feelings in me were overwhelming. It was complicated, because how he and I started out was complicated.

"We've barely scraped the surface on those feelings, Black." That one stung, but I swallowed the reaction and stepped right into the heat of it. "Say what you mean, Jacob."

He finally turned his head, eyes meeting mine—sharp, unreadable, but still burning.

"I don't trust him not to break you."

"And you do trust me?" I asked. "Or is that just something you tell yourself when you're playing big brother?"

He didn't answer. Didn't need to. The look in his eyes was confirmation enough.

"You said I was too messed up to know better." My voice didn't crack, but it cut.

That got his attention. His head jerked up slightly.

"Yeah, I heard you say it," I went on. "Nice to know how you really see me."

"I didn't mean it like that, I was just pissed off."

"Then how did you mean it?" I stepped closer, the deck boards creaking beneath me. "Because from where I'm standing, it sounds like you think I'm incapable of making my own decisions unless you're standing in the background judging them."

"I was pissed," he muttered. "And yeah, maybe scared for you. You deserve more than getting caught in some asshole's bullshit. I've watched you barely hang on before, Leah."

"Oh, so now you're the emotional authority?" I barked. "Tell me, Jake—when did you become the expert on love and loss? Or is this just you policing who's allowed to care about me because you can't figure your own shit out? Cause it seems to me, you haven't liked not just Edward, but, the thought of me dating in general."

"That's not fair."

"No?" I scoffed. "Neither is playing watchdog while pretending you're just looking out for Seth. This isn't about him. It's about you not being able to deal with the fact that I didn't pick you."

His face darkened. "Don't flatter yourself."

"Too late," I snapped. "You want to bicker with me, go ahead. But don't dress it up like it's nobility. If you've got a crush, Jacob, you're gonna have to swallow it whole. Because this—" I gestured between us. "This is nothing."

His mouth opened, then shut. He looked like he wanted to argue, to throw something sharp back—but couldn't quite reach the words.

"I get accused of this because I care? Leah," his voice began to lag as my name slipped past his lips.

"Then care quieter."

I turned halfway, the words already crawling up my throat, but I paused.

"I heard you," I said, voice lower now. "The tail end of it. You and Edward. Arguing—sounded like you were arguing over me."

Still, nothing.

"Don't lie to yourself, dude. You like me more than what you say you do."

And god, I wished he didn't. Because some twisted part of me still remembered being sixteen, watching him from across his kitchen table while waiting for Rachel and Rebecca, and wondering if maybe, maybe...

I shoved the thought back.

The silence that followed was deafening. Just waves and wind and whatever pride he was trying not to choke on.

"Stay out of it," I said finally, quieter but firm. "We're not kids anymore. We're grown. This situation is way different than any mess you think you're referencing."

He exhaled hard. "I'm your brother's babysitter. That gives me a say."

"Mentor," I corrected with a dry glance.

He met my eyes. "Right. Mentor."

I gave him a humorless smile. "Nothing more."

Then I let the words fall like stone:

"Nothing less."

His expression flickered—frustration, grief, maybe even regret—but it was gone before I could name it.

I stepped back toward the door, hesitated, then glanced over my shoulder.

"If you really care, Jake… then stop hiding behind all the ways you think you're helping. Let me live my life without you standing in the doorway trying to block the view."

And I left him there—alone with the view of the sea, and all the truths he couldn't seem to say out loud. He didn't admit it, but, he didn't exactly deny it.

Seth stepped out of his room just then, damp curls clinging to his forehead, cheeks flushed.

He gave me a look. That look.

"What?" I asked, wary.

He shrugged, far too casual. "Just heard some... elevated dialogue out back. Sounded like a Shakespearean fistfight."

I rolled my eyes. "Don't start."

He held up his hands in mock surrender. "Hey, I'm just saying—it wouldn't have been funny if someone got knocked out. But since no one did…" His grin widened. "It's a little funny."

"Not to me," I muttered.

"Did you overhear the whole thing?" He asked.

"No, how'd it start?"

Seth shook his head. "Not sure what sparked it exactly, but… sounded like Jacob made some kind of comment about you. Something smug. You know how he gets when he thinks he's being clever but ends up sounding like an ass."

I narrowed my eyes. "Like what kind of comment?"

He hesitated, scratching the back of his neck. "Something about you being Edward's new 'project.' I couldn't hear the lead-up, but it didn't go over well. Next thing I knew, Edward was telling him to watch his mouth, and Jacob shot back with something about how he's known you longer, maybe implying he knows you better."

I crossed my arms, the warmth in my chest quickly cooling. "Great."

"Then Edward asked him if he really thought he was helping you—'cause getting shit faced or being hungover, and running his mouth sure wasn't doing much good. Jacob said something back like… 'Better than playing house with someone who doesn't know the first thing about your ghosts.' Or something along those lines."

I blinked. "Wow."

Seth leaned against the doorframe, smirking. "He's got a thing for you, you know."

I shot him a sharp look. "Ew, we've gone through this already. We're not doing this again."

"I'm just saying—he's like a human cactus around everyone else, but around you? All thorns and desperate eye contact."

"Desperate eye contact?" I huffed. "Okay, now you're pushing it."

Seth laughed, full and bright. "You're blushing."

"What the fuck are you on about, I just had a heated conversation."

"You are." He pointed up at my face.

"You're gonna be bruising if you don't shut up."

He just grinned. "I'm going for a run. Don't start a duel while I'm gone."

"Don't tempt me."

He tossed me a lazy salute and disappeared down the stairs, leaving the air just a little lighter in his wake.

I wandered downstairs as the front door shut and into the living room and found Edward sprawled on the couch, one arm hanging over the side as he lazily scratched Kujo behind the ears. The dog looked like he was in heaven, eyes half-lidded, tail thumping softly.

Edward looked up when he heard me, his smile easy and quiet. "I'm amazed this dog likes me so much."

I leaned on the back of the couch, grinning. "He's innocent in all of this."

He chuckled. "Yeah, well, if I'd known he would be my biggest fan, I would've brought more treats."

Kujo made a low, pleased noise, then slumped into Edward's side like a sleepy bodyguard.

"I was thinking," Edward said, sitting up a little, "wanna get out of here? There's a coffee spot nearby. They do sandwiches and lunchy things."

My heart did that stupid little flutter it always did around him. "Yeah. I'd like that."

He held my gaze a second longer than necessary, then nodded, gentle and sure. "Cool. Let's do that."

Edward had asked if I wanted an excuse to wear that silky white number he'd picked out. I asked what that entailed. His answer? He wanted to take me dancing again.

The way his eyes lit up when he said it, all excited and playful, it rubbed off on me before I even realized I was smiling. He was good at being the lead—on and off the dancefloor.

The last time we went out dancing, we ended up fucking off to the side of the floor in some dimly lit space. It had been spontaneous, electric, amazing. I wasn't expecting a repeat, but with Edward, it didn't need to be. He made things feel fun, alive.

Whatever he had planned, I was excited to go—just because it was with him. I had given him a vague answer like, "we'll see." But my heart was already wherever he was.

Later, after we'd eaten at the brunch place and were walking slowly back up the shore—sandals off, the sea foam brushing our toes—he slowed his steps.

"Can I ask something?"

I glanced sideways. "Always."

"The thing with Jacob...should I be worried?"

I took a breath, watching the way the light bounced off the waves. "No. Not like that."

His silence waited for more.

"He's… complex," I said finally. "We've known each other a long time. He's protective. Oversteps sometimes. I've defended it for years, but I'm done doing that now. I'll be clearer with him."

Edward nodded, thoughtful.

"I won't let it get messy," I added. "I'll make sure the boundary stays where it should."

"I trust you," he said. And he meant it—his voice warm and grounded. "Just… I don't want to have to guess where I stand. Not with you."

"You don't have to." I smiled, then tilted my head. "Besides, you think I'd go dirty dancing with a guy I wasn't serious about?"

His eyes lit with something between relief and flirtation. "Is that your formal way of saying yes?"

"Only if you promise not to step on my toes."

With a grin, offering his hand. "Promise."

Seth was passed out cold on the couch by the time we got back. Edward made his way to the master bedroom while I stared at Seth for a moment.

The movie Friday played softly in the background, a half-eaten bag of chips resting on his chest, one hand curled under his cheek like he'd only meant to close his eyes for a second. Poor kid hadn't stood a chance against the jet lag. Honestly, I didn't blame him—he'd lasted longer than I expected. Even had the energy for that run earlier.

I didn't bother wondering where Jacob had gone. I figured he was upstairs, probably sulking with Kujo curled up beside him like some loyal therapy dog.

Let him sulk.

I had better things to do.

The water from the shower was already running when I walked into the bathroom, steam curling through the cracked door like something beckoning me in. I stepped inside and found Edward behind the glass, his head tilted under the stream, dark hair slicked back, water dripping down his back like it was sculpted from something better than stone.

He turned at the sound of me. Smiled.

"You just staring?" he asked, voice smooth and teasing.

I didn't answer. I just stepped out of my clothing, and slid in behind him.

The heat of the water hit me first. Then his hands.

We didn't talk. Didn't need to. My fingers found the hard lines of his chest, the slope of his shoulder, the curve of his neck. His hands were slower, more deliberate—gliding over my back, cupping the nape of my neck, the soft weight of my breast, then sliding lower. I leaned into him. Let his lips ghost over my skin. Let the moment linger until I forgot what time it was, what city we were in, whether or not the rest of the world even existed.

When we finally finished and dried off, the air between us was practically buzzing.

I stood back in the bedroom, towel still clinging to my hips as I reached for the silky white dress Edward had laid out on the bed. It was short. Flowy. Strappy. It looked like something you'd wear when you wanted people to look—and I wanted him to look.

He stepped into the room just as I was about to slide it on, wearing nothing but black slacks that hung deliciously low on his hips. Chest bare, hair damp. He looked like sin.

"You're gonna kill someone in that dress," he murmured, walking toward me.

"You picked it out," I reminded him, smiling over my shoulder.

He took the dress from me, held it open, and helped me step into it. The silk whispered up my legs as he guided it into place, adjusting the thin straps along my shoulders with a gentleness that made my breath catch. Then he dropped to one knee and picked up the strappy heels he'd bought me from that little shopping trip before Florida.

He didn't just help me into them. He fastened each strap with care, his hands warm and reverent, running slow along my calves before pressing a kiss to my knee.

"Cinderella," he murmured, standing again, "but a little more dangerous."

I made my way back to the bathroom, needing the mirror again. The dress clung to every curve like it had been made for me. My hair—still damp, curls soft and loose—fell over my shoulders and down my back. I felt... hot. Like I knew exactly what kind of attention I was going to get tonight. Especially from the man behind me.

But then I paused.

My fingers smoothed over the hem of the dress. I'd slipped on a thong earlier out of habit, but... the dress was shortish, it did settle against my skin nicely, and it felt weighted almost. Dancing meant moving. Twisting. Spinning. I glanced down, chewing on my lip.

Edward reappeared behind me in the mirror, sitting on the closed lid of the toilet, watching me with that half-lidded, unreadable gaze. Arms resting on his knees, hair damp and messy, like he hadn't even tried to fix it—and still looked like a god.

"Dress is long enough," he said, reading my hesitation. "I wouldn't worry about any peek-a-boos."

"We're going dancing," I reminded as if he didn't already know, biting my lip quickly. "What if someone sees my goods by accident?"

He smirked, that lazy, crooked grin that made my thighs tense. Then he motioned me toward him with two fingers.

"Come here."

I stepped closer, turning so my back faced him. His hands slid up from my ankles, slow and confident, gliding up more and more, over the silk of the dress before slipping beneath it. Fingers brushed my thighs. Found the edges of my thong. I watched his emerald eyes the entire time through the mirror.

Then he tugged them down—so slowly, I swore my pulse skipped. They slid over my legs, pooling at my ankles like a quiet dare.

"You gonna put those in your pocket?" I teased, my voice just barely steady.

He gave the soft fabric a little twirl around his finger. "Was thinking of tucking them into my wallet."

I turned around slowly, standing between his knees, his hands resting against my bare thighs. One of his thumbs traced slow circles just above my knee. My heart was already racing.

"You're bad," I murmured.

"I am," he agreed, lifting his gaze to meet mine. "And you're not wearing anything under this dress. So let's hope I can behave tonight."

I leaned in, hands pressed to his chest, and kissed him—slow, deep, unhurried. We didn't speak after that, didn't need to. The heat already simmered between us, a quiet promise in the air. I could feel what kind of night it was going to be.

"You talk to your mom today?" I asked after another lingering kiss.

He nodded, lips brushing mine. "Yeah. She told me I should get on one knee. Fast."

I laughed, shoving his shoulder gently. "Very bold."

"Runs in the family," he said, kissing me again, just once this time—sweet, but no less loaded.

Later, once Edward got a shirt on, we ended up in the kitchen, sharing a handful of salty snacks and finishing off a half-melted pint of ice cream from the back of the freezer. The TV still flickered in the living room where Seth lay stretched out, asleep under a throw blanket, his hair tousled and cheeks flushed from the heat.

I paused at the edge of the couch, brushing his bangs back with one hand and kissing the top of his head. Then I picked up the remote and quietly restarted the movie from the beginning, just so he'd wake up to something familiar if he stirred.

Edward stood at the door, already slipping on his watch. "It's close enough to walk," he said with a soft smile. "Besides, I wouldn't mind being seen with you."

I gave him a look. "You saying I clean up nice?"

"I'm saying I might need to knock a few heads if anyone else notices," he teased, reaching for my hand.

The walk to the club wasn't long, but with the South Florida heat still clinging to the night air, my skin felt warm and sensitive. The silky white dress I wore clung to the softest parts of me, brushing against my thighs with every step. Thin straps looped over my shoulders, and the cowl neck dipped low enough to make Edward look twice—no, three times—before we even got out the front door.

"You don't know how good you look, huh?" he murmured, hand finding the small of my back as we walked.

I smiled, not answering. I could feel the tension in his fingers, like he wanted to do more than touch. Like he was holding himself back.

But then he paused under the low glow of a streetlamp and reached out, fingertips threading gently into the curls that framed my face.

"Your hair…" he said softly, eyes tracing the strands like they were something sacred. "God, Leah. I love when you leave it down like this."

I felt my breath hitch. His hand lingered, dragging lightly from the side of my neck to the nape where he let his fingers curl into the volume of it, his other hand slipping down to rest against the side of my thigh—just above where the hem of my dress started to tease.

"Edward," I whispered, not really sure if it was a warning or a plea.

He leaned in slowly, letting his lips ghost across my cheek before barely brushing my ear. "Let me hold you tonight. No pressure. I just want to feel you."

I nodded, because how could I not?

Edward guided me past the growing line outside the club, his grip possessive as the bouncer nodded him through with a knowing smirk. The music swelled as we stepped inside, bodies pressed tight on the dance floor, the air thick with sweat and perfume.

The world softened into rhythm. The lighting was dim and golden, pulsing low from vintage sconces and pendant bulbs swaying gently overhead. Wooden beams arched across the ceiling—rustic, warm—and the scent of spiced rum, citrus, and heat clung to the air.

He steered us toward the bar first, his hand low on my back, fingers playing lightly against the fabric of my dress. The bartender, a tall guy with sleeves rolled high and an easy grin, set a glass on the counter as we approached.

"Shot of mezcal," Edward said. Then, as an afterthought, "Make it two."

The bartender looked between us, clearly clocking the heat simmering in the space we filled. He nodded toward me, amused. "You wanna take it off her?"

Edward blinked, caught off guard, and laughed—but it was the kind of laugh that came with a blush. He looked at me, and I raised a brow, teasing.

"Only if she lets me," he said.

I didn't move. Just leaned forward on the bar, offering the smooth line of my collarbone as silent permission.

The bartender slid the lime wedge closer, set the shot down between us, and stepped back like he'd just cued a show.

Edward's hand was steady as he lifted the glass. He tilted it against my skin, just above the swell of my chest, and I watched his lashes lower, his tongue flicking out to taste the salt before he downed the shot in one smooth motion.

The way his lips brushed against me, slow and deliberate, sent a flash of heat all the way to my core.

"You're terrible," I whispered, breath catching after I'd taken my shot.

"Just a quick drink," he said, voice thick. "Now let's dance before I lose my mind."

He pulled me onto the floor, into the low light and pulsing bass. The dance floor was alive with motion—bodies swaying in slow, sensual rhythm, hips grazing, fingertips trailing. Bachata spilled from the speakers, low and sultry. You didn't just hear it—you felt it, deep in your bones.

He drew me close, fingers splaying against the bare skin of my back. My body followed his like it already knew the steps. My dress rode higher with each movement, and his hand skimmed the hem like he couldn't help himself. It wasn't rushed. Wasn't inappropriate. Just enough to make me shiver.

"Quick learner," he said, voice low against my temple, lips grazing my skin.

I smiled through the heat in my cheeks. "I just have a good teacher."

He chuckled, the sound thick and intimate. With every beat, our movements synced tighter. His hand slid lower along my spine, drawing me in until our bodies were flush. My hips rolled against his, and his breath caught—barely—but I felt it.

My hands wandered too, over the curve of his chest, the tension in his shoulders, the ridge of his jawline rough under my thumb when I cupped his face briefly between turns.

We danced through three songs, barely saying a word. But the silence between us spoke louder than anything. Every touch, every turn, every sway told me what we were both feeling.

Desire, yes—but something deeper too.

On the third song's final note, Edward gripped my face with both hands and kissed me like he couldn't help himself anymore. His mouth was warm and firm, his body pressing into mine as if to say you're mine and I'm yours and there's nothing else that matters.

I smiled softly against his lips. "I think I'm getting used to how you love me."

His breath caught. "You believe me? When I said it earlier?"

I hesitated. Not because I didn't, but because I felt it too much to speak. His arms slid around my waist, drawing me in again as we swayed slowly, the beat of a new song pulsing faintly in the background.

"I mean it," he whispered, brushing another kiss onto my lips—so soft it nearly broke me.

I nodded, my voice barely there. "I can feel it," I whispered, nuzzling closer, burying my face in the warm, safe space between his neck and shoulder.

And I could. I felt it in the way his fingers trailed my spine like he was memorizing it. In the reverent way he looked at me. The way he touched like he was touching something breakable.

"You don't have to say it back," he added, voice thick, hands gentle. "I'll never pressure you."

I nodded again, smiling through the tears that surprised me, stinging the corners of my eyes. I didn't know why I wanted to cry—maybe it was how fully he saw me, how undivided his attention was. How sure he looked even as I stood there still unraveling.

No more doubt. No more second-guessing.

He loved me.

And I… I didn't need to say anything yet. Because we both knew.

After the last song faded and our kiss slowed, we left the club hand-in-hand, my skin still buzzing from the heat of him. The night air was thick with that balmy South Florida humidity, but it didn't feel suffocating. Not with Edward beside me, his fingers laced through mine, thumb brushing slow circles over the back of my hand like he couldn't help himself.

We strolled down the strip, the sidewalks alive with music, laughter, headlights and late-night wanderers. I didn't even care where we were going. I was with him, glowing inside and out, still floating somewhere in the rhythm we'd just shared.

We stopped at a food stand tucked between two brightly lit souvenir shops. The air was heavy with the scent of spices, grilled meat, and fried dough. Edward ordered a tray of empanadas—some for us, some for the house.

He hadn't stopped touching me the entire time. A hand at the small of my back. A brush of his fingers down my arm. Tucking my hair behind my ear just to trace the shell of it like it was his.

I leaned against the side of the stand, watching him, watching me.

"You keep touching me like that, and we're not going to make it to the food," I murmured, lips tilted in a lazy smile.

His eyes dropped to my mouth, lingered there. "You're not exactly innocent either," he said, stepping closer, voice low and rough. "That dress is killing me."

"It's not the dress," I said. "It's what's not under it."

He groaned softly, head tilting back for a second like he was trying to physically restrain himself. When he looked at me again, there was no more restraint—just passion.

"Tell me what you'd do if we weren't in public," he said softly.

I took my time answering. Let the silence stretch as I shifted my weight, slow, letting my thigh graze his.

"I'd let you press me against the truck," I whispered, "and slide your hand up the back of this dress. No one would even notice. Just a girl getting kissed too hard by her boyfriend."

His fingers twitched at his sides. "You think I'd stop at kissing?"

"I think," I said, leaning in until my mouth brushed his ear, "you'd try not to get caught."

He exhaled a curse under his breath, a hand landing on my hip like he needed something to hold onto.

I grinned, trailing a finger down his chest. "You asked."

A group of girls passed us, loud and tipsy in the best way. One of them gasped and pointed.

"Okay, that dress is everything!" one of them said.

Edward immediately burst into cheerful laughter.

Another clapped her hands. "Yesss! Girl, walk for us!"

I laughed, heat blooming in my cheeks, but I gave in to the energy.

I gave a playful strut a few steps forward, a quick turn, a little sway of my hips and a teasing twirl, my hair catching in the air around me.

They screamed like it was a runway and I'd just won the crown.

Edward leaned against the food stand, watching it all unfold with that low, crooked grin he saved just for me.

As I made my way back, his eyes drank me in like he hadn't seen me in hours. He reached out, catching my hand and tugging me in, arms circling my waist until I was tucked against his chest.

"You are so beautiful," he murmured, nuzzling the curve of my neck as the girls disappeared down the sidewalk, still cheering.

I tilted my head toward him with a breathless smile. "Thank you for choosing this dress."

He kissed the top of my shoulder, warm lips lingering just a second longer than necessary. "You put anything on, it looks like it was made for you."

I swear I melted right into his hands.

We just stood there, wrapped up in each other under the glow of the streetlight, waiting for our food like two people hopelessly, stupidly in love.

When the vendor finally called Edward's name, he took the bagged tray with a nod and we began our walk back to the house. I could still feel his fingertips along my skin, like the music hadn't left my body. That same slow burn simmered low in my belly. The desire, was unbearable. I was already so turned on I could barely keep my thoughts straight.

"You really think I'd try not to get caught?" he murmured, voice low and rough beside me. The heat radiating off his body was intoxicating. "I don't give a fuck who sees."

My breath caught as his hand slid up the outside of my thigh, fingertips brushing the hem of my dress with shameless intent.

"Prove it," I dared, tilting my chin up to meet his gaze.

He let out a dark, hungry laugh.

In one swift motion, he spun us, pressing me up against a nearby brick wall, the tray of food held easily in one hand. "You're playing with fire, sweetheart." His mouth brushed the shell of my ear. "You want me to slip my hand under this dress right here? Let everyone see how wet you are for me?"

A whimper slipped from my throat before I could stop it.

His free hand caught my wrist, pinning it gently but firmly above my head, while his lips trailed a searing path down my neck.

"Or maybe," he murmured, teeth grazing my collarbone, "I should just bend you over the hood of the nearest car and take what's mine."

I arched into him, hips grinding against his thigh with zero shame. "You talk too much."

"Then shut me up."

I crashed my lips against his, swallowing his groan as my teeth tugged at his bottom lip. His grip on my wrist tightened just enough to make me whine, and his other hand finally—finally—slipped beneath the hem of my dress. His fingers teased along my pussy, slow and maddening.

We did eventually keep walking.

But every glance he threw my way after that felt like a promise. And if he'd told me to get on my knees right there on the sidewalk, I wouldn't have hesitated.

I felt feral for him.

By the time we made it inside, the house was quiet—just the soft hum of the game station upstairs. Edward set the platter down on the kitchen island without a word.

Then he turned to me with a look that made my legs go soft.

"Go to the bedroom."

There was no teasing in his voice. Just raw, unfiltered need.

I obeyed without hesitation, heart thudding like a war drum in my chest as I made my way down the hallway. I didn't make it far. Just as I reached the doorway, I felt him—right behind me. His body pressed flush to mine, his chiseled chest molding to my back, the heat of his skin searing through the thin fabric of my dress. His breath, hot and uneven, skated along the curve of my neck, sending shivers down my spine.

"Fuck, Leah," he growled, one hand sliding possessively around my throat, not squeezing—just holding, claiming. His other hand splayed low on my stomach, pulling me tighter against him so I could feel the hard length of him straining against his pants. "You move too damn slow when I want you like this."

We stumbled into the bedroom like we couldn't bear to be apart another second. His hands were already everywhere—gripping my hips, gliding over the silk of my dress before wrenching it up, fingers digging into my bare thighs. My skin came alive under every touch, heat pooling low as he pressed me to the wall, his teeth scraping my pulse point while one hand fisted in my hair, tugging just enough to make me whimper, while the other palmed my ass, squeezing possessively.

"You've been teasing me all night. Those little looks. That fucking dress."

I gasped as his fingers dipped lower, circling my clit.

"All for me?"

"Yes—" The word dissolved into a moan as he pushed two fingers inside me, curling them just right, stealing the last of my coherence. My head fell back against his shoulder, my hips rocking against his hand, chasing the friction.

"Already wet for me," he muttered, dragging two fingers through my slickness before bringing them to my lips. "Taste."

I opened my mouth without hesitation, sucking his fingers clean, my tongue swirling around the digits. The flavor of myself—musky, sweet—mixed with the salt of his skin, and I moaned, my eyelids fluttering. His pupils blew wider, his grip tightening in my hair.

The TV clicked on behind us—some random channel, loud enough to blur the sounds we were bound to make. He didn't even glance at the screen. Just hit the volume and returned to me like gravity itself pulled him back.

"On the bed. Now."

I moved to obey, but he caught my wrist, stopping me halfway.

"No. Like this." He pushed me forward over the edge of the mattress, bending me at the waist, one hand splayed between my shoulder blades to keep me down.

His fingers made quick work of his belt, the buckle clinking as he freed himself. Watching him hurriedly unbuckle himself had to be one of the sexiest moments that could get seared into my brain. The thick length of him sprang free, already flushed and hard, veins standing in stark relief against his perfect, straining flesh. I licked my lips instinctively, my mouth watering.

"Eyes on me," he ordered, gripping himself in one hand while the other tangled in my hair. "Open."

"That's it," he rasped, thumb brushing my cheek where he stretched me. "Take it, baby."

Spit dripped down my chin, my fingers clawing at the sheets as he used my mouth like it was his—because it was. Always his.

Then he pulled out abruptly, flipping me onto my back and dragging me to the edge of the bed. He didn't bother undressing me further—just shoved my thighs apart and sank into me in one brutal thrust. I cried out, back arching as he filled me, the stretch bordering on pain before melting into pure, mindless pleasure.

His body was a masterpiece above me—corded muscle flexing with every movement, his abs taut, his biceps caging me in as he drove deeper. The sweat-slicked planes of his chest brushed against my nipples, the friction maddening. His hands cradled my face one second, then slid down to grab my thighs the next, spreading me wider.

"Look at me," he demanded, his voice raw.

I obeyed, my gaze locking onto his as he angled his hips, hitting a spot that made my vision blur. A broken whimper tore from my throat, and his smirk was pure sin.

"That's the spot, isn't it?" He did it again, harder, and my nails dug into his shoulders. "Fuck, Leah—you clench around me like you're trying to keep me inside."

I couldn't answer, couldn't think—not when he was moving like this, each thrust stealing my breath. My legs wrapped around him without thought, my fingers raking down the sculpted ridges of his back, mapping every dip and sinew. He groaned against my neck, his hips snapping forward, each drive punching a gasp from my lungs.

"Mine," he snarled, his voice guttural. "Say it."

"Yours," I choked out, nails biting into his skin. "Only yours—"

He kissed me then, swallowing my moans as he fucked me into the mattress, the bedframe slamming against the wall in time with his thrusts. Our bodies moved in perfect sync—his strength, my surrender, the slick slide of skin on skin, the way his muscles trembled with restraint even as he took what he wanted.

Just when I thought I couldn't take anymore, he rolled us, pulling me atop him without breaking our connection. His hands gripped my hips, guiding me as I rode him, his eyes dark with hunger.

"Show me how much you need it," he ordered, his voice rough.

I obeyed, rolling my body against his, chasing the friction, the pleasure, the him. His hands moved to my breasts, almost ripping the dress as he freed them, thumbs circling my nipples before pinching just hard enough to make me cry out.

"Edward—"

"Cum for me," he growled. "Now."

The command, the sheer dominance in his voice, sent me spiraling. My climax hit like a storm, my body clamping around him as waves of pleasure crashed through me. He followed with a groan, his fingers digging into my hips as he spilled deep inside me, his forehead against my shoulder as I fell on top of him.

For a long moment, there was only the sound of our ragged breaths, the heat of his skin against mine. Then I lifted my head to look at him, his gaze softening just enough to make my chest ache.

And I wanted nothing more than to be ruined by him.

Later on, as we cuddled on the bed, watching whatever was playing on the TV, I'd gotten up, hungry. Removing the dress and putting on one of Edward's shirts, I asked him if he wanted anything. He asked for me to bring back some empanadas if I could.

I'd gone, shutting the door behind me, making my way into the kitchen. I was halfway through a couple bites when suddenly the front door popped open. Kujo began to bark from upstairs, running down to meet...guess who?

Jacob.

I was mid-bite when he walked in, looking slightly worse for wear, perhaps even drunk again. And I was confused, I'd thought he'd been here this whole time while we were out. Supposedly with Seth. And this whole him getting shit faced thing is really starting to piss me off. Not very mentor like.

"You look like hell," I commented gruffly.

He rolled his eyes, patting Kujo. "You're no prize either, Clearwater."

Sassy drunk.

I raised an eyebrow, suspicion curling in my gut. "Aren't you supposed to be with my brother?"

He shrugged. "Went out for a couple hours. What's the big whoop?"

I shook my head, sighing. "Big whoop? My brother's probably got a whole evening planned out and you're just… what? Bailing on him?"

He gave me a half-smirk, that annoying cocky grin of his that never failed to get under my skin. "I told him I was going to get some air. We're good."

I snorted. "Get some air? You're acting like you're on some existential quest for fresh oxygen. You really think I'm buying that?"

Jacob leaned against the counter, crossing his arms like he had all the time in the world. "And what if I'm not in the mood to babysit tonight?"

"Fuck you, Jacob, that's the reason you're even around."

He straightened, his tone shifting slightly. "Look, you know I got my shit, and I don't need you piling on top of it."

I glanced at him. "Is that your excuse? Gonna keep saying 'I got my shit' instead of actually dealing with it?"

Jacob exhaled through his nose. "Cut me some slack."

I set the empanadas down on the counter and turned to face him fully, my arms crossed. "Oh, I'm sorry, did I make things too tough for you? You've had it rough lately, huh?" My voice dripped with sarcasm. "Poor Jacob. Must be exhausting."

He clenched his jaw but didn't respond right away. I saw him rub his lip, and I noticed the blood on his skin.

"What happened?" I pointed at his lip. "You look like you got into a fight."

"Oh, look who's heart grew three times its size suddenly." He rubbed the spot again nonchalantly as my eyes rolled. "I fucked some bar back, she bit down a little too hard."

I stopped mid-chew. My stomach churned a little, the taste of the empanada suddenly too heavy in my mouth. "That's disgusting, Jacob."

He shrugged, unfazed. "It's not like you haven't seen worse. Not like you don't get where I'm coming from."

I set the food down, now thoroughly turned off. "You're a fucking mess."

He chuckled low, his eyes flickering with something darker. "Says the woman—Agh, fuck it. What's your point, Clearwater?"

I shot him a glare. "I don't need to explain myself to you, Jake. And neither do you, apparently. But if you think I'm just going to keep pretending everything's fine between us after that balcony chat… you've got another thing coming."

He ran a hand through his long black hair, sighing. "It's not like that."

I crossed my arms. "Then what's it like, Jacob?"

He paused, studying me carefully. I could see the weight in his eyes, but he wasn't ready to spill yet. He turned away, shaking his head. "It's complicated, okay?"

"Complicated how?" I pressed, refusing to back down. "What, are you in love with me or something?"

"Thought you weren't asking, just telling me how I feel?" Jacob sent back to me.

I rolled my eyes again.

The next time he did speak, it was barely audible. "It's not about that anyways. When I see you with him, I can't help but feel like you're walking into something that's gonna break you."

I blinked. "So you think I don't know what I'm doing? That I'm too naïve to make my own decisions?"

"Don't keep putting words in my mouth," Jacob said tightly, his eyes flashing with irritation.

"Sounded similar to what you were puffing up your chest about earlier." I raised my chin, stepping closer. "Then what is it, Jacob? Tell me. Tell me what's really going on in that fucking brain of yours."

He met my eyes, and for a second, it felt like the air between us was thick. Then, finally, he exhaled sharply, looking defeated. "I don't trust him. And I happen to care. Smite me, oh mighty smiter." He flashed some jazz hands for positive affect.

The words hung in the air, raw and unspoken for too long. But just as quickly as they came, he shut them down. "But it's none of my business. I get that. So just forget it."

I blinked, processing the weight of what he'd said. "Well, you've got a funny way of showing that you care."

Jacob gave a humorless chuckle. "Yeah, well. Maybe I'm not great at it."

I sighed, shaking my head. "No kidding."

The silence between us stretched again. I wasn't sure what to say next. What was left to say? He wasn't ready to deal with whatever feelings were still tangled up in him for me.

"So, what now?" I asked, my voice quieter.

He gave me a long look. "Now? Now, I'm just gonna get away from you before I say something else I'll regret."

"Yeah, you do that," I muttered, watching him head for the door.

He paused at the threshold of the stairs, looking back over his shoulder.

And then, without another word, he was gone with his dog, up the stairs to join my brother.

...

..

.