My gratitude to the organizers, judges, and reviewers of the Cherry Exchange Contest.

Thank you to my friend Moonriver for working her magic on this chapter.

My well wishes to ThePaintedTeacherLady.

Also, Puget Sound is a beautiful body of water in Seattle. If you'd like to see pics of the view from the hotel, please visit my profile.


Gives Me Religion

Chapter 2

St. Francis of Assisi

"Morning Baby," I say with sexy confidence as I brush the hair away from her now bruise-free cheek.

"Hey handsome," Bella says in a husky morning voice as she stretches like a lioness.

"How do you feel?"

"Mmm," a devilish grin emerges, "a little sore, but in all the right places." Hmmm, she's inviting for round two already. Bella continues, "I'll be thinking about you all day long."

I offer my hand, "Come, I'm going to feed you breakfast," and with the way I say feed, I'm sure she understands this will be no normal breakfast.

"You're going to feed me?" Taking my hand, she sits up and then slowly runs her tongue over her top then bottom lip, "but I'm already so very, very satisfied. Do you have something good for me, baby?"

"Yeah baby, I've got eggs for you-scrambled." I'm not sure how, but I assume scrambled eggs is a double entrendre for a sexual act.

"That's exactly how I like my eggs—scrambled." Good, she goes with it.

"And I have waffles with warm syrup."

"I like syrup-I like it sticky and sweet." Bella snarls each 's' sound-so hot.

"How's this for an amuse bouche?" I say knowing that 'amuse-bouche' sounds a hell of a lot sexier than 'tiny appetizer.' I lean in and brush my lips past hers once, twice. I kiss her gently once, twice and take her bottom lip in my mouth and suck; she gasps giving me access and I enter her mouth—soft tongue entwining with tongue. I angle my head allowing for a deeper, more aggressive kiss. Her hands in my hair pulling roughly, I moan before I pull back and kiss her gently again, once, twice. I look down and the cut in her bottom lip is gone. The healing power of my kiss.

Fuck, it is never going to happen that way. Seated on a club chair in the corner of the bedroom, I watch Bella sleep and contemplate the many possible scenarios that await me. I've been through the one where we profess our mutual love, hop a plane to Vegas, and marry. There's one where we decide to move into this hotel and never leave this room—ever.

All of the good ones end with the same kiss. It's the bad ones that I'm afraid to entertain; those feel much more real. Those scenes include Bella turning away when I go to kiss her; asking me not to touch her. She says things like, "Last night was amazing, and I couldn't thank you more…but…" The scenes I fear the most, however, include tears of anger and regret—those I can't stomach. What if she's so disgusted she kicks me out? Can she take a cab to the hospital? Does she even have her wallet with her?

I walk to the bathroom and catch my reflection. This is not good—I can see the rough night we've had in my face—stubble, bags under my eyes, wild hair and I smell of sweat, Bella, and sex. It's a smell I like, but probably wouldn't be appreciated by others. Hi Charlie, what do you mean I smell funny? Funny how? A shower won't be enough; I can't put those clothes back on me. It's dawn and water of Puget Sound looks so peaceful through this picture window; I could easily climb back into bed, but time is slipping away and I need a plan.

I slip on my jeans, grab my phone and key card and walk into the hallway to dial. A groggy voice greets me, "Hello…"

"Jasper, it's me."

"Edward?" Suddenly he's alert. "What's wrong? What happened?"

"I'm fine, nothing's wrong—I'm sorry to wake you so early…"

"You don't sound fine. Where are you?"

"I'm at The Four Seasons, the one on Union by the water. Listen, I need a big favor."

"You got it. What's up?"

"I need some things from my apartment…"

Jasper will be at the hotel in about an hour. He made me promise 'details,' which I'll gladly give. I welcome time with Jasper, I always sought his advice in college and even more so now years later.

I search for Bella's purse, but all I can find is the small satin bag Alice gave her at the hospital—it must be all she has. I know it's wrong to look in a woman's purse, but I convince myself that it's for a good cause. I find lip-gloss, a rosary, a prayer card, and a five-dollar bill. Bella, what can you buy with five dollars? Really, why bother? Taking a fifty from my wallet, I pray, Dear Lord, please guide Bella and me through this morning—please help me deliver her to Charlie. Grant me the wisdom to take back this money if she doesn't need it—paying Bella for last night might be a deal breaker.

I slip the bill into her purse and, curiosity getting the better of me, I pull out her small laminated prayer card and smile. Of course, St. Francis of Assisi…it's so…so…Bella. It is also my favorite prayer.

I remember seeing it the first time my parents and I dined at the Cullen's house. After dinner I wandered into the living room to investigate the bookshelves that caught my eye when we first arrived. There were so many interesting books-large, hard covers with glossy dust jackets, old, faded volumes of the classics, even early edition children's books, The Little Prince comes to mind. Art, philosophy, religion—an endless, eclectic collection; and in the corner of one shelf, a framed copy of St. Francis of Assisi's prayer.

"See anything you like, Edward?" Carlisle startled me.

"I'm sorry Reverend Cullen, it was rude to come in here without permission."

"No need to apologize Edward," he sounded jovial, "people put books on display for a reason, they want others to look. It's a way of saying, 'this is me, these are my interests, come, get to know me better.'" He talked to me like I was a real person, not some kid starting high school.

"Not all of our favorites are displayed out here though," he said.

"No?"

"No. I have a passion for mysteries and science fiction…and …" he leaned in conspiratorially and whispered, "she likes historical romance, our secret."

"I won't tell." I said beaming, feeling like I've been brought into the fold.

"So, does any of this stuff interest you?" he said waving his towards the shelves.

"Yes, sir. A lot of it."

"Good. Consider this your personal library, borrow anything you want, any time, Edward." I could barely contain my smile as my eyes drifted to the framed prayer; I read it silently to myself.

Lord, make me an instrument of your peace,
Where there is hatred, let me sow love;
where there is injury, pardon;
where there is doubt, faith;
where there is despair, hope;
where there is darkness, light;
where there is sadness, joy;

O Divine Master, grant that I may not so much seek to be consoled as to console;
to be understood as to understand;
to be loved as to love.

For it is in giving that we receive;
it is in pardoning that we are pardoned;
and it is in dying that we are born to eternal life.

"That's St. Francis of Assis's prayer. What do you think about it?" Fear tied a knot in my stomach, afraid he'd ask me about God and religion…I went to church with my parents, but I really didn't want to talk about it.

"I don't know." I shrugged, feeling my face turn pink and warm.

"Hmm…really? For a second there, it looked like you might have an opinion. Sorry, maybe I was wrong." He put his hand on my shoulder and said, "Well, take as much time as you'd like, but don't forget Esme's serving dessert soon," he turned to leave.

"I do," I managed to say.

"You do…?"

"I do have an opinion about it. I think…I think it sounds great, but impossible."

"Impossible?" he probed.

"Yes. No one can be that good, that selfless all the time—so as much as it sounds great, it's impossible."

"So why even try?"

"Sort of…I mean…I guess. He's asking God for help, right?"

"Right."

"But he's bound to fail a lot of the time and feel rotten about it and maybe feel rotten about God for not helping him. So, why even try if you know your going to fail?" He didn't respond. Instead, he let me hear my own words hang in the air. "I mean…I know you should try things even if you think you might fail. But when you really care about those things, it hurts even more when you fail at them."

"True. You're very perceptive, Edward. Are there things that you keep working at although you might not be as good as you want yet?"

The answer came easily, "Yeah, baseball. Coach calls me 'string bean' he says I'll get better once I fill out a little more."

"But you don't care about baseball?"

"I care a lot. I want to do well—you know, for the team, and my parents, the fans."

"I see. Really, it's not that different than St. Francis. I think he's asking for help because the possible rewards are so great. You can't hit every ball, but you try every time at bat, right? No one bats a thousand, Edward."

And so it began.

Ironic, the deeper I get into my theological studies, the less time I make for morning prayer. Not today. I move to the living room and look out into the melting pink morning sky—today I will meditate on St. Francis.

~oOo~

"Stop looking at me like that."

"I'm sorry Edward. I'm just a little surprised…and a little worried about you." Jasper says, his ice blue eyes inspecting me. "You have this weird web of energy surrounding you. I'd call it 'frantic lust guilt.'"

"Still? Shit, you should have seen me an hour ago." I rub my forehead as the server tops off our coffee. "Don't you have some sort of neutral therapist face you can put on?"

"I reserve that look for my clients, you are my friend."

"Give me some friendly advice then, what should I do?"

"Okay, she's upstairs sleeping right now?"

"Yes."

"Did you leave a note in case…"

"Yes."

"Don't get defensive, I'm just checking. Like Carlisle said, emotions are right under the surface, you were both in need last night…just be prepared for anything when she wakes up, take your cue from her. And don't be all Mr. Pervert, be Mr. Nice Guy."

"Since when have I been Mr. Pervert?"

"Edward, you just dined on forbidden fruit, my friend. It's hard to push yourself away from that table." He gives me a smile that says 'welcome to the club,' then slowly shakes his head. "If the women of U-Dub could see you now. The Masen Harem would be devastated."

"There's a bullshit phrase I haven't heard in a while," I scoff.

"Not bullshit. Women majored in taking your virginity, some men too. Shall I name them? Let's see…Tanya, Kate—roommates, not a good move my friend—Jessica Stanley…"

"Please do not bring up Jessica Stanley."

"Every man needs a stalker at least once in his life." I shake my head, not believing the turn in this conversation.

Jasper shrugs, "Don't mind me, I'm just jealous."

"I recall you doing just fine."

"Ah yes, the southern charm lured them in," he says emphasizing his drawl, "but I never had your virgin mystique—couldn't control my animal instincts. But, I was a mere boy then…"

"And now…?"

"You know I'm done sowing my wild oats; in fact, I think I sowed enough for both of us.

"How is Maria?"

"Maria is no more."

"What? Since when?"

"It's been a couple of weeks."

"Why didn't you call?"

"No need, it was a long time coming, and I know you've been busy at Jesus camp." I guess that's what we're calling it these days; Jasper could never get over my decision to join the ministry.

"Jasper, we used to talk everyday, what happened?"

"We grew up, that's what happened."

"Let's stop being grown ups—we're both single now, I'm virginity free, let's go out—let's meet some women. We can be wingmen."

Jasper raises a brow, "Wingmen?"

"Yeah, did I use is in the wrong context?" What the hell do I know about wingmen?

"No, right context—wrong year, but right context." Jasper stares at me for a few moments, his grin fading, his face becoming serious.

"Already preparing yourself for rejection, Edward?"

"Something like that." I run my hands through my hair, my apprehension increasing, "Jasper, I don't want to screw this up."

"I know my friend." And for a moment Jasper's jibes are gone, his calm tone soothes me, his empathy is my security.

"Can I kiss her?"

"Can you kiss her? Are you asking me permission," he asks, amused.

"I don't want to be Mr. Pervert, but if I kiss her, I'll be able to read her."

"I see. Then yes, if she gives you a cue, you have my permission to kiss her," he smirks.

~oOo~

Lord, make me an instrument of your peace.

"Bella…Bella, time to wake up," I say as I move a lock of hair from her face and inspect the now deep purple center of her bruised cheek. Eyes flutter open, wince at the too bright room, then close as if harsh memories of the last twenty-four hours crash over her.

"I let you sleep as long as I could, but we have to get up if we want a chance of visiting Alice before the meeting."

"Alice," she says in a rough morning voice and frowns; she says nothing else, but she's awake, still processing I suppose.

Bella sighs before opening her eyes, then gives a quizzical look as her eyes focus on me, "Did you leave, where did you go? You're all dressed up," she inhales deeply, "and you smell good…you showered."

"No, I didn't leave, a friend came by and brought me a few things for today."

"Oh."

"How do you feel this morning?"

Bella makes a small move to get up, squeezes her eyes shut in pain and says through gritted teeth, "I'm a little sore." Actually hearing her say that is not as sexy as I thought it would be; I've been too rough and she's in pain. She moves to fully sit up, "Ow."

"Bella, I'm sorry."

She looks at me, confused, "Why are you sorry…oh…oh, no not that kind of sore," she gently smiles, "well yes a little of that…but I meant my whole body."

"Of course, it's from the accident…I should have gotten you some muscle relaxers yesterday…and an ice pack."

Her fingertips brush across her face, "It's worse isn't it?"

"Well, it looks a little more…painful today."

"It is more painful today. I don't understand. I walked away from the accident fine, they examined me…"

"Car accidents can cause all sort of muscle trauma that don't show until the next day. If I had thought about that yesterday—I guess I wasn't thinking, Bella I'm…"

"For the love of all that is good, you must stop apologizing…you're my freakin' knight in shining armor Edward, now run me that bath before I kick you to the curb." I don't know which scenario this falls under, are we good, are we bad, are we really bad? She called me her knight—that's good…I'll take that as my cue.

I lean down to kiss her, but she pulls back. Not good.

"No kiss?"

"Haven't brushed."

"Don't care," and I lean in again, but she presses her lips and offers her cheek. Really not good—but at least she isn't crying.

"Stay here, I'll be right back." I draw her a bath and pour in a jar of L'Occitane bath salts I found on the wide ledge of the tall sunk-in marble tub.

When I return, Bella is standing with her arms and legs in a wide stance. Too sore to bend a limb, straighten up, or walk properly, she is pivoting her whole body inch by inch towards the bathroom. Since she is only a few feet from the bed, I wonder how long ago she started.

"This isn't as bad as it looks, you know," Bella looks up at me through her lashes, because she can't lift her head, "I had a yoga instructor once who would get really offended if someone skipped a few classes in a row. When we returned, she'd punish us—punishment yoga—picking the most challenging positions for the offending student…"

"How very Zen of her…" She's still inching.

"I know, right…anyway, this is just like the morning after one of those classes," she says as she continues to pivot.

I can't take it to see her like this, and if I'm to get her to the doctor before seeing Alice, we need to hurry. I step closer, "Bella, I'm going to pick you up and carry you in, ready…"

She flexes her hand and pivots her body in warning, "No, no, no…no sudden movements. Please, Edward, don't touch me." Not good.

"Okay…well, then…" I run into the living room, scan the breakfast table, and pick up the most logical choice, return to Bella and bring it into her view, "we'll have breakfast on the way to the bathroom."

"What's that?'

"It's a waffle."

"I know it's a waffle, but where…"

"I ordered breakfast, it's in the other room." I'm walking backwards, leading Bella into the bathroom. From the outside, it must look like I am trying to lure some waffle-obsessed zombie scarecrow.

"Oh…you didn't have to…I thought I smelled something. Is there cereal?"

"No. I was hoping to get you to eat something a little more substantial." Is a waffle really more substantial than cereal? I ordered scrambled eggs, but that's much more difficult to feed someone while walking, so again I offer the easiest, "Waffle?"

"Um…sure." She opens her mouth and I place a corner on her tongue like communion. She bites, I pull, and we stretch the dough between us, leaving her with a little more than a mouthful to manage, but she chews and swallows it down. "Wow, that's a good waffle," she says as we near the bathroom and I rip off a smaller piece.

"Open," I say as bringing to her mouth, I place the piece on Bella's offered tongue; she brings the piece back into her mouth, and chews slowly, her eyes closed, "mmmm." It's mesmerizing to watch, but I can't tell if this is turning her on, or if it's only me who finds this arousing.

I bring another piece to her mouth; she opens wide, but doesn't offer her tongue; I move the waffle into her mouth and place it on her tongue letting one finger rest a little long in her mouth. Bella sucks my finger in with the waffle and swirls her tongue once, closing her eyes, and then looks back up with an inexplicable expression—like she's asking me something. I slowly pull out my finger. She licks the powdered sugar from her lips when it occurs to me that I forgot the syrup. Why did I forget the syrup? Option one: Get Bella a bath and take her to the hospital; Option two: Cover Bella with syrup, give her a massage, and then lick her clean. Same basic outcome—she'll feel better either way. No, she needs to go to the meeting. Oh, fuck the meeting, let the Newtons plan the damn funeral. Don't be Mr. Pervert Edward. I take a calming breath. Bath time.

We continue to walk until the back of my thighs reach the tub and I'm reminded of it's height; there's one steep step, but even that will prove a challenge to Bella. I move behind her, "Can you put your arms up?"

"You mean they aren't up yet?" she laughs then suddenly stops as she pivots towards the mirror. "Holy Heck! Did you look at my face? It's like I've got a purple eyeball growing out of my cheek."

"It must hurt."

"It hurts to look at it. Gah, I just can't look at myself anymore…no more mirrors."

"Come on…clothes off, hot bath." Very carefully, I free her arms from the camisole straps, and it drops to her waist; then I hook my thumbs under the material and drag the shirt and shorts to the floor in one swift motion. For the first time, I see Bella fully nude. My waffle induced arousal increases, but I have to stop myself; I close my eyes and remember she's God's child in need right now, not an object of sexual desire.

"If I keep acting like an invalid, you'll never see me as sexy." I laugh softly and shake my head, not a chance Isabella Swan—you have no idea.

"Climb or carry?" I ask unbuttoning my shirt and placing it on a bathroom side chair.

"Carry," she says reluctantly, knowing neither option will be comfortable.

"Bella, when I say, I want you to take a big breath and then on three, I need you to exhale, understand?" This is going to hurt like hell, but I don't see another way; she nods, bracing herself.

"Here we go…big breath…one…two…" I get into position to sweep her legs out from under her, "…three," and I swing her up and over into the bath as quickly and gently as I can manage. She sinks in while letting out a long hiss, her eyes squeezed shut in pain; after a moment her face relaxes.

"Okay?" She responds with a nod.

"Just soak for a minute, I'll be back."

From the bedroom phone, I call the concierge and ask them to deliver a bottle of Advil. As I pour Bella glasses of orange juice and water, inspiration hits—I know how we can save time. I grab my cell phone, get Carlisle's voicemail, and leave a message "Hi Carlisle, it's Edward. If you get to the hospital before us, can you find the attending? Bella needs some muscle relaxers. When we got up this morning, she could barely get out of bed and now we're running a little…" FUCK ME! I did NOT tell just tell Carlisle I spent the night with Bella! Lie! No don't lie! Push a button, erase…how do you erase? Where's the lady's voice? The voice that tells you that you can erase? Doesn't Carlisle have that lady? Fuck, say something! "…um…so, we'll be there soon…she's sore because of the car accident…um…not because we…um…bye." I hit every number on my keypad hoping to hear the lady's voice, but nothing. I walk to the wall and repeatedly thump my head wishing that the last forty-five seconds did not occur.

"Edward, what is that...is that you?"

"Yes," I moan. I take the glasses into the bathroom and put them on the ledge of the tub, mumbling, "Here, you need to hydrate, flush everything out, it will help your muscles." I pull up a chair up and rest my head on my folded arms next to Bella's head.

"Edward, what happened?" Sympathy oozes from her voice, as she runs her fingers through my hair.

I bury my head into my forearms, "I think I just inadvertently told Carlisle we spent the night together."

"Oh."

I close my eyes and wait for her pithy response that will put this into perspective, but silence grows between us. I continue, "I know, I wasn't thinking…I screwed this up." Again, there is only silence; I look up to find Bella's face is turned away from me…and she's crying.

"Bella…Bella…it's okay…he won't say anything," a stifled sob escapes her, "Bella, please don't cry, it's not a big deal." What did I say? Why are you crying Bella?

"I'm…s-s-s-so sorry, Ed-ward."

"What? Why are you sorry, Bella…?"

"You..d-d-didn't want to…bu-but…I made you," Made me what? No! She thinks I regretted last night? "I'm a dir-..dirty…whore." What? If her expression wasn't so sad, the words would be comical.

Wiping her tears with my thumb, I whisper quickly into her ear, "Isabella Swan, if I lived a hundred years, I wouldn't regret making love to you last night."

"Re-…really?

"Really." My hands glide from her face, to her neck, to her shoulders and back again, gently caressing away her pain.

"I don't un…understand. I did the tongue thingy around your finger and you didn't say anything. I thought it was sexy…but then I felt dirty…" she sniffles.

It wasn't my imagination. I chuckle once and say, "It was sexy as hell, Bella…but I wasn't completely sure you were going there. I told you, I'm an idiot. And I'm still afraid you're going to come to your senses and think I'm a predator…I need a flashing neon sign."

"Oh, Edward if sucking your finger isn't a neon sign, I don't know what is," she sighs deeply and continues, "we're doomed…or I'm going to have to turn into a really, really dirty whore." I choose…Edward, do not even think about it. She smiles sadly, and I kiss her temple.

"I'll take that under advisement." I move to the side of the tub and begin my massage up and down each arm in turn. Of all the scenarios I considered, not once did I envision this.

"Are you laughing at me?" Her tears are gone, but she's still sniffling.

"No, Bella…I'm not laughing at you, I'm laughing at myself, the irony. You didn't kiss me this morning, it had me worried." She says nothing, but I can tell she's considering my concern.

Finally she whispers, "I hadn't brushed."

"Does it really bother you that much?"

She shakes her head and fixes her eyes out the window looking onto the Sound. Lost in daydream—lost in memory. After a long while, she quietly says, "It bothers some people."

Dead or alive, Mike Newton is a douche. The voice in my head returns-Not Mike, Edward, focus on Bella. Letting go of her arm, I move to stand above her head; her curious, sad eyes meet mine. Taking her face in my hands, I tilt her head back and lean down giving her an upside down version of the kiss I've been wanting since dawn's first light. Timid at first as we adjust to this position, eventually her mouth grants me access and tops of tongues meet, deepening the kiss as we go. She takes my hands and slides them down her slick body, and rests them on her pert breasts. I break our kiss and watch as she threads her fingers between mine and begins to massage herself with my hands-teaching me how she needs to be touched. Is she sore? Does she need her breasts massaged? She lets out a soft moan. No, no, this is a neon sign.

I press my cheek against hers and whisper, "You are no invalid, and you will always be sexy. I've been working very hard not to ravish you all morning."

"Why?" Another unexpected response, isn't it obvious?

"Because I didn't think it was what you needed right now…and if I got in this tub with you, we would never get out. "

"Oh," she says in her soft voice, still sounding bewildered.

"Is it what you need right now?"

"No, it's not. But I don't want to deny you if it's what you want." Something about her statement is unsettling, but I try not to ponder on it too long.

"Bella I want to try something that I think will help you feel better, but you should know I'm in…I'm in 'Nice Guy' mode not 'Hanky Panky Pervert' mode."

"Hanky Panky?" she says incredulously.

"Hanky Panky is an excellent expression and I'm making it my personal mission to bring it back in style." An innocent grin emerges and I'm grateful for the lighter mood.

"What are you going to do?" she asks as I take off my undershirt off and drape it over the chair with my oxford.

"You'll see." I wrap my arms around Bella and press my fingertips into her back, on either side of her spine. I inch them down until I feel the center of tension in her lower back; when I shift my fingers, her whole body moves with me. "You see that, right here is where you're tightest. We're in the water, so I'm going to use some real pressure…let me know if it's too intense." The muscles are a solid knot under my touch, but after a few moments I feel the release, "Good, Bella," and I move my fingers down another inch, repeating the process.

"I wish we could come back here someday…back to this hotel," she says wistfully.

"We can, Bella. In fact, I've been wondering what you'd like to do after the meeting. We could come back here, eat some lunch, take a nap." Move in.

"Mmmm, napping is good…but I'm supposed to be on a plane to Rio right now, we have to check out." My fingers continue to trail down her back, her voice and her body reflecting her relaxation.

"We could stay here another night."

"No," she sighs, "too expensive."

Here it goes, "I spoke to the front desk this morning, told them we had a change of plans…they offered the room again, complimentary, because of wedding package."

"Huh, that's odd," I wait, but her body stays relaxed; she sighs again and continues, "I really should get back to Forks today…I think…I think I want to go back to Forks today."

"Okay, I could drive you back…or," brace yourself Masen, "you could go back with Charlie."

"No, I sent Charlie home yesterday, remember?" I don't respond and after a moment she asks, "Charlie is back in Forks, isn't he Edward?" Guilty, I look up into her now narrowed chocolate eyes and…wait for it…wait for it…her muscles tense again, damn.

I explain my conversation with Charlie, and tell Bella that I think he could handle the news about Mike, but noticing her avoidance of his name, I call it "pre-wedding events." Fortunately, her body unhinges and she's loose again beneath my hands.

"You're right, he'll figure it out sooner or later anyway."

"Sounds like Carlisle."

"He's more than a professor to you, isn't he?"

"He is. He and his wife Esme are sort of…parent figures."

"Edward…are you going to get kicked out of seminary because of m-…because of last night?"

I snort gently, "Bella, seminaries house more sinners than saints—if they did that, the halls would be empty."

"Good," she exhales and her body softens, freeing the stress captured by the unasked question. "I'm glad Charlie is here, thank you," she sounds surprised by her own revelation. I remove my hands from her body and she asks, "What do I owe you for your mad massage skills?"

"One kiss," I say offering my cheek. She gives me a peck and in return I provide one last long stroke, from her shoulder blades, down her back, over her backside, down her thighs, and pinching off at her big toes.

"You are now officially a prune, Isabella Swan."

She giggles and there is a knock at the door—Advil is here.


A/N: Thank you for your lovely reviews-they mean the world to me. I hope you all enjoy the holiday season. Next Update: About two weeks.