"Twi-High Anonymous Challenge"

Penname: ipreferbrunettes

Story Title: Lead Us Not Into Temptation

Summary: (AU/AH and it's rated M, I'm a dirty girl) Bella's bad. Really bad. So bad that her mother has had enough, and sends her off to Bible boarding school in the South, where she meets a delectably Christian Prudeward who wants no part in her sexual shenanigans. Can she use her body to change his mind? After all… doesn't it all boil down to biology?

Primary Players: Edward & Bella

Disclaimer: Pretty much all proper nouns are legally off limits to me. All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended. Seriously, I'm just in it for the smut.

"I'm getting tired of seeing you in my court room, Ms. Swan," Judge Banks sighed heavily and tipped his head forward, sending his glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose.

"I know," I replied, "but you won't return my phone calls and I do so cherish these moments together. How else is a girl supposed to get your attention?" I winked surreptitiously and got a stifled laugh from the giant fatherly black man in the robes before me.

"You're not funny," he said.

"Then why are you laughing?" I asked with a coy smile.

He shook his head in defeat and his eyes lowered to the paper on his stand, which was a delicious menu of my various felonies, infringements and misgivings over the past few years. I stiffened with pride when I realized they had stapled a second page to it. I almost asked for a copy to matte and frame for the spot next to my very first court summons on the wall of shame over my naught-used desk. I was so good at being bad.

"You won't charm you way out of this Bella, I'm sorry to say. It appears as though you've drawn your last straw, and it's a short one. This year alone I've seen you four times, and now in addition to torturing your chemistry teacher into early retirement, coming to school drunk on countless occasions and driving away the seven court appointed therapists you were ordered to see, you were caught fornicating on the fifty yard line of the high school football field?!"

"He was the quarterback, it seemed apropos."

"It was DURING the game!" he roared incredulously.

"It was half time, and marching bands make me horny," I shifted in my seat. "Plus, he was 17 for 18 completions and passed for almost 500 yards that game… I'm good luck." What was he getting at? I didn't see why this was a big deal. I got in trouble in school pretty much every day and all the good judge ever did was slap me on the wrist and send me packing. I was anxious to get out of there because I was scheduled to meet the aforementioned quarterback in the locker room in less than an hour and I had to get home to shave my hoohah before that.

"Your mother has had it, Bella. She said she's through with the leniency and I agree. You never learn. And you've used up your last second chance."

So what, my mom was going to send me away now? Good. I was tired of watching her cougar out with her painfully younger new husband anyway. I could use a change of scenery. There's a quarterback in every town in America.

"Yeah? So did you call Charlie? I mean I assume I'm headed to Forks, right?" I asked the judge, bored.

"No, Bella. Your father was not interested in trying to break you."

Not interested. Figures. He was never around for my childhood when I was cute and well behaved so there's no reason to man up now when I needed a good stern talking to and several backlogged years' worth of spankings.

"Okay then. Where am I headed?" I wasn't really surprised with the turn of events. I mean, I knew my attitude had to catch up with me sometime, and I was so over Phoenix anyway. I say, bring it on.

"At your mother's request, I have two viable options. I like you, Bella, I do. I think you're smart and witty and I feel that under that troubled teenager there really is a good kid; that you could be so much more with just a little help. So I'm going to let you choose your poison."

This felt like a trap but what the hell. "What's ala carte?"

"There's boot camp of course, at the New York Military Academy. Or there's bible camp, The Light of Day Institute boarding school in Louisiana. What's the verdict?" He smiled at his own joke.

The choice was easy for me. I'd take physical torture over spiritual any day. And there was probably a ton of hot, pre-army cock at the military academy. No brainer.

"Boot camp, please," I said immediately.

He eyed me slowly and chewed over what I had just said. "Ok. Light of Day it is."

"What? Why? You said I could choose!" I had a heart palpitation thinking about days filled with bible thumping. The only Christians I had ever had any interest in were Dior, Lacroix, and Louboutin. I smiled internally at the memory of the CD coat I had swiped from Neiman Marcus last winter; tossed it over my arm and walked out like I owned the joint. The memory dimmed a bit right about the time Paul Blart: Mall Cop tackled me from behind in front of the Dead Sea cosmetic kiosk and I busted my lip open on the marble floor. That was a fun Thursday.

"Yes and you've proven time and time again that you are incapable of making the right choices for yourself, Ms. Swan. So as a general rule, in your rehabilitation, I would like you to pause when you encounter a decision-making situation. Think about what you would do to proceed. And then do the exact opposite. This has been your first lesson in the new you. Now get your ass out of my courtroom and get your act together because if you are arraigned before me again, I will put you in jail. Jail, Bella, think about it. The Light of Day Institute is your very last chance. Jesus, it seems, is in fact your savior." He smirked, bemused.

Mother Eff. This felt remarkably like a worst case scenario. It had to be undone.

"Judge Banks, please. There has to be something we can figure out. I'll clean up, I swear. But I don't need to go to Bible camp! Just give me one more chance, there has to be something I can do!" I pleaded desperately, and he looked considerate.

After a moment of silence, he answered. "There is one thing you can do. And from now on, it's the only thing you can do." I brightened instantly. I'd take it.

He rummaged around in a drawer and tossed a rubber wristband at me. I grabbed it and waited for his explanation.

"It's self-explanatory. The only thing you can do," he repeated.

I looked down at the sky blue bracelet, imprinted with only five characters.

WWJD?

I dropped it to the floor like it had burned me and looked up at him in anger and shock. And he though I wasn't funny?!

He chuckled and banged his gavel once.

"You're dismissed, Bella."

A bailiff took my arm and led me out of the courtroom, towards what was presumably my salvation. But I knew I was walking into my own personal hell.

***

I almost vomited when I stepped off the plane, assaulted with the kind of humidity my hair cuticle would take years to recover from. It was like walking into swamp-ass. Taking a deep breath was like getting punched in the gut, and then having a fat guy sit on your chest and shoot a super soaker down your throat 'til you damn near drowned from it.

Louisiana in September is the balls.

I tilted my head forward to see over the top of my oversized Dolce & Gabbana sunglasses and scanned the pickup area for an escape route and/or my next step towards eye-gouging Christianity.

There was a driver, about 20 years old, blond and tanned, wearing walking shorts and tennis sneakers leaning against a white van with an intricate sun decal on it. I immediately began calling him "Skip" in my head.

"Bella Swan? I'm Mike Newton from the Light of Day Institute, and golly we're just thrilled you have you!" He approached me excitedly and offered his hand, like I cared.

"I just gave the pilot a handjob, you might want to rethink that," I said, disinterested as I sailed past him and pulled the passenger door open.

More stale, wet air waited in the cab, wilting my disposition even further. What the fuck Skip, it's called idling with the A/C on. I made a mental note to waste more than my fair share of finite resources on his behalf. I reached over and twisted the ignition, playing with the dials until icy air shot out towards me.

Undeterred, Skip climbed into the bucket seat beside me. "How are you liking this Indian summer? Hot enough for you? Sure must be a change from ol' Phoenix!" He was the kind of person that ended every sentence with an exclamation point. Skip might need to die before this ride is over.

"Yeah, we never experience any heat in the Valley of the Sun," I mumbled and set my feet up on the dashboard.

He laughed jovially at his own stupidity. "I guess you're right, but it sure as shucks can't be this humid there, right?"

"While weather fascinates me, and truly, Skip, it does, I get carsick when I have to discuss mundane trivialities with Biblical Ken dolls, so let's keep the small talk to a minimum, what do you say?"

He shrugged and continued smiling at nothing, which is a quality I hate in all people, not just the ones who are hand-delivering me to doom. How was I supposed to last a year surrounded by these people when the prospect of a three hour car ride with Abel had me just about ready to pull a Cain?

We rode in silence after that. That is, until we rounded the drive to Death Trap Academy and Skip decided it was time for some rousing musical praise; he kicked on some glory, glory garbage on the radio and I made a big show of plugging my ears as he loudly sang along.

Finally, he cut the engine and turned to me, that doofy smile spread from one Dumbo ear to the other. "Heck, Bella," he began, "I know you're a bad girl but these are some great people. People who want to be here to worship the Lord. My father worked long and hard to put this school together and we really want to help you! That being said, don't mess this up." His gaze darkened and the grin faded. "I know your type just as well as you think you know mine. And the Light of Day's agreement with the court system has us bound to your reformation, but don't you think for a minute that you can come in here and raise H just because you're some sort of teenage rebel without a cause. I've seen dozens of you pass through here, and I've learned that you're all just desperate to learn your lesson."

"Are you gonna teach it to me?" I asked breathily, laying a hand on his thigh. Inside I was guffawing at his curse-less threat. I'm supposed to be intimidated by a man who won't say "hell" out loud? I might still be young but I know enough to realize that this douche-a-holic was wound up from repressed homosexuality that manifested itself into virtue and he was taking out his angst on me because I didn't give a shit. I would bet a year's worth of ill-gotten cash from my bookie that he had a hot girlfriend whom he never laid a hand on, claiming that it was "God's way" while he secretly wished he spent his vanilla-pudding evenings holding hands and crossing swords with the brooding, Mediterranean gardener instead. Oh and PS, the hot girlfriend is getting fucked by the gardener on the sly. Just sayin.

True to form, he gave an icy smile and slid my hand off of him. "There will be none of that here," he said tightly, swinging his door open and stepping out of the van.

In that moment, I made it my personal enterprise to see that there was.

***

Skip, as a target, held no interest for me. I didn't see the fun in scaring him into a vagina that he was clearly already opposed to. But I kept my peepers peeled for my potential mission impossible as I trudged through the swampy heat of Bon Temps, LA towards my dorm.

I didn't have a ton of luggage, but this was more because the things I had were deemed "inappropriate" at check in and less because I hadn't packed an ass load. It was almost worth the loss of my hot pink, jelly-touch vibrator to see Ms. Cope, the matronly headmistress, pull out of my bag in horror. It got even better when I turned it on to "make it dance" for her and the poor old witch damn near had an aneurism. I was awarded 10 demerits for this antic… I thought it was worth 15, but fuck if I know.

Demerits. What a crock of shit. Am I supposed to be worried about sullying my good name? Demerits were about as real to me as unicorns shitting in my fuel filter. Bring 'em on, I say.

I pushed open the door to my room and found a little dark haired munchkin bouncing off the walls. Someone had clearly missed her appointment with Ritalin.

"HI!" she shouted in my face. "I'm Alice and I'm 16, I love Jesus because with Him, all things are possible!"

I quickly learned that at Light of Day, we introduced ourselves by name and reason for loving Jesus. I had received 20 demerits for meeting Reverend Newton, Skip's dad and camp founder, with "Hi, I'm Bella and I love Jesus because it's a great name to call out when you've forgotten that of your partner during sex."

To Alice, lover of Christ but not of Adderall, I simply gave a pained smile and said "Bella." She took this as some sort of invitation to physical contact and bounded into my arms, patting me affectionately on the back.

"We're going to be best of friends, I can tell!" she squealed.

I assessed the room, which was covered on every available surface with Hello Kitty, Winnie the Pooh and Lisa Frank paraphernalia. Ah yes, some of my favorite designers. I considered her my mortal enemy and I pushed a fluffy pink pony off of the bed that I assumed to be mine and sat down, scowling.

Alice was not derailed by this at all. She grabbed something in each hand and jumped up on the bed beside me, plopping a "Samantha" American Girl doll in my lap and pulling a brush through my dark brown tangles.

"Um, ow?" I tried. She shushed me and pushed a miniature comb into my right hand.

"I'll do yours, you do hers!" Clearly Alice thought that the opening credits of Full House set the precedence for the behavior of co-habitating females.

I decided she was probably harmless, if braindead, and just let her do her thing. "How did you know I was a Samantha?" I asked, knowing the Sex & the City reference was six miles over her head.

"Because you look just like her! There!" she shouted, forcing in a clip somewhere over my ear. "All set, and just in time for lunch!" She hopped down and put on a pair of sneakers that lit up when she took a step. No seriously, it happened. Evidently Christ's love had frozen Alice into a perpetual second grader in tastes and behavior, and pretty closely in size, too… she looked like she could represent the Lollipop Guild without batting an eye.

"Are you ready?!" she asked, exasperated. I ducked down to examine my reflection in her toddler-height mirror. The barrette in my hair had a picture of Ariel on it, but across her mer-tits and exposed torso, Alice had crudely drawn a thick cross in black Sharpie.

Excellent, let's do this.

I could not believe that this was legitimately my life now.

We walked out of the dorm together and I let her hold my hand all the way to the cafeteria.

***

I pretty much came when I saw him. He was sitting in the near-full cafeteria and I was drawn directly to him as if he had a high power magnet in his pants and not an unused, scripture-loving peen. The light filtered through the high windows and played shades of gold through his copper hair; caressing the taut skin stretched across the chiseled cheekbone of a face so pale and translucent it almost seemed to sparkle in the sun.

Half of me wanted to drop trou and rub it out in the middle of the crowded room. The other half… fuck, the other half wanted to, as well. I pressed my thighs together uncomfortably in a vain attempt to fight off the rush of heat the flooded my girly bits and crippled me into a lust-fueled maniac. I have never, in my life, wanted something in me the way I wanted that boy pile driving me with his Puritan cock.

Not even tiramisu.

He was laughing at something I hadn't heard, something I would no doubt find not even remotely comical and his full, pink lips split apart over the most agonizingly beautiful set of teeth I have ever seen. I'm a sucker for teeth.

His head tipped back with laughter and he slapped his knee good-naturedly. I sort of wanted to barf and sort of wanted to tackle him to the tile floor and do some violent dry humping. As I was envisioning this act, his gaze flicked to me.

Widening his smile, he waved amicably and motioned me towards his table.

Well, well, well, sex-on-a stick-Bible-thumper, I don't mind if I do.

Alice tugged my arm in his direction. "Oh good, Edward's already here, we can sit with him!"

"Friend of yours?" I asked her, without breaking eye contact. His eyes, a green so vibrant they practically glowed, followed us as we made our way to his table.

"He's my brother!" she cheered.

Full House got a whole lot better when I had my very own Uncle Jesse to fondle. Target: sighted.

***

I eased into the seat across from him at the table, propped my elbow up on it leaned forward, resting my chin atop my fist. I gave him my best "come-hither" look, complete with singular eyebrow-arch and pouty half smile. I completely lost my grace and train of thought when he took a breath to speak and that sculpted chest expanded with air, testing the limits of his uniform, grey cotton t-shirt. That must have been last year's shirt. There is no way they would encourage the way the heather material clung to his pecs and tapered down to his trim waist and narrow hips. This could not have been sanctioned by the Lord.

Unless of course… the Lord really liked me. This was a distinct possibility, given my current situation. I hummed idly as I waited for him to speak… Jesus loves me, this I know, for the Bible tells me so…

"Hi," he said in a smooth voice. It was what melted milk chocolate dripping onto your tongue would sound like. I wanted to touch all his bad places because he uttered two letters to me. "I'm Edward Cullen. I love Jesus because He died for our sins." He put out his right hand. I resisted the urge to thrust my vagina onto it.

"Bella Swan," I said, accepting his shake, "and I love Jesus for making Edward Cullen." I winked at him and he blushed. He fucking blushed. I was in so deep over my head that the surface was nothing but a distant memory. Here lies Bella Swan, she drowned in abstinence in the Bible Belt.

He drew his fingers from my grasp and gave a gloriously panty-soaking crooked smile. "That's very sweet of you, Bella, even if it is a little premature."

"Don't worry, a little practice will build up your stamina."

Confusion clouded his beautiful face and I chuckled. "Forget it," I dismissed, "how old are you, Edward?"

"Seventeen."

"How long have you been 17?"

"About three months. Why?"

"Just curious." I smiled the one that crinkles the corners of my eyes and makes me look genuine.

"You know what they say about curiosity," he led.

"It got the cat sent to Bible school," I finished under my breath.

"Something like that, yeah. You're new I guess," he said conversationally. Am I that obvious? Gee whiz.

"Good guess. I'm from a," I lowered my voice conspiratorially and shifted my eyes, "public school in Phoenix," he looked appropriately horrified. "I needed to get away from those heathens; I just arrived today… and I'm beginning to understand the origin of the term 'God's nowhere.' What's a religious zealot like me do for fun around here?" I asked.

"There's tons to choose from. You can join a craft or do group study, or be a part of one of the activity clubs…"

"What do you do?"

"Me? I play football on the school's team…"

There's no way-

"… I'm the quarterback."

Touchdown.

***

I spent the majority of my afternoon picturing Edward Cullen naked, and the rest of it mourning the loss of my vibrator. The two together could have moved mountains, I'm certain. I had forgotten how tiring it is to get yourself off manually, and I thanked the God who surely despised me by now that it was the 21st century and these sort of things were available by mail order on the internet now. As I clicked "confirm shipment" and charged $50 to my mother's (foolishly relinquished, emergency-only) credit card, irony jumped out of the screen and bit me on the ass. I laughed out loud at the vendor who would appear on her statement: . Just buying supplies for God School, naturally.

Edward's V-card was as good as mine; I couldn't wait to relieve him of his cumbersome virginity. Now it was just a matter of details. At about 7:30, right after the dinner that I slept through, I decided waiting wasn't an option and walked over to the boys' dorm.

I knocked on the door I knew to be his, from Alice's admission as well as a nameplate beneath the room number proclaiming "Edward Cullen" with a little set of wings where the double L should have been. The door swung open to reveal a thickly muscled giant. Ah yes, the offensive lineman to Edward's quarterback… his roommate. Andre broke into a wide grin at the sight of me, presumably because I had gone braless under my regulation camp shirt… and also because the one I was wearing was Alice's and about 37 sizes too small. Two can play at that game, Edward.

"Hey," he said huskily without breaking his gaze away from my hooters.

I let him ogle for a second longer than I normally allow because I felt like it was good for the cause, and then I spoke. "They don't talk back, all the stunning conversation goes on up here," I gestured a circle around my face.

He reluctantly brought his eyes to mine. "Emmett McCarty." He grinned and continued to flick his stare shameless back down to my breasts every third second, like he couldn't help it. I decided I liked Emmett McCarty, but something was amiss. He did not seem like the God fearing type, and he didn't give a Light of Day regulation introduction. Ten demerits.

"Bella Swan," I stuck out my right hand, "and I love Jesus 'cause He gave me this sweet rack so I don't have to buy them."

Emmett clasped my fingers and brought his lips to the back of my hand, looking up at me mischievously. "What a coincidence, I was just thanking Him for your jugs as well."

I walked across the threshold uninvited and plopped down on the couch in their suite. "So what are you in for?" Poor Emmett was clearly suffering my same fate and I wondered what he had done to get himself exiled to the Good Lord's boondocks.

"I'll show you mine if you show me yours," he smirked.

"Mm, I'm not that kind of girl," I said disinterestedly.

"Yeah? Your hard nipples disagree, I can see them right through your shirt. I know you said they don't talk, but I'm getting the message loud and clear." He eyed them hungrily.

"Ok, so I am that kind of girl. I'm very bad, I crossed the line, I got sent here, yadda yadda yadda…"

"What line did you cross?"

"The fifty yard line." He looked confused. "Long story. You?"

"Just about the same. My parents had enough, and here I am. Wanna see my room?" Emmett was a bottom-liner, and I generally like that in people. But he was a sure thing, and that's not what I was after. I was a woman possessed, out to prove a point against Newton and the Light of Day Institute and all the holiness therein. I was going to turn a good boy bad.

Emmett, by my count, was bad enough.

"Not unless Edward's in it." His face fell. I felt a little bad. Any other time, in any other place, I probably would have wound up on my back with my ankles at my ears beneath Emmett in under 30 minutes. Not here though, not when I had my own personal vendetta against condescending and imposing church-goers to even out.

"Edward won't pick up what you're throwing down," Emmett said matter-of-factly. "I've never seen anyone show less interest in sex."

"Who says I'm here for that?"

"Your nipples again."

Traitors.

I decided to level with Emmett. "Listen… I don't want to be here. I'm sure you know what that's like. But I was gonna eat it because I knew I had it coming, I'd been very bad for very long and it was bound to catch up to me. I was gonna do my time like a big girl and not goad the Christians and wait out the year and then go back to my life, you know? But that asshat Mike Newton really pissed me off and the general tenor of the atmosphere really grinds my gears. I would never try to force my shit down anyone's throat and it pisses me off that they get to do it here. Wasn't it one of their guys who said 'Judge not, lest ye be judged…?' So if I turn one, if I can get just one to play on my level, it's my own personal victory, small as it may be. They might be God's people, but they're still human. Each and every one of them is just as fallible as me."

He looked much more pensive than I would have thought a meathead of his caliber was capable of. "Touche, Swan," he finally acknowledged. "I admire your plight. In fact, I wish I could make a similar one, but I don't know that I would be even half as successful. I think you can do it. You're sexy as hell and you've got teenage testosterone in your corner, that's monumental. And now you have me."

I quirked an eyebrow at him.

"You can't do it by yourself. You need a wingman… and while I'm accustomed to running point, I could spend all day on your flanks," he winked and I laughed. A wingman sounded pretty choice to me, and I really did like Emmett. "But I gotta know… why Edward?"

I shrugged. "I like quarterbacks."

He groaned. "The baddest girls always do."

***

"So where is our boy?" I asked on a yawn, stretching myself across the couch in their common room.

Emmett raked my body with his eyes before mumbling, "Shower." Being wanted was making me hot and gooey in all the right places and it stroked my ego to give me the kind of confidence I would surely need to distract Edward from rowing his boat ashore long enough to deflower him. For that, I appreciated Emmett, but when all the blood in my body was shooting right to my vajay, I didn't think clearly and couldn't formulate the plans I would need to complete my mission. This sexual tension with Emmett was going to complicate things. I half thought about slobbing his knob then and there just to get that pink elephant out of the room.

What? I said half.

I stood up and walked towards the bathroom where I could hear the water running. I tried not to picture it streaming in rivulets off of his sinuous chest and down the length of his body to his pristine peen. I failed.

"What are you doing?" Emmett asked, incredulous. I gave him a look that said what does it look like I'm doing? He shook his head and chuckled. "Rookie mistake, Swan. You can't just bust in there and touch his cock! He'll cry wee wee wee all the way home! You don't understand how they are!"

I briefly considered this and decided it made sense. This might work in the locker room with the horn dogs in Phoenix but I would have to change my tactics for the seraphim.

He smiled at my acquiescence. "You're so lucky to have me."

"Not so fast big guy. What's your game plan, then? You can't just 86 mine and then start tooting your own horn."

"I'm not gonna toot my own horn til you leave, don't worry," he said, getting up and walking towards the desk on the far wall. "How strong is your aversion to insects?"

I was glad my back was to him so he couldn't see me roll my eyes. You simply can't let a walking, talking boner do a real woman's work.

"Bella?" he was behind me now, and I realized I hadn't answered him. I sighed.

"Emmett, I-"but I stopped when his hand shot out in front of me and tipped a long, flat, clear Plexiglass rectangle of sand onto my chest.

"I'm sorry. The element of surprise makes this more authentic, I swear. You'll thank me later," he said, apology in his warm brown eyes.

I struggled to make sense of it. Why was he pouring sand onto me? What was with the cryptic apologia? How did this relate to the popping of Edward's cherry?

And then I stopped thinking.

I had to, every sensory receptor in my brain busy dealing with the stinging fire that shot across the skin of my upper body. Burning, itching, throbbing… it was like acid searing into my flesh and I couldn't think of anything but the pain.

That's when I saw them. Thousands of them hustling along my arms and chest, creating a massive road map paved with little paths of torture into my skin. Fire ants. Emmett had poured a fucking ant farm onto my tits.

Oh my God.

I inhaled a sharp gasp to let out a scream but the sound wouldn't come. Emmett rushed around the couch, slid an arm behind my back and under my legs and lifted me to his chest. "It's ok, I have a plan."

A fucking plan?! This seemed pretty poorly planned out to me! I wanted to shout and curse and fight but I was overcome by the debilitating pain. I said nothing and felt my head loll loosely off the back of my neck.

Emmett busted down the door of the bathroom. "Sorry, Edward, it's an emergency!" he yelled, pulling back the shower curtain.

Poor Edward looked like someone had run over his puppy. His eyes were shocked and wide with disbelief as he ducked into the corner of the shower and tried in vain to cover his nakedness. His distress did nothing to lessen his sexiness. Wetward was Hotward.

I no longer felt the ants, but I had a special tingling somewhere significantly south of my bellybutton.

Emmett laid me down on the floor and the warm water splashed over me.

"What the heck, Emmett?" Edward demanded, voice strained. He was eying his roommate angrily and I could feel the exasperation coming off him in waves. I looked up and saw a trail of soapy bubbles making their way from his glorious hair down his neck and into the dip between his pecs. I felt about 100 degrees hotter than when the ants lit me ablaze.

"I'm sorry, Edward! She spilled the fire ants all over herself, I had to get her in here to rinse off, the poor girl was suffering!"

Well the giant was obviously a genius. Edward threw up his hands in disbelief and I caught a look at his junk. Impressive! I moaned appreciatively.

Emmett looked back down at me. "Are you ok, Bella? Are they… did they get under your shirt?" he suggested quietly.

"Oh, ow, yes, they're under my shirt!" I squirmed on the shower floor. "Please help me, get it off!" I whined. Too bad this wasn't a school for the performing arts, Emmett and I were doing a pretty diesel improv.

The wet cotton that was too small for me anyway clung dearly to my tender skin as Emmett tugged at the hem. "Well for God's sake, Edward, help me get it off of her, she's in pain!" Emmett yelled.

Edward grabbed something I couldn't see and mumbled what sounded like "Doesn't mean you have to take the Lord's name in vain" before crouching beside me on his knees with his heels pressing into his perfect ass. He surreptitiously placed a washcloth over his meat and then took a razor in his right hand, flicking the fabric of my shirt with it. He started a tear at the bottom, and ripped up the entire front of it, peeling the cotton away from my body whilst pointedly looking away from my rock hard nipples.

I put my hand on his thigh. "Get them off, please, they're all over me!" I pleaded helplessly. There wasn't an ant left on my body. Shit, there wasn't a grain of sand left either, I'd been under that stream of water long enough that all offending materials had been washed away. But so help me, if that boy didn't put his hands on me I was going to implode.

"I'll help you," Emmett offered, placing a palm flat on my belly and gazing at me like the lecherous pervert that he and I both were.

Edward glared at him. "Get out, Emmett, I'll take care of her. It was my shower that got crashed anyway." He added something under his breath about "impure intentions" too. Who said chivalry was dead? Edward Cullen was a Christian and a gentleman.

Emmett did a palms up and walked out of the room and I closed my eyes so Edward wouldn't be so self conscious about his nudity. Ok, so I pretended to close my eyes. Whatever. A girl can look.

He reached out tentatively and brushed his hand across my stomach. Every nerve ending in my body woke up when he touched me. He made big sweeping motions up my ribcage and into the valley between my breasts without actually going for the gold.

And then I made a mistake. I moaned and pushed my ta-ta up into his palm and for a delicious nanosecond, the pads of his fingers rested against my hard, wet nipple. His eyes widened in horror.

See what happens without parental supervision? I needed Emmett there to be my immoral compass, because I couldn't be counted on to point due north.

Though Edward, it seemed, could. I watched with delight as his cock lengthened beneath the washcloth… for the fragment of a moment I was allowed the eyeful before he got to his feet and bolted from the room, grabbing the towel on the back of the door and swathing it around his hips and he ran, muttering a whispered apology paired with something that sounded like an Our Father.

I had to remind myself to breathe again.

I hated to see him go but I loved to watch him leave.

***

I started classes the next day, a Monday. When half the day had passed, I made my way to the cafeteria, where Alice nearly knocked herself unconscious waving me to her table. I couldn't help but smile. She was more irritating than a yeast infection but she had a good heart and she wanted to be my friend. She was this heinous sidekick that I never wanted but I felt sort of protective of her in a way… it wasn't her fault that she was raised into this hypocrisy. I almost liked her.

Pulling up the chair beside Alice, I looked at Edward who was deliberately avoiding eye contact.

"Hey Edward," I smirked flirtatiously.

He feigned nonchalance, poorly. "Oh hi, Bella."

That was it?

He was clearly embarrassed after what had transpired in the shower last night, what with the forced nudity and his inevitable but accidental woody.

Maybe it wasn't as much of a success as I had previously thought. I had hoped we could have turned into in a joke or something, let it open a door for us. Instead he was practically jumping out the window.

Boo. I sulked through the remainder of lunch and trudged slowly through the halls to my next class. This sucked. I mean, I could pick another target of course, but I liked this one! And now he was avoiding me like I had the Spanish influenza.

I swung open the door to biology and eyed up the room full of people. Four of them praying in a circle, two others coming up with "moves" for their "praise dance" and a small group of boys discussing the next gig for their Christian rock group. It was the kind of corniness that I thought only happened on Big Love. God, I miss HBO.

I sighed deeply and closed my eyes. Three, two, one… one, two three, what the heck is bothering me? I gave an inside laugh at my invocation of Carl Winslow's anger management and when I opened my eyes, there he was.

He took up my entire field of vision. The light behind him glowed from the southern-facing windows and created a halo around his blissfully untidy hair. He blushed and the corner of his mouth folded into that crooked smile that was quickly becoming my favorite thing to look at… second only to James Marsden's teeth and Brad Pitt's fuck-me hips in Fight Club.

"I wanted to apologize for yesterday," he said sheepishly.

"What for? You didn't put the ants in my pants." He was responsible for a whole lot else that went on below my belt, though.

"I know but-"

I cut him off then. "Water under the bridge." I didn't want to hear about how sorry he was for seeing my boobies. And for liking them.

"I'm also sorry for being standoffish at lunch. It's not like you did anything wrong. I just think maybe it would be better if we weren't friends." He looked at the floor.

He was right, of course. I'm pretty much the worst thing that could happen to his chastity. But I couldn't help feeling dejected at his saying it. "I can't say I'm not upset. But I'm also not a chaser. If you don't want to be my friend…" I shrugged and spread my palms. I draw the line at looking needy or bereft. No mission for missionaries would make me beg. I'd find another victim.

"I said that it would be better if we weren't friends, not that I didn't want to be," he pointed out. Better for whom? What was this cryptic shit? Was he plainly telling me that he saw right through my agenda, and that it wasn't going to happen… but he wanted it to? Maybe he liked my goods in the shower more than I had initially thought.

My confusion must have played out on my face because his features softened. "I just don't think it's… smart for you to be my friend."

"Intellect was never one of my selling points anyway," I told him casually. I had no idea what he was getting at. And I wasn't sure if I liked the idea that he knew I was a direct threat to his virtue. Was he going to play with fire anyway?

He grinned and I could see almost all his teeth. Insta-orgasm. I wondered if he thought that I really considered myself stupid or he just found my self-deprecating humor as hilarious as I did. "Well as long as we're being… not smart… I thought maybe you'd need a lab partner. I usually work by myself, but…" he gestured to a desk towards the back of the room with his school bag on it.

"I'd love to," I answered genuinely. There was a thing or two I'd like to teach Edward Cullen about biology.

***

Nearly two weeks had passed without incident, but it wasn't because I didn't try. I conducted popsicle-eating contests in the cafeteria, shoving that icy stick so far down my throat my eyes watered and I gagged on it a little, and he just looked at the wall, disinterestedly tearing up pieces of his bagel with those long fingers.

I started a fucking pilates club that met on the sidelines of the football field during his practice so that we could be "in tune with nature" and I contorted myself into such ridiculous and blaringly sexual pretzel poses that my future children would be born with vertigo… and he just nailed completions to the lame wide receivers… who promptly dropped to their knees in thankful praise.

Alice and I orchestrated a water balloon fight in the quad for which I wore a little white wifebeater, and of course, no bra, as was becoming my standard attire for boarding school because I never knew when I'd get the chance for a mammographical assault on Edward and I thought it was be best to boy scout it and always be prepared. When I got soaked, he offered me his sweatshirt like a fucking gentleman. I rudely declined.

All of this got me nowhere.

I thought maybe my luck would change when Emmett invited me down to the basement of the boys' dorm to play pool with him and Edward. They were already there when I arrived, laughing together and clinking bottles of V8, getting in their four-to-six vegetable servings a day. Golly, they knew how to whitewash a dirty back-bar game.

Edward stiffened a little when I descended the stairs, but not the way I wanted. Emmett greeted me boisterously and passed me a pool cue, which I treated as the phallic figure it was and pantomimed casual handjobs along the length of it.

"Do you want to play first game, Bella?" Edward asked, his eyes locked on mine

"Sure," I answered, surreptitiously pressing the stick between my breasts. "Against you?"

"No, Emmett. I'll sit this one out." He took a swig of vegetable juice and looked towards the ceiling awkwardly.

"Good," I said, walking over and nudging him with my hip. "You can help me work on my form."

I think he whispered "God help me," but I couldn't be sure.

I'm a terrible pool player, and I made myself look even worse so that Edward would offer assistance. It took him nearly half the game to do so, though, and in the meantime I wandered over to the table and sipped from Emmett's bottle.

I must have died and gone to heaven, because sure as I'm slutty there was a healthy portion of Grey Goose in with those tomatoes and carrots.

Emmett wiggled his eyebrows mischievously at me and motioned like I shouldn't give him away to Edward, which was wholly unnecessary. I don't bite the hand that feeds me.

I put the bottle back to my lips and nearly drained it. Emmett gave a thumbs-up.

"Bella," Edward said quietly, "you're terrible."

"I told you I needed help!" I whined.

"Here… you are holding the cue all wrong." It was about fucking time he noticed. I was doing that classic girl move where you act like you don't know how to hold a pool cue or golf club or baseball bat or what have you so that a guy will stand behind you and put him arms around you, and you can grind your ass into his crotch.

Edward stepped to the side and corrected my arm. It was like I a half-ass lion poacher who dug a hole in the jungle and did a terrible job of covering it up with leaves in attempt to trap him. He was not falling into this one.

Too bad for him I'm pretty fucking crafty when I'm deliriously horny, and I elbowed that stupid chalky thing to the ground, swung my hips to the side and bent over to pick it up, brushing my butt flush up against his crotch for a good seven seconds longer than necessary.

I spun around to face him then, closer than I needed to be. "Sorry, I'm so clumsy. What were you saying?" I leaned forward, so near that I could smell him and he was heady and intoxicating, like testosterone and Bulgari shower gel.

"I, uh, I gotta go." He was there, and then he was gone.

"She shoots, she… aww…" Emmett said mockingly, tipping back the last of his makeshift Bloody Mary.

"Wrong sport. She… could… go… all… the… waaaaay!" I cheered back.

"And the crowd goes wild," Emmett finished with a grin.

***

It was clear that I needed to step my game up, and I needed one-on-one time vis-a-vis Mr. Cullen. Luckily, I had Jolly Green as my wingman and he facilitated these efforts. We waited a few days before we attempted another QB sneak.

I sat on the dew-moistened grass, tearing up individual blades of it while I waited for him. I had a date with Edward tonight. Well, it wasn't so much a date in that both parties were informed and willing as much as it was him agreeing to play football with Emmett and myself after dinner. I was the only one that knew Emmett was going to no-show and leave Edward and me in delightful tandem.

It was still steamy and humid even though the sun had long given way to a beautifully full moon that hung low in the sky and lit up the football field with a bluish glow.

"I didn't know you were a Jets fan," he broke my meditation as he snuck up behind me, plucking the sleeve of my green jersey.

I felt myself smiling, but I didn't turn around. "What's it to ya? Do you have something against the Gang Green?"

"Not particularly."

"Well what's your team then?" I inquired.

"The Saints," he shrugged.

Of course. As if I even had to ask.

"So if you're from Phoenix…" he continued, eying the number six on my jersey, "why are you a Jets fan?"

"I'm not. I'm a Mark Sanchez in GQ fan."

"Of course. I heard they drafted him because of his boyish good looks." He walked around to face me and offered his hand to pull me to my feet.

"Hey, then you might have a shot! As long as they don't have to watch you play, that is," I poked him in the ribs.

"I'm not GQ cover material," he said solemnly, digging his heel into the dirt as he tossed the pigskin from one hand to the other. "Besides, I've always been more of a Harper's Bazaar or Vanity Fair guy." He put a fist under his chin and puckered his lips into a perfect pout.

That was the very last straw. I couldn't watch his mouth move like that and not kiss it. I had been in sheer agony from wanting him since the moment I laid eyes on his angelic face and every perfect part beneath it, and I was tired of the painful blue balls I went home with after close calls. I had to do something.

I took a step back and ran full speed, grabbing him around the torso and pushing up with my head ducked low. He gasped audibly and landed on his back with the length of my body pressed into him.

"Bella, what… what are you doing?" He laughed at my ferocity, eyes wide in shock.

"Sacking the quarterback," I answered, and without time for a second thought, I dropped my mouth to his.

He was very still as I put my hands on his shoulders to get some leverage and continued to assault his lips. Slowly, I passed my tongue over the crease where the top and bottom one met as if begging entry.

Even more slowly than that, they parted like the Red Sea.

I feverishly pushed my tongue into his mouth and tried to incite a battle with his while my body melted into his form. Tangling my hands into his unfathomably gorgeous hair, I tipped his head to the side and sloppily licked and sucked my way down his neck, pushing my breasts forcefully into his chest rocking my pelvis against his.

This went on for several seconds that began to feel like hours when I became painfully aware of his arms, lifeless at his sides with clenched, white knuckled fists at the ends of them. He remained still while I gyrated on top of him.

He did not want this.

I was raping an altar boy.

I opened my eyes to see his, shut so tightly that a little wrinkle appeared between his brows as he lay beneath me holding his breath. I extracted my hands from his locks and used them to cover my mouth, agape with horror.

I was so much more than a Jezebel.

I was a monster.

I rolled off of him and onto the dewy grass of the football field, tilting my head all the way back so that gravity would fight away the tears that threatened to spill down my cheeks and I whispered the only words that came to me, though they seemed to mean so little at present.

"I'm sorry."

I sucked in a deep lungful of air and held it there as long as I could, then slowly let it leak out like helium escaping from a balloon.

He lay silently beside me, staring at the goal post that just made it into our sight line.

"I don't know why you're torturing me," he started quietly. "Like you were tailor-made to come into my life and fuck everything up." I balked at his language. Does he take Communion with that mouth? "And I don't know why you insist on taunting me like this. I've done everything I can to resist you, Bella, I tried to warn you off of me too… but I'm giving up trying to be good now."

What does that even mean?

"People tackle me to the ground every day. Thanks to a shitty offensive line, I spend an inordinate amount of time knocked on my ass, and that's fine, because that's the game. But you're the only one I want to hit back, Bella. You change the rules and you're laying there on the ground and I can see those fucking nipples right through your loser Mark Sanchez jersey and you're biting on that bottom lip and I'm done trying to protect the virtue that you seem so willing to part with, so this is it. You don't get another chance to stop me."

Is this guy for real? He was protecting my virtue? I haven't had virtue since I was potty trained. But I didn't get another minute to mull it over because in that instant, he rolled on top of me and pinned my arms above my head.

"I'm not like you, Bella," he murmured, pressing kisses into my cheek and down my jaw line, "I didn't come here to worship with like-minded people. I'm here because my mother is a religious nutjob and she was sick of watching me man-whore around with anything that had a pulse and a hole. I came here to be punished and I came here to be reformed."

Hold the fucking phone. Edward was bad?! Oh this was beyond classic. I did instant replays of our various infractions over the past few weeks and nearly peed my pants with the realization. There we were, practically the same fucking person but in His and Hers formats, a virtual buffet of sin. He was the Adam to my Eve.

He hid it so well! Edward really had his act down to a science… Newton was probably creaming his tighty-whiteys over the success of Edward's reform. He had everyone fooled! And here I was undoing all the Reverend and his family's handiwork. Good.

Edward tugged gently at the hem of my jersey before pulling it quickly over my head in one smooth motion and growling appreciatively at my bare breasts.

"It's not even like I can blame you," he lamented, lowering his mouth to the hollow at the base of my throat and tracing a trail down my sternum with his tongue, "You're just too pure," I tried not to choke on the little swell of ludicrous that bubbled up in my throat. "And you can't possibly know the double entendre behind your words. Or what it does to a man when you bend over in front of him. Or how you go braless and those satanic nipples salute me every fucking day from under your too-tight shirt."

He pulled one of the offending nipples into his mouth and a bolt of lightning shot down from my chest, through my stomach and right to my cooter. I put my hands back into his hair where they obviously belonged and I pulled at it from the roots warningly. I decided to play along in a virginal capacity. This might be fun.

Edward held the tightened peak of my breast between his perfect teeth and smiled, a delectably devilish smile that made me want to push his head into my crotch in a very unladylike fashion that would quickly give me away as a seasoned pro.

Lowering his hand to my waist, he slid the barely-there terrycloth shorts down the length of my legs and groaned in mock-agony when he realized I had forgone the panties as well. He made quick work of his own clothes and then we were both naked. I couldn't get my eyes away from the lovely silhouettes that the planes of his chest cast down.

I realized then that I had said nothing during this entire ordeal. I was monopolized by shock at his revelation and awe at my excellent fortune. "Edward," I whispered, strangled, "please."

He chuckled. "Oh, you've been asking for it all along, Bella, that's nothing new." He crouched down into a very promising-looking stance and hitched one of my thighs onto his shoulder before ever so slowly bringing his mouth down to my V and sliding his tongue from the very bottom of my slit to the cleft at the top.

I was frozen, enraptured as his eyes bore into mine and he started the assault again without ever breaking his stare.

Edward was far and away the most beautiful thing I'd ever had within a one-foot radius of my vagina.

He puckered his lips into the GQ pout and connected them with my clit, sucking gently and flicking just the tip of his tongue out at me.

I wanted to dig my fingers into the field, into his skin, into my own body, anything to transfer the energy that was humming through me every time his tongue touched me. He softly added a finger and just about fucking died. I wanted to shout all the bad words I knew, and I knew some doozies in several languages. I wanted to purr every filthy thought that was going through my head in graphic detail to him, from begging him to put his cock between my lips to commanding him to man up and fuck me like I needed it; deep, hard and slow.

But that wouldn't be very virginal of me.

Instead, I made a simple, quiet request… the best I could muster as my toes were going numb and my insides were starting to quiver. I was dangerously close to the edge, dangling by mere fingertips, and Edward was pulling them off of my control one by one with each stroke of his tongue.

"Just be gentle," I asked.

He nodded solemnly like he understood this massive undertaking. I bit down harder on my lip to stop from laughing as he lowered my hips back to the ground and hovered over me, laying that massive bone in the cradle of my pelvis. I could feel his heart beating in it, hot and erratic against my skin. I closed my eyes so I could concentrate; it was easier to think when I wasn't in a naked staring contest with a teenage Adonis. Gently, I bucked my hips up against him and arched my back so that the nipples that ruined his life pointed skyward.

He brought his mouth to mine and kissed me tenderly on the lips. It was sweet, the way he delicately led a lamb to slaughter. I'd follow him blindly even if I was a real live virgin.

Fortunately for me, and I suppose him as well, I wasn't, and I knew what was waiting on the other side of penetration. He poised the head of his cock right at the pearly gates and paused, looking at me as if for permission. In lieu of words, I shifted infinitesimally as a response and the tip slid into me.

It felt slightly reminiscent of calling a soldier home from war. And it was good.

Edward scrutinized my face and I remembered that I wasn't supposed to be so fucking wanton, that any respectable virgin wouldn't be panting like a dog in heat and meeting each thrust with a writhing mewl.

Oops.

It was too good to play dumb, I had wanted this from the second I saw him and I couldn't find it in me to support the charade when I had these guttural animal instincts that wanted to get fucked thoroughly.

"Do you like that?" he asked, pumping himself into me faster now.

"Yes," I hissed, serpentine.

"Tell me," he moaned.

I let out a series of dirty phrases that sounded really good in the heat of the moment but when I reflect on them are pretty embarrassing. I think some of it was along the lines of "Fuck me harder bad boy, I wanna do penance on your cock!" The things original sin makes people do.

I was going to lose it, and soon. The sight of Edward sweating over me, looking all ethereal in the moonlight was unbelievable, and paired with the coital punishment he was delivering, I was just about to spill the beans. I could feel an epic orgasm building up in my belly, burning slowly out to my extremities when he licked the pad of his thumb and pressed it gently into my clit.

Bye, sanity.

I spiraled into magnanimous climax under his fingers and lost the ability to think, feel and breathe.

"I'm coming, oh Jesus, oh God, I'm coming!"

"I can see how you'd make that mistake but I usually just go by Edward," he said with a smirk.

"Hallelujah," I called back. I didn't have the strength to match his pun or the irony behind it, I was still victim to the earth-shattering orgasm that left my bajingo pulsing around his dick until he, too, could stand it no more and followed me right to Pleasuretown, coming hot and quick into me.

He collapsed on top of me with his head between Scylla and Charybdis, which is what I call my boobs on a good day… no man gets out alive.

"Lying is right up there with coveting thy neighbor's wife… you know, pretending you're pure as the driven snow," he finally said when his breathing had slowed to normal.

"You assumed. I did not trespass against you," I said giggling.

"Yeah, try that one on St. Peter," he said disapprovingly.

"You committed a bit of misrepresentation as well, sir," I said, running my hands through the soft bronze tresses on his head.

"No, I was trying to behave. And what do you expect me to do, ostracize myself here by pointing out how different I am from everyone else? Alice doesn't even really understand, she came to school here because I got sent away… and because my mother was able to brainwash her into cookie cutter Christianity. Emmett is the only one who really knows."

Emmett knew. He fucking set me up! I wanted to be pissed off but I was still basking in the afterglow of hot hedonistic sex and could only muster up a newfound love and respect for him. Emmett was the wingman of all wingmen, and he played us both. I was going to buy him something swell on my mom's Visa at .

We were quiet for a while after that.

"Are you ok?" he asked genuinely.

"Better than ok," I mused with a smirk, "thy rod and thy staff comfort me."

"Are you on the pill?" he suddenly asked, as if it had just dawned on him.

"No," I lied, knitting my eyebrows together concernedly and biting my lip. "What do you think the odds are of that whole 'Immaculate Conception' bit working twice?"

"Virgins say the darndest things," he said on a laugh, lifting his hand and spanking me flatly on the ass.

Evidently, the football stadium had quickly turned into a hand basket and the pair of us were on the fast track to hell.

I rolled my head from one side to the other, examining the equidistant goal posts on either end of the field and I smiled in appreciation of the symmetry. How was it I kept ending up here?

As I luxuriated in my perfect position at the center of the field, I could feel Edward tracing the shape of my frame with his fingertips and, subsequently, his one-eyed monster hardening once again at my inner thigh. I sighed contentedly and tickled my nails down the back of his arm. "Wanna go again?" he asked, cocking an eyebrow at me.

"Is the Pope Catholic?" I answered.

As he rolled us over and pulled me on top of him, I got a panoramic view of the field I had just desecrated… or Christened as the case may be. I found myself wondering if my fifty yard line fuck-luck of yore would carry over into God's country and I hoped it did. I hoped the Light of Day won every game that they ever played on this holy field. And I hoped that they believed the power of prayer and the grace of God did it for them.

Everyone needs something to believe in.

I believe in Edward Cullen.

Can I get an amen?