Author's Note: I know it's been awhile, but I've not forgotten these two or you guys who like reading about them. I will try to get a weekly update done. REviews are love, y'all.

Disclaimer: Twilight and it's character's belong to Stephanie Meyer. I just like to play to tell new tales with them sometimes. Any similarities to other works of fanfiction are coincidental and unintentional.

Every inch of me hurt.

Maybe not every inch, but most of it.

The ache of protesting muscles when I rolled out of bed had me smiling like the cat that ate the cream.

Ate the cream I had, among other wicked things.

All. Night. Long.

A quick trip to the bathroom was all it took for me to realize my plan had not been so well thought out.

I scrubbed my face then used toothpaste on my finger in an effort to fight that monstrous turn off known as morning breath.

Next stop was the kitchen, where I went through every cabinet. Each door was thrown open more rapidly than the last, a look of horror no doubt on my face.

Two strong arms wrap around me from behind, making me jump.

The man could move so quietly, it blew my mind.

"You have a fully stocked kitchen, but there's no food."

His lips were at the nape of my neck.

He muttered something about we didn't need food.

If he kept kissing me like that, he might just convince me.

No, I had to stay strong.

"Coffee. I need it."

The bastard spun me around and lifted me onto the kitchen table, pushing my knees apart.

He clearly thought coffee could wait.

"Jasper, I need coffee."

His reply was his tongue just caressing my most sensitive flesh and an assurance he could wake me up just fine without assistance from a beverage.

My head fell back as my hips lifted up.

His hands rested on my ass as he went to work, as if holding a bowl of sustenance to his lips.

I had planned to tease him and leave last night.

Instead we had fucked like rabbits.

Now, with his lips wrapped around my clit, sucking furiously, I could not formulate a new plan.

I wanted him.

I wanted him never to stop.

Tongue. Lips. Teeth. Growling.

I was wet.

Writhing.

Begging.

Delicate fingers fisted in his hair as he brought me to the edge, wantonly grinding against his face.

Then he stopped and simply smirked up at me.

I hate him.