His Personal Assistant

Chapter 20

BPOV.

After our escapades from earlier – particularly dirty talking Edward and crazy boob job Bella – we had both been too tired to do anything but settle in for a nap. Edward had put

an alarm on his Blackberry to wake us up before dinner.

For modesties sake, he had struggled back into his boxers; though he had also struggled out of his black t-shirt, so I could wear it.

Something about; and I quote, "marking his territory".

I'd suggested he pee on me and get that shit over with, and he'd responded that he was very tired right that second, but that he'd give it a shot when we woke up.

I couldn't fall in love with the boring, timid guys – I had to fall in love with the glib motherfucker.

It was close to 6pm now, and I was analyzing Edward's sleeping habits in a way only a psycho stalker chick could. What I had found so far was encouraging.

When we had first curled up under the covers, around two and a half hours ago, Edward had pulled me into him so that he was spooning me, my entire body curled up in the

space between his neck and his hips.

His head had been buried so far in my hair that I was worried he'd asphyxiate, but he'd simply chuckled sleepily and told me it would be my fault for using such fantastic

smelling strawberry shampoo.

I'd called him Mr. Super-Nose in response.

One of his hands had been curled around the inside of my hip, and the other hand had been pressed firmly across my breasts. I'd called him on it when he "innocently" fondled

me, and he'd told me he was simply protecting his new favorite assets.

Men.

I'd woken up twenty minutes before his alarm was set, and our positions had been entirely different. I was flat on my back, my legs open wide. Edward had somehow managed

to utterly disregard three quarters of the bed, instead preferring to take up residence on top of me.

He had shifted down the mattress, twisting the sheets around us, so his head was pillowed on the bare skin of my stomach, where my (well, his) t-shirt had ridden up. One of his

hands was above his head and flat between my breasts, over my heartbeat. The other was curled under my left thigh, propping it up so it was over his shoulder.

That was encouraging, right? In his subconscious this man had made sure he was on top of me and that I was around him like wrapping paper.

As soon as I woke up, my hands, which had previously been buried under the pillow, came down to start playing with the bronze head of hair on my stomach. I curled the longer

parts around my fingers, rubbed lightly at his scalp, ran my fingers through it from the front, so it smooth out, then from the back, so it stood on end.

I listened to Edward's even breathing as I worked, relishing that I could fulfill my fascination of touching his beautiful, unusual hair without him knowing about it. He probably

thought I was enough of a crazy-woman as it was.

When it was a couple of minutes before his alarm was set to go off, I heard my phone faintly buzzing from the pocket of my sweater dress. As stealthily as possible, I tried to

wheedle my way out from under Edward, but the more I struggled the heavier he seemed to become.

Finally the phone stopped ringing, but knowing he would have to wake up anyway, I whispered, "Edward?"