Edward Cullen: Purse Snatcher

Epilogue

One year later

"Edward," Bella said loudly as I slowed enough to take our off ramp home. "You can't grab my ass every time some guy stares at me."

I grumbled curses under my breath, refusing to agree or look at her. On our last night in Brazil, where Bella had been filming on location, we attended a club a fellow actress recommended and whose family owned it. There, I spent most of my evening watching my wife and marking my territory. I may have gone about it all wrong, but at the time, I felt justified. I grabbed her ass while we were on the dance floor.

She hadn't complained, but that may have been because the one drink she had completely obliterated her control and brought out all her naughty inhibitions. And the ass grabbing had made entertainment news world-fucking-wide. A picture that seemed larger than life of my hand spanned over her ass cheek had made tabloid covers and pull-out posters. The video was worse. There may have been a little spank, grab and grind accompanied by her giggle and moan. But every male eye had been on the pale-skinned, dark-eyed beauty – my wife. So again, I felt justified.

I had done what any man would've done – staked my fucking claim.

It hadn't helped that Bella had been drunk. Where I was an honest and horny drunk, Bella was all out naughty. And the cameras had picked up everything, even how her hands had almost managed to expose me on the dance floor. I'd been so crazed by my jealously and lust that I had almost let it go too far.

After the ass grab, having her hand in my pants, I had barely managed to get us out of the club. Our dramatic exit had also made the tabloids. There were pictures and videos of her hanging over my shoulder, giggling and spanking my ass. There had also been major cleavage exposure. Enough that blogs, tweets and news reporters were speculating that she had a boob job.

As if I'd let someone touch those sweet boobies but me. Dev would've shot down anyone that tried, dressed in black ops gear, a sniper rifle and with a sneer on his face.

When we touched down in the U.S earlier the morning after, a hung-over, freshly fucked Bella had gotten a glimpse of just how fun our last night in Brazil had been. Her and millions of other people. The recent possible Oscar nomination rumors about her latest film had made her the paps latest money maker.

But her drunk and grinding on my crotch made her tabloid gold. I felt a little guilty, but not enough to not make the picture of my hand on her ass my cell phone background. She had an amazing ass.

"I'm sorry, baby," I replied, giving her my best smile after a few moments.

She cocked an eyebrow and I knew she'd seen right through my apology. "You're only sorry you got caught on camera." I shrugged, because what could I say. It was the truth.

Hoping to change the subject, I asked, "Does it feel good to be home?"

She sighed softly and nodded. "Yes, and now that we're married, it's our home." I smiled because it felt really good to hear that. We had married a few days before we left for Brazil, a simple ceremony where our closest friends and family had attended.

Bella had to film in Brazil for forty-five days and we both decided that I'd join her and that we'd spend another month there for our honeymoon. While she worked, my trusty laptop had become my best friend. She filmed on set and I spent the time working on the website designs I had gotten thanks to the success of Bella's website and my blog.

And once she finished filming for the day and she returned to the house we rented, we'd spend most of the day sightseeing or in bed.

"Have you blogged about your little stunt?" she asked sweetly. I sighed, so much for changing the subject.