isla-de-cullen.pdf

Summary

Eighteen-year-old Isabella gets to spend the holidays with her

best friend, and she’s in for a treat when they arrive at Mr.

Cullen’s private island. There is no way Isabella can view Mr.

Cullen as Alice’s godfather. Luckily for Isabella, her

inappropriate feelings are returned. But what happens when

obstacle after obstacle is thrown in their way?

Rated NC-17 for graphic lemons and a dirty-talking Domward.

(While there’s no real bondage, Edward and Bella live in their

own version of a D/s relationship.)

Romance/Drama/Erotica

Disclaimer: SM owns Twilight, but I wrote this fanfic ;)

Beta’d by HollettLA

Thank you, Francesca, for helping me with the Italian. Thank you,

Lolypop82, for all the manips you created for this story. And thank you,

Soapy, for your manips, too. They sure added to the story ;) Last but not

least, thank you, readers, for your continued support.

~CaraNo

BPOV

I grew up with maids and servants, but I had never witnessed this level of

luxury before, and I was completely slack-jawed as we boarded the

private jet that would take us to Isla de Cullen. It was where we were

spending our winter break. Almost a whole month off—for which we could

thank our private school: Clallam Academy. Forks High only had two

weeks, and many of their students were pissed.

I digress.

Isla de Cullen was an island owned by Mr. Cullen—a man I had never met

before. But he was an old friend of Alice's dad, and this year her family

invited me to come with them…seeing as how my parents were on a

cruise.

They were rarely home, but I didn't care anymore. I fended well on my

own, and I enjoyed the solitude. Alice was the only exception, and I'd say

she was my one and only friend in Forks. Seattle was another matter, of

course, but that part of my life was hush-hush.

Don't worry, nothing illegal .

I was merely a model for a few photographers. But still, I wouldn't tell

anyone, and especially not Alice. She wouldn't like it. At all. No, my

reason for loving Alice was that we were both somewhat removed from

our peers. In school, we shied away from the jocks, the bimbos, and the

other cliché people that high school came with, and if I told Alice—the

ultimate good girl—that I was a nude model, I would lose her. And she

was needed in my life. If I was going to survive the last semester of high

school…yes, I was definitely going to need someone who wasn't like the

other idiots.

"Are you all right, dear?" Mary asked.

Apparently, I still showed my state of shock. But seriously, this private jet

was…there were no words.

"I'm fine. Just in awe," I chuckled quietly as I buckled my seatbelt.

Alice's mother was the ultimate housewife, and I'd always admired her for

that everlasting smile of hers. Always happy. Always eager to help and

please. Mr. Brandon should consider himself happy. I knew he did, too. He

was the ultimate father and husband.

There were actually many things about the Brandons that were "ultimate."

Like Alice being the ultimate sweet girl—smart, polite, well-mannered. A

bit safe and boring at times, but I believed I was the weird one for

thinking that, because I was far from ordinary.

"Can I tell you something?" Alice asked, now sitting in the seat next to

mine. "You have to promise not to tell anyone."

That was new.

"Who would I tell?" I smiled, knowing she would understand, because

truly, I had no one to tell. Even if I did have someone, I wouldn't betray

her trust.

She smiled and made sure her parents couldn't hear from their seats, and

then she leaned in and whispered. "I've met someone."

Definitely new!

"Who- what- when- how?" I stuttered.

"At an art gallery in Seattle last month," she rushed out in a whisper, her

eyes dancing in excitement.

At the mention of Seattle, I couldn't help but think back on my last few

trips there. They had been my most enjoyable visits yet, and I'd had the

honor of not just modeling for Jazz Whitlock—one of the most popular

photographers in the erotic photography field—but he was actually the

one asking me to model, stating that I would be perfect for his next

exhibit. God, just thinking back on how he had me positioned on that

velvet couch…or cuffed to the St. Andrew cross…

Then of course, there was the matter of his being a Dominant that

intrigued me. I'd obviously studied the subject, seeing as I'd modeled as a

submissive a few times, and though I could honestly say that BDSM was

not for me—not in that sense anyway—I did have a wish to belong to

someone.

Mr. Whitlock even commented on how naturally submissive I was when I

automatically called him Sir—despite his having told me I could call him

Jazz—and I couldn't say I was all that surprised, because I knew he was

right.

I had practically grown up with Alice and her family, and Alice's dad

always laughed and ruffled my hair when I called him Mr. Brandon and not

Jack.

It was just who I was.

However, I was not into bondage. So, no, a D/s relationship was not for

me, though I did want to submit to some extent.

Anyway, in the next couple of sessions with Mr. Whitlock, he

photographed me in various submissive poses, and I couldn't deny that I

felt aroused when he called me his "pure submissive". Pure, because I had

no experience—whatsoever. No, not even in the vanilla life did I have

experience, and when Mr. Whitlock positioned me in the worship-pose, he

asked me about my experience, to which I told him the truth. It wasn't a

secret anyway and, truth be told, he asked me more for clarification,

having already heard the rumor about my experience…or lack thereof.

Since then, he'd called me his Pure, and yes, it did things to me. Not Mr.

Whitlock personally, but the power and confidence he radiated.

I was far from clueless, and I knew very well how things worked, but I

had no interest in wasting time on the ridiculous jerks in school. I would

know when my time came, and I knew it wouldn't be with anyone weak. I

needed a strong mind to take charge.

"His name is Jasper H-something. Can't really remember his last name,"

Alice continued, effectively bringing me back.

I smiled, happy for her. "That's great, Alice. Tell me about him. You met

at an art gallery?"

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