Touch
By Goldfish
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Touch has always been my favorite of the five senses. Since I was only blessed with five, unlike some, it was always the sense that seemed to express the most. Before my change, I could touch. During my change, I could feel every nerve – and each one was on fire. And after my change, I could still touch. My sight was changed. My hearing was changed. My sense of smell changed. I don't even need to mention taste… and the way I spoke changed over time. But touch didn't change at all.
And I was ecstatic every time he touched me. His hands would flow over my skin, always hesitant, always a gentleman. But soon his passion would take over, and then I could truly feel him. His touch chilled my body further, but his movements against me heated me. I was always warmer when he touched me, I could tell. There was something about his touch – it changed me every time.
He hovered above me tonight, smiling his beautiful smile. I couldn't resist reaching out and sliding my hands over his bare torso. The muscles were hard… a product of the change. He pressed down against me, whispering how much he loved me into my ear. His arms reached around me, trailing down my back, lingering on my shoulder blades, sending chills up my spine. He put his lips to my throat, kissing gently down my neck, down my shoulders.
I couldn't even think, so entranced was I by him. He whispered my name, and I couldn't help but wonder how he managed to keep his head. Was he not intoxicated like I was? I heard his breath hitch, and he couldn't hold back the soft moan as my hand ran up his spine. He tightened his grip around me and pushed against me, and I gasped.
He had an arm around my shoulders, and one against my pillow, holding him up above me. I reached over and pulled his hips closer to mine, unable to bear the distance. The inches seemed like miles. I wound one of my legs around one of his, and he leaned down and kissed me passionately, but gently.
I could feel every curve of his body, and he could feel every curve of mine. His hands were in my hair, his lips were loving against mine, and I couldn't let go of him. I never wanted to. His hands moved slowly down to my face, my neck, my shoulders. They continued down to my hips, and finally began to lose the calm, cool, gentlemanly front. I could see the cracks – the wonderfully passionate man inside him would let loose soon, and he would touch me. He would touch me like it was agony not to. He would hold me like I would fall away into space if he let go.
His breath was coming faster now, though he didn't need it to live. His hands began to roam my body, and my skin seemed to tremble beneath his fingers. My breath came out in shuddering gasps as he became less and less the human façade.
"I love you," he said, his voice rough. "I love you so much." I could hear the want in his voice. He wanted me. He wanted to feel me. There was no one else I could want to feel. I loved the way his hands touched me. There was no comparison. There was no one else. There never could be, would be.
He was the one person in the entire world who could truly make me feel. His touch was pure. He loved no one but me. I loved none but him. As he touched me, as he truly began to feel, as we came together, I knew that there was nothing, no sense, no feeling, that could be better than this.
Touch was perfect. It was the best of the senses. It conveyed everything anyone could feel inside. Feel. I could feel. I could feel him, inside me. I could feel him, on top of me. I could feel him, stroking the back of my neck.
The feel never went away, either. I can remember it whenever. I can remember the feel of his hands on me. I can remember the exact way he moaned my name in my ear. I could remember the number of times he told me loved me. I could remember the number of times I moaned his name, and told him I loved him. But I could remember the feel of him against me, inside me, on me. That was what told me he loved me. I could touch him, and he would react. I could see it in his eyes, and I could feel it in his touch. He loved me. He loved me alone.
We've been through hell and back, each alone and together. I'd felt the pain of loss, he'd felt the pain of loneliness. We'd found each other through our pains. He changed me. He made me this. He made me like him. He heightened my senses.
And he made me perfect. Alone, I was nothing. But with Carlisle, I was everything.
"I love you, Esme."