PENNAME: Philadelphic
TITLE OF STORY: You Don't Know Me
AGE OF EDWARD ERA: 50's Edward
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"Excuse me, Jane, but could you repeat that, please?" I said, in a vain attempt to control my anger.
It wasn't working. My words may have seemed civil enough, but my tone dripped with venom I could not conceal. It didn't help my temper in the slightest that Jane kept angling her left hand in such a way that made it nearly impossible for me to ignore the shiny evidence corroborating her absurd revelation.
"I'm getting married, Mr. Masen. This means that we must hire my replacement. Demetri won't hear of me taking any longer than six weeks, and that includes training my replacement as well as making all of the arrangements for the ceremony," Jane's thin face was flushed with triumph.
Her words pierced me like poisoned, electrically charged darts. I was shocked by her ability to wound me. Had anyone inquired earlier, I would have insisted with all frankness that while my legal secretary was competent and loyal, she was also extremely unpleasant to be around. She was petty, vindictive, and only showed any signs of joy when others suffered. I wondered about the sort of man who would take on such a sour, aging harridan.
"Demetri, is it? That's an interesting name," I ventured a bit sharply, "Well, better Red than Unwed, I suppose, eh old girl?"
Her already thin lips formed a thin, white line, and I knew I needn't proceed to the next level, which would have involved questioning his immigration status. Her nostrils flared, and I knew I had perhaps taken it a step too far. I didn't know her exact age, but odds are she was at least three years on the wrong side of 25.
"Jane," I said. "Forgive me. It's a shock to be losing the best girl in my employ. I'm a bachelor, after all, and set in my ways. I'm too old to keep training new girls, just because the best ones are too lovely to remain on the shelf for long."
Jane was not one to be so easily mollified, but she narrowed her eyes and held her tongue. I sighed, resigning myself to a transition as unpleasant as Jane herself.
"You are registered at Marshall Field and Company I take it?" I inquired, attempting to infuse my words with more apology than I felt the situation warranted.
Jane had nothing to lose but a nice wedding gift and a few weeks' salary, but I could very easily gain a horror of a helpmeet in the office. I couldn't very well blame Jane for her decision to get married. Women like her didn't get very many chances.
"Indeed we are, Mr. Masen," she sniffed, holding her chin a bit high. "Your schedule is clear for tomorrow, but not for the next three weeks after that. Perhaps you could meet the girls tomorrow and make a decision? Otherwise I'll get to choose her myself."
Normally I wouldn't care, but in truth I didn't want to have to trust Jane with this task. She did not need a recommendation where she was going, and I found her tone and expression too calculating. I chose the lesser evil.
"Yes, set up the appointments tomorrow beginning at eight o'clock sharp. You will conduct the interview at your desk but with my door open and within my hearing. If I am remotely interested in employing the girl, I will signify so by coming out and asking questions of my own."
For the first time in six years, Jane left my presence without inquiring if any further assistance was required at the moment.
For the first time in six years, I mixed my own whisky sour.
*
The next morning I stood in my office, listening to the inane prattle of some of the most brainless girls on the planet. How they all managed to converge on my law office, I could only imagine too well. Doubtless spiteful Jane had been planning this for weeks. I had in my hand a list of eight names. The first seven were written neatly, with an eighth that had been apparently added on later, with different ink and in a rush.
First there was a Miss Jessica Stanley, who I ignored thoroughly, after having had the misfortune of seeing in person as I walked into the office ten minutes early. She eyed me like a wolf in lamb's clothing, and kept repeating my name during her interview with a leer. Jane didn't keep her long.
Next was Mrs. Cope, a lady in her late thirties who had been widowed in WWII. I asked her two questions before Jane could dismiss her. On the positive side, she would probably not be getting married again, poor homely thing, and seemed relatively intelligent, if a bit friendly. Unfortunately, she had answered my questions with more bluster than actual procedural knowledge, and I had to cross her name from the list.
Mrs. Cope's interview was followed by a Miss Lauren Mallory, to whom Jane kept speaking for an alarming length of time. Miss Mallory seemed to be as petty and vindictive as Jane, and after a while, Jane took the hint and sent her new best friend away. As subsequent interviews transpired—which is the best word to describe their passing—I began to doubt that Jane would be helping in this matter at all.
I rubbed my growling stomach bitterly as I glared at the Chicago skyline, quite lovely in the sunrise. From my Gold Coast office window I could see Chicago's modern skyline, sleek and sharp. At times the buildings resembled glass cliffs, if one viewed them from a precise angle.
While my hair was turning silver at the temples, I had no wife or cook to help me grow a paunch, and my physique was still in excellent condition. Military service in two world wars had kept me somewhat in the disciplined form, mostly out of habit. I had gone into the First World War with all the heated fervor of idealistic youth. The horror of all that senseless death had changed me profoundly, robbing me of any pretext of faith in God or man. The Second World War had proven to have a different effect. I had volunteered even though my legal career was going quite well in spite of the Depression. I had my own depression to deal with, and though I never told anyone, there were times when I got credit for bravery when what I really felt was a disregard for my own safety. Instead I had found only a sliver of redemption while leading the liberation of a prison camp in Poland. I was a killer, yes, but now I could see the faces of people who lived because of my actions as well.
With one last interview in the day, I had nearly given up on this parade of winners. I lit a cigar, and was jolted out of my dark thoughts by what seemed to be a completely one-sided interview. Was she going mad? The last name on the handwritten-- damn Jane-- list was too difficult to make out. I looked closer, attempting to make sense of the name. I-something S-omehting. This wasn't like Jane, but then it seemed that all bets were off regarding Jane since the appearance of a certain diamond on a certain finger.
"I see, and what brought you to Chicago from the great northwest?" she inquired snidely of Invisible Someone.
How far Jane was now going in this pretense of a search for my new legal secretary? I left my cigar burning in my brass ashtray, and moved closer to my office door. Ever out of sight, I was intent on exposing Jane's twisted game, when I finally heard the appealing low tones of another girl's voice.
"You certainly can't have lived in Chicago for very long," Jane seemed to interrupt the new voice abruptly. "Did you come to this interview straight off of a bus?"
After a short silence, the reply was hesitant and polite. I leaned closer to the door in order to hear the girl's answers. I couldn't make out every word, but what I did hear seemed knowledgeable.
"…fully trained in court room procedures, two summers and one year of…legal documents…variety of estate and criminal cases and imminent domain issues…" she of Isolated Syllables replied.
Her voice reminded me of a Bach cello suite, played two rooms away, a ghostly melody not heard as much as suggested in fragments. I resisted the urge to look at her. I could certainly listen to her forever. Looking at her couldn't be as good as hearing her. Would such a beautiful voice necessarily belong to a beautiful woman, or would nature not place so much loveliness in one creature?
"In such a tiny town, how could you possibly get any experience of any real use to this prestigious firm?" Jane's voice seemed unnaturally harsh in contrast.
Jane's tone seemed unnecessarily venomous in context of what seemed like reasonable, if difficult to hear, responses.
I was nearly ready to take over the interview myself when I heard the girl's reply in a sudden crescendo. I could now hear every proud, stubborn word. It did not make her tone strident or ugly, though. Her new confidence only brought out the rich tones of honey over silk.
"Yes, our town is indeed quite small. We only have two lawyers in Forks, and as soon as I turned sixteen, I was the town's best lawyer's only assistant. This means I've been filing documents and preparing half a town's worth of motions for three years now. Forks may be tiny, but it's not so far from Seattle that Mr. Jenks' legal services didn't often involve matters concerning that town as well." As she argued, her voice became even more luxurious in its proper volume. I wondered if she could sing. She very nearly seemed to be singing.
Jane took a noisy breath, signaling the loss of her famously quick temper. I had heard this sound many times. An unusual desire to protect this brave, quiet girl from my vicious soon-to-be former assistant came over me, and I strode into Jane's area, prepared to take over this interview.
Several things happened at once.
I took in a large breath of air, intended for speech, and smelled—tasted even a bit, as you might in a grocery on a hot day— the most delicate blend of flowers and fruit. It should have been overpowering, and it was, but not eye-wateringly cloying. No, it was mouthwatering.
My initial glare at sour, dour Jane seemed to be magnetically pulled all at once to this new girl, a figure so outdated, so unfashionable that I become temporarily disoriented in my surprise. She seemed like someone from the past, not the sleek, modern world of Chicago in 1951. I automatically took in the general signs of her status in society, as I always did when sizing up any new individual.
She was old eyes framed with young skin. Her rich dark hair looked clean and brushed, but hung far below her shoulders in loose waves, unfashionably long. Today's styles favored short, unnatural hairstyles that were designed to advertise the status of the wearer. This girl clearly did not sleep in curlers, nor did she have a weekly engagement with a hairdresser.
Her clothes were also clean, and fit well enough, but they were not the up-to-the-minute styles I was accustomed to seeing on women in this most wealthy section of this most modern city. Her shoes were the trademark of the proud, genteel poor—shiny, classic black shoes that could neither be fully in, nor out of style.
Finally I came back to her face. Again, she did not fit into the current fashion. Women in Chicago wore thick makeup, emphasizing or creating sleek, foxy faces with lips so red they seemed caked in blood. Girls and women alike always seemed to be sizing one up out of the corner of their eyes, in unrelentingly knowing gazes. She was fresh faced, with the kind of beauty seen most often in Northern France or Southern England. She was all dark hair and eyes, pale skin, rosy cheeks, and full naturally pink lips. I couldn't discern a trace of makeup. Innocent. Seductive.
Her eyes widened as she took in my appearance. She was shockingly unguarded. As modestly as she was attired, she seemed to be naked in expression. I could see a parade of emotions in her face: dangerously cool anger at Jane, surprise at my sudden emergence from my office, embarrassment as she took in my polished attire. As her eyes reached my face she gasped and inadequately struggled to compose herself.
A deeper red stained her cheeks, and her entire face and neck turned the most amazing rose. Her eyes betrayed in quick succession: bewilderment, awe, lust (God help me), fear and finally mortification. Her head dipped at an angle away from me, and a curtain of hair fell just so, interrupting this most intimate of shows.
I thrust my hands in my pockets and let out a long, low whistle. At that moment I had inadvertently solved a mystery that had been plaguing me for years. I had always wondered why some of the more wolfish men tended to thrust their hands in their pockets while making lewd comments about some girl walking by. This was particularly true in the army. I had no idea where the whistle came from, but the hands in the pocket were absolutely necessary to mask my body's involuntary response to her.
At first, Jane took in this rapid exchange with even more anger than she had been set to display before my arrival. Her gaze narrowed, and she seemed to change her mind as she eyed us both speculatively. I could not help but follow her gaze to the shy girl, and felt almost ashamed of myself. Almost.
Jane's deep, throaty laugh got my attention. I could read her face too. While she at first had seemed insulted at the obvious mutual attraction between the two people against whom moments ago she had been conspiring, clever Jane saw something else. She saw, quite accurately, that this small-town girl was in serious trouble. My jaw clenched reflexively, and Jane laughed again. I glared at her as she smirked and gathered her belongings. She threw me a truly happy smile, and I knew then that Jane couldn't be feeling that pleased unless she saw me getting hurt in the bargain. She had known me long enough to guess that there had never been anyone, ever, though the opportunities seemed as infinite as they were uninviting.
She closed the office door on her way out, and an elevator chimed in the hallway beyond. It chimed once more, and I thought about baseball statistics. The wolves had always talked of thinking about baseball when this sort of thing happened. It worked, and I gathered my wits.
"I beg your pardon," I said, pretending that I had not just now been eyeing the young woman as though she were a delicious steak. "You'll have to forgive my assistant. She's getting married in a few weeks and her bad side is getting drawn out. It isn't you."
She said nothing for a moment, then seemed to decide something, and held her chin up, smiling through her embarrassment. When her brown eyes met mine, her face flushed red yet again, and I again thrust my hands once again in my pockets. My own expression, I knew from decades of courtroom experience, remained deceptively calm, and even kindly. I suppressed a groan and began to speak without thinking. I don't think she noticed my problem.
"Since I am the one who wants a new legal secretary, who needs one, that is," I continued, inwardly cursing my lack of smoothness, "Perhaps you wouldn't mind if we continue this interview over dinner? Come on, there's a restaurant around the corner we use all the time for meetings. I'm starving."
*~*
"Jane's handwriting seems to be failing as well," I explained as we walked, showing her the handwritten list of interviewees. "You'll have to tell me your name. All I can make out are I and S."
"Oh! It's Isabella Swan, Mr. Masen," she said, taking the paper from my hand to examine it. "But really it's just Bella."
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Just Bella. I'm sorry I didn't get a chance to formally introduce myself earlier. You can call me Edward if you like." Why did I say that? I had never allowed a secretary that kind of familiarity before.
"Edward," she said softly, as if to herself. I stared at her pink lips as she said it, mesmerized.
Oh, that's why. I'd pay good money to hear her say it again.
Still, this would cause problems. She'd either have to call me Mr. Masen in front of everyone else, or people would talk. I stopped, wondering that I was already assuming I'd hire her. If I hired her, people would talk regardless. I frowned, imagining the inevitable train of reactions from coworkers and clients. My mind began working quickly, trying out different scenarios and finding all of them problematic in some form or another. Fortunately she interrupted me before my thoughts could trouble me any further.
"You're right, that's completely illegible. I'm surprised- she seems like someone who would have fastidious handwriting. At least I can read the rest of the names. I must have been a late edition to the list. I was there yesterday afternoon when the agency called to set up the appointment."
"Actually, Jane's handwriting is very expressive. She was very angry when she wrote this, so I'd say you were at the agency sometime between 4:30 and 5:00?" I guessed, remembering that my tense conversation from yesterday took place not long before Jane left for the day.
"That's disconcertingly perceptive of you," she observed wonderingly. "But I suppose you wouldn't be a good lawyer if you couldn't read people. God, did Clark Gable really come here?"
She was staring at the pictures of celebrities on the wall leading to the Maitre D' stand as if she was staring at the stars themselves. I wondered why I had never realized that I hated Clark Gable before. No, idiot, that's just jealousy. I resolved to ask her questions until the reality of her washed away this absurd fascination.
"I doubt he's here now," I replied curtly. "You'll have to make due with boring old me."
"What? You're not- oh, I was just surprised, that's all…I'd much rather be with you," her voice became almost inaudibly quiet as she finished the sentence.
I had to bend towards her to capture the words. I held them in my thoughts like a prize.
"Mr. Masen, your timing couldn't be better. Your table is free."
We sat in my regular table in the Pump Room. It was a corner booth, and I found myself sitting closer to her than I should. It was an intimate perpendicular arrangement, and we touched above and below the table from time to time on accident. I willed myself to move away, but couldn't. Nearly every time her foot brushed my leg or my forearm lightly bumped her elbow, the same enchanting scarlet blush would sweep from the collar of her dress to her gracefully curving hairline. I found myself teasing her a bit just to see her color rise.
"So Bella, shall we start again? I didn't hear everything you had to say to Jane before- at least not until she pushed your buttons and turned up your volume."
Smiling, I started to feel like a cad as she hid behind her hair again. I was far luckier, in that my involuntary reactions were at least hidden by the tablecloth.
"We can start again," she said quietly. I had to lean in a bit to hear her, and felt the magnetic pull to her strengthen the closer I got.
"When did you arrive in Chicago?" I was curious. She really did look like she had just stepped off a bus.
"The day before yesterday," she replied a bit louder. "I'm staying with an old friend from high school."
"I did happen to overhear that you started working in a law office at the age of sixteen? That's quite unusual. What brought that about?"
"I knew him through my father. He's the chief of police in Forks, and of course he knew the lawyers quite well. When Mr. Jenks complained that he couldn't find a decent assistant, Dad set the whole thing up. He thought I spent too much time by myself and knew I'd enjoy the challenge."
"Your mother didn't mind?" I had difficulty imagining a mother who would send such a pretty, shy girl into the company of lawyers and the people who need them.
Her eyes tightened, and her hands clutched at her glass of water as she brought it to her mouth.
"It was just Dad and me," her answer intrigued me, but her expression told me to discontinue this line of questioning. I didn't like the look in her eyes, so I decided to file the thought away for later.
After I ordered for us both, the conversation turned to the kind of work she had done for Mr. Jenks. I was impressed with the variety of cases he had, and how much she knew about them. Lawyers in large cities tend to specialize, and I started to see the merits in general practice. Most of all, I was impressed with the letter of recommendation he had written for her.
My plan to cross examine her until she became boring was backfiring. The more I knew about her, the more curious I became. Every answer she gave inspired at least three more questions, and as her shyness began to wear off, I found myself more and more intrigued. It was as if she were unfolding in front of me like a beautiful tapestry, rich in color and pattern.
She began asking questions of her own, and I found myself uncharacteristically frank with her. It was my habit to find out far more about people than they ever knew about me, and I liked it that way. With Bella I couldn't help but unfold in turn. The rest of the restaurant faded into dull static, and the two of us sat, glowing for each other brighter than the candle on our table.
By the time we had finished our meals, I knew that Bella Swan was far too innocent and selfless for an aging cynic who had killed hundreds of men in two wars.
There was no way I was good enough to touch her. The real question was though, was I good enough to stop myself?
*
Walking back to the office was just a tactic for buying time, I thought to myself. The Pump Room was a fashionable restaurant, but it was also attached to the equally fashionable Hotel Ambassador East. I knew that some of the men in my firm had taken women up to rooms in that hotel. The thought of it had hung over our table like a ghost, haunting me. I was equal parts disgusted and proud of myself when I overcame the temptation to do likewise.
Watching Just Bella through dinner had unsettled me, sent me at war with myself. And I know war. Inside I was at least three men fighting for very different futures. I thought of them in order of descending levels of honor. I wanted to thank her for her time and get back to my life. I wanted to marry her as soon as humanly possible. I wanted to keep her as a secretary and treat her like a beloved daughter, as befitted our age difference. This wish seemed to be both impossible and intriguing. More shamefully, I had fleeting thoughts of acting like most other men in my circumstances- to keep her in an apartment, or keep her as my secretary and mistress. Most shameful was the shocking and compelling urge to take her, just take her the way a dog might mount a bitch in heat- without thought or hesitation. I feared I was losing my mind.
I decided then that we should walk back to the office, and that I would be able to come to some sort of honorable resolution on the way back. In the elevator, I noticed that we had been silent the entire walk back. I looked at her face. She seemed to be as lost in thought as I was, though perhaps not struggling as much. Most women would have spoken, but Bella seemed comfortable in silence. I still couldn't decide.
As we stepped from the elevator into the office, I noted that it seemed that most everyone had gone for the day, which was highly unusual in a legal firm. I scowled at my watch, realizing that it was later than I thought, and that coming back to an essentially empty office was not much better in practice than having checked into the hotel. I pinched the bridge of my nose, annoyed with the complexity of my competing thoughts and urges.
I opened the door for Bella and waited for her to step through to Jane's area, the antechamber of sorts to my own office. I left the door open on purpose. I walked to the window to create some distance between us, so that logic and honor might triumph. I heard a soft click behind me, and turned to find the door closed. I glanced at Bella, who was not close enough to the door to have closed it herself. She was staring, head tilted, at Jane's desk. Perhaps Bella herself could help me make this decision.
"Would you like this job? Truly? I am not always the most agreeable person to work for. I am told that I can be moody and exacting. Several secretaries have quit in the past," I admitted.
"Are you offering me the job or trying to talk me out of it?" Bella asked incredulously.
"Neither. I'm just trying to give you an accurate picture of what working for me would be like." Both, I thought.
She walked towards me, her eyes searching my face for something.
I backed up with each step, until the wall met my back. I needed to stop her from invading my personal space, or I would mostly likely invade her person, and soon. I could feel my self-discipline slipping with each step she took, and I started to panic. Something else occurred to me.
"They'll change you," I warned in a low voice, "The women in this office- this city will never let you be Just Bella. You won't even know what hit you."
She stopped her advance, but she was still too close. Suddenly she burst out laughing.
"Something funny?" I couldn't tell if she was laughing or becoming hysterical.
"Yes, but it's a long story. Anyway, you have no idea how stubborn I can be," she smiled morosely. "Very little changes about me that I don't want changed."
She closed the gap between us, raising her hand to brush something off my suit coat. I caught her hand, angered by her dismissal of my warning, and our proximity. Her eyes widened and she stared at our joined hands. Her small hand was hot in mine, and every inch skin that connected with hers felt magnetically charged. I felt cornered in every way possible. I wanted to growl. I may have.
"Please," she said softly. Her face came closer to mine, and I stiffened.
What was she asking? For a job? For me to kiss her? To take her? Surely not that. I saw doubt cloud her eyes for a moment, and decided to enlighten her.
"Please what?" I hissed, horrified. "Do you even know what you're asking? This place will change you. Those women will change you- they'll scorn you until you change the way you look and dress and even the way you think. Men will chase you, flatter you and make you see the world differently. You'll either get broken or bitter. You'll harden like one of them- they'll turn you. You should go, get on a bus, go back to Forks and stay as you are, Just Bella. You're perfect now, don't let this happen."
I watched as her eyes displayed anger at first, then hope as I inadvertently, stupidly admitted that I thought she was perfect. This seemed to erase any doubts in her eyes.
"You don't know me. I'll surprise you," she promised. As if she hadn't already. She shocked the hell out of me by her very existence.
"Look at where we are, for God's sake. If you keep touching me and looking at me like that I'll change you myself right now. The office is empty."
"I trust you, Edward," she replied confidently.
"God, Bella, don't!" but oh, how I thrilled to hear her say it.
I reached for her and pulled her to me, telling myself that I only wanted to scare her. I knew she could feel my arousal. She felt so small and soft against me. I felt like a monster. I tried to release her immediately, but she wouldn't back away and I wouldn't shove her.
"I don't care," she said, as stubborn as she had promised she could be.
Her mouth was on mine then, and I became someone else entirely. The war that had been going on in my mind seemed to explode in flames, and I gave myself to the fire. I was assaulted by her scent, the taste of her mouth, the traces of spice and wine on her tongue, the taste of her beyond all other flavors. I felt the weight of her hair on my arms through the fabric of my clothes. It wasn't enough, and I plunged my hands into her hair, forcing her face higher, closer to mine. Her hands found my hair, and I groaned at the sensation, the buzzing of the skin on my scalp whenever her fingers touched it.
Instinct took over as I held her head back and consumed her neck, licking, kissing and even biting my way around it. I was ashamed, and astonished. Finally, I knew what it was like to truly want a woman. I had kissed a few beautiful women before out of curiosity, but it certainly never felt like this. It had been a careful exercise in the transfer of greasy lipstick and mixed signals. The difference between those kisses and this was the difference between lightening and a lightening bug.
"Now do you care?" I growled, hoping for one last time that this could be stopped.
"Don't stop," she cried, "I don't care, I don't care, I don't care! Just don't stop."
Unable to stop myself, I opened the top of her button-down dress, kissing and biting her through the fabric of her brassiere. My own shirt was unbuttoned and her hands dove under my undershirt, feeling the skin underneath. We both shivered, skin blazing at every point of contact. I wanted to unbutton her completely and climb right into her.
I licked the skin of her shoulders as I peeled her dress top and bra straps down, and nudged fabric with my nose until I found her already hard nipple with my tongue. I suckled, drawing in as much of her breast as I could, and groaned when her fingernails scored into my back.
"Edward," she sighed, and I made a mental note to give her a raise. Once she was hired, that is.
I steered her towards the couch, not able to question myself any further. I was too busy giving her other nipple equal treatment. Suddenly we were mostly on the couch, straining diagonally against each other and the upholstery. My pants were pooled around my ankles and her hands were in my shorts, searching through the front opening and bringing my cock through it after trying in vain to find some way to take the garment off. My mouth began a retreat up from her delicious peaks to her neck and back up to reclaim her hot, gasping mouth. I swallowed her soft moans as my hands got lost in the fabric of her skirt.
I found the combination of her garters and underwear to be a momentary frustration, and the thought finally occurred to me that I should stop now, if I could. I took my mouth away from Bella's for a moment, and she whined a bit in protest. My cock pressed against her thigh where the silky hose ended and even silkier skin began. I couldn't help but rock my hips as each new texture took over my senses.
"Bella, we have to-" I gasped as her hands quickly fumbled to unhook the garters. We both panted as we yanked her panties down.
"Bella?" I asked, pleading with her for two completely opposite things.
She grabbed me by the edges of my open shirt and drew me to her again, and my hands repositioned her skirt again, and my hips underneath it.
I hooked my hands around her knees and pulled her lower on the sofa, until my cock met soft curls and hot, wet silky flesh. I moaned into her mouth and took her bottom lip between my teeth. She licked my upper lip and gripped my face in her hands.
I pushed into her then, unsurprised somehow to feel the tug and break of the membrane there. I looked into her eyes as they widened and filled with tears. I pushed the rest of the way and kissed a trail to her ear, inhaling the scent of her hair. I held as still as I could while she adjusted to me, not wanting to cause her any more pain than necessary.
"Me too," I whispered, knowing that it wouldn't make any sense to her. It was my habit to say difficult truths in veiled words. Hardly anyone ever understood what I was saying, but I preferred it that way anyhow.
"Never?" she asked, surprising me. "But you're so beautiful."
I pulled back to gaze into her eyes again. What I saw there humbled me. I kissed her forehead, cheeks and nose.
"No, not ever," I said, unable to give her anything but the truth at this moment. "I never wanted to before."
Her smile was brilliant, and a single tear escaped to streak down her cheek until I caught it on my tongue. Innocent as she was, she believed me. I didn't know of any woman in Chicago who would have accepted the truth as she did.
My cock pulsed inside her, and she nudged me with her hips. My hips moved without any further instruction, and we both cried out at the exquisite sensation. I felt the building pressure and panicked, wanting to find some way to pleasure her before inevitable reality came crashing down around us. The mountain of complications this night was creating loomed ominously at the edge of my consciousness, threatening to harm us both no matter what else happened. I needed to give her what I could now.
I remembered something I had overheard once in the army, and thrust my hand between us to find the tiny nub at the top of her slit. She gasped and in a moment the information I had inadvertently gleaned proved to be true as she somehow clenched even tighter around my thrusting cock. Moments later, her whole body formed a tight, quivering arc against me. I emptied into her then, in a powerful pulsing thrust. I closed my eyes and pressed my forehead against hers, wishing I could live in this moment forever.
"Bella" I breathed reverently.
It was the first prayer to pass my lips in several decades.
AN: Just getting the hang of this… Algonquinrt's Age of Edward story is way better than mine. Go read it!
After I finished writing this one-shot, a whole backstory came to mind and I have an outline for a longer story. If you're interested, please let me know and I'll keep writing it.
Also, regarding the age difference... I've posted a longer explanation on my profile, but essentially, I messed up a little bit on the calculation. I meant for the age difference to be more Bogie and Bacall, Jane and Rochester, or Jane and Roger from Mad Men. If it makes you feel better, I've cheated the date back some years, decided that Bella is maybe 24 and Edward looks really good for his age. He's not creepy old, I swear. Also Edward needs something to angst over. It's his half of the mountain of complications between them.