To Look Past Everything I Had Learned
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Summary: Jasper is a US soldier who is wounded in the D-Day invasion. Evacuated via hospital ferry across the Channel to Southampton, he is treated by Dr. Carlisle Cullen at the Royal Victoria Military Hospital Netley. He suffers an even deeper loss during the battle, however. A week later he ships out for home. An unexpected phone call only a month later has him returning to Southampton. Will a renewed friendship help him to look past everything he had learned and take a chance on the love he never dreamed of?
JPOV
I sat in the back of the bar, watching my best friend Peter play darts with a couple of our limey brethren. I'd been nursing the same pint for an hour and the beer was tepid and flat as I swirled it in the glass. All around us, soldiers were having a night on the town, drinking, eating, and chasing the giggling nurses from nearby Netley Hospital.
I went to run my fingers through my hair, forgetting, as usual, that the honey blonde curls had been shorn when I'd enlisted to fight shortly after the attack on Pearl Harbor. It hadn't been two years yet, but I knew deep in my soul that December 7th, 1941 would be a day remembered by even my children's grandchildren. I could still remember listening to Senator Connally telling us all that our Pacific fleet was a formidable force. I'd been so proud listening to a Texas Senator on the radio. He reminded us all that our Pacific fleet was damn strong and I remember my mama pulling out the Fourth of July bunting to hang on the porch railings after the senator's speech even though it was barely December. Two days later, the Japs bombed Pearl Harbor.
I'd had to wait a whole year and a half after that before I was old enough to enlist and fight and, by that time, the US had been at war close to two years. Peter and I got our high school diplomas on Friday and enlisted in the Army on Monday. By Wednesday, we were on our way to basic training and by November of '42, we were setting foot on Moroccan soil for the first time in our lives. Peter liked to joke that the Army was the only way for a poor Texas boy to see the world. Now here I was, sitting in a pub in Southampton in June of '44, pretending to drink a beer and studying the locals.
As I gazed around the smoky bar, my eyes fell on a tall blonde with the perfect face of a Greek God at the hand-carved oak bar. As I watched, he raised a well manicured and elegant hand, indicating a bottle of Glenlivet. My interest waned through as a pretty little nurse with caramel-colored hair set in pin curled waves and bright red lipstick leaned in to whisper in his ear, giggling and petting his arm. I looked away with a scowl, not like I'd have been able to make a move here in the open, but it sure would have been nice to fantasize about later. I just didn't like girls. Hell, I'd tried for years to get excited about parking with Mary Alice Brandon back home; I'd even got as far as second base with her in my daddy's old Ford truck the night we graduated, but it was watching movies that really got my motor running. I'd sit in the dark theatre and wonder if Errol Flynn's lips were as soft as they looked or what Spencer Tracy smelled like. Those were the faces that danced through my head when I'd sneak out to the hay loft and relieve myself after a night with Mary Alice left me unsatisfied. I'd never breathed a word to anyone about my secret desires. I wouldn't have known what to call myself anyway, so I kept on dating Mary Alice and I told her I loved her. When she vowed to wait for me to come home from war, I'd actually breathed a sigh of relief. Mary Alice was safe and I did love her, in a way. I'd get done with this godforsaken war and then I'd marry her. We'd have a couple kids to give our parents some grandbabies to fawn over and it'd all be nice and safe and expected. There wouldn't be a spark between us, but there didn't have to be, besides, there was no future for a man that loved other men. That way led only to ostracism and shame.
I downed the last dregs of my warm stale beer and laid my money on the table top, winking at the waitress who sashayed over to claim it. I couldn't help but rest my eyes on the tall blonde again before catching Peter's eye, indicating that I was heading back to the barracks and stepped out into the warm June air. There was a big offensive coming, something I heard my superiors whispering about in the mess halls.
I let my mind wander as I strolled along the mostly deserted streets until I got to the room I shared with Peter. He'd be staying over with his girl, Charlotte, so I'd have some time to myself. Peter had asked Charlotte to marry him a couple weeks ago and she'd agreed. He'd put in for her paperwork to come back to the States with him the very next day. As soon as they could scrape up the money for the church, they were going to be married, but until then, he spent all his free nights at her tiny flat near the hospital where she was a nurse.
I crawled into my bunk clad only in my skivvies, window open to the mild early summer night. Unbidden, the tall blonde's face swam before my eyes, Grecian nose and piercing gray eyes looking right into my soul. Reluctantly, feeling the futility of my desire, I palmed my growing erection, stroking my length and writhing under my own hand to fantasies of a time and place far different from the here and now. I fell asleep, sated and wishing I had a name to go with his face.
I awoke at o'dark-thirty as usual and quickly dressed in my uniform, taking a moment to make sure I was dressed to regulation before walking to the mess hall to get some chow, meeting up with Peter outside on his way back to base from Char's flat.
"Cutting it close there, Pete. Five more minutes and you would've been peeling potatoes until this time tomorrow!"
Peter just gave me a shove in reply, his grin ear-to-ear. I just shook my head; he was really insufferable after a night with his girl.
As soon as we stepped through the doors of the mess hall, I could feel the excitement and electricity buzzing from table to table. All around us heads were bent together and the air buzzed with whispers. As we made our way to the chow line, Peter nudged James Jensen from C company.
"Hey Jensen...what the hell has everybody's panties in a wad this morning?"
He turned to us, looking excited and a little ashen.
"We're taking back France, boys. The order's been given. Tomorrow, we storm Omaha Beach and take back Normandy from the Krauts."
He turned back around to grab his tray, effectively ending the conversation, but Peter and I shared a look as we moved through the line. This was what we'd joined up for, a chance to make America proud. We ate quickly, grimacing at powdered eggs and coffee that was more chicory than anything. Rations were rations, but it sure would be nice to be sopping up a nice pool of molasses with some of Mama's buttermilk biscuits instead.
As breakfast was winding down, our CO, Brigadier General Garrett Tate, began briefing us on the operation, dubbed OVERLORD, which would have us landing on a strip of beach heavily fortified with Drachenzähne, or Dragon's Teeth, mines and, presumably, small arms fire from fox holes linked via trenches. We would be dropped just off shore and would launch an infantry assault to the cliffs. British, Canadian and other Allied troops would be doing the same at various other entry points along the same beach. Tate continued on to explain that medic forces would be provided via ferry across the Channel to Netley.
I shared a glance with Peter. Charlotte would be on one of those ferries. He did not want her in danger. Our attention was quickly diverted though as the more technical aspects of the invasion were detailed via a large map erected in the front of the mess hall.
The waters were rough as we set out across the Channel. I stood near the front of my company looking out at the approaching fortified beach. We'd all donned our life jackets and the last few minutes before landing were being filled quietly; all of us were lost in our individual thoughts of home, loved ones, what-ifs, and what-might-comes.
Peter stood just over my shoulder. He was studying a note Charlotte had sent over to our room the night before and rubbing a medal of St. Martin of Tours, the Catholic Patron Saint of Soldiers, that she'd enclosed with it. I figured even Peter's Southern Baptist momma wouldn't find fault with that if it kept her baby boy safe and I could practically feel how much the note and medal meant to him. Whether it was because Charlotte had given it to him or because he had a bit of a superstitious streak in him, I couldn't tell and, truth be told, it didn't matter. It made him feel better to have it, so I was glad he did.
I watched as the beach steadily grew closer and saw from the corner of my eye as Peter slipped the silver medal over his head and brought it to his lips briefly before he tucked it next to his dogtags over his heart. I didn't acknowledge the action and neither did he. It just was what it was.
Our transport drifted closer to our rendezvous point and Peter muttered just loud enough for me to hear.
"Keep your nose clean, asshole. I don't plan on handing no flags to your momma."
"Same to you, fucker. You go down, so do I."
He grabbed my hand and squeezed it like hell, leaving an identical St. Martin of Tours medal in my palm. I was shocked, but knew better than to say anything to Peter. He just had a second sense about things sometimes. If he figured I needed some protection, I figured I'd take what I could get. I'd just slipped the medallion over my head and tucked it under my shirt with my own cold set of dogtags when all hell broke loose as our transport impacted the shore and set off a whole slew of mines at the base of a clump of
Drachenzähne.
When I finally became aware of myself and my surroundings again, I realized I was laying face down in the wet sand just at the water's edge. Sand was packed against my nose and mouth as I struggled to drag myself out of the surf. There were bodies everywhere. We'd lost half our company to the initial explosion and flying shrapnel. I could tell I was hit pretty bad; the surf beneath my battered body was a foamy pink from the blood steadily seeping from a myriad of wounds. Blood trickled down from my forehead into my right eye, stinging and staining everything around me red. I began to crawl from the water's edge.
I made it several feet before I ran into a pair of legs. I wasn't immediately sure who they belonged to, but when I nudged them, they remained still. I twisted my body, letting out a grunt of agony when piercing needles of pain stabbed through my upper body and back. I continued my tortuously slow progress. As I gained ground, I realized who the fallen soldier was. His face was blown clean off, but I recognized the blood spattered medal around his neck. I managed to drag myself over his prone torso. Screaming as loud as I dared with enemy gunfire still sounding around me, I finally succumbed to the pain.
I groaned and batted at the hands dabbing at my head with something cold that stung. I just wanted the dark again. In the dark nothing hurt and Peter wasn't dead. I struggled harder as the hands restrained me. A lilting accent, Irish perhaps, filled my ears. It barked orders brusquely and I cried out in agony as my body was jostled from one cot to another. Moments later, I could feel the gentle rocking of a ferry. I knew I had to find Charlotte, to tell her about Peter before someone else did.
"Charlotte," my voice was a barely audible croak. "Cullen...Charlotte Cullen..."
The lilting Irish brogue filled my ears again. "Relax, ducky. You just be still and quiet and we'll see if we can't find Staff Nurse Cullen for you."
I allowed her calming voice to soothe my momentary panic and the darkness swam over me again. I floated, back to the place where nothing hurt.
When I woke next, I was being transferred again. This time, I could tell by the echoing footsteps and squeaking soles that I was off the hospital ferry and inside a hospital.
"Where..." I managed a parched croak, but it was enough.
A familiar voice sounded at my shoulder, weary and heavy with grief. "You're at Netley, Jasper. Just rest now, darling."
Charlotte had found me. Before I could do anything further, there was the stinging pinch of a hypodermic at my bicep and the darkness found me again.
I swam slowly to consciousness, sunlight filtering through my eyelids even before I registered the birds singing outside as if nothing had happened, as if the whole world hadn't ground to a halt with the death of my best friend. My eyes opened without my permission and I found myself in a sterile looking ward bed. I could feel bulky bandages plastered to my chest, neck, arms, and back. When I lifted a shaking hand, I found several plasters stuck to my face and a wide bandage at my temple.
I startled when a dignified voice sounded from the foot of my bed.
"Well, welcome back, Specialist Whitlock. How are you feeling today?"
I was stunned. It was him, the blonde from the pub. I must have waited too long to reply because he came closer and his compassionate eyes were worried.
"Jasper? How are you today? Do you hurt anywhere?"
Giving myself a mental shake, my eyes went to his name plate. 'Carlisle Cullen, M.D.'
"Cullen?" My voice was weak and trembling.
His eyes returned to mine from the notes he had been scratching in my chart. They were the most brilliant shade of gray.
"Yes. I am Doctor Cullen. Carlisle." He offered me a slight smile. "You know my sister, I believe. Lottie told me about you."
My face must have reflected the pain that shot through me at the mention of Charlotte, because his expression softened even more and he laid a well-manicured hand on my thigh.
"I am very sorry about Peter. I would have liked to have had him as my brother-in-law."
I turned my head away, not wanting him to see the tears that were building up behind my eyes. He squeezed my thigh quickly.
"I've got to finish my rounds now, but Lottie will be here after her shift. I'll see you in the morning, Jasper."
I wanted to tell him to stay. I didn't want to be alone. In the end, I stayed silent and I heard him sigh softly as he turned to leave.
I slept again.
When I woke up next, it was twilight and, for some reason, I wasn't sure whether that fact relieved me or tortured me further. When I sighed softly, I heard the squeak of a chair cushion at my right.
"Jasper? Are you awake?" Charlotte's warm hand grasped mine and I looked over at her.
She looked awful, as if she had aged 10 years since last I'd seen her. Her eyes were red and swollen and her skin held a ghostly pallor. Ever the nurturer, she immediately released my hand and bustled about pouring an icy glass of water from the pitcher at my bedside, hand-cranking up the bed and holding it to my lips.
"Slowly, darling. You've had some ether and might not stomach too much at once."
I sipped slowly, the cool liquid soothing my dry scratchy throat. As she set aside the glass, her cool hands brushed my cheek.
It was too much and I croaked. "I am so sorry, Charlotte..."
She met my eyes surprised at the vehemence of my tone. "For what, Jasper?"
I shook my head, not able to reply, dropping my eyes from hers.
"Jasper Whitlock, you look at me right now!"
I looked up. Charlotte was furious, absolutely livid. As soon as my eyes met hers, she continued. "You have absolutely nothing to be sorry for. You almost died on that bloody beach along with Peter. He would not want you to feel guilty for surviving. Do you understand me?"
I nodded, feeling like a chastised child. I knew in my head that I wasn't responsible for Peter's death; the problem was that my heart hadn't quite caught up yet.
Charlotte took my hand gently, giving it a squeeze. We lapsed back into silence until night fell and I slept again.
I sat in the hospital garden. It had been three weeks since the landing at Omaha Beach and I was shipping out for home in the morning. I didn't want to, but I knew I had to. I was to be in the honor guard at Peter's funeral and I owed it to him to make sure his momma got her flag. My mind shied away from thinking about that and moved on to more pleasant topics. It was easier to dwell on the positive when I felt everything else trying to drag me under.
I was jerked awake, bathed in sweat and in the full throes of a panic attack. As I gasped for air and tried to drown out the sounds of explosions and gunfire in my head, a soft yet firm voice whispered across my ear.
"Breathe, Jasper." Carlisle murmured, his well-trained hands skating over my wrist checking my racing pulse before pulling my back to his chest.
"Feel how I am breathing, Jasper. Breathe with me."
As the panic ebbed and oxygen began to make its way back into my aching lungs, I became aware of the electric yet somehow calming feeling of his strong arms wrapped around me. When my wheezing gasping breaths finally calmed completely, he shifted to allow me to lay back against the pillow again. Panic bloomed again in my chest.
"Please…" I croaked in a panicked whisper.
I couldn't say anything else, but he understood. Moving back behind me, he wrapped his arms loosely around me again, whispering in my ear.
"I will stay here as long as you want me, Jasper."
Almost asleep again, I murmured, "I always want you."
I don't think I imagined the brush of his lips across my temple before he began to softly read again in the hushed near silence of the ward.
I was so lost in my thoughts that I didn't notice when Carlisle sat down next to me. I looked over as he settled himself. He wasn't in his lab coat, so I assumed he was here on his own time. He had taken to spending hours with me, often catching a cat nap in an empty ward cot if it became too late while we talked. We had many things in common and I had reluctantly begun to open up to him after the first rocky days.
He wordlessly handed me a thick envelope. It was sealed and addressed to Mrs. Davis. I felt the telltale tingle as he once again rested his palm against my thigh.
"Charlotte wrote that. Please give Peter's family our deepest condolences."
I nodded. "I will."
How I wished I had the courage to tell him I wanted to stay here. There was something about Carlisle. I felt a spark with him that I'd never felt before. Sometimes I would catch him studying me and I knew he felt it, too.
We sat in silence until night fell. He stood gracefully and handed me my cane and walked at my side until I was safely ensconced in my small semi-private room.
When the light was shut off and I was lying comfortably in bed, his cultured voice reached my ears for a final word before my return to America in the morning. My breathing deepened and I heard him shift as he stood to go, no doubt thinking me asleep, he whispered in his quiet way.
"I refuse to tell you goodbye, Jasper. Instead, I shall simply wish you Godspeed until we meet again."
He stepped through the door and was gone. I lay awake long into the night, alternately angry and awed by his brave words.
There was no fanfare as the flag-draped coffin was unloaded from the military transport. I stood at attention as it was loaded into a waiting hearse, damaged nerves and muscles screaming in agony until it pulled away.
Cane clutched in one hand and duffel bag in the other, I made my way to the public terminals, wincing when Mary Alice launched herself at me.
"Easy there, Ali. I'm a little worse for wear."
She gasped and immediately began to fawn over me. Inside I grimaced, though I must have put on a reasonably good facsimile of a smile because she continued to prattle on undaunted.
I was home. Why didn't it feel that way?
I flinched at the first shot but managed to hold myself otherwise together for the remaining ones. Assuming my place with the rest of the color guard, I helped them meticulously fold the flag. My fingers felt dirty where they grazed the heavy fabric.
As the final fold was completed, I accepted the object reverently. Turning on my heel and marching to Peter's momma, I presented her with the colors from her lost son's casket. She looked at me with sympathy and thanked me quietly. We both pretended not to notice the tears that dripped from my cheeks onto the fabric.
There was no screaming or wailing. There was no blame or accusations. I was hailed as a hero and it made me nauseous.
Her whispered 'Thank you, Jasper' made me want to vomit. I recalled Peter's last words to me.
Keep your nose clean, asshole. I don't plan on handing no flags to your momma.
I would have given anything for our positions to have been reversed that day.
It had been a difficult day. I had broken things off with Alice. I just didn't have the energy to pretend anymore. She'd been surprisingly understanding and I thought we would remain friends. She deserved better than the half-life I would have given her.
I was smoking on the back porch and staring aimlessly at the bright stars when Momma called out for me.
"Out here, Momma." I called back into the house, hearing her searching for me.
She appeared after a few moments. Taking one look at my face, she wrapped her arms around me and I struggled not to sob into her arms. No matter how old I was, Momma still made everything better. After a few moments, I regained control of myself and kissed her cheek.
"You have a phone call."
I scoffed. "Who would want to call me?" Bitterness colored my voice, as it often did in those days.
Momma looked at me a long moment. "Someone in London, England needs to speak to you. I'd suggest you take the call."
My folks had been very understanding of my brooding. They knew what I'd lost and that it would be almost impossible to fill that void. My momma had just reached her limit. She would watch us suffer, but she did not take kindly to anything that hurt her babies. Right now, it looked like she considered this self-pitying side of myself a threat.
"Hello? This is Jasper."
For a moment all I could hear was quiet sobbing on the other line, but finally a familiar voice made its way through the din. Charlotte's smooth alto cut through the still air.
"Jasper? I'm in trouble. I need your help."
I scrubbed a tired hand through my newly shaggy hair. The trip had been brutal and I had spent the entire length creating elaborate scenarios of what could be wrong, each one more dire than the last. The war wasn't over yet. It could be anything.
As I descended the stairs and made my way across the tarmac, grabbing my battered suitcase before entering the terminal, I was prepared to hail a cab, but turned and looked over my shoulder as my name was called.
My heart stuttered in my chest as I saw him again. He was smiling and it made his already handsome face almost ethereally beautiful. As I completed my turn, I returned his smile and strode over to him, taking his outstretched hand.
"Carlisle. It's good to see you. I got here as soon as I could."
He nodded and put a hand at my back, herding me through the airport and out to the line of lorries. He gave me an apologetic look.
"I would usually have a car here, but it's become too difficult on an Army Surgeon's salary to afford a vehicle at the moment." He tipped his head toward a war poster on a nearby wall. "Stiff upper lip and all that."
I nodded. "It's fine, Carlisle. Hell, a lorry'd get anyone anywhere and Doodlebugs be damned."
He snorted and somehow the noise was elegant coming from him, shaking his head as we loaded my bag in the trunk and slipped into the taxicab. " Buzz Bombs. Just when we thought the raids were over, they sprang a new one on us."
When we headed toward a part of the city I was unfamiliar with, I turned to address him again. "Where are we going?"
I'd expected to head toward Charlotte's small flat near Netley, but we were heading toward a more upscale part of London.
"Charlotte is now living with me at my flat in Hyde Park." He answered the question mildly, but there was an edge to his voice. I'd obviously touched on something sensitive. I phrased my next question carefully.
"Carlisle, what's wrong with Charlotte? I need to know what I'm walking into."
He sighed and stretched his legs out in front of him. "I would really rather we discuss this with Charlotte. It's not my place to tell you."
His tone concerned me even more. "Is she okay, Carlisle? I need to know at least that much, please."
He turned his eyes to mine as he answered. "She's fine, all things considered. Thank you for coming, Jasper. She needs you here," he paused half a breath, "and so do I."
I felt my heart skip a beat at that admission, but I wasn't sure what to say. I didn't dare to dream that he meant anything deeper than needing a friend to help him and his sister through a rough time. Before I could formulate an intelligent response, we stopped in front of an elegant flat and the door swung open to reveal Charlotte.
I stood in Charlotte's doorway. The diffused light filtered across her sleeping form, giving her a peaceful countenance. Carlisle had said she wasn't sleeping well, that she cried every night. I was glad my presence was giving her some measure of peace. It was the least I could do for Peter's widow and the mother of his unborn child. She deserved the honor of that title, regardless of what their civil status had been at the time of his death. I considered it a technicality and would have words with anyone to say otherwise.
As I turned from her doorway and shut the door with a soft click, Carlisle cleared his throat behind me.
"Join me for a Scotch, Jasper?"
"Yeah...I think the day calls for it. Thank you, Carlisle."
The days passed and we all settled into a routine. Carlisle still worked at Netley Hospital. Charlotte did as well, though she planned to leave the job once she began to get further along with her pregnancy. I was the only one still at loose ends.
One day while I was wandering through the neighborhood surrounding Carlisle's flat, I saw a hand-lettered sign in the window of a bookshop. They were looking for help and I was looking for a job. I'd always liked reading and still spent most evenings in the living room, reading while Carlisle and Charlotte gathered around the radio. I stepped into the store and it was perfect. It was dimly lit and musty; everywhere you looked, there was a stack of books.
"Hello? Anyone here? I saw your sign in the window..." I trailed off as a head appeared behind the counter and a young woman about my age appeared.
She had an open and friendly smile, brilliant blue eyes and hair just a hint too red to call auburn.
"Hello. Yes, I'm minding the store for my cousin Liam while he's off at war, but school will be back in session next month, so I need someone to mind it when I go back."
Maggie and I struck it off immediately and we talked for about an hour. She asked me about what I liked to read and, after setting a time for me to come back the next week and train, she stuffed a bag full of new books and sent me on my way.
My steps were lighter than they had been in weeks as I left the shop and retraced my wandering back to the flat. Going inside, I hung my jacket on the rack and called out in a light tone to see if anyone was home. Hearing no answer I sighed and made my way to the kitchen already feeling like I needed a stiff drink.
As I stepped through the kitchen door, I saw that the table had been laid with two settings and elegant taper candles stood in holders. The radio was playing and the pantry door was ajar, a delicious aroma was wafting from the oven.
Just as I was beginning to wonder why there were only two places set at the kitchen table, Carlisle emerged from the pantry, looking handsomely domestic in his apron.
"Oh, hello Jasper. I didn't hear you come in. I hope you like Boeuf bourguignon. Charlotte has gone to our parents' country estate for a visit. I thought perhaps we could enjoy a meal together tonight."
I crossed over to the sink and began washing my hands.
"It smells wonderful, but I can't say I've ever eaten it before. I'm sure it'll be fine."
My voice trembled a bit. Truth be told, I was both nervous and excited to spend time with Carlisle alone. I felt like he had been giving me subtle hints that he was interested in me since I had officially made my return to England permanent, but I had yet to gather enough courage to make any sort of advance in return. Perhaps with nothing but a long weekend in front of us, with Charlotte out of town, I would finally gather my courage.
Dinner was wonderful. Carlisle was the most interesting man I'd ever met. We talked long into the night, finishing a bottle of rich red wine and finally making our way back to the den to listen to music. He held out his hand as "I'll Get By (As Long As I Have You)" by the Ink Spots started.
I hesitated, perhaps a moment too long, and he blushed and dropped his hand, muttering an apology for being presumptuous. I knew I could not let him feel rejected, not when there was nothing in my life I wanted as much as I wanted to be held in his arms.
I spoke up shakily, "Carlisle, I would very much like to dance with you."
As he looked up, a slow smile spread across his face, making him look much younger than his 28 years. I offered him my hand and he grasped it in his, pulling me against his chest.
"Do you have any idea how long I have longed to touch you, Jasper Whitlock?"
When I raised my head from his shoulder, he took his opportunity, pressing his soft warm lips to mine. We danced until the broadcast ended, each enticing the other with soft murmurs of affection and apologies for time wasted.
As the night grew longer, we grew bolder; touches grew more heated, lips became swollen from passionate kisses. I saw his eyes widen as our hips brushed together. Embarrassed by his reaction to my very obvious arousal, I immediately stuttered out a mortified apology and attempted to extract myself from his arms.
His response was to pull me closer, grinding his hips into mine with a harsh moan. He was as hard as steel beneath his flannel trousers and, God help me, I wanted more.
"Jasper, do you have no idea how badly I want to ravish you? Can you not feel how much I desire you?"
My lungs refused to inflate, allowing only a whimper of pleasure to pass from my lips. When he pulled away, an embarrassing noise of distressed displeasure rose up out of my chest. Carlisle chuckled softly and took my hand firmly in his, leading me from the room as he turned off the radio and led me up the stairs to his rooms.
My heart was hammering in my chest for every step, but somehow, the moment the door clicked closed and Carlisle tenderly brought me into his arms again, I instantly felt calm. It wasn't wrong to love this man. It didn't matter that only Charlotte would be allowed to know about us or that we would be breaking an arcane and despicable law by following our hearts despite society's limited view of love. All that mattered was that after travelling almost 5000 miles, I had finally found my home.