Title of Story: East of Freedom
Word Count: 8,254
Type of Edward: Cold-Warward
Category: Literotica
Story Summary: All love has barriers to overcome, and Edward and Bella are no different. It is the sixties and while everyone else is experiencing a world of free love, Bella is just trying to survive hers. Edward enters and a whirlwind romance ensues. Yet rarely is a barrier of love as heavy or dangerous as that of the Berlin wall.
Standard Disclaimer: The author does not own any publicly recognizable entities herein. No copyright infringement is intended.
The crunch of the gravel under my feet is the only sound disrupting the morning silence. It sounds slightly different under the soles of my new shoes; they almost sparkle in the bold morning light, which seems odd considering their destination. I attempt to scuff them somewhat as I walk toward the border.
As I reach the checkpoint I pause to collect my wits. Reaching for the handkerchief that is neatly folded behind my pocket square, I lightly dab at the sweat that has collected on my brow. Not having time to precisely re-fold it, I shove the handkerchief into the pocket of my pants.
I take a deep breath and force myself forward into what can only be described as a war zone standoff. My eyes scan the scene in front of me, and my pulse quickens at the sight of the machine guns aimed and ready to unload at the slightest provocation.
The eyes of a Soviet soldier seem to follow me from an enlarged portrait on the wall, and I can't help but feel unnerved as I prepare my passport and visas for the guards ahead of me. The last three weeks I have crossed this border every working day of the week, and the same nerves settle in the bottom of my stomach each time.
Nothing is ever certain. The Grepo border guards can turn you away at the gates if they don't like the look of you, and that's even if you have a pass for the day. During my last few weeks of training I have been refused my daily visa on two separate occasions for no reason other than the mood of the guard that day.
"Guten Tag," I greet the first border guard and receive a tight nod in return. Not the friendliest folks, but one day I was rewarded with a half smirk from the darker skinned guard, so I feel I'm breaking them down.
I survive the inquisition and am allowed passage into East Berlin. It is only five hundred feet from one side of the Berlin wall to the other - a short distance by any other standards. In the case of the iron curtain, it's a five hundred foot portal to another world. I won't be able to fully breathe properly until I make the trip back to West Berlin at the end of my day.
With my papers secure in the inner coat pocket of my jacket I make my way to the bus stop, arriving well before the bus comes and carefully choosing my waiting position. At half past seven, just like clockwork, she comes into my field of vision. Her clothes are tailored meticulously and she always has a red cloche hat upon her head. She first caught my attention because my mother has the exact same hat. I suppose it is a nostalgic longing for home that drew me to her, but following the initial attraction, I truly saw what an exquisite woman Isabella is.
Her name was spoken softly on the lips of some of her companions on the bus, and I overheard. It suits her perfectly, matching her dark features and soulful eyes. Her face graced with the same sadness that accompanies many here who have heartbreaking stories behind their eyes. She always makes sure any small children or elderly folk board the bus first, becoming a transit constable of sorts. In spite of her small stature, she commands a quiet respect; even the guards keep a wide birth from her, allowing her a curt nod in passing.
There isn't much in the way of shelter at this particular bus stop, so I grimace when I see the first drop of rain hit the pavement in front of my right foot. This is followed by another drop, and another before we quickly find ourselves caught in a downpour. Umbrellas and newspapers hastily appear and bodies huddle beneath them. The bus runs on a strict schedule; I take a peek at the gold watch on my left wrist and note that I will have 10 minutes of this to endure, having forgotten my umbrella this morning. My hair is becoming so wet that I know it is merely seconds before it drips into my eyes.
Instantly the rain stops. Bemused, I look up to the sky, but only see red. Much to my delight, standing beside me is Isabella with her arm outstretched over her head to hold her bright red umbrella so that it covers both of us. As run my fingers through my now disheveled hair to keep the water off my face, I nod at her and give her my thanks, "Dankeschön." She nods back, and although it could be the faint red glow from her umbrella, there appears to be a light blush crossing the apples of her cheeks. I hadn't realized how intimate the act of sharing an umbrella could be, but as we are held hostage by the weather, I revel in this closeness. The rain quickly dissipates, and our cocoon is disrupted by the distinct wheezing of our bus rumbling its way around the corner. Isabella shakes the collected accumulation of water off the umbrella and makes her way to the front of the line.
I discreetly try to always sit as close as possible to her, on lucky days sitting just behind her. Today is no different; as the bus creeps to a stop, I watch Isabella marshal everyone up the vehicles stairs and I leisurely make my way to the back of the line. Once it is my turn, I flash my identification card to the driver and he waves me back before the screech of rust indicates the closing of the doors. A disappointed sigh escapes my lips as I realize there are no seats around Isabella except the one right beside her; it is occupied by her bag, likely saving a place for one of the women who boarded just ahead of me.
As I pass her seat, I feel a small hand touch my wrist. "If you please," Isabella's soft voice implores me and gestures to the seat beside her. She gently moves her bag on to her lap and offers me a soft enchanting smile. I'm sure my answering smile is not quite as subtle, but hopefully equally as enchanting.
We sit in comfortable silence; I couldn't bring myself to speak for fear of bursting the delicate and delightful bubble around us.
Isabella usually gets off the bus at the stop before mine, so as I notice the bus change gears to slow down, I hold my briefcase slightly tighter to my chest and begin to stand. Again, I feel her delicate hand on top of mine. "Not today," is all she says.
Barely a breath of a moment later and we are slowing down once again for my regular stop. Isabella gathers her things and slides slightly closer to me. I quickly assume she will be getting off at this station also.
Once in the aisle I shuffle back a step or two, allowing her to exit the bus in front of me. We make our way down the aisle and after descending to street level, both of us step to the side and allow the other passengers pass us. I sense the desire for a few extra moments together is mutual. She clears her throat and gestures to the path just off to the left of us, "I work, just over there, the third door in that brick building." She looks up at me to make sure I know which door she's speaking of. I nod in confirmation.
"I am a seamstress," she continues. "I work mostly on uniforms, but occasionally I get to design and construct some formal wear for someone's wife." She gestures for me to bend down as she leans in and places her lips a mere inch from me and warms my ear with her breath, "or…someone's mistress." She giggles, and I am now certain beyond reasonable doubtthat being able to elicit that sound from her once more has now been given highest priority in my daily agenda.
"There is another building, at the previous bus stop before this one that I have been working at. I am now working here." She informs me and I delight in the the possibility that sharing a seat with her could become a regular occurrence.
"I'm a lawyer, but really my job description is more that of a pencil pusher." I tell her as I point to the adjacent building of where she works. Her face scrunches up – managing to look simultaneously adorable and incredibly confused - and I realize that while her English is some of the best I've encountered in the German Democratic Republic, American slang has yet to find its way into her vast vocabulary. I laugh and explain that I mainly do paper work.
A burst of courage courses through my veins and I reach down to grasp her fingers between mine and bring them to my lips. After softly laying a kiss upon her knuckles, I give her a flirtatious smile, "Until our next chariot ride my fair Isabella." I am rewarded with another giggle before she walks away from me.
I followclosely behind her, making my way to my own office. Once inside I hang my coat and put my briefcase down, ready to start my day. I am barely seated when I hear the tell-tale knock of my best friend.
"Hellllloooo Daddy-oooo!" He is always so jovial in the mornings.
"Hello Emmett." I wave my hand signalling that he should enter and take a seat.
"You talked to the lovely Isabella." His finger jutting out toward me in an accusatory fashion.
My smile widens.
"I thought it would never happen. So where are you taking the lovely Isabella on your first date? I know a guy who works at that nice place we had our work dinner a few weeks ago who can get you in or there is that new place off of the square where all you beatniks at heart hang out, or…."
"Ah, well…, do you know anyone with a contact at The Palace Hotel?" I reach my hand around to rub the back of my neck, and turn my face away uncomfortably as I wait for a look of understanding to appear on his face.
"Shit man! She's East German?" His expression one of empathy as he knows my pain all too well. Emmett is as American as I am, but he was born in Germany and spent the first six years of his life there until escaping during the Second World War with his family. When he returned to do this work, he reconnected with his childhood playmate and now fiancée, Rosalie, who still lives in the GDR.
We both know the complications involved with East and West German politics. It is what our days are consumed with, and our offices are filled with…stacks and stacks of paperwork detailing seedy backroom deals, balances of accounts filled with money for bribes and barters, and lists of names belonging to unfortunate East German prisoners being held for even thinking of fleeing to freedom.
To everyone else, our cover is import and export specialists dealing with commodities such as food, supplies, and building materials. Emmett and I were both hired because while holding American passports, we are both half German and speak German fluently, allowing us to play both sides of the fence so to speak.
I nod in confirmation; Isabella is East German.
Emmett puffs his cheeks and lets out a large sigh. He moves his chair up to the edge of my desk and leans toward me. "If things get serious quickly and you want me to hook her up with Rosie, I would do that for you, man. But, she's green-lit two weeks from tomorrow so you'd have to tell me soon."
The weight of this is almost too much to bear. It took me over three weeks to just talk to the woman and I didn't even initiate it.
"Yeah man, I will think about it and let you know." I reach forward and shake his hand, effectively ending the conversation.
After Emmett leaves, I dive into the paperwork that I have been neglecting. It's hard to focus when thoughts of Isabella continue to infiltrate my mind and my day dreams.
I have always been such a level-headed guy, something my mother laments. My mother is driven by passion, wonderful and spontaneous passion, while I on the other hand have never done anything that wasn't completely thought out and rationalized. That was until I fell in love with Isabella. That is what it is, love at first sight; irrational, non-sensical, completely passionate, love at first sight.
Rationally thinking, it was probably her red hat that pulled me in, giving me that nostalgic feeling of home and of my mother. That was just the catalyst, and everything else about her is what keeps my attention.
The day drags on and it feels like a lifetime before the clock creeps its way to five o'clock. Isabella works one hour later than I do. I found this out last week when I had to work late and was more than pleased to find her waiting at the stop to head home. Due to that, I know I won't see her today, but it looks like the rest of the week I will be working over-time. No one has ever taken so much pleasure over-time.
Pure bliss is the only way to describe the next week and a half. Every day I sit next to Isabella, or Bella as she has allowed me to call her. Our conversations always begin with safe subjects such as why I became a lawyer, her love of all things fashion, and so on. Her eyes light up whenever she describes a new design she is working on, or when she describes a grand ball gown she was once commissioned to make for the wife of a Russian dignitary that was visiting Germany.
Quickly, I find myself completely enthralled with the young Isabella.
As our conversations progress and became more and more personal, Bella becomes slightly guarded and I know it is our exposure to others around us that is keeping her walls up. There are brief moments though where she opens her heart to me and I do my best to tenderly care for it.
The following Friday I am more than disappointed when I am held up at work for over two hours. The deal to trade an East German prisoner for a West German prisoner is almost finalized and it's all hands on deck until the paper work, phone calls, and handshakes are complete.
Disgruntled would be an understatement to describe my demeanor as I exit the building; knowing I had missed my chance to see Bella. I had spent the evening prior working out the perfect way to ask her to accompany me out on a date. I didn't get to bed until almost one this morning, after determining I had the perfect sentence structure.
My heart lifts when I come to the path and find a red hat gracefully making its way toward me. She pauses just in front of me, to smile and hold out her gloved hand. I offer her my arm and we make our way down the path to the bus stop. Along the way she leans her head against my shoulder.
"Well, aren't we bold tonight," I tease her.
She smirks at me. "More than you know, Mr. Cullen."
"Oh, it's Mr. Cullen now is it? We are back to formalities Miss. Swan?" I give her a light playful shove with my hip, holding her arm extra tight for stability.
She laughs, and lights up my world.
Our bus trip is very different this time. There is little talking but lots of touching. Innocent touching, but to me it feels very intimate. She is seated facing me, slowly I pull at the tip of each finger of her gloves, then peel the glove off her hand and set it in her lap.
I link the fingers of her right hand with those of my left, and begin drawing patient circles in the center of her palm with my thumb. Her eyes flutter close and once again she places her head lightly on my shoulder.
Suddenly, she sits upright and looks out the window. Standing, she tugs on our linked hands and I almost drop my briefcase as she pulls me out of my seat and drags me to the front of the bus. We descend the stairs right before the bus driver closes his doors.
Taking in our surroundings, I realize I have no idea where we are. The buses later in the evening are fewer and have longer routes, so this isn't a stop I usually see on my daily travels.
"Miss Swan?" I quickly grasp both her wrists and pull her in close to my chest. "Are you kidnapping me?"
Her head falls back in laughter. "Why Mr. Cullen, by our positions it would appear to onlookers that you are kidnapping me."
"Touché Miss Swan, touché." Feeling empowered by her playfulness I wrap my right arm around her shoulders and relink our hands.
We cross the road and begin strolling down a brick walkway lined with trees.
"When I was little, my father used to take me for walks down this very path." She points between two trees. "Those lamps there were lit at night and it was so beautiful." Her face glows as she reminisces. Her face falls, "They haven't been lit in years."
While the lamps aren't illuminated, I need her to be. "Well your beauty lights it up enough for me."
"You are much too sweet, Edward Cullen." She urges me to keep walking.
It is very peaceful here and I can see why Bella likes it here. It makes you almost forget the oppressive hand that hangs over us. I am almost lost in the serenity when Bella gasps beside me.
"What?! Are you okay? What's wrong Bella?" She has tears forming in the corners of her eyes and her mouth opens in shock.
"Do you hear that? Listen Edward." Her soft whisper pleads with me.
I close my eyes and focus on any sounds in the distance, and I do hear it. A soft melody, the soft scratching that accompanies it tells me it's a record being played. The longer I listen the more I can make out the smooth voice of Frank Sinatra.
"Come on." I start to run toward the sound bringing Bella with me.
We keep running until we come across a three story walk up apartment building. It looks run down, but so do most of the buildings in this area. On the second floor, the far right window has a light on and you can see a phonograph facing outward. We stand there for a moment just enjoying the sound of the music.
An idea forms in my head, a wonderful idea. Grasping Bella's hand, I set down my briefcase and bow in front of her. "May I have this dance my lady?"
"Edward we can't!" Shaking her head she begins to pull her hand away from mine.
"Why not Bella? This is the perfect song for us." I point out as the lyrics of Frank Sinatra's Strangers in the Night float around us. I take her pocketbook from her and place it on top of my briefcase.
"Edward, you are not from here so you cannot know. The Stasi have their ears and eyes everywhere. Do you even know how much trouble I could be in for being out here listening to this with you, let alone getting caught dancing with you?" She pleads with me.
My hand finds her waist and brings her closer to me and she places her hands on my upper arms. "Shhhh Bella. No one is here, no one is watching or listening. We are covered by these dense trees and trust me when I say, no police, secret or otherwise are going to get me in trouble for dancing with a pretty girl." I brush the back of my fingers across her cheekbone and grip her chin lightly between my thumb and index finger.
Not wanting to waste the moment, I lean my face in and gently place my lips upon hers, holding them there for a second longer than is appropriate. I pull away eager to see Bella's reaction but she tightens her grip on my arms. She presses her forehead against mine and nods slowly.
Her hands slide up over my shoulders and settle, resting behind my neck. My fingers find their way around her waist and link together. Our feet begin to move in a slow shuffle turning us in a tight circle. I reach up and move one of her hands so that we adopt a more proper dance position.
Her smile returns as our dance becomes less tentative, I even twirl her around at one point. Sadly, the music comes to an end and the window is shut. I am reluctant to let go of her and I know now she feels the same way.
"I don't want to leave you," my hushed voice pleads with her.
"Then don't. Come with me." Handing me my briefcase and placing her pocketbook under her arm, she walks us to the entrance of a bricked apartment building, across the street from the building that supplied our dancing music. She lets go of me and pulls a key out of the pocket in her skirt to unlock the front door. I must have appeared hesitant, as she reached for the lapel of my jacket saying, "Mr. Cullen, will you please come in?"
Every so often you come across moments that you are able to recognize as the moments that will change your life forever. This is one of those defining times. By saying yes there would be no turning back, I will forever be owned by one, Isabella Swan.
Taking a heady breath, I followed my love into the building. Once the door shuts behind me, Bella quickly turns around and reciprocates the kiss from earlier. This kiss is not as gentle but definitely just as sweet.
We break apart to get a full breath.
"Come." She leads me to a flight of stairs and we begin to climb. For all six flights up to the third floor, I have to urge myself to remain the gentleman that I am and not allow my eyes to inappropriately focus on Isabella's backside.
The hallway smells musty and the lights flicker as we reach the end and stand in front of the door to what I assume is her apartment. I hear her take a deep breath before unlocking the door, I follow her in but stop abruptly bumping into the back of her as she has stopped dead in her tracks.
When she turns around I see the nervousness fall across her face.
"Edward, I don't know exactly what you are used to in America or in West Berlin, but I do know that it is most likely more than what I have…."
I cut her off quickly by placing two of my fingers against her lips. "My dearest Isabella, anything that reflects you will be more than sufficient to satisfy my needs." Hoping she understands the double meaning of my words, I punctuate them with a brief kiss.
After placing my briefcase on the floor just inside the door, I take off my coat and place it on top. Removing her belongings from her hands, I add them to the pile I have created.
I turn her, wrapping an arm around her waist and one arm at her shoulders across her chest. Now we both face the room and I move us forward closing the door behind me. "Show me your home." I whisper in her ear.
"W…w…well," she stutters and I think I have effectively disarmed her. Collecting herself she continues, "This is our grand room, the kitchen is over there behind the screen." She points to a folding wooden screen that blocks of a room that can't be seen.
"There is a door at the back of the kitchen that goes to the roof," she explains further. "This door just behind us," she twists us slightly to point to the door, there is a pad lock at the top of it. "That is my older brother Marcus' room."
She must catch on to my curiosity at the lock.
"He always says I am too curious for my own good. He is a member of the Grepo. They are the police who patrol the border of the wall. They…."
Once again I interrupt her, "I know who the border guards are, and we exchange pleasantries daily." I give her my goofiest grin to lift her mood as I get the sense that her brother is a sore subject.
She smiles and points to the door in the right corner, "That is Oma's room…my grandmother. She is back in the hospital again, but should be coming home tomorrow."
Our position causes her to stumble slightly when she attempts to walk forward so I let her go and settle for holding her hand once more. She quickly locks the main door behind us, which takes some talent as I refuse to let go of her hand, then she leads me across the grand room to a door directly in front of us.
Placing her hand on the door handle, she turns it saying, "And this is my room."
After the door is open fully she enters and steps to the side allowing me to do the same.
The room is very warm and inviting, just like Bella. The walls are covered in a cream striped wall paper with tiny pink roses spread throughout the design. It's faded in parts and peeling in others, but it suits her. The room is small but cozy with a twin bed in the corner pressed up against a large window. The majority of the room is taken up by tables covered in fabrics and have sewn garments.
Bella closes the door behind us, which reveals to me a long closet that has had the doors removed and inside are two small tables each with a sewing machine sitting on top of them.
"These…" Bella steps backward a few steps and stands between the two machines and gently places a hand on each, "are my sewing machines." She says the last two words reverently as if they are gifts from God. To her, they probably are.
"Did you make everything in here?" I sweep my arms dramatically around gesturing to the numerous frocks hanging from every nook and cranny.
"Why yes! Let me show you." She begins grabbing different pieces and starts putting them on in an impromptu fashion show. "Sit, sit." She gestures to the bed and I take my seat on the gold bedspread that covers it.
She starts with a navy blue pea coat, that if I didn't know better I could have sworn my mother has the same one, that she likely paid a fortune for at Bloomingdales. She then adds a hat similar to her red one, but this one is a dark green. Adding a scarf, gloves, and a large men's winter coat, she looks like a small child set to go tobogganing when she's finished.
Waddling over to me, we both begin to laugh at her inability to move freely. When she is within a foot of me she decides to free fall forward and lands on top of me as I fall backward on the bed. Our laughter quickly dissolves and we are left in a precarious position nose to nose. I reach up and pull the hat from her head as it is already skewed from the fall.
I can't tell who leans in first, but our lips meld together. Our kisses are long and languid but quickly dissolve into desperate passionate ones.
"You are wearing entirely too many clothes," I tell her before unbuttoning the buttons on both the coats she is still wearing. I wrap my arms around her back and raise us into a sitting position with her straddling my lap. I then peel the jackets off her shoulders letting it fall behind her, followed by her scarf and gloves.
With her chest heaving with heavy breath, I take the opportunity to quickly remove her sweater over her head. A simple gold chain with a heart pendant that was hiding under the garment, now rests, almost floating over her collar bones.
The silk of her camisole is soft against the palms of my hands as I rub them up and down her sides. Grasping the fabric at her waist, I attempt to lift it over her head as well but find it is being restricted. I tug at it twice more.
Isabella's fingers lightly dance over mine halting my movements. She begins to lift herself off me and in a blind panic I grip her hip bones tighter. She laughs as she pries my fingers off her body, extracting herself from my grip.
Standing just in front of me she reaches behind her, then suddenly her skirt is pooling at her feet revealing a negligee of sorts, where her camisole is attached to silk shorts.
In a bold striptease that for me would rival any burlesque dancer, she shimmies out of the undergarment and is left in her unmentionables. Although it is worth mentioning that she looks fantastic in them.
My knees part and I pull her in close so that she stands between them.
I take a moment to appreciate her silhouette and the way the sheer fabric hugs her body before I undo the front clasp, freeing her breasts from the brassiere. As the straps fall away from her shoulders and down her arms, I place a kiss on the skin between her breasts and linger there breathing in her scent.
As I full pull her brassiere free from her hands I feel the goose bumps that have developed on her arms. They match mine. I glide my nose along the underside of her left breast and then move upwards placing another kiss on the tip of her breast which is now constricted with desire.
Her hand grazes the side of my cheek as she whispers "You sir, have entirely too many clothes on." Repeating my words and actions from earlier, she reaches for the hem of my shirt and swiftly pulls it up and over my head leaving me only in my undershirt. She makes quick work of that as well.
It's when she reaches for the belt that my brain kicks in and I grasp her wrist halting her movements.
"Wait, Bella." We both takes several needed breaths. "Are we going to fast? For you, I mean. For me…I want more, I want it all." I put it out there and let it sit with her. I need her to know that I desire this more than anything.
Speaking no words, she bends forward and expertly undoes my belt buckle and quickly follows with the button and zipper on my pants. Her hands then rest on my shoulders and she resumes her straddling position.
"I am in too, Edward; I want this. I need this." The look in her eyes is one of harsh determination but is balanced by a softness that I dare hope to be the beginnings of love.
"Bella, I don't want you to feel that you have to this. What we've done so far is enough for me. Perfect actually. And…I…well…I don't want you to think…that I haven't, you know," I reach behind my head and begin to scratch figuring out how to tell her this.
"Shhhhh, Edward." She places a delicate finger across my lips. "I don't expect you to have saved yourself for some girl you've never met."
She puts me somewhat at ease.
"I mean," she continues. "You are older than me. Much, much, much, much, much…"
"That is a few too many 'muches' little girl," I begin to lightly tickle her sides and she begins to crumble in laughter.
"But, this is your first time right?" I look deep into her eyes for confirmation. She simply nods, a light blush spreads across her cheeks, and then a look of purpose appears on her face.
I cannot describe the feeling as her right hand moves down my chest to my stomach, scratching lightly at the hair below my belly button before dipping lower into the waist band of my underwear.
Foolishly I attempt to stop her again, "Bella, you don't have to…."
"I may be innocent Edward but I'm not naive." She starts by rubbing the palm of her hand up and down my length several times.
Before I get lost in the sensation, I remind myself to stay focused. I can't bear the thought that I will only cause her discomfort tonight, so I tentatively move my hand that has been resting on her waist and skim the lace that borders the top of her underwear.
Slowly I dip the tips of my fingers under the lace. I take pause, afraid that her earlier words were said in the heat of lust, and that she has had a change of heart. As she moans into my mouth while continuing her stroking, I know that I am cleared to continue.
Admittedly, I don't have a lot of experience in this. I've never had a long term relationship, except for Janey in high school and that never moved past first base. The girls I've been with since then have been more a means to an end. The free love movement of the 1960's has been very kind to me.
I slid my fingers down her skin until I reach where her lips part and began to rub up and down and then into slow circles. She moves her hips forward when I begin the circles so I take that as an indication that this is the direction I should be moving in.
We continue our mutual pleasuring of each other for a while, with periodic passionate kisses and soft touches. Feeling her body tense, I move my lips away from her so I can look at her face. Her hand that has been taking care of me quite sufficiently has completely stilled. I can't complain because if she hadn't stopped, my excitement would probably have ended our coupling earlier than anticipated.
Her eyes squeeze tightly and her jaw slacks leaving her mouth open as her breathing becomes erratic. Her hand that has looped behind my head grips the bottom of my hairline tightly and I accomplish my goal in giving her pleasure this evening.
I let her ride it out as I know that as we progress our activities further, they will probably not end in the same fashion.
She only relaxes for a minute before she removes her hand from my underwear and sits up to work at removing her own.
Panties are tossed across the room and then she tugs at the waist band of mine impatiently. I can't help but laugh at the way her brow furrows with resolve. I help her remove my underwear then pull her back toward me.
Wrapping my arms around her I quickly flip our positions so that I can hover above her.
I can tell by her facial expression that I don't need to seek approval of these actions anymore. I reach between us, moving slowly as to gauge her discomfort, I slip into her.
Her breathing becomes slightly more laboured but she encourages me further by pressing her hands into my back.
Once I am fully sheathed within her I still my movements to let her adjust to the new sensations. After a few moments, that feel like forever, she strains her neck forward and her lips connect sweetly with mine. She breaks the kiss and nods. I take this as permission to begin moving.
I thought the day she looked at me was the greatest moment I had felt in my short life. I knew this to fall short on the day she spoke to me. That was quickly replaced by hand holding and then kissing. I was sure that nothing could be better than her lips pressed against mine. Once again I was a fool. Being connected to Isabella Swan in a carnal way was something that will always remain as the highlight of my life.
My right arm is wrapped around the top of her head, tenderly stroking her hair, as I place kisses all over her face. Holding myself slightly above her, I attempt to get my pelvis to connect with spot that brought her so much pleasure earlier. I know she probably wouldn't achieve orgasm with this but I hope it will make the experience more enjoyable for her.
I don't have long to ponder this as I can feel my excitement getting the better of me. All too quickly I find my release and collapse onto her.
She only shifts slightly under my weight and brings one of her hands up my back and finds purchase in my hair. Substantial breaths exuding from both of us. Eventually I slip out of her and see her face wince slightly.
"Oh Darling, are you okay? I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry," I can't think of how to apologize for my self-absorbed behaviour enough. I roll off of her and lay at her side.
She shifts her position so that we are both on our side but facing each other. "Edward stop," she runs her hand up and down my bicep in a soothing motion.
"I am fine. Wonderful in fact. I knew the first time would be…different, but I have also heard that it gets better each time, so I am looking forward to that." She smiles brilliantly at me.
My hand rests on her hip and I smile back. Something in my eyes must look mischievous as she follows up her previous statement. "In a few days Edward, do not get your hopes too high for another time tonight."
I fell her move away from me and feel anxious for a brief second. She reassures me that she is just going to get something to clean up, gesturing to the lower half of her body.
That is when real panic sets in.
"Oh Bella, I didn't think clearly. I should have used a condom or at least pulled out."
A knowing look crosses her face. "It is fine Edward. It is not the right time in the month for us to need to worry about that. I trust you, and I have not been with anyone else, so we are safe."
"You track when you can get pregnant?" I ask in disbelief.
"From the first day I spoke to you. That day in the rain. Just to be properly prepared." She answers before leaving the room and coming back with two warm, wet towels to clean us both.
Quickly I clean myself with the towel she hands me, washing off the evidence of her innocence. She takes the towels and places them on the back of the chair seated at the first sewing machine in her makeshift closet room.
While she is doing that, I fold back her gold coverlet and the corresponding white with gold flowered sheets tucked neatly below. I crawl beneath and hold them open for her to accompany me. When she does I cover us both with the blankets.
She situates herself so that her back is resting against my front and I am able to wrap my arms around her and hold her closely against me.
After the intimacy that we shared I feel this is the best time to uncover all of her secrets she holds so tightly guarded.
"Tell me about when the wall went up?" I hedge gently.
Her breathing stops momentarily in a gasp. Then so softly I can barely hear her, "You were not here?" She questions.
"No, after I finished law school in Munich, I went back to the United States to pass my bar exams there. By the time I made my way back to Germany the country was divided and the wall was up." I explain to her.
"Well, as you probably know, tensions were rising between the Soviets and the other allied countries of Great Britain, France, and your United States. It is hard to believe but in just one night, my world was ripped apart and Germany was physically separated into two, East and West." Her voice holds so much sorrow I am undecided if I want her to continue, yet she does.
"I remember because my parents were on a vacation to Chicago. I told you before that my father is American, and from Chicago. So, my parents and my younger brother Jasper were in Chicago visiting my grandparents. I stayed here with Marcus to take care of my Oma who had another spell and needed to be looked after." Bella's grip on my hand becomes slightly stronger and I know this memory is painful for her.
"What happened when they came back?" I urge her to continue.
"Everyone remembers that day. August 13th, 1961. I woke up in excitement that my family was coming home with tales of their great American adventures. Instead, I woke up to a city in disarray and barbed wire spread out in between tanks with armed soldiers forbidding us from crossing some man made border into West Berlin."
Taking a momentary pause, I assume she is allowing these emotions to once again be felt. "And that was it. Families separated in what was a matter of hours. All modes of transportation stopped. The wall even divided apartment buildings in half. In the first few weeks people would try to escape simply by jumping out of their windows if they lived right on the border."
"My father," her voice breaks slightly. "He has strong ties to the American military and knew that they would never let him cross into the East again. My mother and Jasper could cross, but would never be let out again. So they stayed, leaving me here."
"Oh, Bella. I…I can't even imagine." I lay a kiss upon the hair at the back of her hair and offer the only comfort I can at that moment by securing my hold on her.
"No," she says wiping away a tear I hadn't seen fall. "This is what needs to be. Oma needs me here and one day I have faith this will be over and we will be back together. Plus," she shifts and rolls toward me and we are now face to face. "I would not have met you if these events had not taken place." I feel the slight taste of salt from her tears as she presses her lips against mine. "I would not trade that for anything," she assures me.
"Do you ever get to see them? Or, talk to them?" I ask, full of concern that she has been alone with the exception of a militant brother and ailing grandmother.
"I have not seen them in the flesh, no, but I have letters and pictures." She reaches behind her into the drawer of the tiny night stand that sits beside her bed and pulls out a worn photograph. A handsome man and delicate woman each displaying various features of my Bella. In front of them is a younger boy, looks about 12 years old. The woman is also holding a small infant child.
Bella must sense my curiosity. "That is my baby sister. She was very much a surprise to my parents. Her name is Angelika. I have not met her yet, but I have some pictures, and I have made her some clothing, sent her photos of me and have written her letters so she will know of my love."
I move to wipe the tears that have gathered in her eyes and are beginning to fall. She stops my movements, "No, no, these are happy tears. We will be together again soon, of this I am sure."
Distraction is her next move as she places a kiss on my lips followed by a line of pecks from my ear down my jawline to the cleft in my chin. "How? How do you exchange all these things?" My curiosity cannot be swayed.
"Well, we all have our ways. That border is in no way entirely secure. For me, there is a cemetery near here, Invalidenfriedhof, you know it, yes?"
"Invalid's cemetery? Yes, I know it. Doesn't the Wall runs right through it?" She nods at my description.
"Yes, when they were putting the actual wall in place, they went right though the cemetery. It is one of the only sections that does not have the double wall, and they built around the original brick wall. So, it is patrolled on the East side quite heavily."
Her right hand begins to lightly trace random shapes on my bare chest, just over where my heart is.
"My close friend Jacob, he is a guard and is stationed there quite frequently. I only go there when I know he is working," She explains.
"When he is, I leisurely walk to the far right corner, and there are some bricks that have worn and one that can even be removed. I often sit there for hours, with the brick removed and just stick my hand through to the other side and feel the cool grass there. If I close my eyes, I almost feel freedom for a few precious moments." Her eyes close now and I can sense the peace she feels in those moments.
"That is where we have dug a hole under the wall just big enough for small packages, letters and gifts of that sort. It all depends on Jacob though, so often it can be some time between visits."
I find myself with slight feelings of jealousy with another mention of her friend Jacob but try to stifle these emotions as it is me who is currently lying next to her naked in bed.
I kiss the top of her forehead and we lay there in comfortable silence until we both drift asleep.
Sometime later we are both awoken by a slamming door.
Horrified, Bella quickly jumps out of bed, grabbing her robe and tying it tightly around her torso. "Do not make even one sound." She warns me.
I hear the murmurs of voices and some opening and closing of cupboards. What is only minutes but feels like an eternity passes, and Bella swiftly re-enters the room with my coat and briefcase, shutting and locking the door behind her.
"We have a slight problem." Her impish grin doesn't put me at ease.
"Marcus is home. I was not expecting him tonight or I would never have invited you to stay." Letting out a fast puff of air she continues. "You have to leave, through the window."
I'm sure my face is comical as I can actually feel my eyes bulge slightly from their sockets. "Bella, we are three stories up!" I remind her.
Shaking her head she moves to the window that is near the foot of the bed and opens it. "Silly Edward, there is a fire escape."
Relief fills me. I get out of bed and locate my clothing to redress. I can't help but notice that Bella is enjoying the show.
Once my coat is on, I pick up my briefcase and make my way to the window stopping in front of Bella, and placing my briefcase on the floor at her feet. "I must see you again like this, soon." I plead with her, "Maybe we can go out for dinner, anywhere you like."
"I do not know Edward. We have to be careful. I do not want anyone getting suspicious of our relationship or interpret it as planning an escape. You know my brother is a guard, and I feel he may even be with the regime deeper than that. He would not hesitate to turn me in." Fear replaces the love that was in her eyes seconds earlier.
My hands cup both of her jaw lines and I lean in to reassure her of my love with a fervent kiss. Resting my forehead on hers I offer her words of comfort, "Do not worry my love, I will figure this out. We will figure this out. I have never been disappointed with the hand life has dealt me, and I will not start now."
I have one leg out the window when an idea occurs to me, "Isabella, will Jacob be on duty in the cemetery tomorrow?"
"Yes," She hesitates slightly with her answer.
"I hope you have a lovely day there tomorrow." I tell her and then disappear into the dark skies of the early Saturday morning, already planning the words of love that will fill the letter I will leave her under the brick wall as soon as I have safely returned to the West.