Hey there ! Yes, another little story for you.

She laid on her side, her back facing the door, and by the scratching sounds he could hear, Carlisle supposed she was sketching the robin hopping on the balcony. She made soft sounds, brushing back a strand of hair and tucking it behind her ear impatiently.

He knew she was eager to finish this sketch; but for what reason, he could only guess.

He had never been that good at guessing, and a voice in his head told him, mischievously, that the easiest option was to ask her. Another voice told him to refrain and continue his silent appraisal.

The fact that Esme was his fiancée was still beyond him. Looking at the ring on her finger was his only way to remember that it was true. Everything that had happened by the falls last month was real. She felt real, and he felt like their upcoming union was the very last blessing he could ever ask from God, and yet he would never deem it bittersweet — sweet only. And the longing in his heart had by now spread through his whole chest, and Carlisle was certain he could feel the quiet thrumming making its way lower down. It seemed to have settled in the pit of his stomach, and very contentedly so.

He could feel it weave the first thread of a very heavy web whose name was to be 'desire'.

Loving Esme had proved incredibly easy, but the lust he now felt for her, the need to have her was terrifying. He thought it beautiful, but was frightened by it, scared of himself and that side of him he had rarely explored.

Because there was nobody to explore it for, he thought. And now there is, all you have to do is take the chance before its gone.

Esme turned towards him and he adverted his gaze elsewhere. You fool, shut your mouth and stop staring at her legs ! Although, if he was to be completely honest, it wasn't her legs he was enticed by at the moment, but very much the curve of her waist. Master yourself Carlisle, she's looking at you.

Of course, where else would she look ? He swore he could see her eyes searching for something without knowing what it was. Helpless, he lowered his gaze after one last wistful look, and he could almost hear her smile widen.

Now, that is appropriate.

His thoughts were miles away from anything approaching decency, and he felt a sense of comfort knowing she could not read them. But he also felt a strange sadness at her innocence, and the way he longed to shatter it, to take it from her in every way that was creative and involved contact. It was precious, he knew it was, but the chained lover in him was ravenous and decided that enough was enough.

''That robin is adorable isn't he ?'' she asked, flicking her pencil between two very appealing fingers.

It so happened to be her ring finger. Carlisle took two steps towards the bed, afraid to go any nearer without her permission. After all, it was her room, and this massive and useless piece of furniture just so happened to be quite … imposing.

''He's gone darling, I think I frightened him. I hope you're finished with that sketch.''

''How do you know I was sketching him ?''

He shrugged. Come on, two more steps, that bed isn't going to bite you, idiot.

''What else would you have been sketching ?'' he asked, genuinely curious.

''Replacement for that balcony. It's an antique.'' she said, pouting.

After due consideration, don't take another step.

''Come over here, won't you ?''

So he did take another step, well aware of the delectable friction the bed sheets would have created against his bare leg.

Oh, but her legs were bare.

It may be observed that women rarely (never) wore nothing under their clothes, especially when it came to their legs, therefore men had very little preview of the creamy skin underneath stockings. Well he had the best preview any man could have dreamt of. He had dreamt of it, of course, but there was a considerable stretch between imagining and witnessing. He longed to caress her skin, and his fingers alighted, twisting the bed sheet in a poor attempt to disguise their true intents.

But Esme was no fool, and formidably observing. She locked her gaze to his hand, her brow arching up slightly. Then she reached out and caressed one particular finger on his left hand, the one she loved the most. It wasn't his ring finger, but his forefinger, the one that was so good at tracing the outline of her jaw. She loved his thumb also, mostly because it was the companion in crime of aforesaid forefinger.

''What else did you draw today, dearest ?'' he asked, securing her hand in his own.

Esme couldn't blush, but she wished she could. There was no better way to tell him that Edward would have to be kicked out of the house before she was to show him anything else than that robin. The main reason was that, even if they were mere sketches, they were very self-explanatory as to the nature of her desire for him.

She did not fear his judgement. The need to draw him — draw them — had come from a deeper place, one well hidden and buried under years of abuse and shame. But he's Carlisle, you can trust him. He knows what happened.

Yes, he did know how her past had affected her. Or at least he probably thought he did, and to a certain extent he wasn't wrong. However, there was another aspect, another … consequence of which he was fully unaware. Carlisle couldn't realize just how strong her desire was, and just how she longed to give into her need.

After all, they were on a bed. Better yet, she was lying on said bed, his hands inches away from her lap. And she had seen his fingers stretch towards her legs.

''Oh, nothing really. I sketched mostly.''

''Isn't sketching considered drawing, sweetheart ?'' he said, the very image of innocence. If a halo had suddenly appeared around his forehead, she wouldn't have been the least bit surprised.

Busted.

Well, she might just as well show him.

''Don't ask any questions, all right ?''

A surprised smile tugged at the corners of his lips, and she found it exceedingly hard to look away. Curiosity flared up in his amber eyes when she started to go backwards, flipping through the pages at a suspiciously fast pace. Then, she stopped and eyed critically what he could not yet see. When she raised her eyes, he noticed they were worried, as if she feared he might disapprove.

''I…'' she began, then hesitated, and sighed, letting the book fall open on the bed.

Tentatively, Carlisle stroked the paper, amazed at how well she had guessed his very own musculature, how well she knew his body — more than himself, it seemed. For her to have drawn these, she must have stolen more than one look at him.

He had to admit he was pleased, not only with her drawings, but because it meant she had wanted to draw him, out of everything she could have chosen to draw.

He had promised not to ask questions so instead he bent forward and kissed her.

The kiss, as sweet as it was, did not mean thank you : she had not been drawing for him. It meant something else, and they both couldn't decide on what. Was it necessary ? Yes, but not because any 'thank you' or 'anytime' was needed.

Because so much more was needed and a kiss felt like a good place to start with.

''Do you like them ?'' she asked in a small, shaky voice.

He nuzzled her jaw happily, smiling to himself.

''Very much.''

Do I like you ? So much more.

''You'll have to draw me now.'' she whispered in his ear, and he instantly realized that he was so very close to her.

''I would hardly know how.'' his voice was huskier now, his eyes wide opened and locked with hers.

''Such a sweet liar you are, my love.'' she laughed and all the air in his lungs was gone. ''You know how.''

''Full body ?'' he said in a hopeful tone.

She chuckled, embracing him.

''Yes, full body…''

The way her fingers danced on his back made him shiver. Surely enough, she felt it, but refusing to withdraw, came closer to him, crossing her legs, one knee resting on his thigh. That area seemed to come alive instantly, and he closed his eyes, his mouth lost in the crevice of her neck, kissing the scars there.

Meanwhile, Esme's very capable hands did not stay idle, and by carefully tugging at the material, she managed to free his blouse from the waistband of his trousers. Carlisle, startled to find her so bold, looked in her eyes questioningly.

''I just want to check whether I got my sketches right, sweetheart.'' she said.

That meant she was going to free him from his shirt.

Which meant he was going to free her from her own ?

The moment his shirt fell to the floor and he stood bare chest before her, he searched her gaze avidly, wishing he could read her mind. What does she think of me ? Do I please her ? Do I meet her expectations ? All those questions intertwined in Carlisle's mind, and he was driven near mad by her silence. He needed to hear her, to know her thoughts, to possess them if at all possible.

''Esme ?'' Am I enough ? Do you want me ?

Still, she remained silent, mouth agape. Then she did something very strange.

She licked her lips.

The only thing coursing through Carlisle's foggy mind at this point was close to ''Oh, God''.

With a strong emphasis on the 'Oh'.

''Carlisle…'' she breathed, his name echoing her own. She brought both her hands to rest on his heaving chest, one awfully close to the silent cavity of his heart. ''You are beautiful.'' her hands drifted upwards, and the soft pressure left a tingly feeling in its wake. ''Mesmerizing…'' she cradled his face in her hands now, linking her mouth to his passionately.

Unexperienced as he was with physical contact, Carlisle still understood her desire. Giving in, he pulled her to him and she settled into his lap, her small frame wrapped in his limbs as his arms embraced hers and his legs welcomed hers. She smelled and tasted exquisite, and the only thing he cared to know now was how delicious she felt.

So he asked :

''Let me see you Esme, please…'' it was half a question, half a plea for mercy. Would she accept or would she shy away ?

''What do you want to see, my love. Please, just ask, just tell me …'' her own voice was dripping with desire and he suspected his own must have sounded just as breathless, just as appealing.

Passion in vampires is uncontrollable. She needed his touch, he craved hers ; their bodies only followed what their souls wanted. When she pressed her body flush against him, he felt everything at once. He felt her breasts crash into his chest, the fabric of her blouse brush his skin. He felt her legs, shaking yet strong, straddle him. He felt her neck against his own, her necklace a cold sting on his hot skin. He just wanted to be warm.

She was warm.

''Let me open …'' he could not finish his sentence, but Esme understood. Her black eyes softened, and she took in an uncertain breath. As unnecessary as it was, it felt reassuring. What they were doing was human. The most human act one could find. And it was delectable.

She led the way : she was the mentor. As Carlisle's hands touched the first button, she could not hesitate anymore. The infinite pressure of his fingers on fabric was maddening, she could only hope it would become heavenly on her skin. And her skin demanded him : it was tight, hard, yet melting under her fiancé's gaze as he opened one button after the other.

''I need your touch, Carlisle.'' she declared, her patience gone.

Her hands drifted to his pants, and he whimpered. His mouth was back upon her own in an instant, muffled moans escaping them as their passion whined for each other's attentions. She needed more. She needed his hands on her breasts, his hot breaths in her neck and the sounds he made to echo through the room.

Her body arched helplessly into his palms.

His body melted into her, his legs enclosing her as his hands were far too occupied pleasing her.

Those sounds they were making only heightened their desire : her moans of pleasure, his sobs of gratefulness interrupted by whimpers of need … they only helped in the doctor's hands going south, leaving a trail of fire behind them. She was aroused, that much ha had gathered. He just had no idea of how much.

And Lord, she was.

He touched her, and her vision blurred. She couldn't help but cry out.

And he had merely touched her. A feather-like touch, but it was sweet torture. She pressed her body onto his hands, his name escaping her flushed lips. She said His name then, with teary eyes and her chest shining in the sunlight. A vison worthy of God Himself. Unable to resist, he bowed his head and took one breast into his mouth, his hand shying away from her delicious lap to caress the other.

Then Esme rocked herself on him, and he lost it. He growled, his desire too strong to resist.

Too powerful. She pushed her hips into his another time, and he longed to remove these clothes, to make her his. Yet another thrust and his head fell back, mouth opened but eyes shut.

Pleasure was bittersweet. He was so aroused now that the mere stop of stopping drove him on the brink of tears. He moaned loudly, his hand snapping back to her thighs. This time, she was the one to growl. But he was the one to cry out her name in sweet agony.

Thank God a vampire's hearing is out of the ordinary. So pleasure-driven as they both were, neither of them would ever have heard the door open and the voice calling out for them. Carlisle and Esme both blessed and cursed this fantastic hearing of theirs as they separated, taking in sharp horrified breaths as Edward took off his shoes.

Esme began to cry silently, hand clasped over her mouth as she reached fro him, who was just as desperate. In his arms, she repossessed herself in half a second, kissed him passionately, whispering her adoration. He kissed her back, madly, with watery charcoal eyes and a sad smile.

''Promise me.'' she murmured, her voice breaking, her lips moist and all over his face.

''Yes, my beloved. I promise you sweet relief on our wedding night.''

''It will never come fast enough, I'm afraid.''

''I adore you, Esme. Oh, God, I want you so much. I wanted to ... to ...''

''Promise me, Carlisle : you will make love to me on our wedding night.''

''I promise to make love to you many times after that. And I promise to ravish you.''

The bed, now left all alone, did not seem quite as imposing anymore.

I was slightly annoyed at Edward as well.