Any characters in this story belong to Stephenie Meyer. The torture I put them through is of my creation. This is an AU world, but NOTHING like Stephenie Meyer's world. This is a story in the Victorian Era.

-Selfish Passions-

By ☼Izanami☼

A one shot

14 pages

Consciousness came slowly to Isabella Swan. In her dreams she was aboard some great ship sailing an endless, glassy sea. And she was dancing, swirling, swirling, making circles within circles to the music of a waltz, thunderous, ecstatic, and it felt heavenly, thrilling, but she was dizzy, terribly dizzy.

On and on the music played and she couldn't stop dancing. Whirling around her were faces, so many beautiful faces. Marie Antoinette, Elizabeth the I of England. And there, yes, that was Napoleon. He was looking at her, smiling. He seemed to know her. Everyone was looking at her, and she knew why. She was naked. Where were her clothes?

Then the music stopped and with it her dizziness. She looked for her partner. But he was gone. Whom had she been dancing with? Then a man appeared, a giant, so powerful people parted along the crowded deck to make way for him as he strode toward her, nearer and neared, ever bigger until he towered over her. Then she knew. He was a pirate and she was on a pirate ship.

Suddenly she was afraid and looked up at his face to see what he was going to do with her. But she couldn't see his face. Why couldn't she? Everyone has a face. Then he bent and picked her up. She felt so light, as though she were floating, suspended in space. It was wonderful, so wonderful, and she sighed with pleasure.

It was that sound of her own voice sighing which made her realize she was conscious. She opened her eyes, but every thing was so strange, her eyelids so heavy. She closed them again. It felt so delicious just to lie there, so relaxed, so comfortable. She was warm and tingly and rapturously languid. Heaven must be like this. She reached out with her hands and felt cool, smooth fabric. Again her mind forced reality upon her. The fabric was muslin. Sheets. She was lying in bed.

Once more she opened her eyes. She saw a ceiling first, then, lowering her vision, draperies at a window, the top of a door. She didn't know any of it. She raised her head. She was lying in a strange bed in a room she didn't know. Alarm sounded in her brain and she willed herself to sit up and slide to the edge of the bed. But it was all done slowly. Her arms, legs, her whole body seemed so heavy. What was wrong with her?

She shook her head, trying to clear it. She had to think. Where was she? Then she looked down at herself. She still wore her beautiful ball gown, her red satin slippers. That was when she began to remember.

"Are your eyes close, dear? A gown this beautiful shouldn't be seen till everything is just right."
Standing there in her bedroom, being dressed by her grandmother, Isabella Swan felt the high excitement of anticipation. "Yes, but I can hardly wait"

The excitement had been building for days. They were all going to a masked ball, a royal ball, the most important of the season. Prince Edward (A/N: Not the Twilight Edward) and Princess Alexandra were to attend, along with most of the brilliant people that the London of 1870 had to offer. There were even rumors Queen Victoria might break her mourning for Prince Albert and come.

"I know, dear. It'll only be a minute now."

Kagome heard a combination of calmness and amusement in the voice of her grandmother, the celebrated Esme Cullen. In strict accuracy she was Esme MacDoul, but everyone thought of her as Kaede Cullen, after Carlisle Cullen, her first husband and Kagome's grandfather.

"EsmeMa . . ." It was her affectionate term for her grandmother; she had used it since she was a child.

". . . Do you think the English will mind our costumes? After all, we are all Americans."

"Hardly, dear. I should think everyone will be pleased."

What Bella was expressing, EsmeMa understood, was worry about egalitarian Americans dressing as royalty. Esme was going as Marie Antoinette. She was already in her costume when she came to dress Bella, her white hair piled atop her head. She wore a lavish hooped gown of white satin, so brilliant in the light it dazzled the eye. And the neckline was cut so deeply oval, Kagome almost couldn't believe it. She was always shocked by the daring gowns her grandmother wore---and she even wore a beauty mark to accentuate the necklines. Her mother, Renee Swan, was going as Elizabeth the I of England, and she was to be Empress Josephine to her brother Jacob's Emperor Napoleon.

"Raise your arms, dear. It goes over the head."

When Bella had obeyed, EsmeMa said, "Now hold still. I don't want muss your hair."

Great secrecy surrounded the dress, and that only heightened Bella's excitement. Esme had insisted on buying the costumes for Bella and her mother, but they had to be a surprise. Fitting were made from dress forms, and Bella had no clue to the nature of the gown. For days she had asked girlish questions. What color is it? What material was it made of? It had become a family game with Esme teasing her with silly answers: "Just an old rag, dear." "I think it is made from old gunnysacks." It was great fun, Christmas in April, and an excited Bella loved every moment of it.

She felt cool smoothness against her skin and shivered a bit from the luxuriousness of it. "It's satin, isn't it, EsmeMa? I can feel it."

"Only partly, dear. Now bend over."

Bella thought it strange that her grandmother had told her to wear only pantaloons and no chemise before putting on the dress. Now she began to understand. For a second Bella felt her breast falling free, then felt the bodice of the dress fit over them. As she stood up, she could feel the pressure of whalebone at the bottom and sides of her breasts. Then her grandmother's fingers were fastening the back of the dress, and in a moment she felt hands tugging at it, adjusting the bodice, patting here, smoothing there.

Then the hands were gone. "Bella, my dear, I think I may cry."

"Why, EsmeMa? Isn't the gown right?"

"Oh, no, darling, it's just perfect. You look breath-taking."

"Then why are you crying?"

"I 'm not crying, dear. I just felt like it for a moment." She sighed. "How can I tell you? When I was almost eighteen, just a little younger than you, your grandfather Carlisle bought me my first ball gown. We were in Lisbon, and I adored it so. It was just like this. I was thrilled then and I'm thrilled now. I feel like I'm looking at myself as a young girl.

All her life Bella had heard how much she looked like her grandmother. Bella couldn't see the resemblance. EsmeMa seemed so old to her, and her hair, which everyone said had once been a dark chocolate, had turned silver in the Celtic manner. She loved her grandmother dearly and thought she still very beautiful, but she didn't feel she looked like her.

But then there was no way Bella could have seen her grandmother when she was young. There could be no doubt genetics had a powerful influence on Isabella Swan. From Esme, she inherited hair so dark and velvety it looked like polished cherry wood. From beneath dark brows and heavy double lashes showed eyes the color of brilliant mahogany. But, like Esme, it was her complexion which gave her her true beauty, being so fair it was almost white, with hardly a hint of color, and so thin it seemed to possess at times an inner luminescence.

Their resemblance truly did amaze Esme. Oh, when she made the effort, Esme could see the difference between them. Bella's mouth was a little fuller, her nose a trifle smaller and turned up a bit more, her chin more square. And Bella's eyes, if a precise measurement could have been made, were a little larger and perhaps even more vivid in their richness. Yet, the similarities between Bella and the young Esme were surely startling.

"Is the dress really beautiful, EsmeMa?"

"Oh yes, darling, yes. Just like I've remembered it all these years."

"Can I see now? I think I'm going to burst with excitement."

"Of course. Let me help you to the mirror first. You should see the entire effect."

Bella felt her grandmother take her hand and lead her a few steps to the left.

"Open your eyes, darling. Behold a vision."

Bella waited a moment longer, letting the anticipation build, then slowly opened her eyes. Almost immediately she gasped, for there in the chifforobe mirror was a person she hardly recognized. Her hair had been arranged in tiny ringlets to frame her face, then pulled to the back of her head and fashioned into a cascade of curls at her neck. She saw eyes, larger and warmer than she'd ever seen them before, ruby lips, and expanse of white throat---and the dress, oh, the dress. Never had she seen a gown so exquisite. Yards and yards of silk chiffon draped over a thin slip satin et, all of it a shade of red, between wine and blood, that deepened and magnified her eyes.

Because she was Empress Josephine, the gown was Empire style, snugged high under her bosom with ribbons, and falling straight over her hips to her ankles. Below the hem, the tips of red dancing slippers could be seen.

But Bella's attention was immediately fixed on something else. She glanced at herself and gasped at her décolletage. The bodice, held up bu little puff sleeves at the shoulder, seemed almost nonexistent, just a few wisps of chiffon shielding her areolae. She looked at her image in the mirror, then down at her front again and finally back at the mirror. Her breast lifted up and pressed together with the cleverly concealed whalebone, were almost entirely revealed, twin milky mounds with a deep valley between.

"My dear, you look absolutely enchanting."

The gown, indeed the entire effect of the girl wearing it, was every thing Bella had ever dreamed of, a hundred French and English romances all rolled into one, flawlessly beautiful, wholly fashionable and demure, yet shockingly sensual. A word leaped to her mind---womanly. The girl in the mirror seemed the embodiment of womanliness.

She felt her heart pounding with excitement, and to quell it she closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them to again confront the image, she saw reality. This was no storybook romance, no indulgent daydream. This was herself, Bella Swan, wearing this shocking gown, and those were her breasts exposed for public inspection. At that moment her instinctive shyness exerted itself, and the vision in the mirror was instantly changed to an ugly, menacing apparition.

Her mouth came open, and when the words finally came out they were a stammer. "I---I can't---wear this, EsmeMa. I---I'm a---a spectacle."

In the mirror, Bella saw Esme step into the reflection and put her arm around her waist affectionately. Esme eyes were bright with laughter.

"I remember when I first wore my gown. I felt as you do---thrilled, yet dismayed. I remember saying almost your same words. 'Carlisle, I can't wear this. I'm a spectacle.' You know what he replied?"

"No"

"I think he said something like, 'Indeed you are.' So let me tell you, sweet Bella, you are indeed a spectacle, sure to be the loveliest girl at the ball."

Esme had deliberately understated the case. Bella looked devastatingly lovely. There was a natural aura to her which this remarkable gown merely highlighted. She conveyed, always, petiteness, demureness, fragility. She had an inborn delicacy, a natural reserve, a comfortableness with silence which was at times positively unnerving. No matter what she did or wore, she was always every inch the lady. This natural created a stunning effect. Bella Swan was at this moment pure femininity.

Bella had another view. She knew what her grandmother was doing. EsmeMa worried about her being so shy and withdrawn, so timid and selfconsciouss. She had been, in her grand mother's opinion, overprotected at Miss Pinckney's School in London, however posh it was. She read too many romantic novels and lived far too often in a world of daydreams. This dress was a calculation by her grandmother. It was supposed to bring the butterfly out of the cocoon, break down her shyness, make her get over her selfconsciousness. Bella wanted no part of it. "I can't, EsmeMa. I can't wear this." In the mirror she saw Esme's brilliant smile turn into a light laugh as she reached around her and snugged the bodice a little further down her breasts. "Don't EsmeMa. I'm almost naked."

Again the smile mixed with laughter. "Almost is not quite."

Once more Bella surveyed her form in the mirror, disapproval, even desperation, on her face. "EsmeMa, it's practically a nightgown."

And EsmeMa laughed. "I suppose that's why it was called the chemise dress. In Napoleons day, it was always white. But I like red. It's perfect for your eyes, don't you think?"

Kagome did not think anything was perfect. "You're going to make me wear this?"

"Yes, it cost a fortune."

"Why must I wear this?" There was a pleading tone to her voice.

"Because you're Empress Josephine and that was the style in those days. And you're so lovely, Bella.

She still sat on the edge of the bed, struggling against the languid, heavy feeling. All she wanted was to fall backward on the bed and sleep. But she fought it. Where was she? How had she got here? She looked around the room. It was small, utilitarian. Nothing was familiar. Whose room was it? She had to remember. Slowly, Bella looked down at her dress again, seeing her breasts protruding in front of her. Yes. Mama had entered the bedroom, and Bella had protested to her that the gown was to revealing. She, too, had said it was lovely. If Bella were embarrassed, she could hide behind her mask. That had her feel better, for a while anyway.

Yes, they had all gone downstairs. Jacob, her brother, was waiting, dressed as Napoleon. She had laughed at him. He was too tall and too handsome to look anything like Napoleon. She had seen his eyes widen as he saw her dress. Then he'd smiled and said, "Big sister, you look like---a big sister." She had laughed. If anyone else had said it, she would have blushed.

At the ball she had been introduced to Prince Edward, Princess Alexandra, Prime Minister Gladstone, Benjamin Disraeli. She couldn't remember everyone. All of them were nice, but she couldn't get over being nervous, feeling self-conscious. It had seemed to her she was all breasts and that's all anyone looked at. She had tried to be more poised, but she couldn't help it. She was shy. That's all there was to it. She wished she had never gone to the ball. She was having a miserable time. Then something happened. What? If she weren't so tired and sleepy, maybe she could remember. Maybe if she just rested a moment, she would be able to think. Slowly she fell back on the bed and closed her eyes.

Bella had no idea if she slept or for how long. But she was shocked awake by the sound of a key turning in the lock. Instantly she sat up, and as soon as she saw who entered, she remembered what had happened. At the ball she had danced with a vampire dressed as a pirate---buckle shoes, white hose, satin britches, wide belt form which a sheathed knife hung, blue and white striped shirt with a red kerchief knotted at his throat. Another kerchief, tied at the side concealed his hair. Little of his face had been visible, for his mask covered his forehead, cheekbones and much of his nose. She hadn't wanted to dance with him, but he had insisted, almost dragging her out on the floor. He had said wicked, intimate things which had shocked her. She'd tried to break away but he held her, dancing faster and faster to a tumultuous waltz. When it was over, she was out of breath. He'd fetched her some punch, then she'd felt dizzy. He'd led her out into the garden. The dizziness had increased. He'd led her deeper into the garden. That's all she could remember.

He was in the room with her now, still wearing his pirate costume. She could only stare at him wide-eyed, for she was suddenly afraid.

"Don't be frightened. No harm will come to you."

Still she looked at him. Did she know him? She could see so little of his face, just topaz eyes peeking through the mask, and below, a wide mouth with a full, sensitive lower lip, a strong chin. It was a nice mouth. She'd noticed that first thing. But did she know him?

"I'm not going to hurt you, Bella. Believe me."

Finally she was able to speak. "Were am I?"

"With me, at my place."

"But. . ." There seemed something she ought to say, questioning to be asked, a protest to be made, but her mind didn't seem to be functioning right. She felt so heavy, so languorous. All she wanted to do was sleep.

"You must be thirsty. Drink this."

"Why have you brought me here?"

He held a crystal wineglass toward her. "Drink."

"Yes, I am thirsty." She accepted the goblet. The liquid was clear and cool, but thick and a little sweet. She wasn't sure that she liked it. But she heard him order her to drink it all and she obeyed. Almost at once, she felt the heat in her stomach, burning.

"You'll feel better in a moment."

She looked at him again, the pirate, a mask obscuring all but his mouth and chin. She'd liked the mouth. And his voice. It was soft, mellow, yet there was command to it. She'd never known a man to talk to her as he did.

"How long did I sleep?"

"Not long, only a few minutes."

She looked at him more intently. If only she could see his face, Those eyes, that beautiful mouth conveyed no menace to her, but why had he brought her here if he intended no harm. "What are you going to do to me?" Her voice was little above a whisper.

She saw him smile. "Nothing you don't want me to do, Bella, I wouldn't harm you for a minute."

Somehow she didn't believe him "But. . . why?"

"I told you. Don't you remember, when we were dancing?"

"No---I---I can't seem to think."

"I told you. You are so beautiful. Your skin is like warm snow. Your lips, your breasts, your very scent. I can't resist you." He hesitated. "I am sorry to do it this way, but I must have you."

She could not fully comprehend the meaning of his words, but she knew fear as she saw his hand slowly toward her.

The girl who sat on the edge of the bed looking up at a vampire wearing a mask and dressed as a pirate may have been beautiful, and she may have looked like the embodiment of femininity in that bold Empire gown, but she was entirely innocent. Even by the standards of Victorian England, she was innocent.

A sequence of events had conspired to make her so. Born in 1852, the first issue of the love match between Renee Townsend Swan, daughter of Esme and Carlisle Cullen, and Charles "Charlie" Swan, she spent her young girlhood at Forks, the giant Cullen-Swan estate in southern Maryland. Luxurious by any standards, Forks was nonetheless isolated. Bella's companionship was largely restricted to her parents, her brother Jacob, who was a year younger than she, servants and workers on the plantation, and occasional visits from her grandmother Esme, who with her second husband, Cap'n Mac, sailed the oceans of the world in his famous clipper ship Esme Cullen and stopped at Forks whenever they came to America. Bella's was a happy childhood, but one with a certain amount of loneliness, which she filled with books and daydreams.

When she was eight, the Civil War broke out, and her father joined the Union army as a cavalry officer. She still carried a romantic memory of Charlie Swan, so handsome in his uniform, kissing her goodbye, then mounting his horse to ride off. It was the last time she saw him, for he was killed at Gettysburg. In the meantime, federal troops occupied southern Maryland to quell the pronounced pro-slavery sentiment there. Forks was virtually confiscated by blue-coated soldiers and became untenable for children. Renee insisted that Esme take Bella and Jacob to London to escape the war. That had been in1861. Renee had followed two years later after Charlie was killed. Cap'n Mac, his beloved ship thrust into the war effort, was lost along with the vessel in a storm.

Thus, for the past nine years, Bella had lived in London with her mother and grandmother, both widows, and her younger brother. Practically members of the family were Paul and Leah, for more than forty years servants to Esme Cullen. They all lived luxuriously in London, and Bella had gone to Miss Pickney's , the proper school for the privileged maiden. But the simple fact was that Bella's entire contact with the opposite sex had been restricted to her brother, an elderly servant, and the young men who came to dancing class at Miss Pinckney's. Any opportunity for experimentation during those classes was thwarted by Bella's extreme shyness and her beauty, which reduced the young swains to gross uncomfortableness and ultimately to stammering.

The Isabella Swan, who sat on the bed looking up fearfully at the pirate, trying to discover what he was going to do with her, was therefore wholly inexperienced. She had no girlish skills as a coquette. She had scarcely been touched b a male, let alone kissed. She was ignorant not only of sex, but even of her own body, its uses and capacities. She was virginal in the purest sense of the word. Worse, she now had powerful drugs coursing through her veins. These not only heightened her senses, but also broke her will.

Thus when the long, piano fingered hand was extended toward her, palm up in a gesture of peace, she saw it only as an invitation and reached out to place her own fingers within his. They felt so smooth and so wonderfully cool. She realized the heat from her stomach had spread throughout her body. Her skin seemed so hot and, yes, so tingly and alive. Her grogginess was gone, she now realized. She was fully awake now, extremely alert. The light in the room came only from candles, yet it suddenly seemed brilliant. Everything was sharply focused. Yes, all her senses were so keen. She could almost hear her own heart pounding, and the touch of his fingers as he pulled her to her feet was unlike any sensation she had ever known. She felt him reach out and remove the mask she had worn to the ball. She hadn't realized she still had it on.

"There," he said. "Such beautiful eyes. I knew they would be beautiful. So warm. I didn't know eyes could be so warm."

She saw his hands come toward her, both of them, and involuntarily she moved her head backward. "Who are you?"

"I can't tell you."

"Do I know you?"

"No. We have never met."

"Then why---why am I here?"

"Because you have captured me with your beauty. I am captivated by you, Bella. I am helpless before you."

She had never heard such words. They thrilled her. And when his hands reached behind her head to undo her hair, letting it fall down her back, she made no move to resist. She could not.

God, such hair." He ran his fingers through it and it felt marvelous to her. "Such soft hair," he whispered, "so smooth, so rich. Darlin', your hair is like satin."

She looked up at him, almost unable to endure his actions, to hear his words. Then she couldn't look at him, for he gently caressed her eyes closed with his fingers. His fingertips tracing her eyebrows, the bridge of her nose, whispering across her eyelids, sent shivers of sensations through her. Again and again he did it, so wonderfully,so cooling and calming. Then she felt his hands on her cheeks. They were like the cooling waters of a running brook on a summer day. And his words, his words. "How soft you are. Your skin looks like snow, but it is so soft. It's like the finest powder, and it glows. It is as if you have an inner light. Your blood is so tempting, it smells like sweet lavender. God, but you're so lovely and warm, Bella.

His fingers slowly slid downward, wanted by her, welcomed by flesh which ached for the cooling touch at her throat, her shoulders. His hands were smooth, so cool against her hot skin, and his every movement shot sensations downward through her body. Almost as thrilling was his voice. "Any being would sell his soul to touch such skin." Again he caressed her cheeks and throat and shoulders, running the flat of his palms over them in the gentlest, most wonderful of massages. "Does that feel good, my love?"

She struggled for a moment against what was to her a scarcely bearable onslaught of sensation, opening her eyes, looking at his lovely lips, now slightly parted. "Why---why are you---doing this---to me?"

She saw his lips widen into a tender smile, all white teeth. "You don't know, do you?"

"Tell me, please." The havoc his hands created on her face, at her throat and shoulders made it difficult for her to speak.

"You are so beautiful, Bella. A beautiful child."

Both his hands held her face. She could feel herself trembling as his fingers gently caressed her cheeks, under her eyes, beside her nose, under her chin. "You---you promised---not to hurt me."

"I know, and I won't. Doesn't this feel good?"

She wavered a moment, then surrendered to his touch. "Yes---yes---so good." And it did. She didn't want him to stop.

But he found a new place. "Your lips, Bella. I said they drove me wild and they do." She felt his fingertips, like wisps of cool air, gliding, barely touching the surfaces of her burning lips, and she shuddered under the sensation. "They make a man ache to devour them. I wanted you all evening, Bella. I saw you, couldn't resist you, couldn't wait till I had a chance to be alone with you. Do you believe that?"

His fingers were tormenting her. "Yes, yes, I believe you." Looking up at his beautiful mouth beneath the mask, she knew she wanted it, oh, how she wanted it.

And she had it, but so slowly, his head moving toward hers seemingly imperceptibly, but ever closer until it was so near she had to close her eyes against her strained vision. She felt his mouth barely touching hers, lip to lip, the merest of caresses, moving slowly along her torrid surfaces, his hands on her bare shoulders, steading her trembling. Involuntarily she parted her lips and shuddered as she felt him nibble at them, upper then lower, pressing the soft flesh between his own moving lips. Then she felt his cool, smooth tongue wetting, gently, laving the inner surfaces of her lips.

She moaned as sensation buffeted her, making her shake under the hands at her shoulders. It seemed to her lightning was shooting from her mouth, down her body to strike a gain and again at some point in her loins. Then she could take no more. She leaned into him and they embraced, their mouths devouring each other, then being refilled to be devoured again, while the lightning struck again and again at a single point between her legs. She knew about lightning. She could feel the heat of it concentrating at a single point. She would ignite and be on fire if it didn't stop, but she seemed powerless to prevent the lightning or the cause of it.

She felt him caress her back above her dress, her shoulders, her arms. And any place he touched came alive. She only wanted more and more of it. His hands felt so cool, yet somehow, strangely, her inner heat still increased. With his mouth still at her mouth, he moved away from her a little and brought his hands to her breasts, on, over, down between them, again and again, then lifting them up and out, his fingers searching out the tender, eager ends through the tight material. She heard him moan, but it seemed only an echo of her own.

He tore his mouth from hers. "God, how I've wanted these." Ouickly he bent his face to her breasts, peeping above her low neckline, raking his mouth from side to side across the nipples. She moaned, gasped. Her breasts felt engorged, tight, the nipples growing, hardening, aching to be used, devoured by his cool mouth. She loved what he was doing, but she stopped him. "My dress," she moaned. "Don't ruin my dress."

There were agonizing moments then, his fingers fumbling with the fasteners, she reaching behind her back, frantic to help him. The garment came open finally and was pulled over her head, discarded to the back of the chair. Then her breasts were free and he was stroking, rubbing, kneading, pulling, nipping, sucking, consuming, first one and then the other, and in the mid passage she heard his love words, "Oh God, Bella, such skin, such breasts. There is no woman like you." She held his head, moving him from nipple to nipple. And when he pressed her breasts together and swept his mouth rapidly from one rosy, sensitized bauble to the other, she had to clutch his strong, pale shoulders to keep from falling. He was creating a rampage within her. Great thunderbolts of what she could only think of as lightning shot through her. She now truly was on fire. Between her legs in what she thought of as the "women's place," there was a tingling, burning spot, struck so often by sensation, it felt as if it were smoldering, smoking, glowing ever brighter, accumulating the heat of her body.

Standing before her, he took his hands from her breasts, but still held on nipple in his mouth, his teeth gently binding it to him as his tongue encircled it. She felt his hands on her stomach, then realized he was sliding her pantaloons from her. While his mouth tormented her, she felt him rolling down her stockings. He released her then bent to strip away the stockings from her feet so she was completely naked. Then he stood up and looked at her.

"God, Bella, you are magnificent."

She heard the wonder in his voice and saw the awe in his topaz eyes.

"Magnificent, Bella."

He reached out his hands and she leaned her breasts into them, eager, aching for his touch, any of it, all of it. "Yes, yes," she moaned.

It took forever for him to disrobe, although she saw he was doing it frantically, ripping his shirt, throwing his garments aside. She barely had time to see him, the strange, hard rod arching in front of him, when she was swept back into his arms. She moaned with pleasure as his mouth came again on and into hers, and she felt his bare skin, so wonderful, so needed, against the whole length of her, that hard, cold cylinder pressing into her stomach. She relished his touch. She wanted to feel him over every bit of her sensitized skin, and every place he touched was eager for more, down her back, her waist, her aching hips. As he reached her derrière, she stood on tiptoes to help him, to the spot in her woman place glowing brighter as his fingers cupped and kneaded and separated and found again and again her crevice of delight.

She spread her legs, intending to make a place for that throbbing cylinder between them so she get even closer to, but he surprised her, bending his knees to clasp her inner thighs from behind and lifted her off her feet. She helped him, leaping upward to wrap her legs around him. When she realized what he wanted to do, she came higher up his waist, so his mouth could again find her breasts as she cradled his head against her breasts as she cradled his head against her. She moaned, cried out, consumed with need and urgency that could only be relieved by moving her hips. Once she did it, twice, a third time, and it was at that moment that the glowing spot enlarged and heated as she raked her hips against his hard stomach, burst into flamings with which quickly spread inward and upward. She cried out in pure bliss.

As he lay her on the bed, she released his head, crying out, "Please, please, I can't stand it." And then he was atop her. The inner flame brightened and grew hotter for a moment as she felt something cool pressing against her. Then her whole insides seemed to fill and burst, momentarily with pain, then with pleasure. She felt her body go rigid, her legs stiff toes pointed, back arched. She couldn't breathe, nor did she want to. It seemed to her she was floating in space, her body reduced to one crammed area of intense heat and cold tension.

Only distantly did she feel him rise up and descend into her again. Another time he rose, and she tried to follow him, not wanting to lose him. As he came down against her this time, it seemed to her an internal explosion occurred, air escaping from her lungs in a cry as her insides seemed to burst and the most intense sensation rolled along the whole length of where he filled her. She knew she was crying out, rolling her head from side to side, clutching his back, but she couldn't help it as the spasms, unlike anything she had ever felt, ripped through her, leaving her gasping and writhing beneath him.

She lay back on the bed, her lungs at last getting enough air. She heard him speak, "God, what a woman you are."

She opened her eyes. He had raised himself on extended arms above her and was looking down at her, smiling, his topaz eyes bright with admiration.

Bella was at that moment filled with wonder. She hadn't known any of this was possible. The sensations she had felt, and still felt, the pleasure she had known, and still knew, the cataclysmic feelings she had just had were all totally new to her.

"Was that supposed to happen?" she asked softly.

"Oh yes, yes," he said. "Did you like it?"

She sighed. "It was so wonderful." Again she sighed. "I never knew. I never thought. No one ever told me."

"You know now. I wanted you to know."

"I thought I'd burst, but then it came. It felt so good." She made the last word into a long, deep sigh. "I loved it. Is it like this for all women?"

"I suppose it could be, but no. You are special." He smiled. "God, I hardly moved and you came. I've never known a woman to do that. You were magnificent."

She smiled at him in pride and pleasure.

"Did I look awful, rolling around, crying out. I can't imagine all I did. I wasn't very ladylike."

He smiled. "It was the most ladylike thing you'll ever do. You were fantastic."

Again she smiled her pleasure. It had felt so good. Yes, yes. "I can still feel you inside me."

"I know. I held off. Never been able to do that before. You were so quick, and it felt so wonderful to feel your heat, see you, know you were coming as you did. God, Bella."

"I don't understand. What do you mean, held off?"

He smiled. "You will." He moved gently, pulling back a little, then back in.

"Oh-h, that feels so good." She could still feel the glowing place, tingling, hot next to his hard granite skin. She moved her hips, making a circular motion, and immediately felt ecstatic sensation. "Is it alright if I do that?"

"Oh God, yes, yes." There was wonder in his voice.

Again she swept her hips around him and felt the up surge of desire and tension.

"God, Bella, you're fabulous." He helped her move in and out, hearing her moan, feeling her body stiffen. "Go, go," he cried.

She was moving her hips frantically now, stroking that hot coal, brighter and brighter with his cold length.

"Go, go. You're wonderful."

Then, like a fire started from a single ember and fanned into brilliance, the flames burst inward and upward. She gasped and clutched his arms, hearing him say, "Godalmighty, what a women you are," just before she again erupted, harder and longer that the other times. She could not believe it was happening to her or that it was possible for something so wonderful to get even better.

In time she heard him say, "I've heard of it, but I've never known a woman who could come like that. Never."

"Is it all right?"

"All right? It is beyond belief."

She smiled.

"Can you do it again?"

She smiled. "Do you want me to?"

"Oh yes, yes."

There were times after that when she wished that glowing spot, the ember of her passion, would go out. But it wouldn't. As long as he remained hard within her and she could move her hips against him, she continued to erupt into flames which lit her inner explosions. She felt him moving her body into different, even bizarre positions. They all seemed to work, and she felt herself rocked again and again on a sea of ecstasy. She didn't want it ever to end, but it had to. She was so tired. She begged him to let her stop. "Please, please, I'm so tired."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm so tired."

She lay once again on her back, eager to be unjoined from him so she could sleep. But she felt him moving into her, more insistently this time. "I can't," she cried. "Please, I can't."

But he didn't stop. What had been her, her doing, now became his. Insistently, demandingly, he thrust deep and long into her, taking command of her. She truly did not know what was happening, but he gave her no choice but to moan as he thrust ever more powerful into her . Again she felt the rise of her passion, the tension gripping her. And now she understood it was the same with him. She could feel the muscles of his back and his legs harden. What he thrust within her seemed to become bigger and bigger. His sweet breathe against her ear quickened, and despite her fatigue of a moment ago, she suddenly felt strong. She began to push against him and heard their flesh slap together. Faster, harder. She knew something was building inside him, and this excited her. She gripped him with her legs and tensed all her internal muscles. She heard him moan, once, twice. She turned her face toward him and found his mouth with hers. As their lips joined she felt his whole body go rigid. He gave a terrible lunge into her. As the cry burst from him to fill her mouth and lungs, she felt him erupt within her just as her own explosion burst around him his.

He lay atop her only briefly, then rolled to the bed beside her, on his back. She turned to her side, her head on his shoulder, cradled within his arm, her leg across his, her arm embracing his pale, sweaty chest. She was exhausted, utterly spent. As sleep and blessed unconsciousness enshrouded her, she felt a cold liquid between her legs. But she was to tired to do anything about it. Her last act was to mumble, "Who are you?"

If he answered, she didn't hear him.

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Give me the guesses of who you think Bella was with. ; ) Please R&R.

Ja Ne!

Iza