Hello dear readers ! Long time no see. Sorry for being completely MIA, but school has been so stressful lately, so i'll take some profit from spring break.

So here's a little lemon (Lord I had missed it...) for you. If you enjoy reading it, please leave a review. Oh, and also, I might make a series of lemon one-shots/two-shots out of this, please let me know if that would please you. As always, for those of you who are on Tumblr, you can ask me everything here (link in bio) or simply in a review. :3

I hope you guys like it, and let me know. Enjoy your Sunday Carlesme smut. (cuz I would, and I will)

xxx

Coming home from work that day, the number of failed emergencies weighing heavily on my mind, the last thing I wanted to do was to talk to somebody. However, living in a house with six other people, it was absolutely impossible.

The first one to greet me home was Esme. She didn't say anything, she just took my briefcase from me and led me inside.

I could hear the other's voices echoing from the living room, and I tensed up unconsciously. My eyes darted from the staircase to the inviting light coming down from my office, and I restrained myself from making a bee-line for it. Someone — most likely Esme — must have lit up a few candles, since I could feel the warmth on my cold skin, relishing in the little comfort it brought me.

« Go make yourself comfortable my love, I'll take care of that. » she said, still holding my coat and briefcase, swiftly stealing my blouse. « It needs to be washed. »

I thanked her with a simple kiss on her forehead, closing my eyes and inhaling her sweet scent. She smelled like a warm, worn out pillow — one that would be your favorite, drenched in your scent. The one you never wanted to leave behind on the wake of a winter morning. I wanted to whisper a quiet « I love you », but, somehow, did not. Instead, I gently caressed her cheek with the back of my hand before heading upstairs, not even bothering to stop by the living room.

I knew they wouldn't mind. Edward would have told them already. Stepping into my office, I noticed a few things : one, a freshly washed blouse laid on my desk — so Esme's excuse was merely a mean of giving me some alone time, even though I already knew that — ; second, at least five or six candles were lit, the thick yet fragile little flames dancing in the dark surroundings, lighting the corners of the somber room.

These playful flames warmed my heart, easing the pain a bit, but the distress still remained. And for that, I only knew one cure.

I sighed heavily, leaning over my desk to grab the blouse. I stored it somewhere between a medicine book and a history one, and looked for a merrier subject, gliding my fingers smoothly across the books spine, feeling the change in material as I did so. There were large, antique bedside books that nobody but me ever touched (it was more out of nostalgia than anything else, really), and then tiny pocketbooks, which my fingers simply missed since they were so small compared to the larger ones, and then there were some without title, which spine were dismantled, and those, clearly were the ones I had read more often but still hadn't touched in years.

Then there was the shelf of the more contemporary books, and those were frequently found out and about in the house, and I suspected my wife to forget to put them back into place after she was done reading them. Not that I really minded. Or maybe she left them out on purpose, who knew. She had her antiques too, and I — like pretty much everything else about her — adored them. They made her who she was and the woman I loved.

So, the woman I loved, my Esme, completely forgot to put books back on their shelves, and also hated doing the laundry and always found an excuse to make me do it with her because she said « it went quicker that way ». I was still unsure wether it was because our conversations were interesting and actually helped the time pass, or if it was just having me with her that helped. I would lie if I denied that I'd very much prefer the second option to be true. She often said that she enjoyed starting a book at its end just to see if any bad outcome was to fear, because then she could feel like a teenager afraid of having a sleepless night (and she knew well the meaning of « sleepless »). She also loved to lie down in the grass, in the beginning of spring, just to see the birds pass the world by, amusing herself on her own, counting them down and hoping they'd make it through the voyage safe and sound. But not only did she love watching the birds, she loved watching nature in its every form, visiting or revisiting an old, abandoned mansion in the woods just so she could see if wildlife had resettled well, and she always made soft cooing noises whenever she'd see a baby animal running away from her.

As for me, I felt a strange warmth sweep through my chest every time she did that. With Esme, it was either I'd feel the urge to kiss her senseless or just feel my eyes sting from unshed tears of tenderness.

I was truly, hopelessly, romantic. But she was too, as one would notice right away. She was an open book, offering her story to willing, loving eyes...

Speaking of love...

« Do you really want to be alone tonight ? » I heard her ask.

I turned to her, a smile across my lips, my gaze immediately locked with hers, as twilight was slowly advancing outside, and I felt hot inside. Not warmth, but a searing heat in my heart and stomach. This sensation that I knew so well reminded me every day of how lucky I was to have her here with me.

There were days where all I would feel was warmth spreading in my chest like a bright pink flamingo spreading its wings to take the skies another time. Even if it was small, it was there. And then there were days where I would feel a hot fire take over my whole body, a passion like no other. I would not be able to explain very well… but it was as if someone had stolen the fire of the sun to put it into your body, where it burnt and exploded joyfully, a delicious hot mess wrecking you in the best of ways. It shattered you to your core, but all you desired was to feel it again.

And you did. Always.

« I wish I could do something. » she said, taking a step closer to me, hands clasped together in front of her, as if repressing a gesture of tenderness. Perhaps she feared to rush me ?

« I just have to deal with it, like I always do. » I answered, taking her hands in mine.

« Maybe I can help you deal with it, if you let me ? » she pleaded, her bright eyes glimmering in the dim light of the candles.

I placed her hands on my chest, pressing her fingers to myself as though I wanted them to dig through my shirt.

Because I wanted them to dig through my shirt.

And Esme rested her beautiful head on top of them, closing her eyes. She was so adorable, yet so desirable, that my eyes could have burnt off and I would forever be glad to keep this as my last memory of the world.

God knows I would treasure it.

Esme always looked this way, felt this way : incredibly beautiful, dashing even, but somehow fragile and tender, more… real, more attainable. She was not only gifted with and outstanding exterior beauty, but with another thing, quite subtle and well hidden : an indescribable passion pulsing through her empty veins.

But then, could I say that they were empty ?

No, they were not. Neither were my own. We both pulsed with life, with love, with passion and rage. In a way, Esme and I were just as equally passionate ; in an other way, she was fire and I was ice.

Melting ice, I'd say.

« Stay. » was the first word I uttered that night, as I buried my face in her caramel locks.

There was something motherly about her, that was certain, but more specifically with the way she tasted and smelled to me.

Appealing was not even an understatement, it was an insult. She was far more delicious than that.

Needless to say, Esme's softness was unheard of. I could not help but choke back bittersweet sobs each time she nurtured me — nursed me, should I say —, and showed me just how deeply she cared for me.

« I'm not going anywhere, sweetheart. »

« Please don't. »

She chuckled, and shivers ran down my belly as I felt her mouth take on a familiar path towards my waiting lips. And she kissed me fully, yet tenderly, merely stroking our mouths together. But my lips felt numb after that.

I decided that I was tired of standing up.

I sat down on my chair, and Esme curled up in a ball on my lap, bringing her feet on either side of me, and I playfully teased her there until she planted a sharp kiss on my nose, a sly smile on her lips. Her hand shot up to undo the buttons of my shirt, and I watched, speechless, as they gleamed in the light. The candles made them look yellow, but it was of a pretty shade, almost the exact same one as her eyes.

And those wonderful eyes were too focused on their task to catch me staring. I noticed the way her blouse had somehow fallen the tiniest bit opened, and I licked my mouth in anticipation, as my desire skyrocketed. Her full, round, breasts were glowing fiercely beneath a laced bra.

My mouth opened wider.

Like the first time, I let my fingers wander curiously on her neckline. The combination of our pale skin was unlike anything I had ever seen, our complexions shining a soft shade of pink. As if our bodies had returned to their former healthy, human form, but then switched happily between pale pink and bright orange to see what would fit us best. But Esme looked dashing either way.

I stopped under her collarbone, and made eye contact with her. She was the one staring now. She watched me intently, but I could almost feel the love pouring out of her peaceful eyes. They were not pitch black yet, which was simply unacceptable.

Oh, I certainly could say that her pupils had swelled ; they were bigger and darker, and as my fingers ventured further down, I saw them swell even more.

I linked my mouth to hers passionately, moaning and breathing more heavily. She moved closer to me, causing delectable friction between our bodies. I longed to hold her even closer, and my hands yearningly pulled the straps of her bra down her bare arms, as she swiftly tucked her hair behind her shoulders, leaning back with an appreciative sigh. My thumb stroke the swell of her left breast, and I nudged her impulsively closer to my face, my instincts taking over as struggled to control my lust and rein in my painful desire just a little longer.

I wanted to feel her and taste her like I had never tasted anything before.

She obligingly unhooked her bra, but did not let it fall without lifting my chin the slightest so I would face her chest. I let out a small whine as she moved forth and then back, finally slipping her bra down her unclad stomach, never looking away. Her hand was still pressed to the side of my face, and I did not wait for her permission to place my forehead on her plump skin, burying my nose against the curve of her breast, pursuing my lips so they would touch her. I heard her groan discreetly ; she pressed herself to my mouth, her lips caressing my bent neck.

I wondered idly why she bothered holding back her pleasure, because I certainly did not intend to do the same…

« Oh, my love… » she whispered, trembling. I whispered back, stroking her breast longingly.

The need to have her had set fire to my core, and desire rose, hotter, itching my entire body.

She sat up straight, looking me deeply in the eyes, her gaze intense and soft at the same time as she rocked herself on me. Her movements were slow, so slow I could barely feel anything except for the irritating itch being tamed, and then firing up again, angrier and bigger. It fed on our undying desire like a child at his mother's breast : greedily ; bound to want more warmth, more softness, and even more friction. Bound to want more flesh.

As Esme hovered above me, her throat pressed to my cheek, I could no longer remember who I was, or what my name was. I was simply one with her.

But that was not who I was, no … that was who we were. We were creating this magic, together, and that never ceased to amaze me. When she moaned « Again… » , her hips stroking mine just enough so that the friction would become unbearable, I groaned in her chest, feeling the soft ends of her hair whip my shoulder as our passion flared. She was taking me higher each time, and I knew she felt the same.

One.

But we had yet to feel whole.

I had refused to take control, but I was starting to lose my mind, as the fire intensified, making us both tremble in the arms of the other, gasping for air and release. My body was ready to let go, but I held onto the lasting sensation, loud moans escaping my mouth. I threw my head back, moaning desperately. My hand grasped her hips, encouraging her to push harder on me because I needed to feel more of her.

I needed to feel everything she had to give me. I knew that when she would begin to cry my name out, she'd be ready for me to take her to an impossible height, one that I had just experienced. And the aftermath of such pleasure still had me trapped, enthralled by its charms as Esme finally screamed my name. Her little hands grasped the armchair, and she panted frantically, bitting her lips and moaning to herself.

Eyes semi opened, I watched from my resting place.

She looked so fragile, and yet so incredibly strong as her climax washed over her, leaving her body shaking and her flesh moist. I reached down and touched her, and she pushed on my fingers, falling back into the greedy hands of Pleasure. She was blissful, eyes shut and mouth wide opened, her lips glistening with venom and want, her hips wet with lust and need, cradling my happy fingers still at work between her white thighs. Gently, I stroke the underside of her breast with my free hand, tracing one breast's perfect outline, before teasing her slyly. I knew she would love to feel my hot breath on her nipple, and it would be a challenge for me.

I would have to hold back from tasting her.

And then I realized it was simply impossible. I licked her flesh feverishly, exhaling quickly to restrain my lust. But she was too good, too delicious, and I had to take her fully in my mouth.

My core jolted with indescribable pleasure. A tingling sensation crept between my thighs, one I was quite familiar with, and I felt myself become hard inside of her, again. She felt it too, and one tender hand went to rest on my head, stroking my neck with motherly care.

All I could do was whine.

I begged for more, and… God, she gave me everything.

There it is. Love ya.