A/N: A warm welcome to anybody that happens to stumble upon this collection of short stories. Regarding context, I am currently studying English Literature at university and am using this project as a way of practising my creative writing. Any suggestions as far as technique or plot would be hugely appreciated!
The stories will mainly centre around Carlisle & Esme, as they have a special place in my heart, however, I'm sure other characters will appear throughout!
Lastly, as I'm sure you're all aware, the character's belong fully to Stephenie Meyer. I'm just using them to play with:)
New York, September 1997
'What do you think?'
The young woman laughed mischievously, eyebrows arched with inquisition.
Carlisle's golden gaze lifted from the journal in front of him and to Esme, his breath hitching in his throat. His wife looked disconcertingly young in the dusk sunlight which beamed through their bedroom window; caramel waves glowing, spidery stockinged legs attached to pointed heels, dress exposing toned thighs, lips painted a deep red and curved into a smirk.
'I think..would you be terribly mad if I were to forbid you from leaving the house looking this irresistible?'
Esme took a seat on her husband's lap with the grace of a ballerina, ghosting his jaw with her mouth. Her dress riding up just enough to flash red lace. 'You don't make the rules.'
His Esme. Always the surprise.
Doctor Cullen swelled with internal pride at moments like this, his heart amazed at the ways in which his wife had grown. Years of abuse had deeply affected Esme, and those early years had been tough. Her timidness had been heartbreaking, Carlisle had hated her tendency to flinched from his touch.
Throughout their marriage, he had taught Esme that love was nothing so cruel and vicious, and over time she had grown into a vivacious and confident woman. Of course, these qualities had always been inside the women he loved, it just took his love and patience to tease them out.
Pulling his wife close, he grazed her cheek with his knuckle. Amber eyes locked onto hers.
'I don't. You're right.' And then, sighing gently, 'You're going to be the centre of attention tonight, darling.' His lilt flowed with affection, but Mrs Cullen knew her husband well enough to detect a hint of well-concealed jealousy.
'Don't get jealous before we even leave the house, Doctor. The only attention I could ever want is yours.'
Grudgingly, he allowed Esme to style his blonde waves to her liking, finding her scrutinising eyes sinfully endearing. Her exasperated sigh was so..feminine as she leant back, her weight shifting across his lap.
'It keeps falling down. I can't make it stand up!'
On the contrary, dear.
Carlisle considered persuading his lover to miss the evening's plans, his mind creating an embarrassingly intricate list of enticing techniques. However, the doctor firmly decided that his wife would enjoy socialising too much to take it away from her. Besides, attending the occasional party was a necessary part of maintaining his facade to his colleagues; the Doctors at his hospital were beginning to doubt whether the infamous Mrs Cullen existed at all.
Eventually, after making clandestine promises and utilising careful coercion, Esme managed to pry her husband from their bedroom. Upon leaving, Alice was most insistent on taking enough photographs to fill an entire art gallery. The couple fought her gently, though secretly Carlisle loved having photographs of his wife to decorate his office; the walls would be brimming with Esme's glowing smile if the Doctor had his way.
Edward kissed Esme gently on the cheek and whispered something which Carlisle couldn't quite hear, inspiring a stab of pointless jealousy and subsequent 'eye roll' from his son.
...
Eventually, Carlisle's Mercedes left the driveway with a purr and the man found himself breaking into an involuntary grin, after such a long and treacherous day he finally had his wife all to himself.
'Are we almost there?' She quizzed, interrupting the smooth music as she slowly began to fidget in the passenger seat with impatience.
The sun was setting now, the sky scandalous shades of scarlet and tangerine.
'Close.' Carlisle placed a firm hand on his wife's knee, leaning across the driver's seat to kiss her gently. 'Relax, darling.' Then, adding fondly, 'I'll be by your side the entire evening, I promise.'
Esme smiled. That heartbreakingly familiar lopsided smirk which instantly reminded Carlisle of that teenage farm girl in Ohio, all those years ago.
She was the abridged version of all the love letters he had ever written. Beautifully concise and impossible to resist.
The bar was decadent and impressive - it was unsurprising that New York's most successful doctors chose to meet here. Esme was incredible, attracting a faithful following of eyes from the bar with every movement. Carlisle counted five to be exact, two of which were colleagues. However, the Doctor had little resentment for the men, for he was just as helpless; his wife really did look breathtaking.
The wives of Carlisle's colleagues were hesitant of the beautiful woman at first, perhaps envious of her foreign beauty. Esme's easy charm and kindness ensured she was quickly accepted into the circle, even receiving several brunch invites. Carlisle was impressed when she managed to contribute to conversations with the names of local boutiques and designers, undoubtedly thanks to her preparation with Alice. The evening was a haze of whiskey and chatter, the novelty of the Cullen's recent move to New York and their abundance of travel stories ensuring they were fawned over by fellow guests.
Inevitably the golden eyes of the couple met across the table, his wife beckoning him to join her.
'I heard they have rooms upstairs. Why don't we stay the night?'
Her voice was silky, her fingers deft as they toyed with his tie. Doctor Cullen smiled slyly.
He'd thought of it first.
…
Esme's passionate lips locked with her husband's before the wooden door could slam shut. His back pressed against the wall. Breath gentle, yet impatient. Amber eyes pooled with lust.
How could Carlisle possibly resist those lips which searched so desperately for his?
They settled on the floor; her delicate back arched against the wood. The room was lit with the gentle shimmering glow of the moon. Her hand reaching down, hitching up her skirt, His hand pulling her lace lingerie to one side. Lips locked and desperate to quench a dark thirst.
Soon bare legs wrapped around Carlisle's waist. His hips pushing hard onto her. Waves of caramel hair falling between pale skin.
The sounds of their love echoed around the hotel room.
…
They found themselves, as they so often did, sprawled under the covers of an unmade bed. Their legs tangled together, as well as their hearts.