-Part II-
Sunday night, I wait nervously by the front door. I'm so anxious to see him after our less than twenty-four hour separation that if it wasn't so humid outside, I'd be waiting on the front porch. At least Mom and Phil are gone ― they left earlier this afternoon for a two-day road trip with his baseball team, and she can't be here to mortify me in front of Edward. My mother is merciless when it comes to embarrassing me in well-meaning ways, and I'm determined to avoid it altogether this time.
Soon, I tell myself. Soon, I'll have my own place, and I can do anything I want. I can have Edward over for dinner. I can eat breakfast naked. With Edward... Edward, naked... Several minutes go by, until I force myself to stop. I shake my head to clear the wayward thoughts and park myself in front of the television to pass the time.
By the time Andy Rooney and his eyebrows start their segment on 60 Minutes, I'm so nervous I can hardly stand it. To distract myself, I imagine that Andy's Guinness Book of World Records-worthy brows are actually talking caterpillars.
When the first couple fights and threatens to quit on The Amazing Race, I start eying the antique clock that hangs on the living room wall. Any minute now... But when Phil regretfully informs the last couple that they've been eliminated from the Race, I start to worry.
What if something happened to him? What if he's hurt and in a ditch somewhere?
Jesus, is this how parents feel when their kids are out past curfew?
But an hour later, when the fanfare announcing the evening news blares importantly from the speakers, I start to get angry. Defiantly, I change the channel. Screw the news...I need some happy.
Even the Cartoon Network is at commercial. I'm doomed.
I manage to keep the first tears away for another hour before the dam finally breaks.
I knew he was too good to be true...and I fell for it anyway.
All my earlier excitement is now churning into an acidic mess in my stomach, but it hurts no less than the heavy weight that's crushing my silly, gullible little heart. I wasn't sure what was worse ― the fact that he was obviously standing me up, or that it had come out of the blue. He never gave me any indication he wasn't as into this as I am...was...shit! Cue the tears again. I think I cycle through this process at least three times before I finally cry myself into a fitful sleep, my face buried in the couch cushions.
I wake just before midnight to a ClayMation He-Man being violated by Skeletor on Phil's fifty-one inch flat-screen. I laugh for a moment at the desecration of innocent childhood toys, until I remember that I shouldn't be waking up from a nap on the couch to Robot Chicken on the TV.
I should be out with Edward...and he's nowhere to be found. Disappointment swamps me at the memory, and I decide that since I'm awake, there's only one thing that can make this better ― Renee's liquor cabinet. Thirty minutes and two drinks later, I'm back on the couch, watching more Adult Swim and on the verge of unconsciousness. The liquor has only made me mopey and tired, and I've been close to tears more than I can count tonight. I fumble with my phone, trying to see if I've missed any calls, but the Recents list won't load. Nothing will. Frustrated, I restart the whole thing, hoping that will fix its little brain fart. While I wait, I close my eyes and listen to the cartoon in the background, trying to think about anything but him.
Work. Apartment hunting. Work. Creepy, perverted Mr. Perkins at work. Ugh...I'd rather think about Edward the Unreliable than that guy.
My neck is stiff from napping and my head throbs with the remnants of a post-cry sinus headache. I'm miserable, inside and out, and my clothes are scratchy against my skin. One short stumble to my bedroom later has me digging through the closet for my designated PMS pajamas ― warm flannel that's worn soft with age and large enough to defeat any water weight. A relic from my high-school days in Washington, they've seen me through two huge breakups and my entire college career, but I'm doubtful even the Comfort-pants are going to put a dent in my sad tonight.
Well, better I learn not to trust him now than later, right? If my feelings were any stronger...
I can barely imagine something hurting worse than this. Mechanically, I change into the pajamas, ignoring the pretty little matching bra and underwear I picked especially for tonight, just in case I decided to let Edward round a couple bases. I leave them on as punishment for getting so insane over a guy in such a short time. Maybe spending the night with a wedgie will be a deterrent for this sort of thing in the future.
I stub my pinkie toe on the bed frame when I come out of the closet, and when I fall over onto the bed as I grab my injured foot, I stay there. I should probably stay in bed for my own good. If I'm not moving, I can't hurt myself, right?
-x-
A loud knock startles me awake for the second time tonight. It doesn't stop ― it's urgent, and someone's yelling my name, but all the sleep and liquor have left my mind a foggy mess. What happened? Edward was supposed to be here by now!
Right. Edward. The one who stood you up. The reason your stomach is growling right now, because he never showed up to take you out for the swanky dinner he promised you.
Rubbing at my gritty eyes, I stumble my way to the foyer, still not sure if I'm going to open the door or call the cops. He calls my name through the front door again, followed by three knocks that aren't quite as loud this time. His efforts are getting weaker, and I'm suddenly afraid he's about to leave. I yank open the door to see his handsome face warm with an expression of hope as soon as I make eye contact.
Well, hello there, gorgeous! Please don't mind me; I was just dreaming about your gloriously naked ― no! I will not let myself be this pitiful. Giving him a stony glare, I cross my arms over my chest and wait for an explanation.
"You didn't call me back," he immediately accuses, scowling down at me. He's so tall he blocks out the porch light, and the light shining behind him almost looks like a halo. I can't help but snort at the thought, because surely he was the devil for crushing me the way he had tonight.
He's mad at me?
"What are you talking about? You never called!"
"Yes, I did," he insists, pushing a huge bouquet of almost-wilted flowers into my arms. Stepping into the house, he shuts the door behind him with a loud click. "I left you three messages. There was a huge accident on the freeway and it took hours to clear everything."
Suddenly, I feel like a huge douche, because his appearance fits his story ― his clothes are creased, as if he's been sitting for a long time, and there are dark circles underneath his eyes again. Biting my lip, I reach into my pocket for my phone ― and realize it's not turned on. My cheeks flame red at his soft laugh, and I curse myself internally, staring at the flowers to try and center myself. After listening to each increasingly concerned message, I feel like an utter idiot. All those bad things I thought about him...
Swallowing hard, I explain, "I...I think I forgot to turn it back on."
"It's okay. I was just worried about you," he admits.
"I was worried about you, too. At first," I add. "Then I was a little angry." My stomach picks that moment to punctuate my statement with a want of its own, growling loudly. "And apparently, now I'm a little hungry."
Edward laughs, and just like that, the tension is broken, everything just as easy between us as it's always been.
"You brought me flowers?" I can't help it ― a girly, silly smile forms on my lips, and when I look up at him again, he's wearing a self-satisfied grin that looks ridiculously good on him.
"Yeah...do you like them?" He holds them up for me to take, and the scent of the flowers is green. They don't have an overbearing flower aroma, but just that of something living. It's clean and fresh and perfect.
"I love them. Thank you so much, Edward." I really did ― it wasn't your typical bouquet, and that fit us. Sunflowers of all sizes and shades, ranging from sunset-splashed gold to bright yellow, topped long, bright green stems that were only slightly sagging with dehydration. "Would you like to come in, while I find a vase for them?"
"Lead the way," he murmurs. I leave him with the flowers by the kitchen island while I search through the pantry for something large enough to hold the bouquet. I finally find the vase I need, but it's on the top shelf.
"Shit," I mutter, staring up at the offending glass in irritation.
"Need some help?" Edward asks behind me.
"You scared me!" I gasp, whirling to face him with a scowl.
"Sorry." He doesn't look it in the least. Taking another step forward, he asks, "Will you show me the one you want?"
I think he's right in front of me.
I point to the tall, cylindrical vase made of heavy crystal, and he moves in to get it before I can get out of the way. I'm pressed against the shelves and his chest, and it's not a bad place to be. Instead of backing away from me, he just lowers the vase to the floor, slowly straightening and staying as close to me as possible.
It's not long before his hand is toying with my hair again, and when he lifts it to his lips, I can't breathe for a second.
"Colorful curves lit by flame / halo or glowing crown... / Shining, burning brown," he whispers, letting the hair sift through his fingers.
"How do you know those words?" I ask, trying not to let him hear my voice shaking. I'm in denial ― by the time he finishes the first line, things start falling into place for me. The cotton candy the first night. His admission that he was glad to be in Jacksonville because it brought him to me.
"How do you think?" When I don't answer ― I literally can't, because I'm too busy kicking myself that I didn't see it before ― he continues, but his voice is so soft that I can hardly hear him. "I wrote them, Bella."
I throw my arms around his neck, hugging him so tightly my toes leave the ground.
"Air," Edward coughs, making me laugh at the same time as I loosen my hold.
"It was you the whole time..." I finally whisper, my throat aching with the feeling behind the words.
"I feel like I've been waiting forever for you to figure it out," he says into the hair near my temple, and it's a hot, prickling rush of breath that I can feel all the way down in my toes.
"We've only known each other for three days, Edward." We both laugh softly ― me because it feels like so much longer, and I hope he's laughing for the same reason.
"I wrote the poem the first day I saw you. It began as just a way to get you out of my system. And then you kept coming back..." He sighs, pressing the side of his face against mine before pulling back to look me in the eyes. "I needed you to see it. I just didn't know how to approach you."
"So you've been giving me pieces of it ever since," I finish softly. "Edward...it's beautiful. No one's ever done something this wonderful for me."
"I have something else I'd like to give you," he tells me in that low, velvety sex-voice, and I can't help but gasp. Smirking at me like he knows what I'm thinking, he dips his head to cover my lips with his. Heat fills my mouth ― it's his tongue, and he tastes even better than before. His lips are hot, his mouth is wet, and his kiss doesn't ask, it takes.
"How crass," I murmur when he pulls away, and I thoroughly enjoy the way he growls at my comment. "But I still wouldn't kick you out of bed for eating crackers." He swoops in once more, as if to shut me up, and when he grazes his teeth over my bottom lip, I can feel it in my toes. He's never kissed me this roughly before, and I can't believe how much I'm enjoying it.
He laughs, ducking his head to drop biting kisses on my neck and shoulder. "Not that."
His hips shift below mine, and I can feel the length of him pressing against the seam of my pants.
I moan and dig my fingers into his back. "Sure feels like it."
"Mmmm..." He pauses, blowing hot breath on my neck as his hard palms find their way to my chest. His hands cover my breasts completely, and when he squeezes, it's not too gentle or too rough, but just enough. "As much as I want to...give it to you...it's so much more than that," he whispers. One hand slides around my side and tangles in my hair. Suddenly, he tugs my head back so I'm forced to look in his eyes. "I want to be yours."
The words shatter me, leaving me with no response. So I kiss him. Since he's holding me fast, I have to pull his head to mine; it's sloppy and desperate and shaky, and I can't stop myself from moaning into his mouth. He gathers me closer, his other arm curving tightly around my waist. My hips press without care into his until he forces me to be still. Soft, hot lips trail away from my mouth, landing on my jawline, and I feel his tongue swipe over the sensitive curve just before he draws the skin between his teeth. His five-o'clock shadow gently abrades my flesh, but the tingling pain only adds to my excitement. I let my hands start to wander, exploring the lean cut of his arms before trailing my fingers low on his abs.
Trailing one hand from his hair, I cross the firm lines of his neck, all the way down his chest, running my finger just under the waistband of his jeans. It makes him shudder and dig his fingers into my skin, which sends prickling heat rushing to the surface to offset the slight ache of his grip. I wait a moment, my hands still as I wait for him to relax. I can't be too impatient ― one wrong move could make him stop... While I wait, his lips graze the length of my collarbone, his breath scorching hot. The first button slips free, and I don't think he notices. The second follows quickly, and when I reach the third, my knuckles brush against his cock, cluing him in to what's going on downtown, but he's too late.
Patience is overrated. Now's the time for action.
Lost in the heat I can feel coming from between the parted fabric, I push my hand inside and grip the length of him through his boxer shorts. His moan is loud and deep, and he rocks against my hand, once, twice. But then he stops, gripping my wrist.
"Here I am, trying to give you my heart, and all you can think about is getting in my pants," he laughs softly as he patiently removes my hand from his mostly unbuttoned jeans. I don't make it easy on him, and I count it as a silent victory when he lets me keep our entwined hands sandwiched between our hips.
"You want to get in my pants, too," I protest. Oh, just stop talking!
"You have no idea. I want that so much. But Bella...I'm falling for you. This isn't just a fling for me."
My breath rushes in and out a few times before I can answer. "Me neither." It's quiet and hoarse, and it's all I can do.
"Shit. We are not doing this in a pantry," he mutters, backing away and scrubbing his free hand over his face. He still hasn't let me go, so I step with him. The pantry was working just fine for me...
But I follow when he leads me out of the cramped closet, and when he looks uncertain where to go, I point him toward the living room, because it's the closest place with a comfortable flat surface. He settles on the couch and draws me into his lap, and it's like we never stopped. His eyes darken with lust and something deeper ― the love he just admitted. He's still silent, and when I start to panic that my earlier answer isn't enough for him, I feel his fingers stroking trails up my inner thigh. Slowly, they inch to the apex of my legs, rubbing teasingly at the flannel. Our eyes lock and it makes me a little uncomfortable, but if he wants it that way, that's what I'll give him. I'm completely in tune with him ― he's the only person who's ever made me feel this vulnerable. With him, I reveal so much more than I ever have with anyone else.
Soon, my hips are meeting that delicious pressure of their own accord, and as the sensation rises, something happens: I start to relax, to give myself over to him. I know he can feel it ― I can tell by the way he watches me from underneath hooded lids and long, dark lashes. A sweet ache washes over me as he eases back on that slow stroke, moving his fingers up to toy with the drawstring of my pants. He gives me plenty of time to protest, but why would I dream of telling him no? The soft rasp of the bow slipping loose is music to my ears, and I close my eyes in anticipation, waiting to feel his fingers on my bare flesh. Waiting, waiting...and his touch doesn't come.
Before I can voice my disappointment, his lips land on mine, hot and supple, and his arm snakes around my back. I put both hands on his shoulders and concentrate on getting as close to him as possible. I wish, more than anything, that I was wearing something easy access.
Damn me for being such a fucking tomboy. I just had to wear flannel pants, didn't I?
Then his tongue flicks over my lower lip, enticing me to return the favor, and all types of pajamas are forgotten. I melt against him, opening my mouth to his so we can taste each other. With my legs spread over his hips, he fits perfectly, and the ache between my thighs blooms into bright and vibrant pleasure. I can feel his erection pressing against the best possible place, and as he thrusts upward, it almost doesn't matter that we aren't naked.
Come to think of it, naked would be so perfect I don't know if I can stand it ― I might explode.
But touching him ― that I can handle. Before I know it, my hands coast down over his back, charting broad shoulders and the strong muscles on either side of his spine. Beneath his shirt, I repeat the motion, my greedy fingers soaking in the feel of smooth skin and shifting muscle. I go higher, letting a fingertip brush his nipple on my way to his heart. It's beating hard and fast against my palm, and the realization that I did this to him washes over me. It's powerful, this rush, if only because he's doing the same thing to me, and I know how it feels to be caught up in this web.
His arms and lips leave me and I want to cry out with the loss, but he's only unbuttoning his shirt. Faced with the sight of his pale skin from hipbones to chest, framed in an open dress shirt and a pair of mostly unbuttoned jeans, my mouth goes dry and I think I've lost the ability to speak.
Edward's soft, hot lips graze my jaw on their way down my neck as he slides his arms around me once again, palms flat against my shoulder blades. He pulls me up to his face, tracing the tip of his nose over the swells of flesh revealed by the neckline of my blouse. Heavy, humid breath raises goose bumps all over, and when he licks a trail over my skin, I bring my hands up to hold his head against me. He's warm and strong, his touch gentle, yet still demanding enough to send a thrill shooting down my spine.
His eyes meet mine in a clash of vibrant green, and the way he looks up at me makes my chest hurt and my stomach drop all at once. I can feel his pulse where his chest is pressed against me, and it mirrors mine. With one swift turn, he's got me on my back, and I sink willingly into the soft cushions of the couch as he settles atop me. His hips fit perfectly between my spread thighs again, and I lock my arms around his lower back. Long muscles shift beneath my hands in a subtle rhythm that feels heavenly, but I need more.
Like he can read my mind, one hand winds around my side, his thumb brushing the tip of my breast on his way up to slide the strap of my tank off one shoulder. Tugging the material down, he exposes the lace of my bra and hums at the sight of my nipple pressing against the fabric.
"You really should stop me." He's breathing fast, and it's as audible to me as my own heartbeat. I can't look away as he licks his lips and swallows heavily. "Did you miss dinner? You must be hungry," he rambles, without taking his eyes from my chest. In direct contradiction to his words, he leans forward, closing his teeth lightly over the lace, his breath coming out in a hot wash of air. My back arches in pleasure, and I know I don't give a shit about missing dinner.
"We can order pizza. Later."
He chuckles, loosening his hold and letting the pebbled skin slip through his teeth. I want that bra gone ― now.
"What about your...roommates?" he jokes, resting his chin on my breastbone.
"Gone until Tuesday."
"You really shouldn't have said that." I like the way he's looking at me. It's like he's plotting to explore every single part of me, making a list of things he can do to please me.
"Why?"
"It makes me want to take you to bed and keep you there...naked...because I know we won't be interrupted."
Oh, Holy Christ. "Sounds great to me," I manage to say, though I'm embarrassingly squeaky.
"You're not making it easy to do the honorable thing here," he sighs.
"Honorable is overrated." His only answer is a low groan as he shifts, inching up my body to close his mouth over mine. Oh, good...he agrees. We don't speak for a long while, until there isn't a thought in my head that doesn't have to do with sex or the man on top of me...or, more specifically, sex with the man on top of me. I know he's thinking the same thing ― his opinion is quite obviously expressed by the hard-on tucked against my belly.
With shaky hands, I pull at the hem of my top, but he's so close to me I can't get it between us.
"Stop trying to take off your clothes, Bella," he chides, nipping at my already tingling lips.
"Then you do that part," I say right back as I run my hands up the center of his chest and push the halves of his shirt off his shoulders.
"I plan on it," he all but growls, sitting up as he strips the button-down from his shoulders before sending it flying across the room. He stays looming above me, on his knees, his face cast in shadow as he blocks the light filtering in from the windows. I'm suddenly cold in the absence of his warm skin, my nipples peaking into tight points of sensation against the thin lace, and I'm positive he can see the effect he has on me. He takes my hand, drawing me up against him, and I wrap my arms around his neck. The world shifts as he stands, his big palms curving under my thighs to support my weight.
"Where's your room?" he whispers, his words more of a kiss than speech. I point vaguely in the right direction, and he's off. We bump against walls and doorframes in his surprisingly clumsy rush down the hall, and we're both laughing before long.
When we finally make it to the right door, our laughter fades, leaving us wrapped in the silence and staring at one another. I'm left ungrounded as he watches me, untempered lust plain in his eyes, and when he finally decides to stop torturing both of us, he has us both on the bed in seconds. I don't even have time to take a breath before his hands are all over me and mine are all over him as he leans over me on all fours, kissing me like it's his only reason for existing. We're communicating through entwined limbs and tangled hair and soft breaths, and soon, he's settled between my thighs. With one hand, he raises the hem of my tank, using his other hand to smooth up my exposed flesh in its wake. Only breaking our kiss to pull the dark blue jersey over my head, he takes the time to ease the clinging fabric from my hair, using gentle fingers to untangle the long strands. The wait is worth it. When I'm finally free, left in my bra and pajama pants, he lowers himself back to the mattress. There's so much more to touch, to feel...he's heat and friction and hard, smooth flesh made to slide against mine.
His arms curve around my shoulders as he lowers his mouth to my neck, dropping a biting kiss just under my jaw that has me arching against his chest. Cool follows hot as he licks a short path to my collarbone, my body tingling until I'm vibrating like a tuning fork underneath him. He's my perfect pitch, my resonance, my anchor, and now that I know what it's like to be so close to him, I might shatter if we're ever forced apart.
Shifting lower on the bed, he brings one hand around and tucks his long fingers beneath the lace of my bra, tugging the material down to reveal my nipple. He repeats the process on the other side, and stares at me until I think I might explode. I take things into my own hands, literally ― I pull his lips down where I want them most, letting him hear my sigh of pleasure at the sensation of his warm, wet mouth closing over my pebbled flesh. Through the fringe of my lashes, he's a slow blur of movement and warm color, his clean, intoxicating scent wrapping around me like a vine...
He shifts again, until he's got one leg between mine on the mattress, and I'm left wondering what he's up to ― until his hand dips beneath my loosened waistband. Resting his palm right between my legs, he moves his mouth to my other breast, tonguing and sucking until both nipples are tender and red. It almost distracts me from the fact that lower, he's started rubbing in firm circles, coaxing me to open to him. I take one of his fingers easily, and when that's not enough, he adds another as his thumb presses down on the wet, swollen flesh above.
The dual sensation is intense, and the sight of his hand working between my legs beneath the pajamas is enough to send me over, muscles tightening on his fingers unmistakably as he murmurs hot words of encouragement in my ear.
As he eases me down, he whispers, "I want to do that over and over."
"But what about you?"
"Believe me, I'm really fucking enjoying this," he promises, rearing back to strip the flannels from my hips, taking the underwear with them.
Well...who am I to argue with that?
Shedding his jeans, he lies flat and pulls me to straddle him, the thin cotton of his boxers the only remaining barrier between us.
"Come here," he coaxes, using that soft, warm voice that's all sex and pretty, dirty requests. I do as he asks, and he lifts his head to nip at one nipple, his hands going around my ribcage to unhook my bra. It's gone with a snap of tension and a whoosh of cool air, and then he's pulling me down to lie on top of him, his mouth fastened to mine and his tongue working its magic. Those long-fingered hands cover my hips to hold me still, but he's got himself pressed right where I want him, and he feels so good below me that I just can't help myself. I work one hand in between us, slide my hand under the elastic of his boxers, and waste no time in wrapping my fingers around him. He stiffens and arches beneath me, sucking in a huge breath as one of his hands comes around to slow the movement of my wrist.
"Edward, let me, please," I beg, burying my face in the warm hollow of his neck. "I want this...I want you."
"It feels too good." His voice is ragged and breathy, and his neck strains against my lips. He still won't let me move my hand, so I touch him the only way I can: I move my whole body atop his in a slow, liquid wave that makes him moan. "Bella, I didn't bring any condoms."
"I have some."
"You do?"
I pull back to look him in the eye. "Why does that sound like a complaint?" He's silent for a good few seconds, obviously fighting back a grin, and I start to get a little miffed. I sit up and cross my arms over my chest for good measure. "My mother is...progressive. She made a big show of giving them to me when I moved back in," I explain, my cheeks flaming red as he bursts out laughing. It takes a while for him to stop. In reply, I roll my eyes and lean over to snag one from the nightstand drawer. My clumsy fingers drop it, and the square packet lands heavily on his chest. We both stare at the condom like it holds the key to the universe.
Hell, maybe it does.
"Remind me to thank her later," he jokes.
I lean forward, planting my palms flat on his chest, the foil square right between them. "I will not."
"I wouldn't want to be rude," he murmurs slyly, and it's then I know he's only teasing.
"You talk too much," I whisper, lowering myself until my lips are a few inches from his. "Surely you could find something better to do with that mouth." Holy shit! Did I just say that?
Go me.
I drop my lips to his and slide my hands down his belly at the same time, managing to hook my thumbs in his boxers and tug them down past his hips. I can feel him, hard and unbelievably hot against my belly. My heart speeds up, my pulse pounding in my ears as that moment of carnal certainty crashes over me. We're passing the point where turning back is impossible ― and sex isn't something I've ever done casually. It's even more important tonight, because I've never cared for anyone the way I care for Edward.
The minute I feel him kick the boxers from his feet, he's pushing my hips back from his, urging me to sit up. I can't take my eyes from his abs as he follows me, the little square falling right into one of his hands. It takes him a while to realize I can't stop staring, and then he takes advantage. He wraps one big hand around his erection, slowly stroking up and down, and I can't help but gasp at how much his hand doesn't cover.
I must have been a very good girl in a past life...
He hands me the condom. "Can you open this for me, please?" he whispers sweetly. "It's a job that requires two hands." He smiles, and it's so wicked my stomach wants to drop to the floor. I have it open in a second, ignoring the way the latex shakes as I hold it out for him to take.
"Here." My voice cracks, and I want to cringe. So not attractive, Bella.
He smirks, rolling the condom down over his length. I lick my suddenly dry lips, everything below my waist tightening with the knowledge of what's about to happen. "I want you so much," he tells me softly, one hand exploring between my legs as he pulls my hips to his. Gentle fingertips meet slick flesh, the touch teasing and light.
"I'm ready," I whisper, wrapping my arms around his neck. His only response is a soft, wordless groan as he guides my legs around his waist, pulling us so close that he's almost there, but not quite. He's close enough to glide right over that perfect spot, sliding easily over my slick skin, and it's hot and it's bliss but it's not enough. "Please."
He quiets me with soft words and kisses, folding me in his arms, his hands resting above my hips. With one slight shift, the angle changes, and he's there ― he's inside me and it's perfect...and it's still not enough. I wonder if it ever will be. But I do know one thing ― nothing has ever felt this good. Edward and I just fit...we're dovetailed together like the strongest of joints. He guides my hips in a small circle atop his, forcing a gasp from my throat. Once, twice more, and it seems he goes a fraction deeper with every pass.
His kisses become more careless and less artful, everything slowing to match the tempo of our hips. Our breath mingles together, because we can't be bothered to separate enough to breathe. I begin to move in earnest as his grip loosens, rocking my hips against his until I'm out of breath with sensation and exertion. His mouth goes lax as he groans, dropping his forehead to my shoulder. Both of his hands slide around to trace my ribs, one staying to toy with my nipples and the other dropping lower, coating his fingertips in us. He knows just where to press his thumb to send me flying, and he wastes no time. Orgasm is almost upon me before I know it, but I'm not ready for this to end. My hips slow of their own accord, drawing a moan of protest from Edward.
"No, don't stop," he breathes raggedly. "Let me make you come."
"No, not yet. It can't be over yet," I whisper against his hair, my breath shuddering in and out of my lungs.
"Bella...baby...we've got all night, love, I promise. I'm not going anywhere." He wraps one arm low around my hips and starts to guide me again, watching his fingers as he keeps working me with blissful skill. All sensation rushes to one point low in my abdomen as my muscles tense one by one, the pleasure expanding inside me in one intense rush that has me crying out his name.
I'm on my back when I open my eyes to see Edward's verdant eyes staring down at me, his gaze dark and intense and possessive, and more than a little unnerving. He's still buried deep inside me, one of my knees resting in the crook of his elbow, making more room for his hips. It's like he's just been waiting for me to see him, and he starts to move, gentle at first but gaining speed and force.
"You feel so fucking good," he growls, forcing his other hand underneath my head and twisting his fingers in my hair. I can't stop touching him, and my palms wander all over the taut lines of his back and chest, urging him closer, closer. His eyes stand out so well in his flushed face, nearly glowing with their intensity. Faster and faster he moves, until his hips are pounding into mine with delicious force. His thrusts become erratic and his eyelids drop closed, and the color in his cheeks higher than I've ever seen it. "I'm gonna come."
It's nothing but a whisper, but I know what he needs. I hold him tighter, meet every push of his hips with mine, and the sight of his face creased in pleasure as he comes apart in my arms is branded into my memory forever.
-x-
A few condoms, one frozen pizza, and a bottle of wine later, we settle in for a nap, both of us in dire need of some rest.
"Bella?" he asks, rolling to face me, gathering me in his arms and twining our legs together.
I hum sleepily in answer, too caught up in enjoying the way he fits perfectly around my body to form actual words.
"Why did you keep coming back to the pier?"
I smile against his chest, and I can tell he feels it by the way his arms tighten around me. "When I first started finding your words, I recorded them in my journal in chronological order, so I could read whenever I wanted. I thought you were just a performance artist. But I had this fantasy in my head ― it was fun to pretend I had an admirer...and I imagined those words were written to me."
"They were," he interrupts softly. "No one's ever inspired me as you do, Bella. It's like that poem was waiting inside me the whole time...you were the spark," he whispers as he strokes a hand through my hair. "I'm sorry I took so long to approach you. I wasted so much time..."
"I still can't believe it," I admit in a shaky voice. "I'm afraid you're going to disappear.''
"Believe it. I'm not going anywhere. You'll never get away from me," he jokes darkly, his hand darting down my back and around my side. Not only are Edward's fingers perfect for...other things, they're way too adept at tickling. The breathless adrenaline rush it gives me is so similar to how he makes me feel ― helpless and giddy and irrationally scared...and elated. I'm at his mercy as I giggle and squirm, but the sound of his laughter is so rewarding I don't mind.
-x-
My eyes snap open the next morning, eager to catch the sight of his head on the pillow. I've wondered what he'd look like lying next to me for what seems like forever, though we've only known each other for mere days.
He isn't there.
Instead, my journal is spread open where his rich, wild hair should be, his words glaring out at me like a final taunt as my heart sinks.
It takes me a moment to notice the addition.
I try to blink away unwanted but completely unpreventable tears from my eyes, really only smearing them across my cheeks in my hurry to see what he's written. There, underneath my transcription, are three more stanzas in that beautiful scrawl of his:
I can't believe
and she can't see
what she's done to me.
Forever changed
she's got me rearranged.
Now I believe
and I hope she'll see
what she's done for me.
Tears once again cloud my eyes, and I'm more confused than ever. Why would he write this and leave?
One salty drop hits the page, and it smears the rich black ink when I try to wipe it away.
Then I see it.
He's given it a title. A smile stretches my lips, and my tears become joyful. I start to hear noises from the kitchen and realize I'm not really alone.
Somehow I know I won't ever be alone again. My forever is just outside that bedroom door, and all I have to do is push it open.
I don't even hesitate.
Sigh. The End.
Thanks to everyone on Team LOL for pooling their hard-earned money to do something great in Lisa's name. I'm honored to have been part of it.
End note: I wrote the poem/song. I'm no poet, so if you thought it sucked, please feel free to sub your favorite love song/whatever. I couldn't find one I liked that fit well enough, so you got, well...me. And that's not fishing, it's a real apology.:)
As always, reviews are appreciated, but not required, and thank you for reading.