Project Team Beta Smut University 2012
Ficology: The Non (Completely) Gratuitous Lemon
By LyricalKris

Assignment #2: One of your couple is hiding something. The guilt is eating them alive. It leaks into everything, bleeds into what should be a moment of passion, of love. They try to lose themselves in the moment, the pleasure, but they can't.

Extra credit: Write your lemon without the use of graphic words: cock, penis, vagina, hole, pussy, insert, etc. Try to write the act with emotion rather than play by play description.

Disclaimer: I don't own Twilight


Acquiescence

These lines ... These lines I've laid down on her skin. They feel beyond me. I mean, I remember doing this work. But, now … as I run my hand over her, as she arches up into my grasp, they are something else. They float above the surface.

They took on their own life when they became a part of her. I did that. Right? I'm asking myself, not telling. I'm reminding myself that this is my work, because now it is so much more than me and my iron. More than just ink.

It is Bella.

"Edward?"

She's running her hand over my tattoo again—trailing fingers over the roses and Elizabeth's closed eyes. Bella is looking at me with the questions in hers. I know she wants to ask—to know more. She has for a while. But, it's so much easier to make her feel good. To make both of us feel good. Telling her about my mother won't get us to that.

"Fuck, you're beautiful … you're a perfect canvas. Your skin …" I run my nose over the crease under her breast. Down her torso. Over her hip. My tongue snakes a taste. I can smell the daisies and the grass of her tattoo. Even though it's just outlines, even though I haven't managed to put any color down, she brings this dark blue ink to life.

She smells like outside and summer.

There's that hum. My teeth on her hip and my fingers curling into the top of her underwear earn me that. She arches again with her head pushed back. Her eyes are closed. "Mmmmm … Edward." It's not a question anymore; it's a sigh. I have won—for now.

It is only a matter of time before the questions return to her eyes. If not now, sometime soon. It won't be long before my hands on her body won't be enough to keep us from a talk. With every other girl that first question was the beginning of the end. As in, never again. Only once did I make the mistake of unloading my sad family history. Victoria's features settled into a nauseating mask of pity as the words tumbled out of my mouth. It was a look that made me hate myself. It made me hate my dad for the events that his death set in motion. That feeling alone was enough to keep me from telling anyone again.

This moment is coming with Bella. I can feel it. It might even be tonight. Until then, though, I will fight. And I will fight dirty.

On cue, she's watching me again, and she's fighting it, too. Half her lip is between her teeth and her eyes are darting back and forth between my eyes and my tattoo. Before her it was easy. Sex was impersonal and as long as I kept women coming, they rarely wanted to know more than when their next orgasm was coming. But, Bella … Bella, Bella, Bella.

I challenge her curiosity with a raised eyebrow and her favorite grin. My hands run roughly up her body and she sucks in a skittering breath. Her nipples slide neatly between the knuckles of my thumbs and forefingers; her smallish breasts are a perfect handful. She bucks up into my hold again and I reward her with dual pinches; she rewards me with instantly firm, unyielding flesh and a moan that sends even more blood rushing to my dick.

Our bodies are perfectly matched. I read her like an instruction manual and she lets me. When I forget a step, she's there to show me where I went wrong. And, unlike with any other woman I've been with before, I am listening for those clues.

I don't want this to end.

I've never felt that before.

That alone is unsettling.

With one last, lingering tweak of her breasts, I drag my hands lightly down to her waist. She squirms like I want her to. I mean to tickle, just enough—enough to wipe the questions from her mind for a little while more, but not so much that we're pulled out of this moment. She likes my humor. She likes to match it. With her, I don't wear my jokes like ill-fitting clothes. I am funny because I want to see her laugh. I am funny because she makes me feel light.

But this is not funny. Not tonight.

This might be my last chance.

"Oh!" She squeaks, her eyebrows lifting in surprise as I scoop my hands under her ass and pull her to the edge of the table with a jerk.

Again, I give her the smile, stepping between her knees. "You'll give me this tonight," I say, pulling her hips upward and dipping to press my mouth and nose against her sex. I take a deep breath, mouthing at the striped cotton of her underwear. It's a heady scent. Musky and clean. She smells … freshly showered. I chuckle, pressing the flat of my tongue against her through the thin cotton. She responds with a strangled whimper as she tries to wriggle out of my grip. I laugh again, nipping at the sensitive skin of her inner thigh and she throws her hands over her face.

At some point we'll get back to the original purpose of these evening rendezvous. Eventually, I hope to fill these lines with white, yellow and green inks. But for now, I happily accept that she's turned up waxed, washed and ready for me.

My bare foot reaches for my stool and I roll it behind me. I lower her back to the table and take my seat. Bella lifts herself to her elbows and her face scrunches in concern. "Edward, I … I don't really like … that." A blush paints her body—from her cheeks all the way to the tops of her thighs. She tries to bring her legs together but only succeeds in making me harder as her knees press into my ribs.

I peel the edge of her underwear down and edge them out from under her. Rolling backwards on my stool and taking them on a journey down her long legs, I say, "You'll let me try to get you to like it. If you still don't, we can talk about you letting me try again. But you're going to let me try."

Bella's blush is awash in goose bumps. "Gah, Edward," she huffs. Falling back to the table, she flings one arm over her eyes and a hand over her crotch. "It makes me …" I roll back between her legs. Lifting her knee to my mouth I kiss her thigh. She tenses as my kisses move higher.

"It makes you what?"

"Nervous …" she pants.

We've entered a safe zone. She's now completely focused on whether she can relax enough to let me to go down on her, and I can relax without her eyes on me. When it's like this, the sex is fucktastic.

I won't deny the part of me that wonders what it would be like if there were no secrets. Could it be even better? But, no. The risk feels too great. The threat of the pity that will surely subvert the easy laughter and desire that I seek out in her eyes—that threat has kept me locked down tight.

"Leave your arm over your eyes," I suggest. "Don't watch me." She nods, but the shaky breath she takes in through her nose and releases out of her mouth betrays her. She really is nervous.

"Edward … I …"

"Hey ..." I say, standing. "Come here." I pull her wrist and she sits up, wrapping her arms around me. "I want this. I want to do this. I think I can make you feel good."

Edward Masen does not think he can make women feel good. He knows.

Usually.

"Will you let me?"

Bella's coffee-colored eyes search mine, and I'm begging her to let me try.

"Don't worry. I'm not going to just dive in down there. There is a warm up." I smirk, and that gets me a smile and relaxed shoulders.

"Warm me up then," she murmurs. And with her hands tangled in my hair, I fix my mouth to hers.

Bella is usually a full participant when we kiss. Her tongue will explore my mouth with the lightest of touches—inside and out. There is no hesitation, only keen observance. She takes in everything that I react to and responds in kind. It is the best kind of kissing. She never tries to dominate.

Tonight, though, she lets me kiss her completely. She lets me take the lead. I am in total control and it's as if she wants me to know that. She's given herself over to me.

I take her mouth, deeply, and I feel the whisper of a moan that escapes her chest and the increased pace of her breath in my groin. Pressing my forehead to hers, I pause. The depth to which I want her is too much. So, so much. To the point that I might cream my pants like a teenager if I'm not careful.

I turn my attention to the apple of her cheek, her hairline over her ear, the soft curve of her jaw. She lets me worship her. She's no ragdoll, but just as I thought, this is an act of full trust.

She trusts me.

I want to trust her.

My tongue and teeth work their way down her body and I lower her back onto the table. As I go to sit again she laces her fingers with mine and squeezes my hand. I lean forward lick the tips of her fingers, kissing them gently. I will make this good for her.

Bella drapes her arm over her eyes with a huge sigh and I release her hand.

I start slow. All this talk and worry hasn't left her ready, at all. Grazing my fingers along sensitive flesh, I blow gently and she shudders a little.

I've never been so thoughtful about doing this before and it's making me nervous. I am never nervous when it comes to sex. Years of avoiding emotional entanglements has made me very good at it. When there are no feelings to worry about it's pretty easy to be mechanically perfect.

But shit, are there feelings involved?

Without really thinking about it, I reach for my belt buckle. "Bella ..." I stand and push my jeans down. She lifts her arm and looks at me flummoxed, as I step out of my pants. "We'll come back to this," I say. "Right now ... I want you."

She looks stunned and it cuts me to the core. I lift her leg and kiss her knee again before wrapping it behind me. This is the first time we'll do this eye-to-eye, and it shouldn't be.

When I press my fingers up against her to continue my warm up, I can feel what my change in plans has done to her. She is slick already. With my thumb, I spread her arousal and when I curl over her, I look her straight in the eyes as I push inside.

This is how it should be.

What it ends up being is intense and really awkward. I didn't think it through when I decided on my last minute about-face. But it doesn't matter, because all I can think of is how good it feels to be moving inside her. How her eyes are the exact shade of my first cup of morning coffee. How looking into them as we're together like this gives me that same perfect jolt.

All of my practiced moves are of no use to me as I come quickly and without much warning. There was certainly no time to bring her to climax.

At least I didn't cream my pants.

"I'm sorry," I gasp, dropping my forehead to her cheek. "I'm sorry."

"No. No." She is kissing me—all over my face. And when she finds my mouth, my top lip fits perfectly between her lips—between her teeth. She bites down, just hard enough that my eyes snap open, and she meets my gaze with a demand.

She knows what I've been doing.

She is no fool.

"Let me make you dinner."

I blink at her. Our first time out of the shop? Our first time together that isn't centered around tattooing or sex?

"We can drink wine and learn what each others' favorite foods are and about our first kisses."

That gets her a smile and relaxed shoulders.

"We can work up to secrets, when you want …"