Infinite thanks to antiaol, bmango, echoesoftwilight and mskathy.

As always, Stephanie Meyer owns.


Our Lives Unbound, Chapter 3: Her Body in Motion

The suit jacket feels all wrong. Stiff collars and scratchy fabric, and even though I know the cut of it is right, there is nothing about it that does not feel awkward.

Like I am stuffing myself into a mismatched and sticky skin.

Still pulling at the hem of the jacket, I ring the bell for her apartment, a trickle of sweat on the super-heated flesh at the base of my neck, and my mind is going in every possible direction. Standing there and shifting relentlessly from one foot to another, I see the infinite array of options, the myriad possibilities for how I am destined to fuck this up. At just the moment when I am prepared to give myself over to my own imminent self-destruction, though, she appears, a vision through glass floating down stairs on dainty slippers, and all I can see is skin and legs and chest.

And eyes.

Such beautiful eyes.

Once the door is unlatched, I reach for it, holding it open as Bella smiles and moves past. Glad for the occupation, I continue to hold it a beat too long as I try to shift my erection in my pants without being seen. But she catches me, amusement sparkling in wide eyes and a smirk revealing glinting teeth.

I drop my hand, feeling heat in my face as I direct my eyes to the ground, but she won't let me.

Her lips are soft against mine as she drags my face to hers, a kiss that is sweetness and nothing more, until her hand sneaks beneath my jacket to brush against me and I stifle a long moan. "All for me?" she mutters against my lips before grasping the length more firmly.

"Yours," I agree. We kiss for another moment, more roughly now as she squeezes me and I let my hand drift to the perfect skin between her shoulder blades, humming approval at the open expanse of back above her dress.

"You look b-beautiful," I whisper against her wet lips, and she smiles before stepping away, grasping softly at my hand.

She is looking down and away as she mutters, "You look pretty damn good, too."

#~~#~~#

I manage to fight back the jealousy roiling hot in my stomach when Bella's lips hover close to the taxi driver's ear, giving him an address so quietly that I have no possible way to hear. I'm jealous of her mouth and jealous of his hands upon the steering wheel, the one place I have ever placed my hands where I have felt like they have been in control. She catches my pout as she sinks back into the seat and rolls her eyes, which only makes me more nervous and annoyed, as she assures me once more that it will be better if I'm not in a position of expecting to be able to drive myself home. Just as I'm about to argue, I'm distracted, though, soothed by with soft hands and softer lips, and we barely come up for air the entire time the cab is driving.

And my long-untouched body feels so alive.

When we stop at a nondescript street corner, Bella finally pulls away, running one fingertip across my lips, and staring at me more intensely than she has so far. I'm paralyzed in her gaze, wondering if my sense that she sees through me is really true, and if it is possible that she likes what she sees, when all I have ever felt is disgust.

Something in her gaze tells me that she does.

And it both excites and terrifies me.

The sound of the cab driver clearing his throat breaks the spell, and before I can even reach for my wallet, Bella already has the bills in her hand, slipping them through the window as she thanks the driver and moves for the door. I want to get it for her, but I'm too slow, cursing myself as I fumble, cool air swirling in through the open door that belies my failure.

And then she's standing there, one hand resting on the curve of her hip, staring expectantly at me.

And what could I possibly do but follow?

She places her hand in mine as we walk toward what I slowly recognize as a club, even though I have not been to one in years. We bypass the line, and even as she is doing things with her fingers over the rough surfaces of my own that make my body stiffen, she is whispering into a burly man's ear, and much like me he cannot resist her. A velvet rope is lifted, a door opened, and then everything is darkness and light and sound.

"Come with me."

With my head ducked close enough to hers that I can hear when she shouts over the music, I place my other hand on the swell of her hip, feeling the fabric bunch slightly in my overeager grip. Somehow, she finds a way through the crush of people, moving smoothly when I am all uncertainty and strained movements, only stopping when we arrive at a little booth populated by beautiful people.

She introduces me, but I don't hear a word, sliding in beside her along the deep leather seat, and she is so close and feels so good. A waiter approaches, but I barely notice, my eyes lost in the smooth expanse of flesh that is her chest, remembering how it tastes and hoping I may yet get to taste it again. Undeterred, she orders something fruity for herself and my favorite scotch for me.

There is conversation, and I follow it the best I can with Bella leaning her entire body into my side, answering the requisite questions about what I do, and even though I want to roll my eyes at the understanding nods, I manage not to. We drink and sometimes there is laughter, but I don't entirely get the jokes, understanding quickly that this is a tight-knit and long-standing group, with a history that is not my own.

Every time I stiffen up, though, Bella is right there, warm hands dancing over the tense set of my jaw or against my chest, quick kisses on my neck below my ear bringing on a fire that burns so much anxiety in its wake.

"Dance with me."

My body is warm and my head fuzzy, my jacket long gone and tossed over the side of the booth, and I already know I've had too much to drink to be able to trust myself or my continual lack of words.

But not quite enough to know how to move.

Not the way that Bella moves.

"I - I d-don't -"

"Yes, you do," she answers firmly, warm eyes holding mine and her finger running teasingly down my ear before a hand settles on my chest to push.

With so much reluctance, I finally stand, feeling her at my side and leading me deep into the throng.

"Like this."

Her hips are attached to mine, naked arms around my shoulders, hot lips at my cheek as she pulls me down to her, and our lips dance more easily than our bodies, but before long I know that they are dancing, too. With gentle movements, she guides my leg between hers and I can feel the heat of her sex against my thigh, my arousal intense to the point of painful as her hand makes a sweeping arch from my knee to my shoulder and into my hair.

"Just dance. Just feel."

"I'mmm t-trying," I breathe as my hands dig and tighten, silky dress and satin flesh both giving to my kneading as she purrs.

"Don't," she whispers. Her hand covers my eyes as she kisses wetly to my ear. "Don't try."

And then she's kissing me again.

For what feels like hours, we stay like that, the music changing in tempo and intensity, and every time it shifts, she helps my tense hips and knees find the rhythm that she desires, her body drawing even closer until we are all but fucking on the dance floor. I draw her skirt up further, needing skin and touch, and she moans.

"Is this how you want it tonight?" She nibbles at my ear as my head is sagging backward, a faint scratch of a nail against the pulse point of my neck. In a movement too fast for my sluggish brain to catch, she turns, and my pants where she has been grinding against my thigh are so damp that I have to shudder, right until she is back, all flesh and warmth and my hard-on pressing thickly into the cleft of her ass. All I can see is the swell of her breast and the exaggerated length of her neck as she turns and twists, whispering wetly, "Or like this? From behind me?"

My hands wrap around her shoulder and her waist as I rub myself into her in a surge of feeling, and I'm convinced that I could come from her command, right here, just like last time, pathetically in my pants.

"Every way," I mumble without stuttering, as I find her lips. "Every single way you'll let me h-have you."

I taste her whisper against my tongue as her arm lifts up, fingernails grasping at my hair as I moan.

"Perfect."

And then we're moving.

My jacket is back on my arms, beautiful people smiling knowingly, and all I can see and feel and taste is Bella, and I want so much more. But I don't know if I can have it.

If I've earned it.

The thought only really strikes me as the cool air outside is slapping sobriety into too-flushed cheeks, but I am too drunk and I can't really think. A number keeps flashing as Bella flags down another cab, and I am twisting my already-tortured hair.

Three.

Three.

Third.

Third date.

There's panic as I remember what third dates are supposed to entail, the memory of Bella's dance-floor foreplay already wreaking havoc with my nerves and the electric line of my throbbing need as I gulp and fight to breathe. Her touches in the back seat of the cab are no help this time, setting me even further on edge and keeping me so fucking hard, and it's been so long since I've been with a woman.

And all but a handful of my few sexual experiences have been desperate, drunken mistakes.

And I don't want to be a mistake to her.

When the cab finally stops, her hand is warm against my lap.

"Come up," she whispers huskily in my ear, and the verb is so reminiscent of the edge I am so close to that I have to shut my eyes to keep control. "Come upstairs with me."

"We're d-d-d-drunk," I slur, but she shakes her head.

"You are, Edward. I'm not."

"You're nnnnot?"

She shakes her head and licks my neck. "I'm … happy, mind you," she rasps, fingernails teasing at the untucked edges of my shirt before curling my tie around her fist. How did my shirt get untucked? "But not drunk. So don't let that stop you."

"Stttop me?" I mumble dumbly.

"Stop you from coming upstairs with me." Her eyes are all intensity and intentionality. "Because I'll remember this. And I won't regret it."

We're on the sidewalk before I can think to protest more.

And with my lips and hands and feet I tell her yes.

#~~#~~#

When we get upstairs, we don't have sex.

Not right away, at least.

Although I am all nerves and gristle and the steady pulse of blood in the head of my cock, she is sweetness and softly lit rooms and a glass of water and Advil. After sitting me on her couch, she lifts an arm above her head to set a row of pastel-colored paper lanterns aglow, and then she is half-reclined and leaning into me, our hands entwined. With part of my still-swimming mind drifting along to the tones of whatever music she's put on, I struggle just to focus on the feel of hair beneath my hands and the way her whole body moves with my chest as it rises and falls.

I can't remember ever feeling so comfortable and warm. Her voice registers as a quiet hum as my eyes close.

And I gently fall asleep with her sighing contentedly in my arms.

#~~#~~#

I come to in the darkness, and it is a startle to my faintly pounding head to find that I am alone. But still in her home.

"Bella?" I growl, and my hand goes to my head as I try to sit.

"Shh."

My eye is drawn to a rectangle of bright white in the corner of the room, blinking until my eyes can focus to find her in near-perfect silhouette. The dress that nearly drove me mad is gone, but it has been replaced by something worse. A black tank top with a crackling print of a broken heart and no bra. Red cotton underwear with a tiny star.

The silhouette grows larger as she approaches, and, sober now, I am back to a state of painful self-awareness - flashes of her body moving hotly across my vision and the dim echo of the music from the club still ringing in my ears. Standing just before me, she extends a tiny hand to ruffle smoothly through my hair, drawing my cheek to her hip, and I place my hand tentatively on the pale expanse of her thigh. I breeze my fingers across it over and over as she sighs, and my heart and mind begin to race. I grip harder, unsure if I should stay or go, and wondering desperately what it is she wants me to do.

With one finger at my jaw, she lifts my gaze, my chin resting gently on the barely-there swell of belly, and she's so soft. I stare upward, still fighting with all the thoughts that refuse to go away even as her hand is making circles across my face.

"My roommate is home," she says in a hushed whisper. "So we have to be quiet. Can you be quiet, Edward?"

There are few things I excel at more.

Usually.

I nod and let my hand drift up, the edges of my nails toying at the hem of her top to trace over soft skin. "Good," she breathes, backing away. When I am left sitting dumb-founded on the couch, she offers a hand. And finally, gulping, I take it.

Padding silently over the hardwood floors, she leads me to an open door, where the same paper lanterns from the living room cast everything in a hazy glow. Her scent is even more intense in here, and I nearly stagger as she leads me to the side, pushing the door closed with a quiet click before turning to face me. Feeling naked beneath her gaze, I squirm. There is nothing to lean against and nothing to hide behind. Just me.

Me and Bella.

In her bedroom.

My throat is tight and my chest tighter as she closes the distance, my eyes enraptured and my mind at war. Images of my own fumbling inadequacy push themselves through my thoughts, memories of so many nights alone and hot shame at lonely orgasms and too-quick coming and women too polite to express disgust. I think of the two women I've fucked more than once and of near-disasters with condoms and how I never know what to do when their bodies are below me.

I do not know that my eyes are closed or that I have all but stopped breathing until hands settle on either side of my face.

"Stop thinking," she breathes, and she smells so good. "Come back to me."

I open my eyes to soft brown ones, and in them lie equal measures of concern and lust.

"There you are," she whispers as she smiles. And I can't help but smile in return, even as my nerves make my speech all but unintelligible.

"M-my thoughts. I get l-l-llllost sometimes."

"I know. Which is why I'm not going to let you."

"You're nnnot?"

"Uhn-uh." I watch her teeth bite into tender lip, my body hardening as she steps in closer. "No thinking, Edward."

"Nnnone?"

"None."

The backs of my knees are hitting the foot of her bed, and then she's pushing me down. I'm glad I'm sober as she arranges herself around my hips, those maddening red underwear settling over the dark grey of my trousers and the long line of my awakening arousal.

"Here," she urges, shifting me until I lay fully spread out with my head on her pillow before she leans down to untie my shoes. When my feet are bare she places closed-mouth kisses on the tops of each one, and I suck in a harsh breath. Warm hands sweep from ankles over knees to thighs, lingering for a moment on the place I remember was left damp with the silky wetness of her sex when she ground on me, our bodies dancing in a way that mine has never done before.

We're dancing still.

She kisses right there, and then at my hip, little fingers pulling at buttons as she asks with her eyes if this is OK. It's all I can do to nod as her hand moves over my stomach and chest, skin that hasn't been touched in years feeling a fiery flush with every glancing touch. I stifle a groan as my cock pulses, and she almost laughs. For a moment I worry she's laughing at my body, too skinny and too sensitive to such tiny movements of skin on lonely flesh. But she isn't.

"Has anyone ever told you that you're sexy?" she breathes into the patch of sparse hair on my chest and I shake my head. Her lips press over my heart as she climbs up my body, one soft glance of her hips over my length almost ruining me, but then her heat is gone from there, and she's pulling at fabric until I rise and my upper body is bare. "You are. So sexy. From the first time I saw you, I wanted you."

I grab for her hips and groan too loudly and her mouth is on mine, shushing and kissing and it's so erotic and intense as her sex settles too high on my stomach. And even through those little red briefs, she's wet.

"Shhh," she whispers again, long nails tracing arcs over my side and then moving to fiddle at my neck. I'm embarrassed to find my tie still there, and I place my hands over hers, but she grabs them, finishing her work at untying even as she is lifting them and placing them high above my head. Again my mind is whirring, wondering what she's doing and what I should be doing and if I will be good for her.

"Don't think," she growls. "Don't think. Don't move. Just feel." The silk of the tie is between her hand and mine now, and I am one second too late in realizing what she is doing, already bound before I can ask her to stop.

Not that I ever, ever would.

My heart shudders and my cock is set to burst. It's so hot to have her doing this, her hips moving even higher as they straddle my chest, full breasts hovering inches above my mouth as she secures the ends of the tie to her headboard.

"Too tight?"

"Nn-n-n-o," I groan, and it's an embarrassing sound. "Just right."

"Good."

"So good."

Her body lifts then, removing all contact from mine. There's nothing left except a sucking, biting sensation on the shell of my ear, her words slipping wetly past her tongue. "You know why it's good don't you?"

I do and yet I don't, my head shaking numbly.

And then I shiver sharply at her exhale.

"Because it means that I can do whatever I want with you."

.

.

.

.

.


A/N: ::panting:: Yes, I know, I'm a cockblocking h00r. See you next week ;)