A/N: This chapter gets an extra-special disclaimer.
This is not going to be a story about D/s relationships in general. This is a story about Edward and Bella's relationship, and they aren't interested in fitting the requirements of "real" D/s as they are in finding a way to make their unique sexual relationship work. So please don't take this story as an indication of what I think all real-life BDSM is like (especially since I suspect that, in real life, it's a little different for everyone who does it).
Also extra-special thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter and/or voted for this story for the Indies. And thanks to dihenydd and lavishone, whose reviews directly or indirectly inspired this chapter.
And even more extra-special thanks to my beta Lola84, who really outdid herself with this chapter.
Also, I don't own anything.
After he explained the awkward conversation with his father, it took him a little while to clear my head of the image of Edward in leather pants dragging me around campus on a leash. Not that the thought was entirely displeasing as a fantasy—especially the part about the leather pants—but I knew I didn't want to live my life that way. Eventually, he convinced me that there was a whole range of options, that leather and public indecency were permitted but not required, and that we could pick and choose the parts that would work for our . . . unique situation.
When Edward explained the concept of safe words, I began to understand why he was so excited. This was exactly what we had been missing: something I could do to stop Edward if I felt like he was going too far. Edward thought it would be more effective if we used something that reminded him of his gentler, human side, so my safe word became "Esme."
And now we had moved on to limits, and I was going through a truly massive alphabetical checklist of every sexual act and object known to the human race in order to decide exactly what Edward was and wasn't allowed to do to me. I didn't usually think of myself as a total innocent, but in the past hour I had learned a truly staggering amount about the extent of human perversity. Edward, the lucky bastard, was sprawled on the bed next to me, reading a book while I completed the alternately arousing, embarrassing, and terrifying task of researching the terms I didn't know, marking my limits, and rating everything from zero to four according to my degree of interest. I was already completely overwhelmed, and there was still a third of the alphabet to go.
Rough Sex. Hmm, yes. I imagined the cold feel of a wall against my bare skin as Edward slammed into me, his guttural growling punctuated by the impact of our bodies. I could almost feel the texture of the paint as my shoulder blades scraped against it, the delicious pain as Edward bruised my neck with his lips and teeth . . .
Involuntarily, I rubbed my thighs together and noticed the growing wetness there. Edward shifted uncomfortably, his eyes carefully focused on the pages in front of him. Great. He had definitely noticed that his completely oversexed girlfriend was getting turned on justreading a list of lewd behaviors. At least he knew me well enough not to point it out.
I was going to write a "four" but I figured I had humiliated myself sufficiently for the moment. A "two" would be fine.
Scat. No need for research there. I wrote "limit" in large capital letters and moved on.
Sensory Deprivation. What would that be like? I thought of myself suspended in a sightless, soundless void, Edward's hands my only connection to the outside world. I melted under a firm, proprietary caress that explored from my neck to my knees, and then, without warning, a startling slap to my ass. I wanted another, and held my breath in anticipation of the next, not knowing when or where . . .
Wait, what the hell is wrong with me? Is Edward hitting me even in my fantasies, now? And what could I possibly be thinking? If I didn't know what he was going to do next, I wouldn't be able to stop him from doing something dangerous!
Right. It wouldn't be safe. I wouldn't have enough control. Definitely not a good idea. With some regret, I wrote "limit" and turned the page.
Sexual Service. Okay, I had an idea of what that might mean, but I needed the Internet to provide a little clarification. I pulled my laptop closer, typed in a search, and clicked the first link.
That was a mistake. This site was not intended merely for informational purposes, and before I knew what was happening, an extremely graphic video began to play. The sounds of overacted sex filled the room as I scrambled to close the window.
"Is everything okay?" Edward asked, a playful smile twinkling beneath his apparently concerned expression.
I slammed the laptop shut and hastily scribbled "limit."
Eventually, I made it past triple penetration (thanks, but no thanks) and vampire scenes (which I circled and surrounded with stars and happy faces), and I found myself at the end of the list.
I put my pen down and looked at Edward, who was still reading. There was something I loved in the way the tendons of his fingers flexed as he turned the page. I realized I hadn't heard him play any music since the day in the park, and I made a mental note to make him sit down at the piano soon.
He raised his eyes before I spoke. "Finished, love?" He held out his hand and I gave him the list. I was thankful he was a fast reader because I held my breath as he began to peruse my answers. He must have noticed my anxiety because he pulled me close to him and absently stroked my hair while he read through the list twice.
As he reached the end of the first time through, he began to stiffen noticeably. By the time he had finished reading, his gentle caress had tensed until his fingernails raked across my neck so roughly that I had to pull away.
"Bella." His voice held the low rumble of a warning. "I can't help noticing that you've made a limit out of almost everything we haven't yet done, and that you claim not to have enjoyed almost everything we have done. So I think I have to ask: are you being honest with me?"
No. I'm afraid. "Of course I am."
He chuckled flatly and clicked his tongue. "Your heartbeat changes when you lie, Bella. You must know that I can feel it through the bed."
Don't blush, Bella. Don't blush. Stop blushing. My body was such a fucking traitor. "I . . . um . . ."
"The monster doesn't like it when you don't tell the truth. It's very important to me that you trust me, because if you don't, it seems like you're not mine." He ran the back of a cool finger down the side of my face. The hair on my skin stood as his light touch passed. "But the monster loves it when you blush. You know that, too. It brings so much blood so close to the surface." He moved closer so that his lips almost brushed my cheek when he spoke. "Reminds me that there's nothing but your thin, soft skin between me and all that living, pulsing warmth. Although, of course, I could simply drink from your lips instead. They're red all the time."
Then, suddenly, he had moved away and was glancing around the room. "But that's not the point right now, is it? We were talking about the importance of honesty." His eyes settled on a scarf I had left draped over my computer chair. "Ah. That will do nicely."
As soon as I saw that he had moved, he was back at my side, running the scarf through his fingers. "In the interest of trust, I'd like to try a little experiment. It says on this list that you wouldn't like it if I tied this scarf across your eyes, but that's a lie, isn't it? I think I'm going to do it anyway. If you really want me to stop, all you have to do is say your safe word." He raised an eyebrow at me, smirking coldly. "But I'm betting you won't."
Wait, maybe I'd been too conservative on the list, but now he was just going to ignore it completely? Esme. Esme! In my head I was shouting it, but my lips wouldn't move. Because he was right? I closed my eyes as Edward wrapped the scarf around my head, the fibers rough against my eyelids. There was a tickle at the back of my head as he deftly tied the fabric, just tight enough that I couldn't blink.
He lowered me to the bed and removed my clothing with surprising gentleness, and I was excited but comfortable until his hands left my body. Anxiously, I strained to hear the rustle of his movements over my own shallow breathing. I was certain he was next to my ear, then far from me, then, a moment later, I wondered if he was even in the room at all.
And then, without warning, I felt his teeth slice into the muscle above my shoulder, and I melted in the expectation of bliss. That wasn't what I got. Instead, it was a deep, sweetly tearing pain, not enough to make me cry out, but enough to make me flail at Edward in surprise. Enough to feed a different kind of ache that was building in my core.
Edward snatched my wrists and, before I knew what was happening, he had bound them somehow to the head of the bed. "If you want me to stop, then say it," he said through clenched teeth.
I didn't say it. He peppered my body with small bites at inhuman speed, randomly so that I couldn't predict his movements. Neck, thigh, wrist, shoulder . . . the pain crescendoed until all my blood was alive with sensation and I writhed in half agony, half ecstasy. I couldn't bear it for another second, and I wanted it never to stop.
Soon, it was so intense that he didn't even have to bite me anymore, and he withdrew from me and spoke as his venom coursed through my system. "Do you feel that, love? Different, isn't it?" My core spasmed at the wicked satisfaction in his voice. "It's nothing like my lust or my love. What you feel now, this is my anger. Do you like it?"
I could only respond with a small, pleading moan. I didn't know what I was pleading for. "But, more importantly, do you understand why I'm angry? It's because this isn't fair." He slapped my breast hard on the last word, and I felt it in my clit, reverberating through my whole body like an electric shock. I cried out, and he growled softly.
"It's safer for you this way, I think, pretending that I use you against your will. But I won't play the villain to your innocent victim, forcing you through every touch when I know you want this as much as I do. If I'm responsible, then so are you. So if you're not going to admit you need me, then stop me."
As he spoke, the fire in my body had burned itself out to a mellow, dark ache, but now he returned his teeth to my skin in earnest. This time, he drank from me, and the bites were deep and slow, increasingly full of lust as his breath grew heavy. With each taste, he demanded an answer that I could not give.
His lips were cool behind my jaw as the warmth pulsed out. "Say it." His harsh voice tickled my ear.
I shivered at the slick caress of his tongue as he licked at the blood that pooled on my abdomen. "Say it."
He groaned with abandon as he drank from the crease above my thigh, and as he tore himself away, he cried out desperately, "Say something!"
Each moan, each command, each touch of his tongue and teeth brought me higher and higher, until I found myself on the verge of a dangerous plunge. All my fears became visceral, embodied in the fluttering panic of my heartbeat and the clenching time bomb in my core, hesitating at the point of explosion.
I could almost see the hungry chasm of my blackest needs opening up beneath me, waiting to consume me in rapture. I clung to the edge above it, afraid of losing my self and my self-control, torn in equal parts terror and longing at the possibility that Edward might show me the shameful secrets of my own soul.
Then, finally, the pressure of my building desire surpassed the intensity of my doubts and fears. I was certain there was only one way down, and I was ready to take it.
"Yes!" I screamed. "It's what I fucking need!" He snarled and sank his teeth into my clit.
I stepped into the dark, and fell, and fell.
It must not have taken long for me to fade back in to a languid, blissful awareness of my surroundings, because the first thing I noticed was his tongue carefully retrieving the final drops of blood from between my legs. I tried to reach down and touch him, and was briefly annoyed to discover that my hands were still tied.
However, between my sleepy serenity and the soothing coolness of Edward's deliberate touch tracing my folds, all annoyance evaporated. I was surprised to find that, as soon as I relaxed my arms, my hands fell easily out of the straps that had been holding them in place. I slid the blindfold up, away from my eyes, and watched his hair bobbing slightly as he took his time consuming the very last traces, making a few tiny grunts of pleasure. It was kind of cute.
My fingers had barely brushed the fringe of his bangs when he jolted upright so fast I felt the breeze on my stomach. I could tell by his mortified expression that he had not noticed I was awake, and he turned away from me, raising a hand to cover his blood smeared mouth.
I tried to sit up to put my arms around him, but, as soon as I moved, the strength evaporated from my body, and I flopped back on to the pillows. "Edward . . ." I began weakly.
"Fuck. Fuck. I can't believe I messed things up again already. That was the worst possible . . . When you explicitly told me not to, when it was written down right in front of me . . . Jesus Christ, that's like rape. I'm a goddamn rapist. You'll never—"
"Edward," I said again with all the force I could manage, which wasn't much. "I'm really dizzy."
"Oh. Shit." Still not looking at me, he reached behind his back and picked up my arm. His strong fingers felt nice against my wrist. Beneath the anxiety, I could hear some degree of relief in his voice when he said, "Your pulse is okay. I'm going to get you some orange juice, though."
"No!" I felt an irrationally urgent desperation to have him close. "Stay. Please."
"But . . . what I did . . . You do realize that was—"
"Yeah, I know, I was stupid, and we have to talk about it. But can we please do it later? Right now I just need you to hold me so badly."
He wiped his face with his hand, surreptitiously sucking my blood off his knuckle as he finally turned to face me.
My eyelids were already fluttering shut as I nestled against him, wrapped in a blanket and his strong, protective arms.
His chest rumbled next to my cheek as he spoke. "I can't believe I did that to you. The scariest part is, at the time I thought I was doing the right thing. I felt like I was doing you a favor. God, Bella, how can you even look at me?"
"Juss less talk aboud it lader, okay?" My words began to slur as the rising tide of sleep tugged me gently away, smoothing the problems of right and wrong, violation and trust, into apparent insignificance, leaving me lost in a single, boundless moment. And for that moment, I was floating, free, and safe, and happy in the arms of the beautiful one who loved me.
I smiled dreamily at Edward's hand on my shoulder and the warmth of the sunlight on my eyelids. So lovely . . .
I snapped awake when I realized he was shaking me urgently. "Bella. Wake up," he whispered with aggravated intensity.
His red eyes were wide with panic, and I could swear that the hand on my shoulder was colder than usual and shaking slightly. He still held an open cell phone in his other hand. My stomach wrenched violently as I mentally listed the things that could have made him this upset.
None of them were good news. I looked up at him in apprehension.
His hand tightened on my shoulder. "It's Esme."
Btw, the final round of voting for the Indies starts July 22nd.
A final post-disclaimer: Unless you know something I don't, please don't try this at home. Even if your super-senses enable you to monitor the health and comfort of your sub, ignoring his/her stated limits for any reason could have disastrous consequences.
Anyway, what do you think? Love it? Hate it? Think I need therapy, or just a cold shower? :)