Ms S Meyer, what a happy community of people you engendered when you wrote Twilight. Thank you.
This chapter is dedicated to the valiant women I listened to recently who have not only turned their backs on their abusers, but changed the police approach to campaigns to persuade people to report abuse. To them, the violence they experienced was a secondary evil to the execrable control their abusers took over their lives. Taking their experience and using it for good has profoundly changed the women; the joy they take in living literally shines from them.
Cared and Perry, the most dedicated pre-reader & beta in the history of fan-fiction, have been joined by Mr G&G to make these chapters as authentic and polished as possible. Mr G&G very kindly donates his expertise on a man's POV. I am truly blessed to have them all on my team. *beams proudly* Any remaining errors are mine.
Cared suggests you keep smelling salts handy for this chapter; Perry goes one further and recommends oxygen.
For those of you anxiously anticipating an awkward show down with Jessie from chapter 3, please be reassured this will never happen. Jessie, who is not that kind of girl anyway, has gone to live with her husband. She keeps house and minds the shop instead of working in the dairy. In the highly unlikely event that Lordward enters the Grocer's shop with his adored bride, all parties will react with the same respect they have always shown one another. Trust me.
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Chapter 9 – To Have and To Hold
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8th April 1795
Jacob and I wait outside with the impatient horses while Isabella gathers her last items and says her goodbyes to her new friends. The change in her demeanour towards Charlotte came about quickly and mysteriously, at least to me.
Finally, they drift outside together. I give the lead mare one last calming touch and hurry over to them as Jacob swings himself up into his seat. We are all anxious to complete the last leg of the journey.
Peter gives me a rare smile. "The horse team always know when they are on their home stretch, do they not? You appear to be quite ready to be off yourself, Masen."
"Thank you for your hospitality Peter; Lottie," I lean to kiss her cheek, "You have been very kind, as always."
"It was even more of a pleasure to see you than usual, Edward. Your bride is delightful; take very great care of her dearest, or you will have me to answer to."
"Yes, my Lady," I make an elaborate bow to Lottie, and when I straighten, I see a deep blush lingering on Isabella's cheeks. I smile very fondly at her. I have to work hard not to sweep her into my arms and run to the waiting carriage. Instead, we make idle chit-chat as we stroll towards our mode of escape, saying unnecessarily prolonged goodbyes in my opinion.
"Right, we are leaving now. Do write and let us know when you wish to visit us at Forbrigg." I have the carriage door open and Isabella's soft hand in mine, urging her upwards. Peter laughs at me, the cad. He has deliberately delayed us; I know it. I place my hands around my wife's small waist and lift her easily into the compartment. A giggle escapes her lips, and I climb in swiftly behind her.
"Goodbye, Edward; goodbye, Bella!" We wave through the small window, my angel leaning over me to do so. Jacob takes his cue; finally we are on our way home.
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"How long have you been known as Bella?" I raise my eyebrow in mock censure, and my wife startles. I lift my hand to her hair to sooth her, regretting the manner of my tease at once. "I like it; you are very beautiful. If the slipper fits..." I trail off with a smile, grateful to see a response touch her lips.
"Rose has always called me Bella. Lottie and Vicky insisted – do your friends usually shorten their names, Edward? I have never known – Rose would never have called me Bella in front of my parents, or indeed...well, anyone else." I know she was about to mention Black but thought better of it. I wish we could return through time and erase him from existence.
"And yet you do not even name your mother by her relationship to you – you call her Wren. What is that but a nickname?"
Isabella's mouth turns down. Her eyes and fingers pick at a loose thread on a dislodged button on the leather seat. "Father forbid us from calling her anything else as soon as we were old enough to trigger his notice."
How odd. "Why?"
Her gaze darts up to my face and fire flickers in it. "Because when we called her Mama, it made her happy. Under no circumstances was my mother permitted to be happy."
I think Isabella may pick the seat apart, her fingers are so insistent. I take her hand in mine, rubbing soothing circles on it with my thumb. "Tell me. There is nothing I can do if you do not tell me."
My wife looks up at me, astonished. "Do? What could you do?"
I choose to believe that her astonishment is at the idea that something could be done, not at my ability to act. I close the small distance between us, and grasping her head between my hands, I kiss her soundly. When I pull away from her lips, she looks confused but desirous; her tongue slips out to taste herself where I have laid claim to her.
I pull her into my embrace, and without resistance, onto my lap. Her small body fills the space between my arms perfectly.
"I have many things at my disposal that your father does not. If you tell me, there may be something I can do. If you do not, I will remain ignorant and unable to change a thing. Share your concerns with me, Bella." I whisper her new name into her ear, and she shivers slightly.
"Perhaps it would be easier if you asked me questions, S... Edward. I have been taught not to speak."
"And yet your voice is exquisite. Will you sing for me later?"
"Of course – if you wish." She sits up in my lap to give emphasis to her words. "I love to sing for you, Edward. Nothing makes me happier." I see doubt cross her features at her own words. "Well, to sing and to take care of you – those are the true blessings in my life right now." She smiles broadly at me.
"Then you will understand my need to take care of you too, Angel. Now tell me what troubles you about your mother, and we may take care of one another at will after that."
She nods her agreement but does nothing more than sigh and worry her lip with her small teeth. My patience is unpractised, but I make myself wait.
I pass the silence indulging myself in the scent emanating from her neck. I rub my nose up and down her warm skin, inhaling deeply. Then I have to taste her, so I trace the same path with my tongue.
I realise I distract her, but she tastes delectable.
My mouth lowers to the crook of her shoulder, which I cannot help gently sucking. She shifts her bottom on my lap in response, and blood rushes to my cock. I know the instant that she feels me, because her spine stiffens and her breath stills.
My teeth graze up her neck to the lobe of her ear, velvet soft in my mouth. I nibble and suck before whispering to her, "Beautiful Bella, you entice me so. Do I excite you too?"
"Yes," she breathes. My cock hardens even more. I reach down to her ankle with my free hand and pull her dress and petticoats up her legs and over her knees, until the bare skin of her thighs is exposed. The thought that I have every right to bare her flesh and take possession of it crosses my mind, and my heart beats hard in my breast.
My fingers trace the shards of sunlight dancing on her skin where it falls through the window. The light musk of her perspiration fills the masculine-scented air of the carriage. Traces of leather, cigar smoke, beeswax and road dust subsumed by feminine scent – I have to be the most blessed man in England, possibly the whole world.
I lift her skirts even higher. The curls covering her sex are exposed, and I stare at them for several minutes because I can. The only sounds above the rumbling of the carriage wheels as they roll over the rough ground are the quiet pants of my very still wife.
"Part your legs for me, Angel." She obeys me at once, her willingness to please me apparent in every gesture. This excites me too.
I stroke the damp silk of her sex with one hand. My other hand feels its way across the curve of her breast to the stiffened nipple apparent through the layers of muslin she wears. Something between a gasp and a whimper fills the carriage air.
I don't know how long I play with her – it could be minutes or hours, I am so absorbed in her. She is slippery with desire and almost crying with need by the time I take pity on her. With my thumb on her swollen bud and my finger buried deep inside her, I turn her face to mine and claim her mouth, pushing my tongue into the sweet darkness there. I push everywhere, rhythmically, allowing the sway of the carriage to rock her into my hand, and she falls, crying breathlessly into me.
This glorious woman is going to be available to me indefinitely. Always. I cannot recall why I was nervous of marriage.
She sinks into my chest, and I fold her into my arms, burying my nose into her hair. We are silent for some time; I think she has lost track of our conversation, and I only wish to savour her. She feels warm and slight, and yet so very present on my lap.
When she speaks, it is with quiet determination, which compels me to listen in silence.
"Mr Cullen told me that marriage is a partnership; that when a man and a woman are joined by God, they create a whole that is greater than the sum of their parts. I did not believe him." Her fingers caress my chest, and even through layers of clothing, I feel their warmth. "I think my father hates my mother as much as he loves her. She only fears him. He does not touch her, except to inflict pain or punishment. We do not touch in my family."
I tighten my hold on her. I want to tell her that I am her family now, but I do not wish to interrupt her revelations.
"Your touch, Edward – I cannot describe what your touch does to me. When you caress me, I want to cry. Not for sadness; I feel overwhelmed by emotion when you touch me. When you..." She pauses, turning her face into my shirt for a moment; when she speaks again her voice is quieter than before. "When you kissed Lottie, I was so shocked. I thought your touches were all for me; that as your wife, I had claim over all your affection."
"I kissed Lottie? When did I kiss Lottie?"
"When we first arrived – you kissed her cheek. I thought – never mind what I thought. I mistook the gesture; that is all. It is nothing." She shakes her head, chasing her demons away. "You have to understand that every day of my life, for as long as I can remember, I awoke with the knowledge that I needed to plan my strategy for the day to avoid the wrath and punishment that would be visited on me regardless. If my father required that I use his pet name for my mother, for her sake and mine, I would do as he wished."
This is so painful to hear. Charles Swan is a monster. May God forgive him; I will not.
"Isabella – Bella – when you say punishment and wrath, do you mean physical punishment? Did your father strike you?" I can hardly bear to listen to her answer.
She nods. I feel rather than see her head move up and down on my chest because my eyes are closed. "Not as frequently as Mr Black did, but with less cold-hearted control than he had."
"What?"
My wife – my small, delicate, precious wife – stiffens in my arms.
She is silent.
I am nauseated almost to the point of actual sickness. I cannot have heard her correctly. She does not mean what she says.
I will kill him.
With my own bare hands, I will seize the fiend by his neck and throttle him into the depths of hell where he belongs.
When I can speak, my voice is barely above a whisper. "What did Black do to you?"
She looks up at me – in fear?
"He did nothing inappropriate, my Lord. No one has – I am yours, completely. I swear it."
I think my heart will break. I take her chin in my fingers and raise her lips to mine. They are so soft where I kiss them.
"My darling girl, everything that man did was inappropriate. He had no right to hurt you; you were not his to punish. Show me where he hurt you."
Her hands tremble where she holds them up to me, palms upwards. "Here?" She nods, and I take them in mine and lower my mouth to kiss them reverently, never breaking contact with her fearful eyes. "Where else?"
She turns her cheek towards me. "Here?" I kiss along her cheekbone, and when I reach the centre of her cheek, she turns her face so that my lips may reach the other side. "Here too?"
Then she slowly bends her knees and indicates the lower part of her still uncovered thighs, just above the backs of her knees. A particularly painful place to be struck. I cannot reach them to kiss, so I kiss my hands and rub them gently over her soft flesh. "Anywhere else?" She begins to shake her head, then thinks better of it and shows me her forehead. "He struck you here?"
"No, but – well, his favourite punishment was to make me kneel and pray for forgiveness while he pushed my head into the cold, stone floor. He would pray over me as he did so. The more fervent his prayers became, the harder he would press on my head, until I begged for release. Please Edward, may we discuss something else? I do not wish to revisit my memories of him. I am so, so grateful for you."
I would sooner hurt anyone than her, so I take her face in my hands once more and gently kiss the tension my lips encounter away.
We can talk about anything except the very devil, Black. But I find it impossible to rid my thoughts of inflicting the worst pain I can think of on the bastard, before murdering him with my bare hands.
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The stone wall that my grandfather built around Forbrigg begins miles from the entrance, and I am ridiculously excited to show it to Bella. When we reach the heavily wooded corner where the wall begins, I seat her on my lap against the window so that she can look out.
Bella remains quiet, but I watch the expression on her profile carefully, and it appears to be awe that silences her.
When we reach the dip in the wall where the stones have fallen, Jacob reins in the horses, just as I requested. My angel looks at me in surprise, but I ignore her and clamber out before lifting her into my arms and carrying her to the broken bricks. We peer over them together.
"Oh! Donkeys! Oh, look! Oh, they are adorable – I have never seen so many together. Why do you breed donkeys?"
"The King's army pays good money for them, that is why," I say, taking the sack of apples Jacob holds out to me. I hold one up and call to them. Contrary to belief, they are intelligent creatures, perhaps more so than horses. They soon crowd around us, eyeing us curiously.
"Here," I pass Bella an apple and she holds it out to a youngster. He takes it delicately from her outstretched palm and runs off skittishly in case he is made to share. I scan the field. "Look Bella, over there in the corner, do you see him?"
"What is that, Edward? Good heavens, is that a camel?"
I laugh. She is adorable herself. "No, my love, that is a llama. There is an estate near King's Lynn that imports exotic animals for circuses and fairs and the like. This old fellow caused them more trouble than he was worth, so we took him in. He seems fairly content to dwell amongst the donkeys."
Her eyes are shining as she turns in my arms to kiss my cheek. "You really do take in all manner of waifs and strays, my Lord. Thank you for showing me." I squeeze her tight, then whirl her around and back to the carriage.
"Nearly there – come on, I am impatient to be home now." Jacob closes the carriage door behind us, and we feel the lurch as he jumps onto the driver's seat. I believe he is impatient to be home too.
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The driveway is long. The house finally comes into view and Isabella allows another 'oh' to escape her lips. I try to imagine what she is thinking, but truly, the scene is too familiar to me to place myself in her shoes.
Someone has been on lookout duty. As Jacob pulls up close to the front entrance, the door opens. A line of staff in neatly washed and pressed uniforms emerges, almost like soldiers. What has Samuels been up to?
They stand in a line ready to greet us. Between each man or boy clad in dark grey, a woman or girl's pale grey dress billows in the breeze. They almost appear to have lined up in order of age, but I know it is actually in order of seniority that they stand at attention.
Samuels was a soldier once, I recall. Perhaps he misses his calling?
I look bemusedly to my bride, who is already blushing scarlet. "There is a welcoming party, I see. Shall we?" I smile at her and squeeze her hand to give her confidence. I am concerned that she will chew her lip right off, and what will I kiss then? I whisper, "I love you," in her ear, before clambering out and assisting her descent. I hope she will take courage from my words because first impressions are important.
I take her hand and lead her to the beginning of the line – Samuels himself, of course.
"Mr Samuels, may I introduce the new mistress of Forbrigg Estate, Lady Isabella Masen?"
He bows deeply to her. "Welcome home, your Ladyship." She smiles at him, and I cannot help but notice a faint flush warming his ears and cheeks.
"Thank you, Mr Samuels. I appreciate your welcome very much," she says, sweeping her hand in a gesture to encompass the whole line of staff. That she has acknowledged his leadership and the thoughtfulness behind the preparation bodes well for their relationship. I am really pleased.
Mrs C looks nervous, and I hope that her pinched face does not deter Isabella from noticing her true nature. "Mrs Clearwater, this is my beloved bride." Her face softens at once, and she curtseys deeply before mumbling something about how delighted she is for us both.
Bella flushes again, but her greeting is warm and clear. "Thank you, Mrs Clearwater. Lord Masen has told me much about you, and I am so pleased to meet you."
We move on down the line, and though I greet each staff member by name, I cannot expect my wife to take them all in. She is kind and gracious to everyone, of course. Grace could be her middle name.
Before we have reached the end of the welcoming committee, to my surprise I see Laurent stroll around the corner of the house, a small boy in tow. They join the end of the line.
It is not until we are very close that I recognise the boy from the beach. Isabella is bent over talking to Jenny, the smallest of Mrs C's scullery maids. I nod to Laurent, and he winks at me, ruffling the boy's hair. I catch what the new Lady Masen is saying: "...mother's name is Jenny, too. My father calls her his Jenny Wren, like the nursery rhyme. Does anyone call you Jenny Wren?" The girl nods slowly, her eyes wide in awe at being addressed by someone so grand; I am not certain she has taken in a word that has been said to her, though I have.
Swan must have some affection for his concubine, after all.
We move on to the newcomers. "I am afraid I do not know this young fellow's name," I say, bending down to pat the boy on the shoulder and trying to catch his eye. He keeps his eyes on the ground, which is a shame, because I want to take the measure of him.
"He still does not speak, my Lord; we have yet to name him – he responds to boy," says Laurent.
"Well, boy, I am very glad you are still with us. Lady Masen has been looking forward to meeting you."
"This is the boy?" she whispers to me.
"Yes."
She kneels right down in front of him, her skirts trailing in the dust, forcing the slip of a lad to look into her eyes. "Hello, young man. I am very glad you have found a home here. I am new here too. I hope you will look out for me when I am out on the grounds?"
The boy pulls himself up a little straighter – I think he grows an inch before my eyes. He opens his mouth, and a scratchy, high-pitched whisper emerges, but whether he actually forms words is difficult to tell. Laurent looks astonished. Bella smiles warmly at the lad. I offer her my hand, and she takes it, rising to face Laurent.
"This is my estate manager, Monsieur Laurent." She offers him her hand, and he takes it, bestowing the briefest of kisses upon her glove before bowing to her.
"I am honoured to meet you, my Lady, and may I wish you the greatest joy in your marriage and your life here."
"Thank you, Monsieur. I am very happy to be here." I take her hand back into mine and press it to my lips, hard. I see the truth of her happiness in her eyes, and I am suddenly overcome with an unfamiliar emotion I cannot name.
Without warning, I bend and sweep my wife off her feet and into my arms. Another of those wonderful little exclamations of surprise escapes her, and I grin as I almost run up the line of smiling staff to carry my bride over the threshold of our home.
I do not think our arrival at Forbrigg could have been any more auspicious.
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We have toured the house, taken tea in the orangery, walked a little way around the grounds and eaten an early supper in the dining room. Samuels asks whether we want the fire lit in the library, but Bella droops with exhaustion.
"No, we will retire early. Send someone up to prepare my room for Lady Masen, Samuels. I want everything she will need in there, plenty of hot water and towels, a hot fire, and the bed turned down."
"Of course, my Lord. All will be ready within half an hour, Sir."
A ball of nervous excitement makes its presence known in my gut. I pour a glass of sweet port for Bella from the decanter on the sideboard, and a glass of Scottish whiskey for myself.
Bella takes a small sip and puts her glass down. "No, drink it Angel. It will – you may be thankful for it." She looks at me strangely but does what I ask. The ruby wine stains her lips slightly, which makes me want to taste them. So I do.
They do taste good.
"I hope you do not mind my liberty in deciding our sleeping arrangements for the time being, Bella."
"The room you have chosen for me is beautiful, Edward, but I confess, I hate to sleep alone. I slept in a bed with Rose all of my life, and when she married Mr Cullen, I could not sleep at all. Is it very childish of me to be frightened of the dark?"
There is that emotion again, clutching at my heart. "Sweetheart, with all that you have lived through, and the strength that you have, it is almost a relief to me to know that you are frightened of something; that I can protect you from something at least."
"Really?" She smiles, reaching up to stroke my face. "You do not think me ridiculous then?"
"No," I say, emphatic in my disbelief. "I think you so far from ridiculous, I would offer your counsel to the King if I thought he would listen. And keep his hands off you, which he wouldn't, though who would blame him? I cannot keep my hands off you myself."
"Then touch me if you please," she whispers; so I do.
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"This is where we keep the throne," I tell her, opening the door to the closet where the heavy mahogany chair is kept, the lid over the bowl in the seat lifted to expose the pretty pot inside. "And that door there leads into my room, in case you have forgotten. I will leave you to your ablutions with Emily; how long do you need?"
She blushes prettily. "Not long – less than a quarter hour."
"Then I will attend to some business and meet you back here very soon, my Lady." I kiss her once more and head back down the servant's stairs to the hallway below. I almost send Emily, running up the narrow steps with an armful of clean linens, flying.
"Oh, your Lordship, I didn't see you there. Dear me, I am so sorry."
"Nonsense, Emily, I am the one to apologise. Up you go, Lady Masen awaits you."
"Yes Sir, sorry Sir." Her curtsey almost sends her stumbling back down the stairs. I steady her with my hand, and she blushes deep red. She and my wife will get on just fine. What is in the blood of these women that they flush so much of the time?
I make my way out into the garden to piss against the hedge. The stars are so bright in the sky tonight, and the scent of blossom fills the cool air. An owl hoots relentlessly nearby, and that may be an answering call some way off.
It has not been very long, but I cannot keep myself busy any longer. I walk swiftly back inside and bound up the stairs like a schoolboy on his way to pack for the holidays.
I knock on my own bedroom door – a novelty in itself – and a still blushing Emily opens it for me. Bella is seated at my dresser, a new nightgown, frothy with lace, covering her body. She is unpinning her hair. I kiss her forehead.
Emily is busy gathering clothes and tidying them away. I sit on the bed to watch Bella brush out her hair while I pull off my boots and stockings. I undo my cravat and pull off my shirt, and move over to the washstand, grabbing a cloth to dip into the water and swipe under my arms and around my neck.
"Thank you, Emily, you can go now." I turn in surprise – there is a steely tone to Isabella's command. Emily's eyes are on the floor, and she clutches my shirt to her bosom.
"But Mr Samuels said..." she mumbles, looking mortified for some reason.
"Never mind what Mr Samuels said, we can do for ourselves now. Go on, we will ring if we need you."
I don't know what the girl has done to evoke the tone Bella is using, but whatever it is, I will not tolerate it. I raise my eyebrow at her – usually enough to make the staff here jump, but she has to look at me first. "Emily!" Now she jumps and looks up at me. "You heard my Lady, why are you still here?"
"I'm so sorry," she mumbles and runs for the door, taking my clothes with her. No matter. When the latch clicks softly behind her, I turn to Bella in consternation, and she bursts into laughter.
"Are you going to tell me what that was all about?"
"No! It does not matter. I really doubt it will happen again, my L... - Edward."
"I see," I say, although I don't see at all. I return to washing, and now that we are alone, I feel comfortable stripping the remainder of my clothes off and washing everywhere that counts. When I have almost finished drying myself, I turn around to find my wife staring at me.
"Bella?"
"Yes S... yes, Edward?"
"Is everything all right?"
"Yes, of course. Actually, no. I am a little nervous." She twists her hands together in her lap. I walk over to her and kneel at her feet, an already familiar position. I take her hands in mine.
"Don't be afraid – not of me, Sweetheart." I reach up to her face and stroke her soft cheek in the same way that she stroked mine downstairs. "Are you ready for bed, Angel?" She nods, torturing that poor lip again.
I stand and lead her over to the bed. Somehow, soothing her nerves calms my own. I turn to bank up the fire and snuff the lamps until only two remain, softly glowing on either side of where we will lie together. All the while, I feel Isabella's eyes on me, watching as I perform my role as protector. Finally, I climb up to lie beside her.
"Are you too tired? We can go straight to sleep if you prefer."
She does not answer, only stares at me again, with huge eyes and – damn: "Please stop doing that." I push my thumb into her mouth and gently force her teeth away from her lip. She kisses my thumb instead, and I leave it there while the point of her tongue traces patterns on it.
No, we are not sleeping – not yet, anyway.
"Take off your nightgown."
Once again, she obeys me instantly. I withdraw my thumb as she sits up, fiddles with a ribbon at her throat and pulls the gown up and over her head. She lies back down, utterly naked.
I could lose myself in the sight of her exquisite form. Her breasts alone could make an artist weep.
I run my hand up her body, from her hips to her breasts, which I gather in my palm, first one and then the other. My hand looks so big placed on her pale flesh. I retrace my path, then begin again, stroking, feeling her warmth, her lovely tone. I drag my thumb and fingers across her nipples, one then the other, and I notice the tiny arch of her back that pushes them further into my grasp.
"Isabella Marie Masen?"
"Yes, my Lord?"
"Are you ready to give yourself to me? May I take my pleasure inside you?" Even to my own ears, my voice sounds low, serious, reverent.
Her breath shudders, and her body relaxes into the mattress before she gives her response. "Please, Edward. I am yours – I have given myself to you already. Please."
I am not certain what she pleads for, but I take her permission as granted. Tears prick my eyes, and I blink them away.
"Here," I take her hands and hold them above her head, pushing them around the pillow that cushions her there. "Hold on to this." She grips the down-filled rectangle tightly, and it takes on the shape of a cylinder instead.
I take another pillow, and lifting her hips, place it under them so that she is raised and naturally open to me. I push her legs apart and bend my head to kiss her exposed sex.
She smells – and tastes – delectable. I lick her folds, pressing my tongue between her lips, finding the slick musk there. I can hear her tiny exclamations, but it is my own pleasure I lose myself in as I feast on her. I shift my position until I am knelt between her legs, my cock pressing down into the bed, my face buried in her wet flesh. My tongue finds her entrance, and I thrust inside, while my fingers hold her open. Her hips squirm and push beneath me. I move my mouth up her slit until I find her hooded bud. I suck at it, and she stiffens suddenly, exclaiming loudly enough to penetrate my own lust.
Lifting my face, I can see her still pulsing sex, splayed open by my fingers – and I have to be inside her; right now.
I position my body over hers, press my cock at her entrance and warn her with my words. "Hold on tight, Angel, I am going to take you now." I push a tiny way inside of her, and I can feel her barrier, like a thin piece of cotton stretched across my path. There is nothing for it but to push hard. "I'm sorry, Bella." I thrust myself into her, and she gives, easily, a quiet groan falling from her mouth. I still, deep inside her hot, wet, heavenly quim.
"Oh, Bella, Bella, Angel," I cannot help myself, "You feel beautiful, just exactly right. I am so sorry, does it hurt?"
"It hurts a little, Edward, but in a good way. I want you there. I would take any amount of pain for you," she whispers this last part so quietly I almost do not hear her. I have to move; I cannot bear to be still inside of her any more. I gently withdraw and push back, feeling the slick resistance of her tight passage as it softly grips my cock. I groan with my pleasure and repeat the process, slowly building to a steady rhythm.
My hands find my wife's, gripping the pillow at her head so hard. I hold it too, though the soft, worn linen feels like an inadequate material for my tight grip. I lower my mouth to her nipple, standing stiffly to attention so that I cannot resist it. I suck and push until Bella's soft grunts become little moans of pleasure. I speed up until I have lost control of my senses, gripping and shouting as I shoot my seed deep, deep inside of her.
Sweet, merciful Heaven, that was an extraordinary experience.
When I come back to my senses, I have to laugh, and not only because of the release of tension and restraint.
We are surrounded by feathers. Down fills the air, the sheets, my angel's hair – we are both covered in it. I must have ripped the pillow apart. Good Lord, what have I done? I blow feathers off Bella's face, and she laughs.
She laughs.
The sound – oh, thank God. I cannot have hurt her too badly, if she can laugh straight away.
I roll her into my arms, and we embrace and tussle in the feathery mess, release and relief making us silly with delight and love, and more laughter.
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Pale light creeps around the heavy drapes when I awake, heart pounding once again. I lie back down, facing the beauty asleep in my bed.
Our bed. What was mine is now also hers.
I smooth away the lock of hair that perpetually falls across her face at night. She smiles in her dreams. She mumbles, too. If I watch her lips, I can make out some of the words. Edward appears to be the dominant theme. Good.
There are still feathers in her hair. They have escaped from the sack we made of the torn pillow case – capturing them was an amusing lesson in patience and control – and I am grateful I have staff who will clean them up properly. That is what I pay them for, after all.
Thoughts of the staff lead me to the episode with the maid last night. I wonder what Emily did to upset Bella. I liked the way she dealt with the girl, so I ought not ask; but it niggles at me. I am a curious fellow.
My thoughts turn again, this time to Isabella's upbringing – she and Rose shared the role their mother ought to have taken between them, so it is no surprise that my wife is used to handling servants. By all accounts, the staff come and go so quickly in the Swan household, Sir Charles never bothers to learn their names. Although Alice stayed with them for years... it will be good for Bella to have her Alice here; it will only be another two or three days...
Thinking aimlessly like this as I stroke my Angel's soft hair is very pleasant. I cannot bear to lie in bed awake, but today I have absolutely no desire to move.
Inevitably, though, I begin to contemplate less salubrious thoughts. Black. Black, Black, Black.
Bella's small, soft body rests so peacefully between my sheets. She looks innocent and delicate. My only desire is to bring her joy, to protect her from all pain. How anyone could imagine her behaviour deserving of inflicting corporal punishment is beyond me. That her fool of a father had the right to do so, I can force myself to accept; but the thought of Black touching her in any way, yet alone to inflict pain, has me incensed beyond reason.
In-between listening to the quiet breaths and mumbled utterances of my dear, sweet wife, I plot his downfall.
).().().().().().().().().().().().(
Dun dun duuunnnn... sorry, I've always wanted to say that.
Thank you for reading; I apologise if any of you did not receive an expected review reply, I tried hard, but FF went a little wonky.
I have posted a fabulous and hilarious manip by Robshandmonkey on my profile – 'Davidward'. He's beautiful.
What do you think Emily was up to? What do you think Edward will do about Mr Black?
Thank you for all your magic and wonderfulness. Merry Christmas! Next post – in a fortnight – on New Year's day.
I am Gingerandgreen on Twitter. me.