A/N: I love you all.
Chapter 10
For Just a Moment
I recall getting from the car to the stairs of Edward's apartment, and I remember Edward throwing me over his shoulder as he carried me up.
Okay, I might have told him, just after exiting the car, that when he'd thrown me over his shoulder the day before during my hissy fit by the side of the road, it had made me so rabid I'd almost suffocated from it.
So, of course, that's exactly what he did, as soon as we entered his building.
Our bodies had practically molded together, considering how soaking wet we still were, but at the same time, I could still feel the warmth of his skin and his rigid muscles through the wet layers of clothes, as he carried me.
There was a buzzing in my skin. It went beyond tingling to a sort of undercurrent, which I was sure was the result of Celeste amalgamating officially with all of my erogenous zones.
I was Celeste, she was me; we were one.
All right, I was always Celeste, really, but I just couldn't act on any of the urges created to fill the bottomless void of my whorish lust for Edward.
Until now.
God Almighty.
Afterward my head got slightly hazy for a while. With the epiphany of all the possibilities—that I used to enact alone with my suicidal rod of pleasure—sinking into my tenuous psychology, a barely muffled, wanton-filled moan left my lips. Over Edward's shoulder, as I gripped his t-shirt, hanging midway down his back, my palms began to grow sweaty, and my body began to tremor as the reality probed deeper and deeper. . .
I tried to smother the fact that I was on the verge of lewdly hyperventilating.
Oh, Edward, my Edward. . .
The pair of us giggled like school girls—it was either giggle or moan wantonly—as he attempted to unlock the door to his apartment. Eventually, he lost his hold of me, and just as he got the door open we both fell through it.
In the next moment we were tangled together and rolling around the floor; a pair of steaming hot, damp bodies intertwining.
As our laughter died down, as well as a heated moment that threatened to get away from us, Edward gingerly got the two of us to our feet, placing his torrid hot lips to my brow. He was trembling too, accentuated by the blaze ignited beneath his skin. "I'll get you a towel, Bella," he spoke as a caress against my forehead; his voice a soft and husky murmur.
He took a step away from me, out stretching our connected hands that I refused to sever. Turning back, he met my gaze and arched his brow in a teasing way, his grin turning charming and askew. "No towel?"
"No towel," I echoed, my tone fully embracing the phone sex whore, as I tugged his hand gently toward me.
He didn't need any further encouragement. In one movement, he took me in his arms, cupped his free hand to my face, tilting it upwards to his six feet one height, and let those luscious, heated lips completely enslave me.
I swooned, melting fully against his burning hot chest beneath the damp material of his shirt. I almost definitely forgot to breathe, while I'm sure I did something beyond cliché, like pop my foot. I felt Edward's heart reverberate against my charged and super sensitive skin, syncing with my own that threatened an arousal encumbered migraine as it pounded at my temple.
Yet, all my senses could process were those burning, supple lips connecting with mine, slowly, ever so slowly unraveling me; bringing me apart.
And still, there was no Celeste to play the bongos with my heart, or to tweak my super sensitive erogenous button in my—presently overtaxed—girlie region. No Celeste to encourage over salacious responses from something benign as Edward clearing his throat. No Celeste to leave me in a permanent state of static desire and impulses.
No Celeste at all.
Was there ever a Celeste?
Edward wanted me wholly and physically; Edward loved me, and I Bella Swan, exorcised from one deranged, pseudo personality disorder, was in complete control.
Edward loved me?
"Mother fuck," I mumbled out—inadvertently aloud—against the moist suppleness of Edward's lips, completely releasing my breath in a state of inundated relief.
"What's that, honey?" he replied breathlessly, parting our lips fractionally to speak, and flooding me with his breath.
I glanced up into the searing depths of his eyes and completely lost my train of thought. But letting it go, I leaned toward him again, grinning like a lunatic, and feeling completely drunk, and giddy, before closing my eyes slowly; becoming enshrouded again in his body heat.
The last thing I saw before Edward's mouth once again closed over mine was his grin twitching to one side, completely soaked in charm and affection. I hummed out a rather delirious sounding sigh that soon became lost in the flood of energy that quickly surpassed all my rational thought.
Well, let's face it, I was never really rational to begin with.
He kissed me with total abandonment; deeply and heatedly—and with a sense of urgency—until I couldn't register a thing apart from his taste and smell. The taste and smell of his rain damp clothes, mingling with his aftershave and soap scented skin; it was enough alone to take me over the edge. In fact, I could feel myself practically asphyxiating, hyped up on a wanton desire that I had embraced with too much fervor.
Yet, the magnetism of Edward running through my veins felt tangible; I was about to come undone. Not to mention, I was beginning to breathe like I was in some twisted Lamaze class.
Was one of his hands cupping my breast?
Oh, god—not yet!
Oh, hell yes!
Oh well . . . but experience with my manic depressant electrical device told me I was still good for a few more rounds, yet.
I let it go, I came apart; unraveled; unglued; and unhinged. Fireworks burst, champagne corks popped; universes collided, and I choked, moaned, groaned, shuddered, and mumbled out half concealed indecent paraphrases. All without severing my mouth from his.
It was Edward who eventually pulled us apart. "Freaking hell, Bella. . ." he left it unspoken, but behind the intense hunger of his deep green eyes, there was a sense of incredulity.
At my blatantly whorish behavior, or because he made me come just by the power of his lips, I couldn't tell.
What could I say? I didn't have a molecule of resistance left in me. I wasn't exactly coherent anyway; I just smiled up at him, post climactic and zeroing in on those ruddy looking lips of his like the ravenous, sex starved lunatic that I was. Those same lips that inched crookedly, before his breath suddenly shot through his nose into soft laughter.
"You crack me up," he murmured, his laughter increasing, "but better you than me."
"I'm sorry. That was coming for a long time," I replied sheepishly. I was coming down and as the waves of energy left me, I entertained the idea of being self-conscious. For only the briefest of moments, you understand, because Celeste suddenly snapped back in place like an elastic band used in BDSM activities. "And I have plenty in reserve." I winked.
His grin turned seductive—almost sly.
Feeling completely and utterly intoxicated by him, I closed my eyes, only to be taken by complete surprise as his lips once again found mine, revealing to me an Edward, that up until this point, I didn't know.
Was that his tongue all . . . over. . . ?
Hello, daddy!
His tongue in my mouth, running the contours of my jaw and neck, at the base of my throat.
Oh God—I didn't have that many in reserve.
Oh, Christ. . .
His iron hard form began grinding against me as he held me tighter and tighter against his feverish chest. I surrendered myself willfully, again losing myself in the sensation of him; of his mouth savoring me; devouring me.
I pushed him forwards, then was being shuffled backwards, before being pulled forward again, in one heated, clumsy movement after another.
His hands held me flush against him, while mine, acting on their own devices, found their way beneath his rapidly drying t-shirt. As they struggled to roam between the limited space of our bodies, a burst of muffled laughter suddenly burst from Edward's mouth, quickly enshrouding me in it.
He was ticklish.
"Hang on. . ." he whispered, his lips barely grazing mine as he spoke, and the aroused, hoarse tone of his voice was almost too much for my already hyper-wanton state.
He pulled his shirt over his head, as I pondered that word, "wanton", in an attempt to give myself some clarity—lest I found myself using up one of my fallbacks, in a display of whorish sub-consciousness.
I often thought of that word "wanton". More than I thought the word "whore".
"Better than platonic," I spoke out loud, true to my over-sexed, maniacal self, as I pulled a now bare-chested, disheveled Edward back to me.
He heaved me off the ground, burying his face into my neck, mumbling out an unintelligible reply, before his mouth gradually moved up and reconnected with mine.
In the next moment, I found myself pressed flat against the wall with Edward pushing further against me. And for the following carefree, heated minutes, nothing registered with me, but Edward's hands, Edward's mouth—Edward's body, going deep . . . deep . . . deep. . .
There was nothing forceful about it—nothing to remind me of the day before, except the feel of the cold surface against my back.
But without warning, déjà vu hit me like a cattle train, and I immediately froze up like a virgin on prom night.
I sucked my breath in violently, as a strange, hybrid panic overtook me—considering I was still battling a raging desire.
It took Edward exactly half a second to understand.
There was nothing like the memory of a fuck against the wall to cock block possibly the best moment of my life.
Who in their right mind would have those thoughts in the literal sense—other than me?
Fuck my life.
Hell, I needed a moment to rein in Jacky "O", but for the love of God. . .
Running my hand down my face, I felt all my super charged erogenous zones pop like light bulbs, by the sheer look of guilt on Edward's face.
Guilt. . .
His brows fused together, before his eyes dropped from mine. He took a labored breath then opened his mouth, when I hastily clamped my hand over it.
"Shut up!"
His eyes snapped back to mine and along with them, some of their spark, before his expression softened and almost turned playful.
"Firstly," I began with a shaky, breathless—but no less determined—voice, "take me off the wall, and then take me to your bedroom." I removed my hand and he tentatively lifted me back into his arms. When I met his gaze again, I noticed with relief that all remnants of guilt were beginning to fade. "And secondly, if you ever mention what happened last night, with the word 'sorry', I will make you sorry in ways that you will never recover from." I arched my brow to let him know how serious I was, while trying to hide my panic. Panic over possibly the best sex I would ever have, becoming a non-event.
His lips twitched, before a full blown grin broke easily across his face. "Deal," he answered softly, his forehead resting gently with mine.
"Okay," I whispered, cupping his neck and face in my palms, before closing my eyes and taking a deep discreet breath—which was made almost impossible as Edward kissed me.
In his room, he set me on my feet, then without a single word spoken, he gently peeled my damp t-shirt from me, before he angled my face to place a soft, tender, and delicate kiss on my lips.
It completely broke my heart, but the wanton part of me missed the urgent fumblings, and blazing passionate kisses, from a moment ago.
The tempo had completely changed.
As he took my parted lips between his, kissing me longer and longer, and deeper and deeper with each passing second, it had changed. As his hands ran from my face, gently over my shoulders and around my back, it had changed.
This was what I always wanted from Edward.
Wasn't it?
I didn't know whether it was from trepidation or emotion, but I was beginning to quiver; though, I wasn't cold. I was suddenly feeling vulnerable, but a part of me preferred it to all the lust and desire that had made me go almost completely out of my senses.
I knew physical desire too much in my life that it had become lopsided and unhealthy. But what Edward was making me feel with each tender kiss and attentive touch, was so far from what I had ever experienced; it made me feel so completely exposed to him.
Being a true to form basket case, my light shivering quickly turned to almost all out shuddering. This being on top of the yearning I had for him to bring Celeste out to play again.
He pulled his lips from mine, so slowly and gently that they made that pliable lip parting sound that melted my heart and ignited a fire within my loins again. I closed my eyes, stifling the moan and reaching out to grab his shirt in my fists; only to find bare skin.
I felt him flinch, which did nothing to quell the whore within, but hell I needed her loose. I needed that release.
Oh God, we needed to find a middle ground, before I literally came apart again.
"Bella . . . what's wrong? You're shaking?" he asked, wiping a strand of my hair behind my ear, and trying to angle my face so that he could look into my eyes.
Could I tell him that I desperately needed for him to make love to me, while fucking me senseless—like he had the day before?
Bella Swan: masochist, whore, lunatic and assassin of lifelong friendships. There was no salvation for me—despite being practically drowned in holy water every Sunday by the Ladies of High Esteem Quilting Club.
Dammit, I needed something to grip, and in the absence of his t-shirt, I reached down and grabbed the waistband of his jeans. In doing so, I disturbed the beast that lurked within, confined and bulging.
Edward immediately made a strangled, breathless utterance, and that was the beginning of the end for me.
Flick. . .
Flick. . .
Flick. . .
I was immediately charged to optimum capacity, with all systems go.
I glanced up, my eyes locking with the dark, burning depths of his, but for a moment I stood frozen, unable to blink or look away. I only stared further into his eyes, and at every feature of his face. It seemed ridiculous, but in that moment I was reminded of how much I loved him—that I was wholly and completely in love with him—as if it had slipped my mind. And then this powerful and physical yearning I was feeling was suddenly colliding directly with my heart, and with every particle of my soul that had all but given up that this very moment would ever happen.
I think I gasped, while my closed fists squeezed tighter around the denim that was locked in them.
Despite the fact that in doing this, the bulging brick in his pants pounded ferociously against the restraint I was making of them, his expression grew somber.
He had obviously picked up on my paradoxical neediness, because as I gazed at him, still maintaining my vice-like grip on the front of his button fly Levis, his forehead began to pique with concern, while the storm of desire behind his eyes calmed. "What is it, Bella?" he asked in a tender whisper.
"I want you with everything that I am, Edward," I uttered, my voice catching with emotion, only for my senses to immediately heighten and peak again. "Oh God, how I want you."
A/N: Short and evil—because that's pretty much the epitome of who I am :D
MWAH and thanks for reading.