Infinite thanks to antiaol, bmango and mskathy.

As always, Stephanie Meyer owns.

Our Lives Unbound, Chapter 10: Her Presence in My Room

I stare still at the simple word on my screen.

Yes.

In my own strange fog, I cannot help but wonder if she knows that hers will be the first presence in the place that I have called home in years.

That somehow, in all its emptiness, it has always seemed to be waiting for her.

Just like I have.

With my heart hammering, I tap out a series of more mundane replies about directions and parking and times. When she finally indicates that her boss for the week is approaching and that she needs to go, we have made all the necessary arrangements, and I am left with nothing but my hope and my space and an inexplicable mix of feelings that wash from knees to my toes and then all way up to the closed-up space inside my throat.

For a while, I sip at my coffee and try to work, but it is all for naught, and my nervous energy compels me up and out of my usual state.

Here, my head pounds. Bella will be here.

My stillness breaks, and I am suddenly moving in a burst of activity. While I am a neat person in general, years of loneliness have bred complacency, and suddenly I feel that everything must shine. It's an instinct not just to impress her, but to please her.

To have her find something worthy in my home and in me.

For the ensuing hours, I put all my energy to bringing life to unlit corners, and when I finally step back to admire my handiwork, I feel myself chest begin to expand, bursting with something that is happy and good inside.

And it's with that realization that I need to pause, unsure what to do with the feelings that contradict any other feelings about my life and myself that I have ever had before. It's almost uncomfortable, the fullness in my ribs, pressing up against my throat at the thought of there being something good here. Worthy.

It strikes me that without even setting a foot inside my door, Bella has already breathed something new and vital into this space.

And she has done it by breathing life back into me.

#~~#~~#

The buzzer rings at seven p.m. exactly, and I press the switch to let her in.

When I open the door, it is to a woman in a soft blue sweater and a skirt, her hair tied up as severely as I have ever seen it. Her beautiful, brown eyes are tired, but she still wears a smile that makes me long for the sorts of kisses I never thought would be a reality for me. I stand there, with one hand braced on the door frame and another still wrapped around the knob, taking her in.

"Hi," she says, waving with one hand and looking up at me through her lashes while wearing the most delicious smirk. It thaws my position, and the hand stuck on the door frame comes up to cup her cheek, my body bending slightly at the waist until I can brush my own upturned, smiling lips against hers. Moving to the side, I allow her to slip by me; when she does so, it is with an absolute minimum of space, coming so close that I can smell her breath and hair, and I nearly sigh with the relief.

Once inside, she drops a duffel bag to the floor, and I glance up with an eyebrow raised.

"What?" she says, her expression asking me to call her on it. When I don't, she still explains herself to me. "You did say you wanted to watch me sleep, so I figured that was an invitation to stay." Her nails rake softly across my chest as she steps into me, her other hand snaking its way around my neck. When she is close enough to kiss me, she takes my bottom lip between her teeth, nibbling gently before releasing it. "And I am far too old to do the walk of shame."

"Clearly," I murmur. I manage to get both my hands between our bodies so that I can place one on each side of her face before I kiss her again. Softly. Gratefully. "You can sssstay anytime you w-want to, Bella."

Her mouth parts and I feel her tongue trace the bottom of my lip. "Good to know."

For a few minutes we stand in my entryway and simply kiss, my body yielding to the softness of hers and relishing the contact that I have never had before, but which now, after just a few short days without it, I so desperately miss. Wandering with touch and taste, I let my hands feel her curves, lingering on shoulders and hip and moving softly over the swell of her bottom, but pull away when I am about to moan.

I place one more soft, firm kiss to her mouth before stepping back and letting my hands fall. She is staring at me with a look of hunger that threatens to ignite me, a single tendril of her hair escaping and playing at the edge of her face. I want to sate her hunger and my own.

But at the moment, I also want so much more.

Entwining my hand with hers, I motion to the interior of the apartment and away from the door. My nervousness is just outweighed by my excitement, my lust tempered by an eagerness that surprises even me. "Wwwwould you like the t-tour?"

Stammering and rubbing the back of my neck, I guide her through the few small rooms, nearly stalling when I show her my freshly-made bed, my breath catching as, for the first time, I allow myself to imagine being tied to every corner of it, with her body kneeling by my head.

A thickness settles over the air as we hover, silent, my throat strangely seizing. She shifts, seeming uncomfortable in her too-stiff clothes, and I long to pull them off of her. To reveal the wild and beautiful woman she has poured into such a typical mold.

I don't need to, though; she chooses that moment to crack the mold herself, leaning up on tiptoes to breathe wetly across my ear.

"Very nice," she purrs, gesturing into the room and pulling me toward her.

At the instant our lips meet, I hear a faint beeping down the hall, and it is with a clutching grasp of my fingers around her waist that I pull back, my other hand floating up to graze her neck. I close my eyes for just a moment to collect myself, then breathe, "Hhhhave you eaten?"

She curls her fingers into my belt loops and refuses to let me go. "No, though I could." She growls on the last syllable, one thumb tracing the line of me through my jeans. I groan in frustration as I place my hand on her wrist.

"Fffffood, B-Bella."

"Seriously?"

I shrug and begin to lead her back out into the apartment. It smells subtly of tomato and basil, and my heart is beating almost as quickly as the first time she kissed me.

I feel almost as naked, too.

"You cooked?" Her voice is incredulous and just a little bit awed, and the swelling of my chest that results is difficult to identify, but I know that it feels good.

"I wwwwwanted to do something n-nice for you." I am not much of a cook, having had little reason to practice in these many years. In dark evenings, I have chuckled to myself in despair that I could write a book entitled, 'Depressing Meals for One.'

This meal is from the cook book my mother pressed into my hands as she left me in my very first apartment, promising me I would want it someday. For my part, I had simply stood there, too tongue-tied to protest and too ashamed to explain that there was no one in my life with whom I could imagine myself being close enough to want to feed.

As I turn hopefully toward the woman who makes me want to do everything for her, I find that Bella is eying me skeptically, but that her lack of ease is not with her body or her clothes this time. There is something else there, darker and even more uncertain, and I feel a ripple of a chill sink through my chest. My hands that want to mold to hips and waist end up falling when I cannot find a way to touch her, and I let my head fall as I turn back toward the oven.

My nerves rise, stifling.

But I don't want to shut down.

I want her to know.

"I jjjjjust w-wanted to t-t-take care of you. Lllllllike … Llllll …. Llllike you d-do mmmmme."

In the silence that follows, I feel almost dizzy, questions bubbling up through my lungs as quickly as my fears, but I can give voice to none of them.

But I want to.

I want to ask her why her eyes sometimes darken. Why she doesn't know what to do sometimes with my praise or with attempts to treat her with care.

I want to ask if someone hurt her, and I want to protect her from ever being hurt again.

But even more, I want to stay silent and to simply bask in the soft comfort of her company, our easy flirtation restored and her face again clear and forgiving of whatever wrong I have done.

Because these are questions that I still tremble at when I imagine them being directed at me.

My hands on the edge of the stove feel the heat but not the burn, and I shift them slightly until there is only coolness and countertop beneath my skin. Finally, her hand touches softly between my shoulder blades.

And I can breathe again, as quietly she whispers, "OK."

#~~#~~#

"No, really, it's good!" She laughs, her lips forming a soft 'O' to pass cool air across the piece of pasta on her fork. The dark moment has passed and I am bathed in sheer normalcy, almost giddy with it as I tip my glass back. We are drinking wine tonight, and combined with the high of her proximity, it is lending a warmth to the coldest corners of me and of my life, which for so long has been hidden by these walls.

And which now is happening inside them.

I chew at another mouthful myself, and while it is fine, it does not begin to compare to the breakfasts she has prepared for me each time I have woken in her bed. Shaking my head and touching her hand, I repeat, "B-but it's nnnnnothing like what you c-could have made."

"Whatever. All I know is that I didn't have to cook it." She tilts her head and puts down her fork. We are basically done, and I am beginning to grow both nervous and excited at the prospect of what will come next. I am, of course, unaccustomed to entertaining guests, and I worry that my meager diversions will be of no interest to her.

Even more, though, I am hopeful that the only diversions we will need will be each other.

As if her mind is on the same downward-sloping track, she flashes me a mischievous smile as she crumples her napkin and pushes her chair back. She is in my lap before I completely know what she is doing, and I nearly choke, putting my own things down to try to grab and steady her, securing her as gently as I can against my hips.

With fervor, she presses her lips to mine, and I soak it up, opening my mouth to taste her. After a series of deep, pulsing kisses, she tears away to rub her nose against mine.

Shaking her head, she murmurs, "I can't believe you made me dinner."

Grazing her temple with my thumb, I speak the deeper truth of my heart. "I can't belllllieve you're here to sh-share it with me."

She is still protesting, but it is silent. Against my lips, she whispers, "Thank you."

I am about to tell her that there is nothing to thank when I feel her hand close around me through my jeans, and the words evaporate with her touch. Wet lips appear at my ear and I exhale deeply as her tongue licks just below the lobe. "There must be some other way that I can thank you." Her palm makes a long slow stroke, and I harden beneath the warmth of it. "Now if only I could think of something."

"I'm sssssure you c-c-" I am cut off by the feeling of her teeth sinking into my neck. It's hard enough to hurt, and I breathe out a raspy, "Fuck," before she keeps descending, her mouth kissing and blowing heat over my skin through the fabric of my shirt. When I take in the damp imprint of her open lips above my heart, I have to close my eyes, gripping her hips hard, but her body continues to slide until I can feel her breath across my navel, her hand still pressing against my cock.

"Look at me, Edward." I am almost scared to, knowing that I will find her on her knees, remembering just how uncomfortable that feels, but still I somehow manage to. She is staring up at me, and I harden further with the look of power on her face that puts me right back in my place. Gruffly, she says, "Put your hands behind your back."

A deep groan falls out of my mouth as I comply, clasping my wrists tightly. Her voice is not quite as intense as the one she used the last time she truly took me, but it is firm enough to send a thrill through me and to make me hunger to obey.

With her lips and tongue and teeth, she bites and sucks her way across my abdomen, never ceasing in her teasing as her palm retreats but her thumb continues to play with the head of my cock through the fabric. Finally, she kisses over the waistband and down, opening her mouth just there, exhaling until the moisture and heat seep through, bathing me in desire. My hips twitch of their own desperate will, but a firm hand stills them.

"Stay still, baby," she whispers, staring up at me, and it is so intensely erotic to see her teeth close over fabric in a way that would be painful were she biting down on bare and needy skin. She purses her lips and runs her tongue over them before kissing me more gently. "You want this?"

"Yes," I breathe. "P-please, Bella."

"Please what?"

A memory of just how difficult this was only a few short weeks ago possesses me and I smile, earning another nip at my straining, covered flesh. "Yyyyou know."

"Tell me."

Our eyes connect perfectly as I whisper, "You know I wwwant your mouth on me."

Those wicked eyes flash, nimble fingers moving from my hip to my zipper, and finally she releases me. Soft, wet kisses all along the bare length of me make my legs tremble, and it is only with aching restraint that I keep my body steady, resisting the temptation to move. Thrust.

Take.

Because I would always prefer that she see fit to give.

"Ask again," she says, her tongue darting out to flit across the flesh of the head.

"P-please. Please put your mmmmouth on me."

"Dirtier."

A knot made up of words forms in my stomach.

I feel a tiny nip of teeth against the skin just to the underside of it and then a hot wash of breath, her eyes intense and intent as they gaze at me.

"Ask another way, Edward."

So quietly, so low that the sound can scarcely reach my ears, I breathe the words. Words I've never said out loud to a woman before. "Sssssuck it. P-please."

I keep my eyes and hands exactly where they are supposed to be as my reward melts over me, my breath released in a shuddering exhale as the warmth of her mouth opens over solid flesh. Her full lips slide first over the head and then down, her tongue firm as it strokes along the parts that are the most sensitive. When I hit the back of her throat, I groan, my hands grasping hard at each other in an attempt to maintain my restraint as she begins to slide wetly up and down.

"Fuck, Bella," I pant, and she moves faster, sucking and licking and taking me so deeply. One hand moves up to wrap around the base where she cannot quite open herself wide enough to take me in, while the other begins to tease the sensitive flesh below. "You feel ssso good. So good."

She hums and I feel it everywhere, remembering the only other time she let me finish in her mouth, the two of us naked in her shower the morning after the first time she fucked me. The image of her body, wet and perfect, is all but burned into my retinas, and it flashes every time I blink.

For the most part, I try to keep my eyes open though.

Because Bella is the kind of woman who is no less sexy for wearing clothes.

For so much longer than I would have expected myself to be able to last, I sit there, held only by the restraints of my own clenching hands, simply feeling and enjoying, moaning with every motion of her throat and tongue, and reeling at the tight pressure of her lips.

My focus is brought back to the hot suction around my cock as she scrapes her teeth gently across the flesh on an upstroke, and I hiss in a perfect combination of pain and pleasure. She looks up suddenly at my reaction, trying to judge if it's the right kind of hiss, and the moment her eyes connect with mine, it is like the lost key to the lock around my pleasure and the feeling begins to crest.

"B-bella," I warn, and I want to move my hands to push her off and I want to pulse, desperate and aching and thrusting into her mouth. "I'mmm - I'mmm …"

The steadiness of her gaze tells me she knows and she consents, and I groan, letting my eyes drift closed as the trembling wave overtakes me. For what feels like forever, I float on the cusp, listening to the obscene motions of her mouth until the first spasm hits, and then I am emptying and soaring and coming.

And when she pulls back, placing my softening dick back inside my boxers, she is smiling even as her lips are wet with me.

With a powerful surge of emotion and adoration, I pull her up to my lap, kissing that mouth and tasting my own bitter release, but I do not care because that flavor is mixed with hers. When I can breathe, I hold her with one hand firmly grasping the back of her neck.

"Wwwwwhat are you doing in mmmy life?" I ask in wonder.

Her fingertips ghost from my eyebrow to my temple. She smiles as she whispers, "Just enjoying the view."

I shake my head and try to still my hands that are somehow possessed with energy, a happiness that goes so much further than just an orgasm in a willing mouth.

And the energy needs a way out.

Strange elation shoots straight to my head, a bit of dizziness as I guide her legs around my waist and stand. She shrieks as I hold her so tightly to my chest, gripping hard at my back and laughing. I move us forward and through the little passageways of my home, grinning and delirious as I throw us both down on my bed.

It's a strange feeling to be on top of her, familiar discomfort and expectations waving warily at me from the back of my mind; I ignore them as I run my nose along her neck, still trembling with laughter. Finally, I place a soft, chaste kiss on her lips and whisper, "I llllike the view much b-better from here."

"And what view is that?" she asks, smirking and twisting a hand in my hair.

I hover over her for just a moment more, my hand pressing to the bed beside her head. She is flirting and darting her gaze between my eyes and her chest, but I am not distracted.

Kissing the tip of her nose, I tell her, "The vvview of you in my bed."

#~~#~~#

"What t-time do you want the allllarm set for?" I murmur against her hair. We have spent the rest of the evening laughing and talking, and with me making love to her repeatedly with my mouth, to the point where now I can taste nothing but her when I breathe.

"Hmm?" Her face is pressed against my neck, her lungs making her whole body rock up and down with the rhythm of her breath. Kissing her temple, I think to myself that I may adore her more in this sort of moment than any other, when her whole body is limp and pressed against mine, her features all soft.

Because while I have never seen anything more powerful or sexy than the sight of her body hovering over me, it is all the more delicious of an image for the other parts of herself she also lets me see.

Nudging her again, I whisper, "The t-time. When do you need to beeee up?"

She shifts and burrows more tightly against me. "I can just set it on my phone."

"Your phone is out tttthere, Bella." My arm is outstretched, my thumb already hovering over the clock.

Her one eyes opens and she stares out into the darkness before shutting it again. "Good point," she whispers sleepily. "Six-thirty."

"OK." I smile and press the buttons, suppressing my grimace at the earliness of the hour and feeling thankful again for the steadiness of my own paychecks recently. My other hand comes up to cradle the back of her head as I reach up to turn out the light.

And it's only there, in the dark with her naked body wrapped around me, that I finally give myself the opportunity to recognize this moment. To simply lie there and to breathe.

Understanding, truly, even in the deepest parts of me that have been so reluctant to accept it, that she is here with me.

Knowing that I am not alone.

With a deep sigh that I can feel through every inch and muscle inside of me, I brush her hair back from her face and close my eyes.

And softly, I whisper, "Goodnight."

#~~#~~#

Warmth.

Soft.

Even in my sleep, I smile as something tickles across my chin.

"Edward."

There's a whisper near my ear and I turn into it, trying to wrap my arms around warmth, but it is wriggling and I grumble at the emptiness as it is removed from my chest.

"I have to go, Edward."

My eyes drift open to find her sitting on the bed beside me, her face just inches from mine and her hand against my naked skin. She is already dressed, and I wrinkle my brow in confusion that I could have missed the alarm.

Her lips press to mine three times, once each to the bottom and top and then to the very corner of my mouth. "I just didn't want to leave without saying goodbye."

Cupping her cheek, I crane my neck to kiss her one more time before she flutters her fingertips over my eyes, closing them.

They are too heavy to lift again.

"Thank you," I murmur as she pulls away, and I can practically hear her smile.

There's one more soft, damp feeling of her lips against my cheek, and she whispers, "Any time."

I am practically asleep again before I realize that it's the first morning I've had the pleasure of waking up to her.

And then I slip back into a dream that is almost as perfect as my waking was.

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A/N: A quick note of thanks to all the ladies of the Perv Pack for featuring Our Lives Unbound on their weekly roundtable, and (belatedly) to Random Acts of Rob for highlighting a whole bunch of my fics a couple weeks ago, including this one.

My fangirl-y squealing and my appreciation know no bounds.