DISCLAIMER: Psst…guess what? SM still owns it. I own the promise of my husband that we will take a day next weekend to celebrate our 17th anniversary (which was yesterday…but due to traveling and exhaustion was not properly acknowledged) by getting new tattoos!
A/N: So, ya'll like Emmett and sluggish Edward? Hehe…so do I! Call it a hunch, I think everyone will enjoy this little bit of Bella…it's got a couple of things ya'll have been waiting for…
Chapter 10—Sketches
Tell me what I'd have to do, Or Whom I have to be
to slip into your arms; for you to make sweet love to me.
Must I climb the highest cliff; swim along the ocean floor
Crawl over broken glass - would you demand that I do more?
Would you take me as I am, with my issues and my flaws
Pull me to your icy chest without a hesitation or a pause?
Slide your hungry tongue between my parted lips.
Run your anxious fingers along my quivering hips.
Wrap me in your passion, expose your every need.
Press your steamy lips to mine, every secret freed.
Sprinkle your tears across my cheek, confess every desire
Moan my name, call me yours, and set my soul on fire.
Need me more with every breath that slips into your chest,
Please me nightly, miss me daily, never compare me with the rest.
Grip my wrists; look in my eyes, and say the words I long to hear
Kiss me roughly, and weep my name, forever hold me dear.
Do I ask for wishes that could never quite come true?
Is my sin, my greatest fault, that I can't stop thinking of you?
By Arc Morpheus
BPOV
I pulled my sketchbook closer, opening it to the back where the letter was safely tucked in a zippered pocket. I'd found it whilst cleaning out Charlie's study. The first time I'd read it I'd been filled with anger, then I read it again and I filled with disbelief. Several more read-throughs of the letter and I'd gone through sadness, curiosity and finally resolve. With the assistance of Google, I'd begun my own obsession. The more I read online, I'd become convinced…vampires were real.
I pulled out the worn letter and carefully unfolded it.
My precious Isabella,
As I write this, you are tucked securely in your father's arms as the sounds of your soft snores fill the tiny room. You truly are a 'daddy's girl.' I'm only a source of milk for you at this time. That's ok. Know that I love you no matter what. I've finally relented and agreed to return to the States. Constant travelling is no way to raise a child. Perhaps someday, you'll have my desire to travel the world, to uncover its secrets. If you are reading this, then I am no longer with you. I am ready to say good bye to Romania and all of its enticements. We are booked to leave tomorrow afternoon following one last visit to Bran Castle. All of my research of the area has led me to believe in the likelihood of the existence of vampires and I think the key to that secret lies at Bran. Each time I have stepped into the foyer, I've felt something there…a connection perhaps? It is my plan to slip away from the group and traverse those stairs that have beckoned me so many times. What will I find in the upper floors? I know not. Perhaps answers, perhaps my end. Whatever I find, I do not believe the vampires of Romania are the evil monsters of lore. I've heard tales of compassion and rescue. Of pale beauty and golden eyes. Of eternal love.
Should you ever decide to return to your birth place, know that you belong there. Romanian women are said to be the most beautiful, stylish, well-dressed, educated, loving, loyal, and family-oriented women in the world. I have the highest hopes this is the type of woman you will grow to become, even if I am no longer present as part of that family. Maybe your true family, your Romanian family, will someday make themselves known to you.
Be safe Isabella and follow your heart,
Renee
With tender care, I refolded the letter and tucked it away. Flipping the pages back to the beginning of the book, I perused the drawings I'd done. I didn't like cameras as they only momentarily captured the scene whereas when I drew, the memory became engraved with every line and every detail, forever embedded in me. I studied the drawing I'd started of the Bran foyer that morning. I hoped Edward would allow me to go back and take my time to finish it.
Edward.
I slowly turned the page. A partial sketch stared back at me from the stark white paper.
A shock of chaotic hair.
The slope of a shoulder.
The edge of a jawline.
It was the best I'd been able to do with the occasional glimpses I'd gotten as he followed me, attempting to hide in the surrounding crowds.
I retrieved my charcoal pencil and set to work filling in the drawing. I'd memorized his features over dinner and the shading and sharp lines gradually came together, bringing him to life before me.
I sat with my knees pulled close, the notebook propped against them. As the pencil scratched away, the rough end scraped against my breasts. It seemed the harder my nipples became, tightening almost to the point of pain, the faster I drew and the moister I became between my thighs.
I took a shuddering breath as I felt my arousal trickle out of me. I let the pencil fall next to me on the bed as my hands moved to my breasts. I let my open palms barely brush over my nipples, keeping my eyes trained on the image before me. Applying firmer pressure, I pressed my hands into my flesh and kneaded my soft mounds. Licking my lips, I dragged my nails across the skin until I reached my peaks which I captured between my thumb and forefinger.
I whimpered as I pinched myself and then pulled.
I gasped and my body convulsed, my knees dropping open, the sketch pad landing with a soft thump between them just below my aching center. It was only a drawing, but seeing his face that close to where I'd never been touched sent a current of longing need racing through my body.
Keeping one hand on my breasts, playing and teasing, I reached for the amber pencil with a shaky hand. I was now covered in a light sheen of sweat as feelings and sensations completely foreign to me claimed my body. Breathing heavily, I moved the pencil to hover over the sketch as I gave in and trailed my hand down my stomach, pausing to brush my fingers through the soft curls that covered my womanhood.
The curls were sticky and damp, the wetness on my fingertips only serving to arouse me more as I lowered the pencil, shading in first one eye as I pushed a single finger between my folds. I stilled to enjoy the sensation. Then, as I teased the pencil across the paper, I allowed my finger to brush upwards towards that hidden spot.
A mewling sound escaped my lips as I made contact with the swollen bud. My fingers continued to stroke through the slickness, picking up speed as I worked the pencil faster across the page. When my eyes began to blur and my body started to tense all over, I let the pencil fall. Grabbing the sketch pad, I laid back, lifting the picture over me as I gave in and spread my legs to allow easier movement.
Staring into the topaz eyes I'd recreated, I plunged two fingers inside of me and let out a cry, a heady whisper of 'Edward,' as my orgasm washed over me. My walls clamped against my fingers and I curled my knees up into a fetal position as I rolled to my side. The sketchpad landed on the pillow beside me.
With my free hand, I traced a finger lightly over the picture as I whispered, 'tell me your secrets.'
Those eyes were the last thing I saw as I fell into a deep sleep.
A/N: Is it a little warm in here? Maybe we should open the windows…
