Disclaimer: Stephanie Meyer owns all.
Rated M for several reasons.
Chapter 11 Quicksand
BPOV
We dump the Panamera back at my place and I tuck some of my trademark hair into a beanie and don my sunglasses, which makes Edward laugh and do the same. And then we sally forth to spend the day doing the corniest tourist things we can think of.
We decide on steak for dinner, not bothering to go home and change first and since no one seems to have recognised me all day I gradually start to relax properly, though this is a good restaurant it isn't one that celebs tend to hang out in so there isn't a single pap lurking in the street. More bliss.
...
"I'm stuffed." I groan regretfully, leaning back from the table to watch him finish his dinner through heavy eyes.
He smirks at me while he does. Edward Cullen manages to make eating sexy, and he knows it. The wine, food and happy vibes combine comfortably inside me and I smile back at him lazily, letting my thoughts drift unchecked.
I really shouldn't be thinking about how attractive he is, or remembering what he's like to kiss, all over, or the noises he makes when he's turned on. Or how mouth watering he is naked. It's dangerous territory, especially when he's been flirting with me all day, taking any excuse to touch me or whisper in my ear. I'm guessing he wouldn't be averse to slipping briefly back into another one of our old habits and my poor sex starved body certainly wouldn't be, the Bachelor Auction was a long time ago. But my mind says no. Look but don't touch. Remember but don't relive.
Damn it to hell.
Without thinking I sigh and he asks me what's wrong.
"Nothing." I respond as he refills my glass. "Just waiting for you to finish so we can order dessert."
"Always impatient for the good stuff." He says in a low voice, letting his lips curl into their crooked smile.
I ram my thighs together under the table and take a slug of my wine as he studies me through lowered lashes.
This is going to be a long night . . . .
...
Still no paps when we exit the restaurant some time later so we walk back to my apartment in companionable silence, his arm slung casually across my shoulders, finger toying with my hair.
Unfortunately I'm not the only famous face that lives there, and it is the weekend, so there's one guy hanging about outside with his camera, though he's thankfully one of the less obnoxious ones and merely snaps off a couple of shots as we approach and as Edward holds open the door and ushers me inside.
"That'll please Mom." He observes directly into my ear as we wait for the elevator. "A nice safe picture of her favourite son and a beautiful woman she can show to her country club friends."
The elevator doors close behind us, and I should finally be able to relax completely but my body won't let me, and there's a different kind of silence as we travel smoothly upward. The confined space is accentuating the electricity that's been in the air between us all day and it's finally arcing as we move toward an empty apartment and privacy . . . . his hand falls from my shoulder to my waist, squeezing, as I fumble with my key . . . . and when I finally turn the lock it's his body pushing into mine that supplies the force to open the door and propel us inside . . . .
In an instant he's turned us and pushed me up against the door with a reverberating thud and there isn't time to think before his mouth slants down over mine, hard and demanding . . . . and I'm kissing him back . . . . our hands in each other's hair . . . . ripping at each other's clothing ineffectually as our bodies press themselves together . . . . his tongue in my mouth, exploring it thoroughly, owning it . . . . his hand on my hip, gripping it painfully . . . . his teeth on my neck . . . . gasping . . . . panting . . . . aching . . . . aching with want . . . .
He eases me away from the door, barely breaking the kiss as he tugs my shirt up and off my body and I repay the favour despite my brain screaming at me to stop. We thud back into the door still devouring each other and my skin sings with the contact to his, the scrub of the fine hairs on his chest against mine.
My hands branch out over his back, fingertips revelling in the play of skin over muscle as his rove up and down, squeezing and feeling any part of my body he can reach.
And then his teeth are on my neck again, so we can breathe, and I moan with pleasure. And pain, because oxygen restores sanity.
"Edward, no, stop, please . . . ."
He does, instantly, pulling back to study my face as best he can in the dim light.
"I can't . . . ." I wheeze, still fighting for breath, my chest rising and falling in synchronisation with his.
"You want to." He murmurs against my lips, his long fingers rolling the evidence between them through the lace of my bra.
"But I shouldn't."
He hand falls away, joining the other on my hips as he presses our foreheads together.
We stand like that for what feels like forever, recovering our breathing and our equilibrium.
"I'm sorry." We both say together.
And then we laugh and the spell appears broken.
He releases me, turning to scoop our shirts off the floor, handing me mine while he dons his own, tickling me lightly while I'm lost somewhere in the process of putting mine on.
We head into the kitchen to get water and then part ways to our respective bedrooms with awkward good nights.
I don't bother with a shower, instead I strip naked and throw myself onto the bed, staring at the ceiling.
Then I roll over, punching the pillow a few times and before smashing my face into it with a muffled scream.
Stupid vagina blocking brain.
But I can't relax and the arcing electricity isn't gone, I can still feel it tugging at me from across the apartment.
My nipples are hard and I'm aching and warm between my legs.
I want him.
Badly.
With a groan I roll onto my back again, one hand making its way to caress my poor neglected nipple, the other moving slowly down my body, the way I wish his was . . . .
A rap at my door freezes me in place.
"Bella?" He calls softly. "Are you awake?"
Don't speak. Don't speak.
"Yeah."
"Can I come in?"
I roll myself in the sheet.
"Yeah."
The door opens and he makes his way to the bed in the dim light, looking down at me.
"Jesus." He says roughly, his hand reaching up to tug at his hair. "I came in here to talk to you, apologise, I . . . . I don't know now . . . ."
He swallows, his eyes travelling over me, and I watch his moonlit adam's apple bob, jogging the thin silver chain round his throat.
"Jesus." He groans, lapsing into silence.
My eyes fall to his chest, he isn't wearing a t-shirt, and then on down to where he's growing in his sweatpants. And it's my turn to swallow and groan Jesus.
The romantic in me swears it can actually see the electricity arcing now, faint lines of blue, and my thighs rub together of their own accord, making him swallow again, tongue flicking out to wet his lips.
Our eyes lock and very slowly, without conscious decision, my arms reach out to him.
He's in them within a heartbeat, lips pressing firmly but gently against mine as our arms wind around each other. There's all the passion but none of the urgency from before, as if we both know that I'm not going to stop it this time.
We kiss, thoroughly exploring each other's mouths as our bodies roll lightly against each other.
And then he pulls back, gazing down at me for so long I bite my lip, old insecurities threatening to surface. But he reaches up, gently rescuing it before sitting back on his haunches and slowly peeling the sheet away from my body.
"Beautiful." He murmurs as his hands begin to ghost over my skin.
I lay still, swallowing my moans as his warm palms caress my shoulders, arms, breasts, stomach, thighs and calves. Spreading goosebumps and fire wherever they travel.
When I'm burning all over and swallowing back whimpers he stands, easing himself out of his sweats and an actual honest to goodness moan escapes me as he climbs back onto the bed and presses all of him onto all of me.
I can feel him against my thigh, moisture painting it. I can feel hot breath on my face. Hands taking mine and moving them above my head. Nose skimming my throat, my breast, first one, then the other. His lips, tongue and teeth on my nipples. His hands as they press mine into the pillow in silent command, as they glide down my arms and move to caress my breasts. His tongue as it travels down my body, dallying at my belly button before stroking my hip bones.
His nose skims my pubic bone and my legs fall open like the petals of a flower but it isn't what I want, what I need.
My hands leave their place on the pillow as his tongue reaches out to stroke me, just the tip of it sending shivers through my limbs.
"No." I whisper, tugging gently on his hair. "I want you. I need you . . . ."
"God Bella." He groans as he surges up my body and presses his lips to mine again, resting on his elbows. "You have no idea how much I need you too . . . ."
My legs wrap around his hips and he deepens the kiss, pulling liquid fire all the way up from the tips of my toes and a tortured gasp into his mouth. I can feel him between my legs, sliding, writhing and pressing. Driving me wild. My legs tighten round him but still he teases me, pressing in until I begin to give around him and then withdrawing to rub himself against my clit.
My hips are bucking against him now, my body frantic for him, the ache now almost painful.
"Edward." I moan when he transfers his lips to my neck. "Please, oh please . . . ."
He draws away from me, looking down to watch my face, and then drives into me in one strong thrust.
"Oh god yes!" I exhale, back bending, neck arching.
His teeth scrape the column of my throat as he withdraws and my fingers dig into his shoulders like talons.
And then he trusts back in and my back arches more, allowing his arms to slide under my shoulders, his fingers to curl over them.
"Bella." He groans into my skin as he withdraws again, hovering just inside me so that my muscles clutch at him urgently. "Can't be slow . . . . it's too much . . . . you're . . . . too much . . . . need . . . ."
"Edward . . . ." My words dry up temporarily as he fills me again, hard and fast, his muscles trembling with restraint as he holds himself there, his breathing harsh on my neck.
My hands move from his back, clasping his face and bringing his lips to mine.
"Fuck me." I demand against them.
And everything snaps, as I knew it would.
His hands tighten on my shoulders, fingers digging into the muscle but the pain is just one of many sensations my brain can no longer separate. Warmth, heat, wet, skin sliding against skin. Panting, groaning, unintelligible words. Sensation, pleasure, rhythmic movements, synchronicity. Creaking wood, questing mouths, grasping hands. Tightening muscles, building tension . . . .
Like well choreographed dancers Edward and I break away from each other, overwhelmed at the same time. My head falls back onto the pillow, my thigh muscles protesting as they struggle to hold onto his body, my hands gripping the taut muscles of his arms as he rears up on them, going impossibly harder, deeper, preparing to shatter me into a million pieces . . . . I try to focus on his face . . . . the hair falling over his furrowed brow . . . . the flare of his nostrils . . . . the way his mouth is open slightly, spewing formless sounds and harsh breaths . . . . the chain that glistens against the sweat on his neck . . . . the tendons standing out as he throws his head back . . . .
He's close . . . . we're so close . . . . my eyes squeeze shut, my head tilting back . . . . and I give myself completely over to the feel of him moving inside me . . . . so close . . . . . our rhythm falters . . . . and I tighten to the point of no return . . . . I need his mouth on mine . . . . and suddenly it's there . . . . I'm there . . . . he's there . . . . releasing a strangled cry into my mouth as he thrusts against my now rigid muscles . . . . pulsing inside me . . . . groaning as my clenching orgasm milks him . . . . collapsing on me . . . . spent but still moving slowly inside me . . . . guiding us both down . . . .
"Fuck." He moans breathlessly against my cheek, and I can feel the smile on his lips.
Mine curve into their own smile as he peppers light kisses over my face, distracting me from the feeling of loss as he slips out of my body.
We're in no hurry to separate, languidly stroking each other's skin and exchanging sweet kisses but eventually the reality of life after gratification intrudes.
"Edward." I whisper, tapping his butt. "We have to move, the wet patch . . . ."
Laughing quietly we shuffle across to the other side of the bed and he wraps himself around me and pulls the covers over us as I close my eyes.
Body limp and satiated.
Brain, uneasy.
My relationship with Edward was always complicated, on my side.
I was naive when I started college. I'd had a boyfriend in High School and we'd slept together, once or twice, but he was a sweet boy and in no way prepared me for meeting and becoming friends with someone like Edward Cullen.
Despite Rose's warnings I did fall in love with him, it would have been difficult not to, but I was very good at keeping it hidden. Very. I knew he'd never love me, I was amazed that he considered me a friend, and even more amazed that he seemed to find me attractive, but no way was a boy like Edward going to fall in love with the little waif from Phoenix. I was stupid to let it go as far as it did with him, but I was never that stupid. And I can honestly say that my feelings about him never really made me miserable, I used to avoid him when he was with a girl but I can't say I ever felt particularly jealous, I accepted him, us, for who and what we were.
Maybe it wasn't love, I don't know, but those mixed feelings make me cautious about slipping back into all our old roles. I'm not a girl with her life stretched out in front of her any more, able to leap into making mistakes then take the time to learn from them. I'm a woman and instinct tells me we don't heal so well when we take a tumble.
I sigh unhappily but snuggle back into his warmth anyway.
Because he's quicksand.