Fourteen: Partner
On the morning of our fourth day on the island, after a quirky breakfast of pancakes, bacon, eggs, and tropical fruit, Bella proposes we go for a swim. And then she strips off the sexy blue night dress she was wearing and pulls on a one-piece swimsuit the like of which I've never seen. Held up by her right shoulder, it zig-zags across her body, wrapping around her left side at the waist and leaving the other side fully exposed. The hipster briefs scarcely cover the patch of curls at her groin, and the shiny fabric is stretched so tight across her breasts that it looks to have fused with her skin.
My mouth feels dry; I barely stop myself from swallowing, which is such a rookie move that I know I'm in real trouble.
She smirks at my obvious enthrallment. "What do you think?" she purrs, stepping back to do a little pirouette so I can see that her back is covered only by a narrow band running from right shoulder to left hip.
I can't look away. Despite the faint hand- and finger-shaped marks still patterning her torso, my desire for my gorgeous wife has my whole body tingling. I imagine taking her in my arms, shredding the little swimsuit as we let our passions rule. I have to clear my throat before I can speak, but the words come out perfectly even. "You look beautiful. You always do."
She isn't remotely surprised by my response; when I look in her eyes, I get the feeling she knows something I don't. Is this what the deer feels like when it looks up just in time to see the lion pounce?
"How are you feeling now?" she asks softly.
"About what?" I ask, unwilling to second guess her but even more reluctant to admit to the lust that is coursing through me.
She doesn't answer for a moment, just continues to stare; I find myself wondering what she is seeing in my eyes. How vulnerable do I seem right now? Then she says, "About taking back your ultimatum."
I feel the full force of her criticism. "I didn't mean it to be an ultimatum—you know that rushing you into the change is the last thing I want—but I don't have a choice. I promised I would try, and I failed."
"No, you didn't," she insists, stepping up to me and taking my face in her hands. "You were brilliant. You just need to relax."
"It's not—"
She shifts one hand across my mouth, silencing me. "There's one thing I'm curious about," she says, instantly magnifying my nerves (which were already mounting). "Why did you break the headboard?"
The question is as startling as it is understandable, and as unwilling as I am to recall those frightening moments of uncontrolled passion, she deserves a considered response. It takes a second to work through my shame at the lapse in control, and then I take another second to analyse the specific feelings involved. "The rush of—let's call it adrenaline—became too intense to control and that was a way to release it before I did that to you. I almost crushed you."
"You know that's not true," she insists. "You managed it so smoothly, I barely noticed—you couldn't have done that if you were really on the edge."
Although there is logic in her argument, I think I actually broke the sound barrier on one of the times I punched through a pillow, so it's hardly surprising that my movements seemed smooth to human perceptions. But it's hard to think when she's so close to being naked, and standing so close that I can feel the energy radiating off her skin. I'd ask her to put on more clothes if it wouldn't expose my receptivity to her current state of dress (though her little smirk suggests she's fully aware of my struggles).
"The problem isn't that I ended up with bruises," she murmurs. "The problem is that you aren't listening to me. You need to remember what matters. From an outsider's perspective, our relationship seems pretty unhealthy because they don't know the truth, and now you seem to have forgotten it. Ours isn't a normal marriage. Did you really think our first time was going to be like everyone else's?"
When she pauses, I realise she wasn't posing the question rhetorically. "No," I acknowledge, before my curiosity gets the better of me. "What were you expecting?"
Her cheeks flush with colour even as she coyly bites her lip, being deliberately flirtatious. "I did wonder how cold you might feel inside me—I kind of forgot about thermodynamics."
I have to laugh.
"How did it feel for you?" she asks.
"Hot," I reply immediately.
She laughs with me and I find myself relaxing—which feels wrong when I realise just how tense I was from holding myself back from her.
Can she feel that tension? The last thing I want to do is shut myself off from her, but I don't know what else I can do. "You're right that we're not like any other couple," I murmur. "I want to give you all of me, but I can't—if I did, you'd get seriously hurt."
"When we were making love," she replies without hesitation, "I didn't feel like you were holding back—I know you had to focus every second on being careful, and I'm so grateful for that, but to me, it felt like there was nothing between us. In that moment, we were the same. We were one."
"It felt like that to me, too," I say, not wanting her to think that the effort of being careful had overshadowed my pleasure or that exquisite sense of oneness.
She beams at me, and her happiness cuts through the last barrier of my fear. She is right. I want to give her that feeling again—I want to share that feeling with her again. I don't know if she sees or can simply sense the change in me, but she throws her arms around my neck and locks her mouth on mine.
Her desperate passion sings through her lips and into mine. My response is automatic, instinctual, and I lose myself in her embrace, surrendering with a groan.
At first, I only kiss her, letting her undress me. Then, after she pushes me back onto the bed, I lie still, moving only when she moves me. She doesn't seem to mind, but my own unrest is rising fast. Now that we're going to make love again, I want to give in entirely. I want to make love to my wife—actively. I tighten my arms around her ever so slightly, trying to find the perfect balance between just right and too tight.
And then it hits me—the epiphany; what Alice was trying to show me with my first set of coloured pencils. The line between just right and too much is so fine, I'll always be on the edge. There's no comfort zone, no learning how to maintain the balance automatically. When I realise that, I realise I've been trying to ignore the part of me that controls the strength of my grip, to make it an automatic thing, like playing the piano, or driving, or writing.
As soon as I change my strategy, to keep the pressure of each point of contact between us at the forefront of my mind rather than trying to focus on the contact alone, it suddenly doesn't seem so distracting. It actually takes less concentration, because the fear of failure is lessening by the second, leaving me more space to think.
I dare to test my insight on the swimsuit. I slide a finger behind the strap across her back, testing the pressure of my grip for a moment before squeezing just beyond its capacity.
Bella gasps with delighted surprise as the top falls away, exposing her breasts. She arches her back, giving me an incredible view of her body, and I can't resist. I slide my hands up her sides and cup her breasts. My chill makes her already peaked nipples harden fully in seconds. She moans appreciatively and I can't wait any longer.
I know she's as ready as I am, so I tear the swimsuit briefs off her body and gently guide her into position. She moves eagerly, sinking herself onto me in the same motion, and I have to throw an arm back to catch the headboard as the pleasure engulfs me utterly.
This time, Bella notices. She laughs delightedly as I crumple the wood between my fingers and then she moans and splays her fingers out across my chest, pressing into my skin as she works her body over mine.
My whole body, my whole world, is passion and love and pure, transcendental ecstasy. We reach the heights of rapture within minutes—but neither of us is remotely ready to stop. I still for a moment to give her a break, and then I roll us over and raise her back off the bed, cradling her head in my hand.
She either guesses what I'm thinking or is keen for it herself because she winds her legs around my waist without any prompting, so that her body is suspended beneath mine, touching only me. As we start to move again, I shift my other hand to the headboard so that I won't jolt her when I next need to brace myself.
After our third set of earth-shattering orgasms, Bella relaxes against me while I'm still inside her. When I go to withdraw, she murmurs a soft complaint, so I linger a little longer.
"I love you," she breathes.
"As I love you."
She falls asleep in moments, leaving me to ponder my newfound understanding. I still keep a close eye on the state of her body, but I can't help feeling confident that, this time, our coupling was a complete success.
It doesn't surprise me when she wakes after only an hour. For a second, she looks startled, as though it takes a moment to process the realisation that her memories are real; then she meets my gaze and bursts into a grin.
I speak first. "I'm an idiot," I declare, to show that I've learned my lesson.
"I thought we'd already established that," she teases.
"I guess I'm a slow learner when it comes to relaxing."
She laughs. "Not that slow," she assures me, her lips curling into a definite smirk. "I've had more than one dream about making love to you, but you've improved on every one."
I don't know what to say, torn between intense pleasure and agonising remorse; she sees my shame and her expression softens. She stretches up and presses her lips to mine. The kiss is only gentle for a second before she winds her arms around my neck and presses herself against me. I want to capitulate, but I won't let her ignore her body's needs.
"Maybe you should rest a bit longer," I suggest.
"I just did."
"Only for an hour."
"An hour?" she exclaims, pulling back. "I feel like I've slept for days." She pauses for a moment, clearly reassessing her condition, and then smiles. "I've never felt more awake."
"Lunch first," I counter.
"I'm not hungry yet," she shoots back—except her stomach growls in protest before she can even move to reunite our lips. She glares down at the offending area, so I slip a finger beneath her chin and gently raise her eyes back up to mine.
"I'll be right here whenever you want me," I murmur, perhaps counterproductively, because her pupils react to my inadvertently suggestive pronouncement; but she reins in her lust after a moment, and her eyes sparkle as their chocolate warmth shines through.
"And I'll always be here for you," she replies. "Forever."
"Forever," I agree, letting the joy infuse my spirit.
When she sits up, her eyes land on the scraps of swimsuit scattered around us. "That's too bad," she says, sounding only faintly disappointed; then she grins at me. "I suppose I'll have to swim naked."
"What a shame," I quip.
She chuckles, enjoying my levity a little more than it deserves (maybe because she's seen so little of it lately). When her eyes travel further afield, I wonder if she's checking for massacred pillows. My guess seems to be confirmed when she asks, "Were there any other casualties?"
"Only the headboard," I reply, glancing over my shoulder.
She follows my gaze and then giggles at the large chunks of wood gouged out of the left side. "Oops." Again, her pulse races as she views the destruction.
I can't resist touching her burning cheek. This fragile human body is a dangerous liability, but there's no denying its multiple compensations. "I love making you blush," I murmur, perhaps thoughtlessly.
But Bella simply smiles. "I was thinking," she says ominously. "You want to go to Dartmouth—" that is the last thing I expected her to say, but the hope immediately fills my chest—"and New Hampshire does sound interesting… and Charlie and Renée would be excited," she says, echoing my arguments from earlier in the year. "Sure, it might be embarrassing if I can't keep up with all the brainiacs. Still… eighteen… nineteen… Even twenty's really not such a big difference. It's not like I'm going to get crow's feet in the next couple of years."
It takes a moment to process what she is saying. In the past, she's made twenty sound like the worst word in existence. "You'll wait?" I murmur. "You'll stay human for longer?"
She smiles. "I've finally found something that makes me want to be human a little while longer."
How many times have I wished she would say that? That she'll fall in love with college and we'll make it through an entire degree before she asks to join the ranks of the undead. The irony that her reason is me is both intensely surprising and wonderfully thrilling. I have to laugh. "Sex was the key all along?" I quip. "Why didn't I think of that? I could have saved myself a lot of arguments."
She laughs. "I wish you had," she teases, leaning into a kiss.
I return the kiss gladly, too happy to remind her that we were supposed to be getting up—but Bella is more important, so after a minute, I manage to utter a few words about human food and human bodies probably needing a longer break.
"I'm not sore," she insists.
"At all? What about… inside?"
Her cheeks flush with heat. "I'm good to go," she murmurs coyly.
"But…" With no small degree of confusion, I remember Carlisle's warning about the unavoidable physical discomfort that almost always arises from a woman's first (and potentially first few) sexual engagements. The scent of her arousal confirms what she's saying, though; so, unless her brain is ignoring its pain receptors because the pleasure more than makes up for any discomfort (because it doesn't seem likely that she likes a bit of pain), she is ready.
"It was a little sore for a moment, the very first time," she says, furnishing my need for more information, "but that feeling went away in less than a minute, and never came back."
"Not even in the morning?"
"Not then. Not now."
As I analyse this near-total lack of physical discomfort she's describing, I find myself worrying my bottom lip between my teeth. Bella draws my attention to the nervous act by stroking a couple of fingers across my upper lip.
"It seems strange to me, too," she murmurs, "but I really am fine."
Forgoing a verbal response, because I believe her so there's nothing more to say, I take her hand in mine. I kiss her knuckles, and then the back of her hand, and then her wrist. She hums softly, encouraging me, so I kiss my way up her arm and across her clavicle.
This time, we start slowly, revelling in the deepening pleasure. But when we eventually unite our bodies, drawing out our coupling seems to be as far from her mind as it is from mine. I grab the headboard with both hands, only just refraining from shattering it entirely. My back arches up, pressing our chests together, while Bella grinds against me, gasping and moaning.
Our orgasms rush upon us both in less than a minute; in the aftermath, Bella giggles contentedly as she collapses onto me.
"Are we really good at that," she jokes, "or really bad?"
I chuckle. "Definitely good."
"Yeah," she murmurs, "that's what I thought."
I would be happy to continue, but her stomach grumbles again so she sensibly decides to get up. She has a shower before getting something to eat, though, so I indulge her (and myself) in a second orgasm. As it had the other time I used my fingers to pleasure her, her climax triggers mine without my needing to even touch myself.
She doesn't bother to shampoo her hair, so we cuddle for a few minutes before switching off the water.
While she slips on a sundress, I pull on a pair of khaki, cotton shorts, foregoing my usual choice of less revealing clothing now that I don't need to worry about temptation. Then she tows me into the kitchen. She insists on doing the cooking, but all she does is fry up some eggs. She is obviously impatient, for she flips them onto a plate after just a few minutes.
"Since when do you eat eggs sunny-side up?" I ask, curious.
"Since now."
I let her away with the non-answer and vary the topic. "Do you know how many eggs you've gone through?" I lift up the trash bin from under the sink to show her that it's already over half full of empty blue egg cartons.
"Weird," she says, her mouth full of egg. "This place is really messing with my appetite." But she shrugs it off as she takes another bite. "I like it here, though." As she chews, her brows furrow. "When do we have to leave to get to Dartmouth on time? I guess we need to find a place to live and stuff, too."
Her matter-of-factness makes me smile; I can still hardly believe that she is actually going to have another few years of being human—that she'll get to experience college without all the limitations and frustrations I've always faced. "We're going to Dartmouth? Really?"
"I'll probably fail out in one semester."
"I'll tutor you if you need it," I reply, dismissing the groundless insecurity (and hopefully reassuring her); she really did make it into Dartmouth on her own merits. "You're going to love it there."
"Do you think we can find an apartment this late?"
"We already have a house in Hanover," I confess, anticipating the reprimand that's sure to follow. "You know, just in case."
"You bought a house?"
"Real estate is a good investment."
She raises an eyebrow—and then lets it go. "So we're ready, then," she says lightly.
I wonder if she'll be in a perpetually good mood from now on… How many other things can I get her to agree to?
"I'll have to see if we can keep your Mercedes for a little longer," I remark casually, testing the waters.
"Yes, heaven forbid I not be protected from tanks," she jokes.
I grin, thrilled by this new potential sway I have (and hopeful that she'll forgive me as easily for enrolling her at Dartmouth without her knowledge).
"How much longer can we stay?" she asks.
"We're fine on time," I assure her, wondering how long it'll be before she remembers about enrolment; I should probably pre-empt the realisation, but I want to reinforce the positive first. "A few more weeks, if you want. We can visit Charlie before we go to New Hampshire, and then spend Christmas with Renée…"
She smiles at my suggestions, and then her eyes drift out of focus as she finishes off the rest of the eggs. I wish I could know that she isn't thinking about Jacob. But if she is, confessing to my role in Alice's nefarious schemes is the last thing I want to do right now. I find myself wondering how he's feeling at this very moment. Does he think Bella is already a vampire? Or is he wondering whether or not I caused too much damage to be repaired? I'm glad I kept such thoughts at bay until now, when I think I've figured out how to avoid hurting her. Now I just have to figure out how to leave the furniture intact…
I ponder that problem, distracted only by the sound of an engine drawing near, until Bella refocuses on me.
"A few weeks," she agrees happily. Then she grins. "So, I was thinking… I didn't wash my hair properly just now. I should really have another shower…"
I laugh, wishing I could oblige her, but we'll have to be patient for a little while. "Can you hold that thought? I hear a boat. The housekeepers must be here." (I thought Esme had organised for them to visit weekly, but I wouldn't put it past her and Alice to send them out early.)
She screws up her nose and then glances down at herself, no doubt checking she's wearing enough clothing since we're about to have visitors. I smile, but as the thoughts of Gustavo and his wife Kaure invade my mind, I realise I've begun to take the mental silence here for granted. The next couple of hours are going to be irritating for both of us—worse if we don't get out of here.
"Let me explain the mess to Gustavo," I say, "and then we can go out. There's a place in the jungle on the south—"
"Sounds perfect," she agrees, her dark eyes promising a naked romp in the jungle.
Despite a slight tingle of lingering nerves, I am ecstatic that I can please my wife so well. "Why don't you start preparing a picnic while I get the door?"
"I didn't hear a knock."
Her timing is perfect; I tilt my head to the side, waiting, and a half second later, Gustavo raps on the door. I grin at her and then walk down the hallway, grabbing a t-shirt on the way to the door, listening to their contrasting thoughts even as I listen to Bella rinsing her plate and fork in the sink.
I greet the couple in Portuguese, thank them for being on time (it's not their fault my family has a twisted sense of humour), and ask after their family. Gustavo answers for them both; Kaure is too anxious to speak—thanks to my youthfulness, I frighten her more than Carlisle and Esme combined. I smile without showing my teeth and keep my voice as smooth and gentle as possible, and I even deliberately hesitate and mispronounce a few words so as not to sound too fluent, which amuses Gustavo but doesn't ease Kaure's nerves.
As I lead them down the hallway to the living area, Gustavo describes the fresh supplies they've bought with them. I confirm that we'll take everything, and then step into the kitchen to join Bella, introducing her as my wife. A blush immediately blooms on her cheek; she's probably thinking about the mess the couple will soon encounter in the white room, but I like to think that it's more a sign of her pleasure at the title.
Gustavo smiles politely at her, but Kaure's thoughts scream with a brand-new kind of fear. She has never seen a human with one of us before, and she is gravely afraid for Bella's wellbeing. Her concern is touching, but her wide-eyed expression unsettles Bella, so I lead them away before she can dwell too long on the reason for the little woman's worries.
I explain that we'd like both bedrooms cleaned—mentioning the mess in the main bedroom so that they're prepared for it—as well as the bathroom and kitchen. Gustavo asks if we'd like any clothes washed, but I tell them next time and then return to Bella. I had planned to show them the bedrooms myself and perhaps to provide a little direction regarding how I want them to clean, but it has been so long since Bella and I were apart that I'm quite unprepared for how it feels. Their heartbeats interfere with the sound of Bella's in a way I'm no longer accustomed to. I have always missed her, but now it is more than that—as though a physical part of me is literally missing.
The moment I have her back in sight, I wrap her in my arms. She doesn't seem to share my desperation—she welcomes my embrace but doesn't pause in filling the old-fashioned, wicker picnic basket we've been using on our trips around the island—so I wonder if it's a vampire thing. It's clear she is focused on Kaure.
"What's with her?" she whispers.
I shrug to show that I'm not worried. "Kaure's part Ticuna. She was raised to be more superstitious—you might call it more aware—than those who live in the modern world. She suspects what I am, or close enough. They have their own legends here. The Libishomen—blood-drinking demons who prey exclusively on beautiful women."
She looks up at me, surprised, and I waggle an eyebrow to emphasise the point, making her flush with pleasure. "She looked terrified."
"She is—but mostly she's worried about you." I can't help chuckling as I listen to the woman's dark thoughts as she sweeps up the feathers. "She's afraid of why I have you here, all alone." I lean down and slide my lips down Bella's neck—except I have to stop before I stop caring about behaving for our guests. "How's the picnic coming? Gustavo has a box of fresh supplies for us, too."
Bella laughs. "Will a picnic convince Kaure that you're human?" she teases, turning to face me and throwing her arms around my neck as she stretches up on tiptoe.
I meet her halfway; though Kaure is near, I can't resist lifting Bella off the floor to pull her body more tightly against mine. She twists her fingers in my hair as I slide my lips down her throat.
Of course, that is the moment that the anxious little woman walks out into the hallway. She gasps when she sees us, and the image in her head is violent and bloody. I set Bella down on the floor. Kaure frantically scans her neck and arms, checking for bite marks, while Bella blushes and looks down. Her self-consciousness convinces Kaure that I haven't hypnotised her, and she struggles to understand how Bella can be ignorant of my inhumanness.
After satisfying herself that Bella is unhurt, she suddenly realises that she's being rude. She tries to argue away her concerns; after all, I introduced her as my wife, and why would I let them see her, let alone marry her, if I meant her harm? But she isn't entirely convinced by that logic (after all, what she fears I am isn't logical). She murmurs a hasty apology, to which I reply that I should've warned them we were on our honeymoon.
The innocent comment refreshes her anxiety, but she turns away to take the sacks of feathers out to the boat.
"She was thinking what I think she was thinking, wasn't she?" Bella mutters.
I have to laugh at her convoluted phrasing. "Yes."
"Does Gustavo know she thinks—?"
"Yes, but he just thinks we're pale. He explains away all of our peculiarities with the fact that we're so rich, we have access to all sorts of 'miracle' creams and potions."
Bella ponders the matter for almost a minute, a little crease in her brow, before suddenly opening her mouth, so I tilt my head towards the hallway to let her know that Gustavo will be within hearing distance any moment. She nods and closes her mouth, leaving me to wonder what she was going to say.
When Gustavo walks in with the box of fresh meat, eggs, cheeses, and fruit, I thank him and then explain that we're going for a picnic (pretending not to know the word for it in Portuguese), so we'll sort through the box ourselves and he can go help his wife. Although he is fully aware of Kaure's concerns about my family—and thus understands her horror at "catching" me with a human—he doesn't see anything wrong in our relationship. Our happiness makes him feel happy, too.
After he leaves, I start unpacking the box. When I come across a round of soft cheese, I wave it through Bella's field of vision to see if she'd like to take it with us, but she makes a disgusted face.
"Ugh, that reeks," she declares. "What do they make it with here?"
It doesn't smell especially pungent to me, but I defer to her nose as being far more sensitive to the smell of food her taste buds won't enjoy than mine is. "Is that a rhetorical question or would you like me to look into it?"
She laughs. "Rhetorical," she agrees. Then she grimaces faintly. "Could we give it back without offending them?"
"We can leave whatever you don't eat for them," I assure her. "They'll clean everything out after we go home anyway."
She nods at that, but it's clear she's preoccupied with another thought. "When does the Dartmouth semester start?" she asks, explaining her distraction. "Is it the same as Alaska?"
"Actually," I reply, not bothering to disguise my smugness, "Dartmouth has a later start." When she grins, I decide to capitalise on this moment, admitting that we're currently enrolled at both Alaska and Dartmouth.
"You enrolled us at Dartmouth?"
"It was Alice's idea," I mumble, though I know it's no defence. When I start to apologise, she slaps a hand over my mouth and then laughs.
"Of course you did," she teases. "You wanted to keep my options open, in case I changed my mind—and I did. So it was sweet of you."
"Sweet?" I blurt, surprised by the assessment.
"And very stalkerish—but not worse than sneaking into my room at night to watch me sleep." I bow my head contritely, without breaking eye contact, and she breaks her serious mien with a momentary grin. "Just promise you won't go behind my back ever again."
"I promise," I reply without hesitation. "I will tell you everything—including Alice's—"
"No," she interrupts. "Leave Alice to me." She gives me a quick kiss, then goes back to packing the picnic. After a minute, she asks, "How do you say thank you in Portuguese?"
"I say obrigado; you say obrigada—a more literal translation would be I feel obliged, so the form changes according to the speaker's gender."
Her knowledge of Spanish means she understands perfectly. When the picnic is ready, she makes a point of waving to Kaure and thanking her before we leave the house. The little woman is heartened by Bella's self-assurance, and touched by her kindness. She waves back, reminding herself of Esme's equal kindness. (But that thought inspires the worry that Esme was once an innocent human girl just like Bella. Will I turn Bella into a monster before we leave the island? Does she know what lies in store? Kaure is not oblivious to the superficial advantages that could make my cursed life seem appealing to foolish mortals, but she can't imagine how a sweet girl would willingly choose the bloodthirsty life of a demon—until she realises that love is the strongest driver of all. I wish I could reassure her, but there's nothing I can do beyond presenting the most peaceable demeanour I can manage.)
For the first half mile, Bella and I wind our way through the jungle in comfortable silence, enjoying the lush rainforest. I part the vegetation with one hand (and the picnic basket) so that we may walk hand in hand, not because Bella needs my support but for the joy of it. I'm convinced there's more to her surefootedness than the dry leaf litter and lack of slippery moss. Since we arrived on the island, she has become noticeably physically stronger, and I can't help thinking it's the climate as much as her greater confidence. She is truly a child of the sun.
"Will we move back into the white room now?" she asks, sounding delightfully content.
"I was thinking that," I agree. "I've already mangled the headboard in both rooms beyond repair, so it's too late to limit the destruction to one area of the house. Esme will never invite us back."
"Beyond repair," she repeats, smirking. "Is that a promise?"
Desire is written all over her face, and her scent makes my body react in kind. She stops walking and jumps into my arms. I drop the basket and wrap both arms around her. She pulls the t-shirt up my back and runs her hands all over my bare skin; I do the same with her dress, taking care not to rip the fabric because we have to allow for the possibility of running into our housekeepers again before they leave.
We kiss for a minute until Bella slides her hands in between us to indicate her readiness for more. Even before her feet touch the ground, she sets a hand on my abs and pushes me down to the ground; while I smooth out the leaf litter around us, she frees my erection. I lie back as she straddles my hips.
She strokes my shaft a little faster as she kisses her way down my chest, and then she sits up. Already panting hard, I watch as she lines up her centre with my erection and impales herself on my shaft in one smooth motion. There's no headboard for me to grab out here, so I direct the excess energy through my upper body and down into the springy ground beneath me.
When Bella tilts her hips and rocks against me, I shift my hips to meet her sexy little thrusts. We share a gratified moan as the euphoric sensations instantly multiply. We've employed this pose before, but out here, it feels so different—without the house around us, I feel truly free.
Bathed in natural light, Bella looks more like an angel than she ever has. How can this divine creature be mine? But she is, and I am hers, and together, we are the best we both can be.
Because my physical limits are so far beyond hers, I don't have to worry about climaxing early and leaving her unsatisfied—but my passions seem to give her as much of a thrill as hers give me, so we are soon crying out together in synchronous orgasm. As we shudder through our bodies' release, I can't help wishing I could experience her pleasure through her thoughts as well as her body—and then I meet her gaze, and her passions become so real to me that it's as though we are communing telepathically.
For a single second that seems to stretch out into eternity, there is nothing between us. Bella smiles beatifically, somehow encapsulating the pure joy of an angel and the wantonness of a sex fiend. And then, as our orgasms pass, she grabs my hips and resumes our driving rhythm with a slight twist. My body responds to her direction like I'm slaved to her will. I love it.
She stretches out atop me after our second set of orgasms, so I relax back into the leaf litter, perfectly content to lie here with her forever if I could. (The chilly climates of Forks and Hanover are going to be a challenge after so long not having to worry about hypothermia!) After a few minutes' contented silence, she sits up a little way and glances around us. The lack of destruction—even her dress is still in one piece—makes her smile.
"Is it easier for you now?" she asks.
I nod. "I think I've realised where I went wrong," I reply, forgoing a teasing response. "I was trying to learn an automatic sense of how tight is too tight, but the moment I stopped thinking like that, it became easier to control myself, and I felt more confident."
A gratified smile spreads across her face. "I told you it was all about practice."
I chuckle, remembering, with no small degree of fatalism, Alice's 'joke' about all the I told you so's Bella would earn on our honeymoon. Before I can ask if there's anything else she'd like to remind me about, her stomach growls. I laugh at the potential for hunger to work as an answer to the question I haven't even asked yet. "Dinner time for the human?"
"Isn't it way too early?" she murmurs self-consciously.
"The beauty of a deserted island is that you can set your own mealtimes."
She chuckles, then sits up fully to grab the picnic basket. She throws open the wicker covering and pulls out the container of fresh papaya and passion fruit. "What about your mealtimes?" she asks.
"I'm fine," I reply, more interested in the soft-boiled egg she unwraps and then takes a bite out of while still chewing on a piece of fruit.
She shrugs at my response and refocuses on the food. While she eats, I tell her about the Dartmouth courses we're enrolled in; since Alice wasn't able to use her visions, she added a few courses to our schedules "just in case"—including enrolling Bella in two of my night courses. Bella is keen to have as many physical classes with me as possible, so I recite the course descriptions to help her choose.
Though the food we brought with us is more than she and Charlie combined would have for dinner at home, she eats her way through almost all of it.
"This is getting out of hand," she complains. "I only just ate."
"Swimming with the dolphins should burn off a few calories," I tease.
"When I'm swimming with the dolphins," she shoots back, "it won't be for burning calories."
"Touché. I suppose you have been doing a lot of exercise. All that panting—"
She throws herself at me with a cry of mock outrage, so I sweep her into my arms and ravish her anew.
Every time we make love reinforces my confidence that I won't hurt her—but I never let myself feel complacent. While Bella and I share our sexual awakening, daring to explore more adventurous positions and situations (for which our isolated island is perfect), I learn not to fear my strength but rather to enjoy the control I've gained over my exceptional body.