Chapter Fourteen: Teasing

EPOV

My mother is notorious for showing up at my apartment unannounced and ready for her weekly, surprise inspection.

Only this time she's the one surprised.

"Edward, what's going on?"

My mother's eyes are wide and wild with wonder. She wanders from room to room, her gaze roaming the clean surface of my furniture. She takes in the organization of my shelves, and inspects the crooks and crannies of each room, only to find them void of the typical discarded items of clothing and other various forms of clutter.

I pretend to ignore her as I roll my head back and forth, cringing at the popping and cracking sounds caused from sitting in front of my laptop all day long.

"I'm editing," I sigh, removing my reading glasses and rubbing the bridge of my nose. "Is something wrong?"

"This apartment is the cleanest I've ever seen it," she says, her voice full of awe and confusion.

"You make that sound like a bad thing."

I turn to face her, swiveling around in my chair. She's standing in the middle of my living room, hands on hips, gazing at everything from the floor to the ceiling, and looking completely baffled.

"Not a bad thing," my mother explains, her hands leaving her hips and crossing over her chest as she gives me a questioning stare. "It's just … unexpected is all. And … your face!"

My hand flies to my face. I'm searching for the source of her shock and discomfort, which is clearly etched on her face. I touch nothing but smooth, freshly shaved skin.

"You've shaved," she whispers in an accusatory tone. "You've shaved! No more scruff. And your hair is clean. Still messy, but that's unavoidable and to be expected. Care to explain yourself, mister?"

The toe of one of her heels taps against the floor as she waits for my response.

"You do realize you're making me feel bad for practicing good hygiene, right?" I tell her, shooting her a smirk. "Feel free to knock some books in the floor, or leave the toilet lid up if it makes you feel better."

"Who are you, and what have you done with my son?" she asks, dropping onto my leather sofa and releasing a soft sigh.

Worry lines crease her brow. I'd find the situation humorous if not for her sincere concern for my well-being. My phone vibrates nearby, but I ignore it. This is as good a time as any to tell my mother about Bella, the first woman I've cared for other than Kate.

Kate.

My mother's body stiffens as she notices the resolved look on my face, and the set line in my jaw. She's always been the type of person who fears the worst, and this moment is no exception.

I stare at her from across the room, feeling somewhat ridiculous, and wondering how many guys do this; how many guys feel the need to explain their love lives to their mothers?

I placate myself by remembering how my mother was there for me when Kate all but disappeared from my life. That was the darkest period in my adult life. I'd never felt more abandoned, not since I was a small child, before my parents adopted me, something I eventually confessed to my mother.

That's when she swooped in, popping up unexpectedly to clean my apartment or make sure I had food in the fridge. All I yearned for during that time was to write. The laptop was my confessional, and through the pain of the woman I once called my soul mate leaving me, a best seller was born.

"What's going on, Edward?" my mother asks, her worried words bringing my thoughts back to the here and now. "Please don't tell me you're back with … her."

"Hell no," I laugh, forcing the shock from my face. My mother hasn't mentioned … her in such a long time. "I do need to discuss something with you, though."

I cross the room and fall easily beside her on the sofa. Leaning back, I stretch my stiffened legs out in front of me, wishing away the pain from sitting perched in one position all day long. My mother notices my casual position. Her rigid posture visibly relaxes as she quietly waits for me to elaborate.

"You probably don't remember, but I mentioned a girl a while back," I explain. "The night I had supper at your house? The girl I mentioned who hates me?"

"Ah," my mother says with a knowing smile. "I'm assuming the hate has bloomed into romance?"

"Something like that," I tell her with an awkward laugh, feeling like a small child again under her watchful gaze. "She never really hated me. Actually, she's utterly forgiving. And funny. And quirky. And beautiful."

"Okay, okay," my mother laughs, shaking her head and reaching for my hand. She gives it a comforting squeeze. "You've almost got me sold. She sounds perfect. When do I get to meet this mystery girl?"

"Soon, I hope," I confess with a nervous smile, Bella's face flashing through my mind. "We've been talking for a while now, not only online, but on the phone as well. We're both ready to take the next step in our … relationship. She's thinking about visiting me. She's terrified of planes, so she's considering taking a train."

"Where will she stay while she's visiting?"

"Here," I tell her, my brow knitted in confusion. "At my apartment. Where else?"

"Oh, Edward," she sighs. "Don't you think she'll feel … pressured into things that maybe she's not ready for?"

My mother gives me a hard, expectant stare, but I just gape at her dumbly for a moment before understanding sinks in.

"Oh, you think … that she thinks … that I'll expect … sex?"

The word 'sex' comes out in an uncomfortable cough. No matter how much smut I've written over the years, I remain uncomfortable speaking of sex so freely in front of my mother, the woman who baked me cookies and bandaged my boo-boos when I was younger.

Yes. Boo-boos, damnit.

"We're adults," I tell my mother, shifting uncomfortably on the sofa. "We're adults who are sexually attracted to one another. Shouldn't she expect sex while she's here with me?"

My mother's glare slices through me at my ill-thought words. I swear the woman can melt glaciers with her eyes.

"This is the same girl you were talking to online?"

"Yes, ma'am," I say, because I'm in kiss-ass, polite mode now.

Well, that, plus the fact that it hurts when my mother slaps the back of my head.

It hurts bad.

"Edward, this girl doesn't know you from Adam's house-cat," my mother explains, constantly astounding me with Southern lingo that I fail to understand. Who the hell is Adam, and what the hell is a house-cat? "Don't you think she'll be uncomfortable staying with you while she's here? You shouldn't expect a girl to put out just because she's in town visiting you! If she stays with you in your apartment she'll feel pressured into sleeping with you. Don't you want her to feel comfortable around you without the pressure of sex constantly weighing in the back of her mind?"

I want to argue with her about Bella staying with me while in town. Why? Because I've thought of nothing but having sex with Bella since the night I caught sight of her negligée faux pas. But the last thing I want is to scare her away, so I agree with my mother.

Begrudgingly.

~h00rs~

My mother eventually leaves, but her suggestion doesn't leave as she goes. I'm struggling with my work, distracted by her words that I'm constantly mulling over in my mind.

I'm finishing up the suggestions that my fanfiction beta and original fiction editor, Jasper, made for me, when I hear my cell ringing. I snatch it up; the sound of the ringtone reminding me of the missed call from earlier. Bella's smiling face flashes across the screen, bringing a smile to my face, as well.

"I called earlier," she tells me softly, after our obligatory greetings.

"My mother was visiting," I explain, running my fingers nervously through my hair. "I told her you were planning a visit. She's, uh, concerned that when you visit me you'll feel pressured to … stay here. In my apartment. With me."

There's a long, excruciating pause before she speaks again.

"And what's your opinion? About me staying with you?"

Bella's tone is cryptic and gives nothing away. Pressure floods my chest. Nervousness creeps into my bones as I struggle to formulate a response. Women are a lot of things, but the words 'evil genius' stands out in the forefront of my mind. There's no hint as to what answer will placate her, and I'm lost. I'm lost on what to say to this little, doe-eyed mind controller.

"I want whatever makes you happy," I tell her, hoping the honesty is audible in my voice.

The line goes silent again. The tension is thicker, if that's at all possible. I've turned the tables. I've switched things around. The decision is hers and hers alone.

I think maybe I've made a mistake.

"Bella," I sigh, my palms suddenly feeling sweaty. "I just want to see you. You can stay here with me, or stay at the Hilton for all I care. It doesn't matter where you stay. I just want to spend time with you, but I also want you to be comfortable while you're here, not nervous and pressured into doing something you're not comfortable doing … which is staying with me. But, if you are comfortable with the thought … of staying here in my apartment with me, you can. If you want. Not that I expect it."

I'm rambling on my end of the phone. I'm also physically and mentally slapping my forehead at how ridiculous I sound. It's not until I hear a soft giggle on the other end of the line that I relax. A small smile pulls on one corner of my mouth as my shoulders give, and the anxiety slowly creeps away.

"I'd like to stay with you, Edward. If that's okay."

"You do?" I ask hopefully, listening for any signs of doubt in her voice, but finding none.

"Most definitely. And don't worry about those expectations your mother speaks of. I can guarantee that the two of us, you and I, have the same expectations from one another."

The one-sided grin I wear turns into a full-fledged smirk. Bella wants to stay with me. Bella wants to stay with me while she visits Chicago.

I'm half-mast in my jeans. Thoughts of Bella wrapped in my sheets plays through my mind. I want to write it. I want to write it all down, every dirty fantasy I have of this sweet girl.

And then I want to make each fantasy come true.

"I have a spare room," I lightly offer, attempting to smother the demon burning inside.

"Is there something wrong with your bed?"

Bella's voice is no longer soft. It's dark and suggestive and I'm no longer at half-mast. I'm practically ripping through the fly of my jeans, thinking about her.

"Bella," I groan. "You don't know, do you?"

"I don't know what?"

"What you do to me," I tell her with a sigh, noticing for the first time just how late in the evening it is.

The lights from the city below are shining brightly through my glass, balcony doors. I stand and stretch, taking the phone with me as I pull open the glass doors and ease out onto the balcony. The sounds of the city fills the air, and Bella hears it.

"Where are you?"

"On my balcony," I tell her, dropping wearily onto a chair, staring at the city below, but only seeing her face. "On the balcony thinking about you."

Loneliness infiltrates me. It's a loneliness I've never felt before. It's different from the solitude I felt once Kate left me. It's as though I've lost something I never really had to begin with. It's longing and misunderstanding and heartbreak and infatuation. Being without this girl … having her and not being able to be with her … it's tearing me apart.

"I think about you constantly," she confesses. "When I'm at work, when I'm shopping, when I'm at home … in my bed, like I am now."

Fuck.

"Bella," I groan, my voice heady with warning. "You're killing me."

"Sometimes I even touch myself when I think about you. Do you ever touch yourself and think about me?"

"Yes," I rasp, swallowing the knot in my throat.

"Will you do it now? Will you touch yourself and think about me?"

What she doesn't know is that I already am. My hand is fumbling on my fly, releasing the buttons. I lift my hips, then tug the jeans down just enough to release my cock. I stroke it nice and slow, groaning as I close my eyes and listen to her breathe.

"You're doing it now, aren't you? Jesus, Edward. That's so hot. Do you know what I'm doing?"

I'm not sure if I answer, unless you count a stifled groan as a response. There's a thousand different things I can imagine she's doing, but to hear her confess it … to hear her confess it …

"I'm so wet, Edward. I'm so fucking wet and throbbing for you."

This girl has suddenly become brazen, and crossing a line that neither one of us has crossed. I'm suddenly feeling just as bold as I listen to her breathing increase. Brushing my thumb over the dripping head of my cock, I slowly stroke myself downward, then just as slowly back up, torturing myself with the languid pace.

"Where are you fingers, Bella? Are they inside your panties?"

"My fingers? My fingers are inside me, Edward; where your cock will be … very soon."

Shameful Hoodfabulous Confession: I'm a cliffie h00r. Always have been. Always will be.

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