DISCLAIMER: Twilight and its characters belong to Stephenie Meyer. The remainder of the words, plot and lackluster formatting belong to me. Please do not repost the story without authorization.

Thank you to my betas LightStarDusting and Scorp112 and to everyone reading and reviewing. I appreciate the support.

Without further adieu, may I present 6400 plus words of smut, haha.

Chapter 14: I'll Show You Mine If You Show Me Yours

BPOV

Be careful what you wish for. Isn't that what they say? My long held fantasy of watching Edward Cullen touch himself was about to become a reality. To be honest, I was still in shock that he'd so easily agreed to it. I'm sure he had no idea what he started when I saw him swipe his hand across his bare chest so many months before. Such an innocent gesture that had nothing to do with where my mind took it, where my mind continued to take it day after day, each time a little further than the last.

As we made our way upstairs, I focused on walking carefully so I didn't fall and screw up what was about to happen. Despite my temerity in bringing up the subject, I was suitably terrified. I'd never seen an actual cock before, let alone a hard one. Besides a brief flash in the occasional movie, all I had to go on were the diagrams from health class, and the Gray's Anatomy textbook left a lot to the imagination.

Trailing silently behind Edward, I followed him down a long hallway and upstairs to the second floor. I tried to force myself to take in the surroundings—the shininess of the hardwood floors and the ornate patterns in the traditional runner rug that cushioned each step my bare feet took—but they seemed unimportant and inconsequential. I had tunnel vision. Everything around me was blurred and muted. He was the only thing I saw—the only thing I wanted to see.

It wasn't until we went into his room that I remembered I'd been there before, that I'd used the exact shower that Edward was about to step into, the night I'd been drugged by Mike. I'd stood naked where he was about to stand and touched some of the things that he was about to touch—the very place he was about to have an orgasm in. It sent a shiver of pleasure through me to realize this.

Edward grasped the shower curtain and bunched it completely to one side. It would block the first foot of the shower, enough to catch some of the spray from the showerhead, but not enough to give him any privacy or obstruct my view of him. He bent forward and turned the faucet on, testing the warmth of the water with one hand while the other adjusted the temperature. I was painfully aware that I was staring. Gawking, even. I couldn't stop myself. I silently justified my behavior by convincing myself that it was my job to watch him, but the truth was I was ogling him.

"Are you sure this is okay with you?" My question and tone were a little too perfunctory, given the strange energy in the room. We were only supposed to proceed with something like this if we were both comfortable and prepared, and I had doubts that he was.

"Are you having second thoughts?" he asked, dodging my direct question. When he didn't bother to turn around, I was instantly apprehensive. The way he was acting gave me the answer to my query.

"We agreed at the beginning that we should only do something if we're comfortable. I'm not sure you are." I felt like a bit of a hypocrite challenging him. This was my idea, and he'd volunteered to go first. It was certainly the more difficult of the two positions to be in, and here I was putting him on the spot. He had every right to be nervous—to put the kibosh on doing it if he'd changed his mind—even if I didn't want him to.

"Are you sure?" he countered, straightening up but keeping his back to me. His attempt at nonchalance was almost convincing, but I could see the tremor in his hand.

"I'm nervous. It's a big step," I answered honestly. Admitting the truth out loud made what we were about to attempt feel monumentally huge, like we might be biting off more than we could chew. "But I want to try." I got the words out before my voice cracked, swallowing my fear with each syllable. Then I reluctantly stated the obvious, adding, "If you can't even look at me, that's probably not a good sign."

He turned to face me. His eyes were clear, his expression, ambiguous. "I was trying to keep the mood light, rather than dwell on my nerves. It's not a function of my willingness to try, I assure you. Simply the newness of the situation. I have no qualms about you seeing me without my clothing on or difficulties with body image to speak of. There is, perhaps, a small amount of anxiety regarding how you'll feel about seeing me touch myself. When I worked things out in my mind, I'd assumed that nudity wouldn't occur until coitus, at which point we'd both be adequately camouflaged by the bed linens and the darkness of the room, but that's neither here nor there. Come to think of it, doing it this way is probably easier in the long run so that I can see the parts of your body as I'm learning where to touch you. I'm content to proceed, if you're comfortable?"

Say what? It took everything in me not to giggle when he used the word coitus. Who says that? I'm all for using correct terminology, but before now, Edward had always used the term sex. Why was he suddenly being so technical? At least he didn't call it copulation or fornication. If he'd chosen one of those buzzwords, I wouldn't have been able to hold it together. Not that laughing couldn't have helped diffuse the tension in the room, but it could have just as easily made Edward more self-conscious and blown up in my face.

Truthfully, I hadn't given much thought to the fact that he would see my body. My thoughts were all about him and what I would be seeing. My brain was stuck on whether or not Edward belonged to the turtleneck club and on the size of his junk. Universe willing, watching him would get me so worked up that I wouldn't care what he saw when it was my turn.

Touching myself in front of him was my chance to explore how I could affect Edward, to witness firsthand a woman's power to make a man lose control of his own body. Any naked woman would probably do the job for him, but if it was my body that aroused him, then it was my power to hold over him. I knew it was a tiny bit pathetic and potentially perverted to need this, but I wanted it regardless. Just to make me feel less innocuous. To prove to myself that the guy who was so unaffected by everything and everyone was not impervious to me.

"I'm actually kind of intrigued by the idea of… um… watching you." I blushed, knowing I was probably admitting too much, and if Edward were paying attention, he might have caught the feelings behind my interest. But he never gave much thought to what was going on inside my head. This was all scientific exploration to him, and I was only his lab partner.

He smiled at me, or tried to. It came out more like a simper, a rather unexpected expression to see on the face of a guy who was always so serious. From anyone else, it was understandable—a reasonable reaction to the vulnerability of the situation, but Edward was always so methodical. So often he didn't seem capable of vulnerability. Plus, he said he was comfortable being naked in front of me, and he wasn't one to placate. Despite all the practice I'd had learning to think like Edward, I didn't understand what was behind his expression. Apparently, something about nudity made Edward Cullen feel silly.

He unwrapped the towel from around his hips and threw it onto the floor. I stared at it like I was confused. Maybe I was. I really wasn't sure how I was feeling.

I shifted backward a little, realizing I was probably crowding Edward to some extent. I had a tendency to subconsciously move closer to him. Or maybe he drew me in, an idea that I greatly preferred since it meant I wasn't solely to blame for the fact that I always seemed to be leaning toward him. I rested my ass against the dark wood vanity, needing it for support.

"You can sit on the counter, if you'd be more comfortable." After his offer, he glanced over his shoulder at me and then stepped into the tub.

I pictured myself losing my balance mid-gawk, my ass falling into the sink while my head smacked back against the mirror and shattered it into a million shards of scalp-cutting fun. "Standing's fine," I assured him circumspectly.

"Suit yourself," he said, tucking his chin into his chest and moving into the stream of water. It washed over the top of his head, darkening and flattening his beautiful, bronze hair. He reached out to the faucet and adjusted the temperature one more time. Within moments, steam began to hover in the air around him, the vapor surrounding us like a protective haze. We really were in our own little world now.

I could see his shoulders relax as the warmth of the water worked its magic. Just like that, he pulled the tie at his waist and eased his boardshorts down his hips a small amount, enough to reach in and free his hard-on. About three things I was absolutely positive: he had no turtleneck, I had grossly underestimated the size of his junk, and Edward Cullen's cock was as beautiful as he was.

I watched, mouth agape, as his hand ran up and down his shaft a few times. My eyes flickered to his in curiosity, wondering what he was looking at, but I found them closed. I pouted, irritated. It felt like a wall between us, even though, in reality, it was probably just his way of focusing.

Edward turned his face up toward the water, squeezing his eyes tightly shut against the spray that spattered his skin. He blindly reached for the shampoo, giving the pump three quick smacks with his palm once he found it. He rubbed the liquid between his palms and then threaded his fingers into his hair, making suds as he massaged tiny circles on his scalp. My eyes shot between his cock and his hands, making sure I didn't miss a thing. The familiar scent of his shampoo permeated the air, and I put the subtleties of it to memory, knowing from now on I would work to discern it from the delicious scent that was all him.

He twisted his torso and stepped through the stream of the shower, tipping his head back so the water rinsed his hair. My eyes traced the path of the liquid that tricked down his body, over his shoulder and across his hip. He turned again, his soapy hands moving slowly away from his hair; one wrapped gently around the base of his cock, the other braced his body against the tile.

My heart was beating harder than I thought possible, my eyes greedily darting everywhere. The sight of him in front of me was so much more sensual and erotic than I had imagined. And believe me, I had imagined it extensively, since the first time I'd seen him shirtless more than two years ago. The student body of Forks High had been bused to Port Angeles to participate in a countywide fitness initiative. It was my good luck that he'd been put on a skins team. When I caught sight of him, my mouth fell open—half in shock, half in lust—and stayed that way. My eyes had been glued to his chest as I pondered when and how his body had developed without my notice. I thought he couldn't get any more perfect than he had been that afternoon, but I'd been wrong. His chest had broadened and lengthened. His muscles, once little more than outlines that were almost obscured by his skin, were now defined and practically bulging beneath the pale membrane, peppered with coppery brown hairs that lead my eyes lower than they had ever been able to go.

Suddenly, Edward's hand came away from the wall and shoved at his bathing suit, forcing it further down his thighs. He wiggled his hips a little, and the water took care of the rest. Once his suit had fallen, he simply stepped out of it and flicked it out of his way with one toe. His feet spread and flattened against the tub floor, his toes tensing against the smooth surface as he replanted his hand on the shower wall. My gaze gravitated upward, and I gasped quietly. One look at his spectacular ass was enough to make me beg to touch him. I pulled my lips between my teeth to keep myself from blurting something inappropriate and grasped the countertop even tighter. White knuckles were better than saying something that might potentially put an end to Edward's comfort or enterprise. I wanted to see the whole show. Hell, I wanted an encore, too.

Everything about him was overwhelming. I was almost dizzy from trying to take it all in. When I'd imagined the planes of his body or the grace of his movements in my dreams, my mind hadn't done him justice. There were no words adequate enough to describe his beauty, especially now that I could see his entire body working as a whole. The way the muscles in his forearm flexed and relaxed as his hand worked to bring him pleasure. The way his shoulders tensed until his spine curled inward and his ass tightened. The way his knees bent and his thighs contracted to support the position of his body. The light hold of his fingers. The indentation in his calves. He was utter perfection, and I was mesmerized.

Once I took notice of the emotion building on Edward's face, it held my eyes hostage. I was so curious what the cause of it was. If only there were a way to know what he was thinking about. I wasn't sure if he was even aware of my presence any longer. Watching him was so surreal that it was easy to imagine how he might have slipped into his own little world, pushing everything away so he could feel safe and unguarded. I would know what it felt like to be on his end soon enough.

A quiet grunt from Edward stole my attention and hit me right between the thighs. I'd never had the audacity to imagine what sort of noises he'd make while he touched himself, but I had no doubt they would have paled in comparison to the real thing. His eyes were clamped shut, but his mouth had fallen open, his breath coming in huffy pants. It was all I could do to stay rooted in place, barely controlling the desire to join him in the tub and be a part of his pleasure.

Except for his hand, his body was absolutely still. His thumb rubbed the topside of his cock, while his four fingers curled around and squeezed the underside. His grip was tighter now. The faster his hand moved, the smaller the stroke became, until he was only rubbing the head. My whole body was tense. The unexpected urge to put my mouth on him was so bad that saliva pooled on my tongue.

Watching him made me feel more alive than I'd ever felt. It would have been easy to get swept away in the intimacy of the scene. Instead, I reminded myself what I knew. This was just a double-blind study to him, and he was a scientific tool—the independent variable. He was an objective researcher who was above any sort of experimental bias, entirely uninfluenced by my placebo effect. Like I said, a tool. So I kept my lips caged between my teeth to lock the words inside, in the safety of their internal validity. It didn't mean that I couldn't enjoy the sight before me. Just because the feelings only flowed in one direction didn't make the moment any less intense or amazing. What he was doing was sexy and definitely a turn-on. I ached to be a part of it, instead of only an observer.

The intensity in Edward's expression was breathtaking. I understood why his eyes were shut. Mine would have probably been, too. His fingers, once splayed against the tile, were fisted now. His breathing was erratic, more like a gush of forced air. Even I could tell how close he was.

His head dropped, and he rested it against the arm that braced him, in preparation for his release. My body seemed attuned to his. I felt the prickling of excitement in the pit of my stomach and the hairs on the back of my neck stood up. I could hear my heartbeat in my ears, drumming a backbeat that was double my regular heart rate. I had to remind myself to breathe.

He groaned softly and then swore. The word fuck had never sounded so sexy or seemed more appropriate. I would have started to touch myself right then and there, if it wouldn't have interrupted Edward's concentration. My eyes stayed fixed on his moving hand in anticipation.

When I saw his back tense and straighten, my mind exploded with a hundred thoughts all at once: It's time. He's going to come. He's coming. He's so sexy. So unbelievably sexy. I wish I were touching him. I wish his orgasm were because of me. That it was mine. That he was mine. That I was his. I was his. Always his. Forever his. Even if he never realized it. Pretty cock. Can a cock be pretty? Only Edward Cullen would have the prettiest penis in all the land. So hard. Hard and pretty. Look at his hand move. Oh, to be that hand. Those fingers. Those perfectly long fingers curled so delightfully around that pretty cock. That I want in my mouth. That's hot. So fucking hot. Look at his ass flex. Magnificent. Stunning. Poetry in motion. Is it hot in here? My throat is so dry. Oh my god. Holy fuck. Whoa. Meep. Guh. My thoughts downgraded to gasps, whimpers and grunts when I saw the thick, white stream of cum shoot out of him. It was, hands down, the most erotic thing I'd ever witnessed. Desire was pulsing through me now.

When it was all over, he stayed in place, working to even out his breathing. His head remained down, his features obscured by the arm that braced him. I was thankful, really. Not being able to plainly see his face made the intensity of the situation easier to handle. Though every part of me was aching to touch him, even in his post-orgasmic bliss, I knew he deserved some space after what he'd done—to clean up, to collect his thoughts, to just be. I silently pushed myself away from the vanity and tiptoed out of the bathroom, leaving the door ajar. When he stepped out of the shower, I wanted him to have a modicum of privacy to towel off. That way he could come out of the bathroom when he was in the right mindset, rather than rushing through redressing because he felt like he was on display.

Thoroughly dazed and turned on, I flopped back on to Edward's bed. The soft, off-white duvet was refreshingly cool on my overheated skin, not to mention plush and luxurious. I felt at home surrounded by it. Knowing Edward slept there every night didn't hurt either. I pushed my body up the bed and sighed when my head found the pillows. His scent was layered on the pillowcases, and it only added to my already aroused state. I wasn't exactly lacking in inspiration with the vision of Edward's naked body fresh in my mind. My body was humming with reactions and emotions. I just answered the call, slipping my hand into my bikini bottoms and letting my middle finger connect with the slick spot between my legs that was begging for friction.

~8~

EPOV

Rapture took over, commandeering every bit of my focused energy and blasting it through my veins until my whole body was lost in bliss. There was nothing like the euphoria of an orgasm, at least I'd never experienced anything close to it. This one was particularly forceful, though understandably so. It wasn't every day that a pretty girl watched me touch myself, not unless you counted the faces that flitted through my mind while I was doing it. I certainly didn't. They weren't real people anyway, just some objectification of the attributes I found attractive in a female—angles and curves—rounded flesh and dewy skin, long legs and flowing hair, dark lashes and rosy cheeks.

When my breathing finally slowed down, I turned my head to look at Bella and was surprised to find the spot she'd been in was vacated. An echo of panic ran up my spine. Surely watching me hadn't been too much for her, had it? She would have spoken up, wouldn't she?

Going ahead with Bella's idea had been a spur of the moment decision. We had mistakenly not taken the time to discuss a specific out. Admittedly, I got caught up in the excitement too quickly to think beyond the act and consider the consequences to the experiment. We'd both seemed so willing.

She'd raised a valid point about advancement. The course thus far had been bumpy and not without retrogression. Our progress had been made in lurches and generally on the back of some kind of difficulty—certainly not how I'd intended it to proceed. In hindsight, I hadn't pulled my weight in terms of experimental design, choosing instead to let Bella's knowledge lead us. Now that we'd exhausted her experience, it was even more important to ensure that each step we took was well thought out, with all the details arranged. Since we'd overlooked the method this time around, I had to trust that Bella would have spoken up if something had made her uncomfortable. Still, without knowing for sure, it was difficult to shake off the doubt entirely. After quickly cleaning up, I stepped out of the tub intent on finding her. If this exercise had pushed her boundaries too far, I would let her defer her turn until she was ready. Cooperation was imperative for our partnership to work, and I was more determined than ever to see it through.

As I ran a towel through my hair, I debated where to look for Bella. She was wearing her bathing suit when we came up to my room, so perhaps she had returned to the pool to change. Maybe I'd find her waiting in the kitchen or the music room, two places she seemed comfortable. She was so headstrong, though. Something told me I'd find her sitting outside, on the hood of the Volvo, huddled into a ball inside her big brown coat to keep warm. Only she would choose to freeze in order to prove a point, stubborn, fatuous girl that she was.

I cursed under my breath when I realized that I'd forgotten to bring dry clothing into the bathroom with me. There was no way I was putting my cold, wet bathing suit back on, especially if I had to go outside to look for Bella. I wrapped the towel around my hips, venturing out of the bathroom to get something to wear when I was stopped dead in my tracks.

I'd been wrong. She hadn't wandered far, and by the look of things, she was not put off by what she'd seen me do in the shower. Quite the contrary, actually.

Bella lay sprawled on my bed, her dark hair fanned out over my pillows. Her long, pale legs were split—one knee bobbing gently in the air and the other flat against the mattress. Her right hand was hidden beneath her bikini bottoms, delicately moving up and down. I shouldn't have been shocked that she was holding up her end of the agreement, but I had no other explanation as to why I was holding my breath.

Everything about Bella held my eyes, and it went so far beyond the sensuality of her pose. The comforter that surrounded her served to warm the tone of her already creamy skin. The contrast of the scarlet fabric of her bathing suit against the linen was staggeringly bold—blood red in a sea of white sand—demanding my attention in an authoritative and almost violent way. She was, in a word, breathtaking.

How strange that I'd never imagined anyone in my bed like she was now. Well, not necessarily exactly like that but doing something similar… with me. Not that I had some perverse desire to explore mutual masturbation or that the desire was perverse. I'd just never thought about a girl in my bed, period. I'd imagined girls and beds with girls in them, but never any girl in this bed.

I was struck by how becoming she looked there. The night I'd helped her with Mike I'd been too tired to notice how she looked when she slid between the sheets. I'd been too anxious to convince her to stop talking and go to sleep to pay much attention to anything. By the next morning, she'd abandoned the bed in lieu of sleeping curled up next to me on the floor, so I'd never gotten the chance to really see her there. Though I spent a lot of time in my room, it was almost exclusively at my desk, if I wasn't sleeping. Seeing her on the bed made me long to curl up under the covers and relax.

I scrutinized the movement of her hand, trying to judge its speed and pattern. Her knuckles weren't bending in unison, but aside from that, I couldn't ascertain the pressure she used or exactly which group of fingers she touched herself with. The lack of knowledge was irritating. My need to know was far more absorbing than curiosity. It was serious and just short of urgent.

I leaned into the doorframe, partly for support but mostly for the slight change in viewing angle that the new position afforded me. I could see Bella's face better from there and studied the way her brow furrowed, the slight parting of her lips, and the faint pink flush on her cheeks. Did she know I was there? Was she embarrassed or simply overheated? If only her eyes were open, then I might have been able to tell. Admittedly, I was kind of shitty at discerning the thoughts there, but I had no chance at all if they remained closed.

And I wanted to know.

Bella turned her face away as a quiet mewl left her lips. Without meaning to, I took a step forward, stopping myself when I thought better of it. Her left hand moved to her bikini bottoms, twisting the tie with purposeful guidance until the bow was undone. The suit fell away from her body and revealed the naked curve of her hip, the sight of which made me groan. I traced the red edges with my eyes and gaped as the fabric slipped and shifted against the repetitive stirring of her fingers. She was as good as fully exposed to my eyes now, and I felt drunk on the image.

One step became two, then three. My need for understanding was taking over, seizing and binding me like a vine. It was like my subconscious thought that closing the distance between us would somehow grant me answers. I wasn't even sure what the questions were. All I had to guide me were the hints of words on the tip of my tongue and an ache in the pit of my stomach like I'd been punched.

When I reached the corner of the bed opposite to where she lay, I dropped to my knees, quashing the urge to crawl closer to her. I refused to take my eyes off of her, unwilling to risk missing a single one of her actions. Each was a piece of the puzzle, and I'd never have a full appreciation of what was required if there were pieces missing.

I studied the gentle rise and fall of her chest with every shallow breath she took, the way her skin nearly shimmered in the pale glow of the filtered afternoon sun, the flex and stretch of her tiny toes as they mirrored the internal rush of sensation that she was swept away in. Every detail was monitored and catalogued by my greedy, ravenous eyes.

No longer hidden by her bathing suit, I surveyed the circular stroking motion of her middle finger as it slid along her sensitive flesh. Her touch was feather-light, her pace, slow and even. Her lids fluttered but didn't open, much like they would in REM sleep. I wondered what she was thinking of behind those tightly closed eyes. Did she have an image of a perfect man that made her heart race and her blood pulse? Did girls even think in gross anatomy and erogenous zones?

Her left hand stole up her body, its unexpected movement catching my attention. Tense fingers cupped her breast, squeezing and massaging until she moaned. The sound filled my ears and went right to my cock. Just like that, I was hard again. My body's reaction was expected in this circumstance, but it still took me by surprise. My release had been intense and fulfilling, not to mention recent. There was no logic in the way my body craved more of what it had just been given. I couldn't account for it. It had to be Bella.

It occurred to me that she might be showing me what she liked, subtly correcting the gentle way I'd touched her breasts last night. She was much rougher than I had been. My mouth fell open as I watched her fingertips coerce the stretchy fabric aside, revealing her delicate pink nipple to my scrutiny. I had as much appreciation for the female form as any seventeen year old, but seeing her there in front of me—in the flesh—had a profound effect on me. My memory was incapable of doing justice to what I saw. It was far too limited and two-dimensional to ever capture the sensuality of the weighted curve of her flesh or the contrast of the rosy peak against its pale background.

I was drawn to her in a way I'd never felt before. Not with anyone. I didn't understand why, only that I didn't want to fight it, not like I had when she'd first kissed me. This was too enticing to resist, too powerful to be ignored.

I inwardly cursed my agreement to keep this a hands-off exercise. If only I had known my response would be this strong. It felt unnatural to be so passive when my body was screaming at me to react. All the instincts and desires that I doubted the existence of were writhing and exploding inside me like a hundred distinct voices in my head. I had to tuck my hands safely behind my bent knees to combat the urge to reach out and touch her.

To further control my urges, I focused on dissecting each subtlety I could discern—every tiny change in response to her efforts. I monitored the path of her finger with my eyes, determining which places it pressed into her with more momentum, watching it dip and disappear inside her body, committing the circuit to memory. The understanding that she used her own wetness for lubrication made it hard for me to swallow. It was so uninhibited and made what was happening so much more real.

There was so much to take in, each thing more distracting than the last. Her left hand worked her nipple, rolling and tugging the hard, rounded tip while her pinkie finger bestowed gentle caresses to the underside of her breast. The antithesis of the two actions was wickedly duplicitous, yet perfectly correlated—tender and passionate, yielding yet forceful—the yin and yang of sexual fulfillment. The delicate balance between the two had never been more obvious to me.

I had a lot to learn before I would be able make someone feel the pleasure she brought herself.

The movement of her fingers became quicker and more erratic. Small, rapid circles replaced the long, delicate strokes. There was no resistance; her delicate moisture coated everything. I couldn't tear my eyes away.

Her hips began to move in time with her hand, tiny, quick thrusts against the friction. I wondered what it felt like for her, if it felt anything like it did for me. In gestation, our bodies began with the same undifferentiated cells but became so opposite in development. There was so much softness to her—lovely, leading curves to draw my eyes in and hold them to her—so much more beautiful than the male form. With a sudden certainty, I realized that Bella was the epitome of everything that appealed to me about the opposite sex.

The closer she got to her orgasm, the tenser her body became. I could see it in the way the muscles in her calves and thighs flexed, in the way her hips rose and her ass tightened. The series of actions was a finite loop. It was only matter of time before she found release.

The strange part was that she was absolutely quiet. Even her shallow breathing made very little sound. I'd grown accustomed to the little squeaks and sighs she made when we kissed, and I found myself wondering if she were holding her reactions in. During was my turn, I had tried to keep my response natural and not filter anything for the sake of modesty. Her muteness seemed spurious.

Her internal struggle was clear in her expression. It was odd to see her caught up in her own thoughts, since that was usually my problem. Despite the fact that this whole thing was her idea, I suspected that she felt self-conscious. It was understandable, though I felt no such thing when our roles were reversed. I was probably just more comfortable with my body or maybe more experienced with masturbation. The reading I'd done suggested that teenage boys started the practice much earlier than their female counterparts.

Part of me wanted to touch her to bring her back to her task. This was supposed to be about pleasure, not anxiety. I warred with myself over interrupting her. She'd helped me get over myself many times in the past. In a lot of ways I owed her the same consideration she'd shown me. I just didn't know whether reaching out or keeping my hands to myself was the answer.

I settled on what I thought was the right choice and tentatively stretched my hand out to touch her leg. Bella's response was something akin to a moan mixed with a gasp, a huge rush of air leaving her lungs as soon as my fingertips came into contact with her skin. It felt like the sound seeped into every pore of my skin, a rush of emotion and energy pulsing through me.

I withdrew my hand quickly, hoping that my actions hadn't offended her. Her leg followed my hand, as if an invisible string connected us. I stopped and gently laid my palm against her skin, testing. She sighed, and her face relaxed. In fact, her whole body seemed to uncoil under my touch. It wasn't what I expected, quite the opposite, actually. I thought my touch would jolt her out of her thoughts, not calm her. I couldn't account for her reaction, and it made me uncomfortable. Now that I'd given my help, it would be unfair to withdraw it. Perhaps I shouldn't have offered it in the first place.

In the back of my mind, I knew why I'd reached out—selfishness. I didn't like suppressing my instincts and wanted to somehow circumvent the rule that we'd agreed upon. But it was too intimate. I had no right to interfere. Having my hand wrapped around her calf put me in the middle of her sexual pleasure, a place I had business being when I had no idea how to arouse or please her in such a way.

Even more, the fact that I wanted to share in her enjoyment was significant in and of itself. That wasn't what the exercise was designed for. It was supposed to be purely informational. By reaching out to her, I was acknowledging that what I was feeling was beyond simple desire. Watching pornography didn't make me want to touch the porn star, but watching Bella touch herself made me want to touch her. Not just touch her but also play a part in her pleasure indirectly, if not directly. The desire would have been insignificant if I had controlled it, but I hadn't. And that scared the shit out of me. That's not what the experiment was about. It's not what Bella and I were about.

But it was about what I felt for her.

Her softly whispered words pulled me out of my preoccupation, just a moment before she went over the edge. I watched in shocked silence as she writhed and tensed, coaxing her body through several cycles of orgasmic pleasure with slippery, moving fingers. Her reaction was so much more internal than I had expected it to be—than I'd wanted it to be.

I pulled away, turning my back to her and sitting down on the floor, utterly bewildered. Dissatisfaction twisted in my stomach, and discomfort clouded my mind. It was not how I thought I'd feel after watching her, not one single part of it. Not the attraction or urges or instincts or emotions, but one thing was certain. I no longer needed the experiment to test whether she made me feel something. The feelings existed—real and unbidden, and I couldn't deny it any longer.

A/N: Just a couple of things…

The one-shot I wrote for the Curvaceous And Bodacious Bombshell Fic Contest—called Through My Eyes—made it to the second round of voting. The winners will be announced on Friday, May 6th. I've never competed in a contest with SO MANY wonderful entries, 33 in all. Go have a read.

The lovely Adarnell started a thread over at the Twilighted forums for this story. Thank you for the support. It means the world to me that you thought enough of EEoEC to do so. The link is on my profile if you want to check it out. I'll be posting teasers, answering questions and discussing the story over there.

So… this chapter, haha. Too much smut? Enjoyable?

Did Bella react the way you expected she would while watching Edward? What about while Edward was watching her? Did you expect her quietness?

Did Edward's reactions to watching Bella fit with your visions? Were you surprised about his revelation? Did he cross the line when he closed in on her personal space? How about when he touched her leg?

Now that it's done how do you think they are both going to act?

Leave me a review and let me know!