thanks to my beautiful beta, WriteOnTime, and ciaobella27, who read this because i promised her smut.
I don't own Twilight.
We're in my bedroom. It's what he wanted.
The couch would have sufficed.
We're naked. Again, his idea. Definitely a good one. We're kissing. It's all him. I'm just responding. Reacting. Being a good host. Being a good lover. Or the worst kind. He hasn't noticed. Or who am I kidding? I'm kissing him, too. At least right now I am. I'm making sure they're the deepest kisses. I'm making sure he's left breathless. I'm making sure his heart is pounding in the craziest, fastest rhythm. I'm making sure I feel it.
He attacks me. I'm terrified. Instinct. I want to protect myself. To fight back. That urge is gone in a second, though, and I'm lying back, waiting. I know what he wants. He doesn't want any more foreplay. He's done with the waiting and kissing and touching. The way he looks right now. How hard he is. How hot and ready. It's obscene. It weakens me. His arms. His thighs. The way he's right above me. He wants to fuck. Now I'm the one who's breathless. And I'm nervous as hell, my heart is about to stop, it's about to give up, but I know what's next. What will make it all better. I relax my body and open my legs for him. I reach out and grab the back of his head. Hold it, gently, run my fingers through his hair.
He's inside me so fast. His thrusts are hard and fast. This is all about him letting go of whatever he's got inside that's killing him. He needs to learn that this isn't going to work. It's not the way to do it. But I let him, because it feels good. I like it like this. I always have. He's always been half-angry in bed. It's almost like he has a personality. Feelings. Like if I ask him something now, he'll be decisive, firm.
It's very quiet sex. Yes, the sounds you'd normally hear are there. The reactions. I want to find something to complain about, be unhappy about, but the satisfaction I'm getting just from having him here, his knees on my sheets and his smell, and I can't even lie, his dick inside me. I could never complain again. Ever again.
My hand goes to his chest. He's so sexy. And he has no idea. I've distracted him. And he's looking down at my fingers, and then at my face. Everything slows down. He's resting on top of me now, still pushing into me, still not too sweet or romantic or soft, but his kisses make this less quiet. I'm shaking under him. He doesn't just kiss my neck, he sucks and nibbles, and then like he's taking care of a wound, he licks just a little before moving to a new spot. He's not quiet either, anymore. His hands find my breasts. My hands find his butt. I make him kiss me. I pull him so close. I become an active participant. I'm not a kid anymore. I'm not that kid.
It's weird how his hand automatically moves between us. It's something new. I push it away and use mine instead. And I'm touching him, and I'm touching myself. And then it's over pretty quickly.
I open my mouth over his shoulder.
"What if I bit you?"
"I don't care."
XxXxX
"I need to use the bathroom, but I feel really weird walking around naked with you here."
He laughs. "It's your place. You shouldn't feel weird."
"You'll be watching."
"Well, yeah."
"It's weird," I insist.
He kisses my nose and left cheek, and the right one is itching and aching and feeling left out.
"How is it weird?"
"I don't know. I guess I don't know how to do this. Like, how does this work?"
"You've done it before..." he says.
It's not the best thing to hear, but I'm laughing into his chest.
"I'm normally not this slutty," I promise.
"You're not—"
"Yeah, okay."
"I guess I'll just have to make an honest woman out of you."
"That's not funny." My voice cracks a little.
"I'm sorry."
He kisses me and I kiss back until I feel disgusting just lying here. I get up, naked and not caring, or caring just a little, because he iswatching me. I giggle, and so does he, and when I'm back I throw myself onto him.
"See? You can do it," he tells me.
"Yeah."
"It's just like before. Except this time you love me back."
"Uh, you're crazy."
He's pouting. "You said it a dozen times."
"No, you're crazy for thinking I didn't love you then," I whisper. Things sound sweeter and more sincere when you whisper them.
"I really want to be with you," he says.
"You are."
And because he makes my heart so full and everything inside me so crazy, I'm under the sheets and grabbing him, and just as he says my name I kiss him. Again and again and again. Him. It. I guess just it.
He moves the sheets off me and touches my hair. My lips are on him, my tongue, too, a few times. I look at him and kiss it again.
"Remember how you used to beg me?" I ask.
He laughs.
"There goes all of my self-respect. Possibly my dignity, too."
"No. Keep doing it," he says.
I do. I'm not wasting another second. I'm never pretending again. This is everything. For now. Whatever makes him happy.
XxXxX
Just twenty minutes later, that attitude has vanished. Gone.
I'm spoiling him. He's going to leave tomorrow. He doesn't deserve any of this.
And the boy did nothing to bring this on. I think I'm crazy.
I'm wearing a long, oversized tank and sitting in the kitchen, hungry and thirsty, waiting for him to take out the Pop-Tarts he decided he had to have. He doesn't follow instructions, and they're going to be too hot to eat.
"You don't cook at all?" he asks me.
"I do. Basic stuff." I pinch his arm. "Were you expecting me to cook for you?"
"No, of course not. I was just wondering."
"Clean up after you? Bet you're used to that."
"I clean up after myself."
"Sure you do," I tease. "I bet you like being the man of the house."
"Is that a bad thing?"
I shrug, still smiling and not taking this conversation too seriously.
"Let me guess," Edward says. "You're above it all. You don't cook or clean for anyone."
"Uh... and how do I function?"
"You do it for yourself, but you're no housewife."
"Yeah, I'm really not. I'm single."
"You know what I mean," he says.
"Not really." Liar.
I blow on the Pop-Tarts a few times. He tells me I'm disgusting.
"I'll make breakfast tomorrow," I tell him. "Would that make you feel better?"
"I don't care about that stuff, Bella."
"Right..."
"Let's eat these, even though they're covered in your saliva, and then maybe we can go out and find something."
"It's so late."
"Isn't that what's so great about living in a city? Things are supposed to be open late," he says.
"I guess..."
He smiles and we both break our Pop-Tarts in half, waiting for them to cool down.
"This is such a nice place. Good neighborhood. I'm impressed."
"Yeah, it's not bad. It's not ideal, but when I got this job I knew I had to come back. Mom's so happy. And it's really a great opportunity."
"You wanted to stay?" he asks me.
"Yes."
"Your mom mentioned something about you flying out to take the bar exam in New York in a couple of months. Why would you do that?"
"It's a good bar to have."
"You want to move back there?"
"I don't know. Probably not," I admit. "I have a lot of friends there, but they're all settling down, getting married. It definitely won't be the same."
"Do you want that?"
"To settle down?"
"Yeah."
"You know how I feel about marriage. I'm not sure it's what I want."
"A lot of women say that, but do you mean it?" he asks. "Aren't you all supposed to want it? A wedding. Kids."
"I don't really believe... And I know that sounds lame, but I don't really believe in it. I mean, I get why other people do it, but I don't think I could."
"So... if you fall in love and want to be with someone..."
"I've fallen in love," I tell him.
"With me."
"With you."
"You wouldn't want to marry me? Okay. I know that's a stupid question, but if things were different... Whenthings are different..."
"I can't tell you what I'd want if you were single, if things were different. You're a bad example, anyway. Or, you know, a great example of why people shouldn'tget married."
And I can tell I've hurt his feelings, which is so ridiculous. I push away my plate and put my hands on his chest.
"It's about me, though," I tell him. "I honestly don't know if I can be a wife. Be married. I don't think it's sustainable. And not because people cheat. I just don't... understand it."
"What don't you understand?" he asks.
"Don't you think it's strange? It's like this strange situation... I'm here, you can't escape me. You might want to escape me, but that would make you a badperson. And I love you, and I don't want you to be a bad person. Why do that to the person you love? To a relationship?"
"Bella... that's very cynical."
"Is it? Aren't you trying to escape from your own marriage?"
"We have problems. We've had them for a while now. Not everyone—"
"No. Everyone."
He doesn't argue with me. He washes some glasses and then joins me on the couch. I'm in his arms, pressed up against his side.
I think about what I told him, what I said I believe. And all of it is true, at least to me, but I also know that I have dreams and fantasies. They involve big parties and white dresses. But it's all part of what I've been told I should want. And dresses are pretty. I don't know. I don't know what the alternative is. Casual relationships? Long-term relationships with no marriage license? How would that be any different?
I want to tell him I want him, I'd be with him, I'd be a wife. But I don't want to become Rose. I don't want to become my mom. And even worse... I think that in that situation, I'm more likely to be my dad.
Why do they come back and make everything sad?
"Hey," I breathe into his ear. "I want us to do that again."
"I know. I don't want to leave."
I climb on top of him, kiss him a few times.
"I know. It's like I knew, but now I know."
"What do you mean?" he asks, brushing my hair off my face and sucking lightly on my jaw.
"I mean... being here with you... beingwith you... I know it's not just a crush."
"You had tosleepwith me to figure that out?"
His hands are still on me, but they're different. I caress his cheek and rest my head against his chest to calm him.
"No," I explain, "I just wanted to know if it would be like before, if it was all in my head. And you know you wanted to know, too. If there's something..."
"What the fuck have we been doing all summer, Bella? Do you think I'd be here if I didn't know? I didn't have to have sex with you to—"
"No, you didn't. Because you've done that before and you made a choice. You married your choice. That's done. Don't make me feel like I'm a bad person or that I don't love you enough just because I had to have this again."
"What do you want from me?" he demands.
"What do you mean? What are you giving me?"
"Answer my question. Are you only interested in sleeping with me? What do you want?"
"You're married," I remind him, standing up. It makes him look worse. It's mean, because I want it to be. "What I want doesn't even matter. This. I want this. I want you. What do you want me to say? 'Leave Rose and move in with me'? I'm not telling you to do that, just like I didn't tell you to dump her back in high school."
"Great, so let's have a repeat of that."
"Why are you acting like it's on me? Like this is my fault?"
"You won't tell me what you want," he says. "I don't even know if you'd want to be with me."
"Be with you? You're really going to leave your wife and then just bewith me? Just like that. Smooth transition."
"I know it sounds simple and even a little cruel, but, listen—"
He grabs my wrists and brings me down onto the couch next to him.
"Listen," he starts again, "I'm not a bad guy. I wasn't even a bad husband. Yeah, I thought about you from time to time, and yeah, I was attracted to other women. I never did anything bad, not until now, not until this summer. I know I don't seem like someone you'd want to keep around, but Bella, if I were married to you,if you were my wife—"
"Are you serious right now?"
"I would never, never, cheat on you. I'd never disres—"
"Oh my God. I can't talk about this right now."
"Then when? We need to figure out stuff."
"I don't know," I say. My tone is a little softer, and it calms him down. He holds me while I think. And I'm lucky he can't read my thoughts. Even I can't. There are so many of them. They're conflicting. I think he loves me. I think this is real. I think he'd leave her if I told him it's everything I wanted. But I don't trust him. I genuinely do not trust this man. I think he'll chicken out once he's back there. I think he loves her more than he knows, more than he wants to love her. I think I'll be waiting for a long time before he finally acts. I think it will kill me. I want him to call her right now and tell her it's over. My dad did it. He destroyed lives with a simple phone call.
See? I'm sick. I'm a bad person. And I'm crying all over his shoulder. Into his neck.
"Bella, it's okay. We'll do whatever you want."
What do I want?
"If you want me to, I'll leave, and I'll give you some time."
Please leave. Go. But I can't say it out loud.
"It's okay. Stop crying. Please."
And again, "please." And then again. And again.
When he knows it's not working "please" turns into "I love you," and I'm calmer, but not because of his words. I never cry for long.
XxXxX
This isn't a fairytale. Or a love story. It's not much of anything.
He's staying one more night because I won't let him go back. I guess the job was a myth. People exaggerate. He's not crushed like he should be, but definitely disappointed. And disappointment is the worst. I can't watch it, see its effect on people. It makes me cringe. I'm uncomfortable and sad for him. But it's like I knew things wouldn't come easy.
Maybe it's for the best, I tell him. What if Rosalie decided to follow him here without any arguments? What if she did that to make him happy? How do you say "no" and tell that person it's over? Not that I think he'll be able to tell her it's over anytime soon. He thinks he will. I just rub his shoulders and tell him nothing. I think I said "it's okay" once. But that's the behavior that got us here in the first place. It's not okay. I love him.
And just as soon as those words pop into my head I'm asking myself, "Do you love him?" I think so. I hope so. At least until he breaks my heart again. Then I can just pretend it was lust. A game. Just another guy I wanted badly. So much that I had to make him sleep with me. Just another one of those.
He's here for another night, and even if he's upset, he wants sex, and he wants cuddles in the bedroom and kitchen and on the floor. He's got a tiny bit of romantic in him, and we're joking about kissing and rolling around and kissing some more, so I move the coffee table, but the floor is hard and it hurts. He's poking me and I'm poking him and no waves are crashing over us. But he fucks me slowly in the middle of the living room, and now I'll never be able to forget this. Just like that goddamn green wall.
Suddenly, out of nowhere (but not really):
"This is so wrong."
I'm not even angry. I just ignore him.
"But I want this," he continues. "Last night I thought maybe it's just about sex. Shit, I don't know. I don't know, Bella. What am I doing right now? I want to take you back with me. This was the best summer of my life."
He's babbling on like a child. He sounds ridiculous. Stupid. Crazy. But crazy about me. And so confused. I see this, I see what he's turned into. A half-naked boy lying on my floor, trying to figure out his life. It makes me sad, because I've been such a shitty friend.
What have I done to you? I want to ask. But I'm not sorry. Not even a little bit.
busy, busy week, but here's another chapter. i hope you guys received the epov and enjoyed it. i've been writing a lot of it lately just to get in his head. if you want it, just ask.
anyway, i know a lot of you are annoyed or upset. tell me your thoughts anyway? predictions? judgments? send them my way.
thank you. mwah.