Chapter 14: Teasing

You poor things. I'm going on vaycay for the next few days, so you might not get an update for a bit. However, lying around is apt to get the little grey cells going, you know? Anyhow, Ed is still badgering me for more chapters, and Bella definitely wants the next one. As I'm afraid of her chipper-shredder, I must bow to their combined will. You won't mind reading a few more chappies, will you?

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Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement, and no resemblance to persons living or dead, is intended.

Definition: Seduciary Responsibility: the obligation of a husband to regularly fulfill the sexual needs of his wife.

Monday, July 18th, 2005:

The Fairmont Olympic:

Bella's pov:

I crawled up my mate's back on all fours and collapsed, panting, onto the muted red hallway carpet. Rolling onto my side, I caught Edward drooling, starry-eyed.

"Enjoying the view?" I teased, and he narrowed his eyes, taking life much too seriously. The groupies and fangirls had taken their toll. In the elevator shaft, there was a rolling sound, and I realized that the elevator was about to come upstairs. My mate whisked me off to our room at top vampire speed, and let us in. Chests heaving, we sagged onto the floor, and Edward put his back against the door, reached up, and locked it. Ah, safe! At least from the local humans. We stared at each other, a little awkwardly, and I did my level best not to laugh at him. I mean, I totally wanted him to look up my skirt, right? And the Victorian was coming out in full force, dammit. Not a good time to tease him, obviously.

Sighing, I grabbed at my right Converse and tried to undo it, spraying the room with water droplets in the process. The laces were impossible. My shoes were sloshy inside. I couldn't imagine how wet Edward's feet were. He had carried me on his back for blocks. He reached up and removed George's black baseball cap, tossing it toward the floor of the closet with a sigh. His hair was pressed flat against his head in wet curls, and his white Oxford was still completely see-through. In short, he looked edible.

"I can't get my shoes untied," I complained, picking at the lace. He motioned me over, still sitting all akimbo against the door. I crawled over and put my right foot against his inner thigh, and he plucked at the lace for several seconds without speaking. Finally, it gave, and he slipped off my shoe. Water poured out of it, and I noticed that he shifted a bit so that it saturated the carpet instead of his lap. My mate set down my foot and gestured for the left, so I spread my legs wide, leaning back on my hands, and let him pick at the other one.

"What happened to the jeans you busted the other night?" I wondered, hoping he was getting a good view.

"They were irreparable. I threw them out," he frowned. My lace finally gave, and he slipped off my shoe, taking my heel in his hand and massaging my foot. "We need to get you warm. Your skin feels colder than mine."

"Just keep doing that, and I'll get plenty warm," I promised. Sighing, he put down my foot and folded his legs up to undo his own shoes. I watched him with affectionate exasperation. He really was determined to behave himself.

My mate looked at his soggy Sketchers with revulsion, rose, and carried them into the bathroom. He upended them into the tub, draining the water from them, and tossed them on the floor. He took off his socks, then he unbuttoned his shirt self-consciously, careful not to break the buttons, and hung it over the shower rod. Wallet on the counter, watch and leather cuff perfectly aligned beside it, belt out of the jeans. Oh. My.

We had only been in the room for a couple of minutes, and I already had a half-naked vampire in my bathroom. This was going better than I thought. Perhaps I could make him forget the Victorian after all. Without meaning to, I went and stood in the open doorway, riveted. As though he could Hear my wishes, his head twitched in my direction, then, he lowered his hands to his fly, and slowly unbuttoned it.

Holy crow! Maybe he wasn't planning on behaving himself after all.

I resisted asking him to turn around. He climbed in the tub, still wearing the jeans, and opened the taps, adjusting the temperature until steam poured out of the faucet, and then he turned on the shower. Breathing deeply, he let the water flow over his head, leaving his hair dark and smooth, and hanging in his eyes. He pushed it back. And then, he turned to face me, black-eyed and ruddy-lipped and smelling of man.

"Come in, Isabella," he growled, almost looking angry. My knees trembled and my heart tried to climb out of my throat. I walked right up to him, eyes locked on his.

"Closer."

I stepped right up to the side of the tub, and peeked at him meekly through the steam.

"You've been teasing me all day," he rasped. I gulped, and my knees started to shake. Was he mad at me? He palmed his bulge inside the open waist of the streaming wet jeans, staring, and I wished that I knew what he was thinking.

"You've been driving me mad," he growled.

Oh. "Sorry," I breathed, eyes falling upon those musician's fingers, rubbing and squeezing, and pleasing to him. I was so curious. I wanted to learn him. All of him. Even his feet were beautiful.

"No, you're not," he argued, all fiery-eyed. "You've been doing it on purpose, because you want me to see. You want me to look, don't you? Bella?"

I blushed furiously, and he reached out a dripping wet hand and tilted up my chin.

"Say it."

I loved his teeth, bared strong and white, but a little crooked, and somehow endearing despite their potential ferocity. Life and death forever linked. Like him.

"I want you to look," I blurted, feeling my face get hot.

My mate leaned down, brushed his lips over mine, and breathed, "I want you to look, too."

Oh. My. Edward. Please God don't let me pass out.

"You are going to sit there," he ordered me, pointing at the toilet opposite the tub, "and you are not going to move. At all. You will not make a sound, you will not touch yourself, and most importantly, you will not touch me. If you give me the impression that you are about to do any of those things, I am going to tear my shirt to ribbons, tie you up, and make you submit. I will do whatever I deem necessary to preserve your life. Is that clear?"

My jaw dropped. I seriously considered doing exactly the opposite of what he told me to do, just to see if he would follow through. Would he really tie me up? If I said anything, would he gag me? I bet he would. He was from the wrong century, after all. Was it wrong of me to be turned on by that? I was pretty sure it put me somewhere on par with a Denali sister.

"Isabella. Is it clear?"

I shut my mouth and bobbed my head precisely once. He pointed at the john, and I sat. His eyes dissected me quarter inch by quarter inch, and narrowed.

"You're considering disobedience," he evaluated curtly. Taking his index finger, he traced a line down my jugular, stopping at the neckline of my dress. I really hoped he wouldn't tear it, because it was one of the nicest things I'd ever had. But he just tipped up my chin again, sending hot water trickling off him onto my front, and leaned forward, over-enunciating dictatorially. "Don't."

I blinked, blown away, and he touched his finger to my mouth to silence me. He stepped back into the tub, and faced the shower head on my left.

Tentatively, his hands slipped into his jeans, and worked them down. They were soaking wet, and therefore difficult to remove. I suppressed a groan, and pressed my thighs together firmly.

"I told you not to move," he rumbled, leaning a claw-like hand against the wall.

Move? Who, me? I am not moving. Not one smidge.

He kicked off the jeans, leaving behind nothing but a pair of white Calvin's that was getting increasingly see-through. Groan… get wet, Beautiful. Show me what you've got. I felt my privates clench and release, and clench again.

Bending to his left, he picked up the jeans and squirted his shampoo onto them, lathered them thoroughly, squeezing them in his hands, and rinsed them out. He turned toward me just long enough to hang them over the curtain rod, giving me a glimpse of hard cock imprisoned by now-gauzy fabric, and then turned away, immersing himself under the spray of water. It coursed down the muscles of his back, and the skin of his ass appeared, pale apricot, through the saturated boxer briefs.

Retrieving the shampoo, he applied it to his hair, and stroked it through, then stood under the shower again so that the suds sped down his body in white trails. "I hate being dirty," he murmured, turning, and tipped back his head, running his hands over it so that I was flecked with water. "The rain here, it's not like home. It smells bad. Pollution." His eyes were shut, and the lashes lay dark on the cheek that was visible to me. Water glistened on his inhumanly radiant skin, and I followed its path downward, hungry for knowledge. He picked up his sandalwood soap, and ran it over his upper body. The scent permeated the humid air so that the whole room smelled of him, and I thought I finally understood properly how scent could sing.

He faced me, and leaned against the back wall of the enclosure, legs spread. And then, he ran the soap over his underwear, and rubbed it in, setting the bar aside. He watched me through black eyes shot through with silver, lips pouty and red. And then, he wrenched his underwear aside enough to thrust his other hand inside, and grasp his dick.

"So, you want to see, do you?" he rasped, his hand working on parts unseen.

Yes. Yes I do. Thanks very much. Hurry up.

He turned his back on me.

Huh? What? Oh, no you did not just do that, Edward Cullen! My body turned into one gigantic knot in the effort to keep still and silent. On the inside, I was screaming. I didn't dare let it out. I was pretty sure he would eat me if I did, and not in a good way. My breath scythed in and out despite my best effort, and I began to feel angry. And to my shock, I realized that he knew. He turned that chiselled jaw over his shoulder and drank up my reaction with a cocky grin.

"It's not nice to tease, is it?"

I wanted to bellow at him. I wanted to jump his bones. I wanted… I wanted… to bend him over my knee and spank that delicious ass. And while I plotted his punishment, his eyes gentled and lit with humour. Was he laughing at me? Insufferable, wet, gorgeous, frustrating-

And abruptly, I realized that when I walked around flashing him glimpses of my pussy, he felt the same way. He was trying to show me how maddening it was. And I got it. I totally got it. He was just as needy as me. He was just better behaved.

"What do you say, Bella?" he asked, looking like a cat with a mouthful of yellow feathers. The man looked like he expected an answer. I wondered if I gave one, if I would be trussed up like a hog-tied calf. Ooh. That might be interesting.

It probably wasn't an appropriate thing to hope for, since he was entirely capable of damaging me.

"Sorry," I breathed.

"Hah. Well, that was not what I expected. Try again."

I swallowed heavily. "Can I … can I see?"

"What's the magic word, Isabella?"

I was so tempted to give in to temper and tell him the magic word was 'now'. However, my mother always told me that you catch more bees with honey. "Please?"

He rested his forehead against the wall, while I wrestled with anxiety and anticipation. Then, he huffed a laugh. "Mmm. That was the one I was waiting for." He turned his face back to mine, and his eyes were black fire. "No more teasing."

I swallowed nervously, and bobbed my head. He hooked his left thumb into the back of his Calvin's, and pushed them down, exposing one glorious, toned glute to my greedy eyes. I wanted to lick it. Desperately. He hooked his other thumb into the far side of his underwear, and pulled it down his thighs.

I think I just died and went to Heaven.

He shuffled in place, one-two, and the Calvin's fell with a smack to the floor.

Pant. Pant. Pant.

I begged him with my eyes, and he watched me avidly. Then, he turned, and I whimpered, but he had both hands cupped around his privates, hiding them.

"Ask me." Water streamed down his head and poured off his chin.

I cast aside a hundred years of suffrage, and forty or fifty years of women's lib, and turned into an absolute blithering idiot. Maybe the dazzle had something to do with it. But somehow I eventually managed to stammer out a plea. "Please, Edward? Please let me see you. Oh, God please, I've w-wanted … s-such a long time-"

"Breathe."

I sucked in a deep breath. "Hyperventilating myself into a state of unconsciousness would definitely not be desirable right now, and if I hit my head on the tiles and cut myself it won't be good, right? Am I babbling? I'm babbling, aren't I?"

My mate's mouth puckered as he refrained from laughing at me. "Definitely." He looked at me smugly, which was something quite new.

"How can you be so laid-back?" I demanded, open-mouthed.

He chuckled, eyes crinkling, as he leaned against the wall.

"What's so f-" I began hotly, and stopped right in the middle of my sentence, because he had dropped his hands. A whole lot of emotions hit me at once: shyness, and curiosity, and a whackload of desire. And blessed relief. For at least two reasons: First, his cock was a magnificent-looking thing, and it was a little intimidating, but it wasn't anything to be scared of. I mean, it was thick and big, but it wasn't the size of my arm or anything. It wasn't going to break me. And second, I had managed to feast my eyes on my mate's rock hard cock without losing consciousness. Which was a real accomplishment, if you ask me. I mean, I could totally understand the girls who swooned over The Beatles, right? And a clothed Paul McCartney had nothing on a naked Edward Cullen.

My intended husband smiled crookedly at me. Mercurial much? Cocky perpetual teenager! Holy crow. "Tell me what you're thinking."

"I don't get the mood swing," I admitted. He pursed his lips thoughtfully, and canted his head to the side.

"Perhaps I'm just relieved," he admitted.

"Why? Because … it's done? You've shown me your body? No more hiding?" I asked, perplexed.

Carefully, he turned off the water and stepped out of the tub. "Maybe, partly." He reached out and smoothed the crease between my brows with fingers warm from the shower. "But mostly, I'm just glad that you're not running and screaming."

"You're stuck with me," I told him firmly. "Especially now." I looked pointedly at his cock. Suffice it to say that a thing of beauty lasts forever. And everything about Edward Cullen is beautiful. At least to me.

"Good to know," he drawled.

"I am so. Impressed," I declared, hopefully without foaming at the mouth too badly. Being face-to-uh-face? with his dick was enough to turn me into a predator, but I didn't think he'd allow me to pounce on him and drain him dry. I could feel his tension mounting again. He was shifting back to 'dangerous'.

"You … like it?" he growled, stroking himself. A bead of moisture oozed out of his urethra, and dripped in a long string, onto my skirt.

"I want to see you cum," I blurted, and his heavy-lidded eyes again filled with silver lights.

"Watch me, but don't touch," he rumbled in warning, and I obediently resisted temptation. He palmed his glans a couple of times, then encircled his shaft with his fist, turned thumb-down, and stroked it, pulling hard. After a few minutes, he hissed through his teeth, and the very air seemed to heat. He took my hand, and turned it palm-up. He snarled, and his eyes squeezed shut, and my eyes flew to my hand as something warm and wet touched it. Ejaculate, thick and white, spurted into my palm, until there was a good teaspoonful collected. Fascinated, I reached out with my other hand to touch my mate, but connected only with air. The space seemed suddenly cold and bereft. He was gone.

I sighed, hurting for him. So much progress had been made, but he still could endure only so much stimulation at once. And he would be feeling badly again. I stuck my finger in the cum and examined it. So pearly and slippery. Wow.

I opted to take a quick shower, since he had said the rain smelled so bad. I prayed for the right words to say, to comfort him, and I asked God that I not shrivel up and die of frustration before my mate learned how to touch me without biting. I wrapped myself in a big fluffy towel and padded out to the bedroom.

Edward was sitting on the chaise longue, one foot stretched out and the other bent. His sleek wet head rested on the heel of his hand, and his eyes were shut. It was just as I had expected: he was dejected and miserable. But hey, he was still naked. That had to count for something. I set my shoulders and marched over, smiling, and ran my hand through his hair, pressing my lips to his shoulder.

"Why do you bother with me?" he moaned.

"No moping, Ginchy. Be glad I'm not like Alice or Rosalie: there would be a camera snapping right now."

He gawped at me.

"You've learned a lot. And you're teaching me a lot, too. Just you wait until I get to use my new skills on you. Oh, and you'd better whip out your Dayplanner. In a couple of weeks I'm expecting to sixty-nine."

"I don't need a Dayplanner," he said numbly. Yep. I had his attention. And he didn't shoot down the date, either. Woo hoo.

"Bonus," I smiled.

"I left you high and dry," he said sadly. "I can't seem to stick around long enough to fulfill my seduciary responsibilities."

"Snap! We seem to have several more hours here," I winked.

Yay! His eyes were swirling with black again. "What exactly did you have in mind?"

"Esme says you're supposed to let me lead tonight, so try to ignore your dom tendencies."

He rolled to face me on the chaise. "If this involves spanking you can forget it."

"Maybe I'll spank you another time, naughty. I was thinking of something more relaxing."

"Like?" he prompted.

"Licking. Lots and lots of licking."