WARNING: This story contains disturbing and sometimes violent material, as well as graphic sexual content. If violence bothers you, please do not read this story.

Chapter 21

I felt like crap.

I tossed and turned the entire night, checking the clock every hour. I just couldn't sleep. I was so confused, my emotions careening out of control. He was here, with me, in my house, and he wanted to be. And I couldn't decide what exactly I wanted from him.

I was angry with him, but wanted to make him feel good. I wanted to control him, but wanted him to take me. I wanted to hear him scream, but wanted to hear him moan.

And I could feel him. I could feel that he was in my house... a tingling in my skin, a buzzing in my ears. All through the night, as I would angrily flip over in my bed and look at the clock, I would think, He's here. I can go to him if I want to. And I wanted to, of course, but I didn't. I had to show some restraint.

But it was like that. All fucking night.

So when the clock flipped from 5:59 to 6:00, I finally said fuck it and got out of bed. I took a quick shower, tempted to linger a little and relieve some building tension, but I was anxious to get downstairs to see him, to touch him, to smell him.

I started to throw on a T-shirt and a pair of jeans, but thought better of it and slipped on a short silk robe instead, enjoying the feel of the soft fabric as it brushed against my skin. I wondered how Edward's fingers would feel on me when I finally allowed him to touch me, if they would feel soft and satiny, or hard and rough. I remembered how he felt, his naked skin, and that he was mine. And tied up. Right now. In my house.

Fuck.

I ran downstairs to the kitchen and pulled out a skillet and some eggs to make breakfast. We didn't eat last night, and I was starving. I'm sure he was too. I had to make sure he was fed, I had to... take care of him.

As I put the skillet on the stove, I quickly glanced at the TV monitor on the granite counter, and my stomach immediately clenched. What if...

What if he wasn't there.

What if he had gotten out, somehow, released himself... and left me during the night. What if it was all too much, and he had changed his mind. What if I had completely misread him the night before, and he didn't like it, he didn't want it, didn't want me. Oh my God. I couldn't move. I was locked in place, legs frozen, unable to breathe, the pain of his absence not yet confirmed, but crippling me already.

There was only one way to know. Just fucking turn it on.

My hand was shaking as I finally willed my body to move, and I switched on the monitor. The second or two that it took for the image to appear on the screen seemed seemed to stretch endlessly, and I felt like I couldn't breathe.

But there he was.

Asleep. Twisted in the blanket, still curled on his side. Even on the tiny black and white screen, he looked beautiful. I released the breath I had been holding, and I touched my fingertips to his image on the screen, the static from the monitor eerily similar to the electrical pull I felt when I was near him.

I was even more desperate and anxious to see him.

I quickly fried some bacon, scrambled some eggs, and dished two plates for us. A carafe of coffee later, and I was ready to go. I unlocked the door and headed downstairs.

He was still sleeping, so I put the tray down on the table next to the bed and sat next to him on the bed. I watched him for a few minutes, his slow deep breathing, his beautiful face. Just like I had the night before. So beautiful, so perfect.

I wanted to touch.

I slid my fingertips lightly along his arm, feeling the softness of his skin and the hard muscle just beneath. The blanket was tangled around his legs and the entire upper half of his body was exposed to me. He looked relaxed, comfortable. Like he belonged here, with me. In a way, it felt like he had always been here. It was like I couldn't remember when he wasn't here.

I moved up to his shoulder and across his collarbone.

I realized that I hadn't yet taken the time to touch him, to really touch him. To completely explore him, everywhere, like I had fantasized about for months. I dipped my fingers in the hollow of his throat, thinking how nicely my tongue would fit there.

I moved down his chest, tracing the lines of his muscles. He was so warm. And I was so lost.

He made a small noise, just a slight exhalation of breath, but it made me feel like he was aware of me, even in his sleep. I wanted to strip the blanket off of the rest of his body and watch as his entire body woke up.

I circled his nipples, one, then the other, and watched as they hardened before my eyes. He made another soft noise, almost a moan, and I smiled and moved my hand to his face. His beard was heavy and rough, and I stroked across his cheek and down his jaw. I couldn't seem to keep my hands away from his mouth, and I had to touch his lip again, the bottom one, warm, soft, pouting.

He stirred.

His eyes were still closed, but his breathing pattern had changed, and he turned his head towards my hand, searching. I let him settle into my palm, moving my thumb slowly back and forth across his skin. My touch seemed to comfort him, calm him.

He opened his eyes and looked at me, and I was amazed with what I saw there. No fear, no hesitation, no doubt. Just acceptance, trust, and pure, complete devotion.

Then he smiled at me, and I felt suddenly and inexplicably warmer.

"Hey," he said shyly. I couldn't seem to reconcile this Edward with coffee room Edward, but I knew that I wanted both of them. His voice was hoarse, and I had a flash memory of him screaming the night before, begging.

"Good morning," I said, returning his smile with another soft stroke of his cheek. "How did you sleep?"

He blushed furiously, and grinned. "I think I passed out." Then his expression turned serious. "Last night... Jesus... I never..."

"I know, Edward." I continued to stroke his face, to let him know that I understood. I wondered if he was as confused as I was, and if there would ever come a time when I felt comfortable discussing my feelings with him. If I could ever let my guard down and really trust him.

He must have seen my hesitancy, the emotion on my face, because he tried to reach up and touch me, to comfort me as I had him. He had forgotten that he was still bound, and his hand caught in mid-air. He sighed, but left his hand in the air.

"Please, Isabella," he whispered, still reaching for me. "I just... I need to touch you."

I thought about it. I really did. I wanted to loosen the cuffs and climb into bed with him and hold him. I wanted to stroke his hair and sleep in his arms and wake up together.

But I couldn't. Not just yet.

"So sweet..." I murmured, brushing his lip with my fingers, yet again. I sat up straighter and took a deep breath, trying to change the momentum in the room and get back to business. "Actually, I brought breakfast. Hungry?"

He seemed to accept my decision, and he sat up, leaning back on his hands a little. There wasn't enough slack in his bindings for him to completely move his arms. He still looked a little confused. He must have thought that he finally understood me, that he had broken through. I desperately wanted to let him know that he had, but I was scared of what that would mean.

I picked up the fork and brought the first bite to his mouth. After a second or two of hesitation, he licked his lips and slowly opened his mouth for me, keeping his eyes locked on mine. I watched him, mesmerized, as he moved forward and wrapped his soft lips around the tines of the fork.

I swallowed hard.

He was so fucking sexy. And I wanted him so badly, I needed him. How the hell did he turn eating scrambled eggs into the single most erotic thing I had ever seen?

As I fed him bite after bite, I noticed that he was as affected as I was, his rapid breathing, the depth of his gaze. It wasn't just me. He was feeling it too. When the blanket started to move between his legs, evidence of his growing erection, I finally gave in and decided to take what I wanted, what was mine. It was not what I had planned for the morning, but, fuck it, they were my rules.

I threw the plate down on the table and pulled the blanket completely from his body, two fluid and almost simultaneous actions. He sucked in a breath, surprised at my sudden movement, but completely ready to participate in whatever I had in mind.

Jesus, he was a sight to behold on that bed. Naked, bound, erect, willing. He was still sitting up, leaning back on his hands, and he had pulled his knees up slightly, silently telling me what he wanted, where he wanted me.

I climbed up on the bed and slid between his legs, looking up at him. I licked my lips in anticipation.

"Edward." I said his name slowly, low and soft, a promise. God, I loved saying his name, the feel of it as it rolled out of my mouth.

He didn't answer, but he knew that one was not required. He was breathing heavier now, almost panting, anxious and desperate for me to do whatever it was I was planning.

I grabbed his ankles with both hands and pushed his feet slowly back towards his body, spreading his legs wide, as far as his bindings would allow. Then I ran my hands up his legs, his calves, knees, thighs, not bothering to hide my hunger for him, wanting him to know how completely he affected me. When I stroked the skin on the inside of his legs, where they connected to his body, he moaned loudly, whispering my name.

"Isabella..."

He wanted me. Whatever I wanted to give to him.

He was mine. Mine.

I plunged my mouth down on him, taking his entire length in one quick motion. My sudden action shocked him, and he threw his head back with a loud moan, thrusting his hips up towards me.

And this time, I let him. This time, it was not a game. It was not about control. It was simply about me wanting him. Wanting to make him feel good, to let him know.

I quickly and hungrily worked him with my mouth, lips, tongue, and fingers, until he started begging... desperate, whispered pleas. It took me a minute to realize that he was asking for permission, that he wanted to come, and he was waiting for me to tell him he could. He was following the rules when even I had forgotten to play. His obedience was exquisite.

I popped off of him just long enough to give him what he wanted.

"Mmm, so good," I growled. "Do you want to come, Edward?"

"Yes... yes... please... please..." he begged, his hips moving in slow, hungry circles.

"Look at me, Edward," I ordered. He whimpered, thinking I would deny him, and lifted his head off the bed just in time to watch me flick my tongue across the head of his cock. He was panting, waiting, desperate, and I could no longer deny him. "Come for me, baby..." I whispered, and I slid his hard length back into my mouth.

He came quick and hard, and I was again overwhelmed with new and confusing emotions. I felt like I had just received a gift, that he had given me a piece of himself, a private part that no one else had but me.

He collapsed back onto the bed, and I watched, transfixed, as he came down from his orgasm, panting, sweating, mumbling incoherencies. Beautiful.

I loosened the cuffs on his ankles and wrists, removing them and throwing them down to the floor. For some reason, I trusted him, and I wanted to move him to the next step. I needed to know that we could progress, that he was still mine, that he was still bound to me, but that I didn't need ropes and cuffs to keep him forever.

He opened his eyes and turned his head towards me, and I could see the sudden fear, the question that he was afraid to ask.

"No, Edward," I said softly with a smile and a shake of my head. "I'm not setting you free." He was holding his breath, waiting for my reassurances, which I gladly gave him. "You are mine, and you will always be mine."

The weekend went quickly.

I bathed him, fed him, bound him, fucked him.

Repeatedly.

I was insatiable, and so was he. There was no depravity that was beneath him, no act he was unwilling to try, and together, we tried everything. I learned everything about his body, how far I could push him, what made him scream, and what made him come. I balanced him on the edge for hours at a time, waiting for that moment of complete surrender, when I owned him, body, mind, and soul, and then I would give him that final push, watching him as he tumbled into the abyss.

And there was something about his newly acquired freedom that I found even more exciting. When he was bound, he was a captive, not a participant, and that was the game. But unbound... It was about control and obedience and submission. I would tell him what I wanted him to do, exactly how I wanted him to do it, and, he would have to choose. Each and every time, he had the free will to refuse me, but he never did. He gave me just what I needed.

Every few hours, I would let him sleep, alone, and I would wander around my house, counting the minutes until I could return to him. I knew that I should be napping too, but I found it increasingly difficult to relax when I was away from him.

By Sunday night, I was no longer able to hide my anxiety, wondering how I would be able to leave him the next day and return to work. The office used to be a place of endless possibilities, where anything could happen. I never knew when I would see him, when he would walk by or pop into my office. The days were filled with moments, hearing his voice in the hallway, smelling him in an empty room, knowing he was just there. I lived for the opportunities, the chance encounters.

Now, there would be none.

Instead, my day would be filled with memories, with longing to return to him, that physical pull to be in the same room with him. And he would be here, in my home, alone, waiting for my return. Hopefully. That should have filled me with joy and pride, knowing that he would be waiting for me, that he was mine. It had never been a problem before, but this was not like before. At all. I was in uncharted territory.

I still had doubts. If it could work. If he really wanted what he said he wanted. I waited for the moment when he would tell me that it was over, that he was tired of me. I just knew that it was coming. It was only a matter of time.

I was making myself sick.

I needed to do something to get my mind right, to restore my control, my confidence. I needed a release, one that I had not yet given myself, because it had not been necessary.

I needed to hurt him.

Once the idea occurred to me, I couldn't get it out of my head. The only screams I had heard from him had been screams of sexual frustration, of need, of desperation, of release.

I needed his pain. And he needed to give it to me. He had told me so, had begged me for it. But those were games. This would be different. After this, I would know.

I needed a reason, however. I couldn't just give punishments when punishments weren't due. I didn't hurt my boys for any kind of sexual thrill. I only hurt them to teach them a lesson, to right a wrong. After my out of control episode with Ben so many years ago, I had vowed never to lose control like that again.

I paced the small room, thinking, and he watched me in silence. He knew that I was fighting with something, but he didn't want to ask. Maybe he had doubts too. Maybe he didn't want to know.

Fuck, yeah.

That was it.

It was small, but it would do. I turned to face him as he lay, sated and sweating, on my basement bed.

"Edward." I had to let him know that this was business. He leaned up on his elbows and looked at me.

My resolve faltered, for just a second or two, as I admired his beauty... his hair in disarray, his unshaven jaw, his heavy green eyes, his naked body. And that smirk. As I watched the corner of his mouth turn up slightly, I knew that I was on the right path, that we both needed this.

"Edward, it's getting late, and we have some unfinished business to attend to before I leave you for the night." His grin widened. He was obviously thinking that I had something sexual planned. It was a good guess on his part, considering our history.

I walked to the cabinet and retrieved my long leather strap. It was the only instrument of punishment that I owned, the same one that I had used on Ben twenty years ago. I turned back to him, holding the strap in my hands. His grin instantly vanished, and I saw his throat move as he swallowed hard, trying to speak.

"What... what did I do?" He knew. He knew that I would punish him, he just didn't know what for.

"I have rules, Edward. Expectations. These were discussed with you, correct?" I caressed the thick leather between my fingers.

He nodded, his brows furrowed in confusion.

"And you agreed to them?"

Again, he nodded.

"I think I've been more than fair, Edward," I said sternly, clearing my throat before continuing. "But yesterday, even after I explained a particular requirement to you - "

"I don't... I don't understand, Isabella... please..." He was begging for something, but I wasn't exactly sure what it was. What was he afraid of, the pain? The humiliation? My displeasure?

" - you continued to defy me."

"Please," he whispered hoarsely, climbing to his knees on the bed. "Please tell me what I did so I can make it up to you..." And he reached out for me. It took every cell in my body to ignore him and continue.

"I'm not angry, Edward. Just disappointed." His face fell as he processed my words. "But I need to right this, to make you understand. Everything matters, Edward, every detail. I require your complete and absolute obedience, and if you're not willing to give me that - "

"I'm willing, goddammit! Please, Isabella, please tell me what I did!" His voice cracked with emotion and desperation. For me.

"Yesterday, I asked you a question. You gave me an answer, and I corrected you. I told you that I would never ask you a question in which "yeah" would be the appropriate response. But you continued, despite my wishes. Several times. I let it go at the time, choosing to deal with your indiscretions in my own way." He looked surprised that I would react so severely to such a minor lapse. But this is what he needed to learn... that there were no minor lapses, that it was all or nothing, that I needed all of him, not just the parts he was willing to share.

He hung his head and whispered the words that he hoped would save him.

"I'm sorry."

Jesus, I wanted to comfort him, but this was a lesson and it had to happen, one of many. I couldn't back down now. I took a deep breath.

"You're not yet, Edward, but you will be... On your stomach, arms above your head. Legs wide."

He paused for a second or two, then moved as I had requested. I quickly cuffed his wrists and locked them together, securing them in the middle of the headboard with the nylon strap. I would have loved to have tested his control, unbound, but this was a new experience for him, and I didn't know how he would react, if he would try to move or protect himself. I didn't want to hurt his hands.

He was beautiful like this, and I hesitated for only a split second.

The first strike was harder than it needed to be and completely without warning. As the leather hit his skin, it made a sickening crack and reverberated through the room. And he screamed. I had never heard him scream like that before, complete and utter pain, and it was almost impossible for me to continue. But I did.

The strap came down a second time. He screamed again, and I started to feel nauseous. He was breathing rapidly and writhing around on the bed, trying to get away from the pain. But I needed for him to break before I could stop.

Again, and again I struck. I lost count. I never hit the same place twice, and his skin was striped and red. His screams had deafened me, and I could no longer hear, I couldn't focus.

Until, finally, I heard it.

A muffled sob in the quiet, dark room. He was crying, the tears streaming down his cheeks, his eyes shut tight. He was mumbling between shaky breaths, but all I could hear was "so sorry, so sorry."

I dropped the strap to the floor and quickly sat next to him on the bed. Oh my God, what had I done? I quickly removed the cuffs on his wrists, but he didn't move. His arms just fell to the bed.

I reached over to touch his hair, and he flinched.

"Edward, look at me." I continued to pull my fingers through his messy hair, now matted and sweaty, and tried again. "Edward, it's over, it's okay, open your eyes, baby." I was desperate now, as desperate as he had been when he made his speech days before. I needed him to look at me, to let me know it was okay, that he still wanted this, that he still wanted me.

He opened his eyes, puffy, red, and wet, and looked up at me. With everything I had just put him through, the pain, the disappointment, the humiliation, and still, he looked at me adoringly. Complete devotion. No fear.

I placed my palm on his cheek, wiping at his tears with my thumb.

"Edward," I choked out. I was losing it, my carefully crafted facade crumbling before this man I barely knew, but could no longer live without. "Edward, I'm ... " I almost had the words out, the apology, but he stopped me, his hand stroking mine. I had hurt him, but he was comforting me.

"It's okay, Isabella, it's okay... I'm yours. I'll always be yours..."

I swore to myself, in that moment, that I would never hurt him like that again.

A/N: Thanks to LovingLady for always being the one to ask "Isn't it about that time again?", to Mabarbarella for taking credit for my "Wow, Jackson IS really hot" realization, even if it was because she made me read pages of ExJ slash to get there, and to LibbyLou862 for reading every chapter of TB as if she didn't already know what was gonna happen already ;).

Story recs: "Mergers & Acquisitions" is a great ExJ slash story, very graphic, very hot. "Out Lives Unbound" is a beatifully written ExJ soft D/s story, it's like erotic poetry, just lovely. And "Raw and Rosy" still owns me...

If you have questions for me, I'd love to answer them. And if you have a review for me, well, golly, I'd sure love to read it.

Disclaimer: All things "Twilight" belong to Stephanie Meyer. "Trunk Boy," however, is all mine.