I don't own Twilight.

/Chapter 21/

August eighteenth

Time to do the walk of shame

Or is it?

Bella

The sun shines brightly through the little window next to this small bed I'm currently lying in, warming my skin and stinging my eye. I am awake for quite some time now; a mild panic attack lingers in the back of my head.

Edward's whole body is curled around mine. He has me in a vise grip, not leaving an inch of space between us; nearly suffocating me. I'm overheated, sweaty and sticky beneath him.

Yet, somehow it's very cozy. Especially with his one leg hooked over both of mine, one hand on the small of my back, and the other at my neck, fisting my hair in a tight grip and pushing my face into his chest. He smells heavenly. He feels even better. The goose bumps on my skin and the stickiness between my thighs can attest to that. I'm squirming, needing friction like I need air. It's a good morning. Or so his cock tells me, poking my thigh through the jeans he failed to take off last night. I want to touch it and wake him properly, but I'm not sure he'd want me to.

But no matter how cozy and safe I feel in his embrace, it's uncomfortable all the same, and I don't dare to move a little finger and risk to wake him up in the process. He'd scold me if he could see the expression of a hard thinking mess on my face. I'm trapped in my own head once again, everything plays in a loop. What am I doing here? Is this right? Did I set myself up for another failure? My pounding heart tells me no, tells me it is okay. More than that, it tells me this has the opportunity to be the best thing that ever happened to me.

After Emmett.

Though last night was... orgasmic, I feel a little ashamed. It's the same pattern I've always had: get to know a nice guy, bang him, only to be sent on my merry way without further promise of a call the next day or even a fucking coffee. I can't seem to learn and Jesus, how I want to slap myself for it. Yeah, Edward and I didn't have sex, but that's only because he wouldn't let us. I was more than willing; actually I craved it because he proved himself to be a good lover by providing my first real orgasm and taking none for himself. I wonder what he wants in return... even more, I wonder what his brand of kinky is. Though he told me he had some special needs himself, what we did last night was not something out of the ordinary – at all. He's a little domineering, sure, but that's not unusual for a guy. So I wonder... He had a copy of my favorite book in stock. Does that mean he is into the whole BDSM thing? Is he a closet Dom, warming me up all nice and slow to suddenly slap my ass raw? I watched my fair share of BDSM porn, and though I found them arousing, I don't want to be bound to a chair, treated like an object, and gagged on someone's cock. I think. Well, yes, I like it a little rough and I long to please my man with my whole capacity, being a good girl to my lover – emphasis on my. That, however, doesn't mean I want to be fucked like an animal, no feelings involved. And I'm not sure about the pain aspect. It's one thing to fantasize about something, but an entirely different thing to actually try it. And a flogger does look quite intimidating to be honest.

Another uncomfortable thing to think about? The bunch of people outside of this cabin, the people dear to my heart for the past twelve years: Emmett's family. They have never seen me with another man besides him. Mind you, I wasn't abstinent at all. Stealthy? You bet. They're surely waiting for an explanation why The Captain kissed me yesterday. Their guess is as good as mine.

It's funny how I dread to cross Emmett's path today. Funny how he hurt me so much and I have every right to do as I please. I'm a single woman for fuck's sake, but still I feel somewhat dependent on his approval. It dawns on me even more now that I have to cut the ties that bind me to him. He certainly doesn't seem to be tied to me anymore. He has a girlfriend. A gorgeous one. I can't compete with that, nor do I really want to. He's just the one good, constant thing in my life. That's hard letting go of.

Should I embrace this fling with Edward? Try to live out my fantasies with a stranger I will never see again when the vacation is over? Just let loose and enjoy? Or should I get up and leave? Quietly? And avoid him for the rest of this trip?

"Go back to sleep, Bella."

Wow, his voice in the morning is even sexier when he's all sleepy.

"I'm wide awake. I don't think I can sleep anymore."

"Tell me about it. You've been fidgeting around for over an hour at least."

So much for trying to be stealthy. His grip on my body doesn't falter one bit. I can feel his hot breath on the top of my head, slowly creeping through my body, down to my toes.

"Want me to take your mind off the things that plague you?"

What a tease he is. I can practically feel the smirk he's sporting. Eh, why the hell not? I might as well enjoy the ride... for as long as it'll last. I barely finish nodding my head into his chest when he already has me flat on my back, looking all startled up at him. His green eyes seem happy today, eager even.

"You're thinking too much. Time for you to concentrate on something else. Put your hands above your head. And keep them there."

With a jump, he's out of the bed, leaving me startled and naked in it; staring at his bare back and tight jean-clad ass as he moves – to wherever it is he's going. That leaves me with a lot of time to appreciate the two black swallows decorating his shoulder blades. It also leaves me with a lot of time to notice how worked up I am. A few words from him and my nipples stand on attention. A few words on how he wants me to move or not and my breathing picks up noticeably. There's no decision to make. At least not consciously. My arms stay above my head without my brain telling them to do so.

Edward returns from out of his closet a few seconds later, holding something in his hands with a lustful stare in his eyes. His gaze wanders from my face, down to my exposed breasts, way down to where a sheet should actually cover me below the navel. When did I wrestle the sheets to my knees? A better question would be, however, what Edward plans to do with the rope in his hands. Just the sight of it leaves me tingly – albeit a little frightened, but curious nonetheless. He straddles my hips, and with skilled fingers, he loops the scratchy material around the metal bed posts, binding my wrists in an artfully knot to it. My mother would be proud with the panting I have going on here.

The feeling of being restrained is new to me. I've fantasized about something like this more times than I dare to count, but the reality is so much more arousing; so much better than you see in cheap porn where they don't even care about screens not turned on while a scantly clad Barbie types furiously on a keyboard. My back arches without Edward even laying a finger on me. The moan that comes out of my mouth is not voluntary but very much appreciated by him. The glint in his eyes tells me so and I love that I please him.

"There you go, baby. Spread your legs." He whispers to me as he scoots down to my knees, resting his butt in the space I created between my thighs, cradling my face in his right hand. With his other hand, he softly touches his forefinger to my left nipple and then in a not predictable move, he pinches it tightly between his thumb and said forefinger, making me hiss. A tingle spreads through me from head to toe. Ever so slowly he strokes his hand from my breast to my navel, repeating the pattern over and over again – neglecting to touch my poor nipples that want his fingers so much. Just before I am starting to beg for a firmer touch, he runs a finger farther down to my flesh that is hot and sticky for him, flicking my clit one time and then leaving me without any touch at all. Never in my life have I been more desperate for a man. It's hard to swallow the lump in my throat, even more so when his face finally nears the heated flesh, as he scoots down. He does not take his eyes off my the whole time. I can feel his breath on my skin there, warm and moist, and it's torturing me. The anticipation is killing me. I move my hips upwards, trying to find the friction I need right now, but I can't move like I want to with my arms tied above my head. Can't touch him like I want to. I feel helpless and frantic as his both hands hold my legs wide apart for him. He meets my gaze and encourages me with a slight nod of his head.

And now... there's nowhere for me to move, leaving me completely at his mercy. But I don't mind. Not with him. Not one bit.

He decides when and where to touch me and it's fine with me, but all I can feel is his hot breath grazing my skin and not his tongue touch me where I need it the most. He's driving me nuts with his games, but I am trying to be a patient girl. No doubt, I will fail.

"Keep still."

Yes, sir, I want to scream, but again, I'm not sure that's what he wants to hear; the desire to scream it anyway is huge. It's not that I can help my thighs from twitching, either. It's not that I can help myself from wanting him so much.

I let out a long, impatient moan – or probably something resembling a whimper – and then he finally puts his mouth to where the fire burns. Yes. Yes. Yes. He's not an amateur. That, I can tell by the first firm stroke of his tongue and the way his fingers spread me apart skillfully. No awkward fumbling, no hesitant searching... he knows what he's doing. God, does he ever. It's overwhelming, exciting, new... satisfying. In more than just a physical sense. With every stroke of his tongue, he takes away my worries. I can finally be myself, no matter the sounds that come out of my mouth, no matter how much my body trembles, and no matter how close I already am to peaking. It's all very much welcome by him. A proud twinkle in his eyes as he watches me intently. His hands grip my thighs hard, keeping them apart for him, keeping me from closing them and denying myself this pleasure. It's too much and not enough at the same time.

When his thumb meets my clit and his tongue glides into me, I'm holding on by a thread, shaking like a leaf. Even moaning is a hard task to accomplish with what little air I seem to get into my system. I want to let him know how much he pleases me, but it's just not possible to do so when all I can manage is to hold an animalistic scream at bay. He sure helps me out with that as he puts a hand over my mouth.

"There you go. Let go, baby. I've got you."

He pinches my clit hard one time and that's when I shatter, spasming as if I'm having a seizure. Good God. Damn it. This orgasm doesn't stop and I break out in a sweat, shaking and panting.

When I finally come to my senses, I can see his cock tenting his jeans, dying to get out of its prison, I'm sure. I want to touch it, touch his whole body, but I'm in no position to do so, only waiting for further commands he'll surely give in a few. My feet don't wait for his permission, though, slowly creeping upwards outside of his thighs. Just a tiny touch.

"What's the rush, Bella? We've got all time in the world. Let's go get some breakfast" He tells me as he holds my ankles in his hands, stroking them lovingly with his thumbs. He leans forward to touch his lips briefly to my nose and then he unties the rope that strangely set my mind free.

Yeah, he might have all the time in the world...

I'm dying to make up for the years I wasted.

And I really don't want to leave this bubble just yet.

A/N:

Thank you, Bnjwl and Mel, for always being there for me. i love you two dearly.

My sweet readers: you bring me joy.

This will probably be the last update for two weeks. I'll be on vacation starting tomorrow. On a boat...