thanks to Regina.
Rest in peace, Princess Lilian
1915-2013
Chapter Twenty
His Royal Coitus
It's Official:
His Royal Hotness is Royally Pussy-Whipped
Like every other news outlet in the world, we had photographers camped out at the St. Regis to get pictures of noteworthy guests leaving for tonight's post-wedding party. Flags, uniformed guards, and diplomatic license plates were a common sight as Royals and dignitaries from around the world walked the short distance between the hotel entrance and the shuttles to Masen Palace.
Not gonna lie—the parade of tiaras and ribbons climbing out of glorified busses was pretty entertaining. But the real story at the St. Regis this afternoon involved His Royal Hotness Prince Edward the Ginger and his main squeeze, Assabella, formerly known as Not-a Swan. Those who camped out early hoping to catch a glimpse of taxpayer-funded opulence from around the world were afforded a special treat: Roughly an hour before the shuttles began ferrying guests to the evening festivities, a car pulled up and out came His Royal Hotness. We're not sure what we find more amazing—the sight of Prince Edward in tails or the fact that he somehow managed to make his way inside building without sending any of our esteemed photojournalists to the hospital.
An hour and a half later, Prince Edward re-emerged. In one of the strangest maneuvers we've ever seen, he allowed his guard to hold the door open for him, then insisted he hold the door for Assabella, a vision in a purple Elie Saab. If she hadn't gotten her skirt caught in something on the walk to the car, we'd say she hit today out of the park. Not that we're complaining—it's not every day we get to see a prince on his knees.
And what a sight it was! Assabella whispered something to His Royal Hotness, and a second later, he was crouched down beside her, fiddling with the hem of her dress.
Chivalry lives. Who knew?
COMMENTS (showing 11 of 6289)
Boners for Bomer
You'd think a fancy place like the St. Regis would have hideaway parking for its guests who rent rooms by the hour.
Lady-In-Waiting
No mention of Esme anywhere. I wonder how she feels about her little sister's ass stealing all the attention.
swatchdogs-n-dietcokeheads
Anyone else notice the bling on Bella? I'm 99% sure that's Princess Elizabeth's bracelet on her wrist.
Lady-In-Waiting
Now that's got to bother the shit out of Esme. Besides the tiara she wore this morning, I've never seen her wear any of the Royal Jewels.
His Royal Gayness
The bracelet looks like it's part of the set Queen Charlotte gave Princess Elizabeth as a wedding gift. If so, it's Edward's personal property. Where's Royal Watcher1? He'd know for sure.
Leisure Suit Larry
Royal Watcher1 is never online during big events. He waits until they're over, then posts to tell us how wrong we are about everything.
Monarch Shutterfly
None of us were surprised to see Edward. We were told he'd be there, and that he and Bella would stop to pose for pics on their way to the car.
Troll E. McCavetroll
Do you think that bit with her dress was faked?
Monarch Shutterfly
Not unless she's a really good actress. The "oh shit" look on her face was too real. Plus, I was close enough to hear what they were saying to each other. If it was scripted, he needs to fire his PR people.
Lady-In-Waiting
And? You can't just leave us there.
Monarch Shutterfly
She told him his curtsy was piss poor, but it was nice for him to be the one on his knees for a change. He said he couldn't wait to get her alone.
-o-O-o-
Maybe I'm still high from the euphoria of surviving this morning, but I can't take my eyes off my reflection in the mirror.. At my fitting two days ago, I felt as if my dress was wearing me. The corset inside the bodice is just as tight, the skirt just as full. But now that my hair and makeup are done, the dress doesn't seem too over-the-top. I've never worn anything like it, but I still feel like myself in it—just a prettier, worldlier, more polished version of the person I've always been.
Holy shit. I'm actually going to pull this off. I'm giggling as I twirl—even as a little girl, I can't remember ever being this giddy.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Edward standing in the doorway.
I freeze.
"Don't stop on my account." He gestures for me to keep turning as he moves toward me.
Except I can't. I can't move. I can't even speak.
I knew what he'd be wearing from pictures. Full evening dress doesn't leave much room for interpretation, and Edward is nothing if not consistent: Black tailcoat. White waistcoat, shirt, and bow tie. Blue sash indicating membership in the Royal Order of the Tardus Scriptors, held in place by a silver star. Even when I hated him, I'd admit he was hot like this.
I close my mouth when he's in front of me. Tonsils aren't cute. I doubt he's enjoying his view of mine.
He pulls me into a tight hug. After a quick squeeze, he drops his arms and takes a few steps back. He doesn't even try to hide the fact he's checking me out.
"What are you doing here?" I ask.
"I wanted to surprise you."
"Who let you into my room?"
"Your mom," he says, laughing.
I roll my eyes. "Nice. What are you? Twelve? It was a serious question—"
"And that was a serious answer. Your mom let me into your room after I was finished talking to your dad..." He shakes his head and smiles. "God, you look beautiful."
"Why were you talking to my dad?"
"Isn't that customary before a date? Have a sit-down with the old man and try to convince him you're not planning to do unspeakably dirty things to his daughter?"
"So you lied to him."
"Maybe a little..." He brushes his fingertips down my neck to my collarbone.
I take a sharp breath.
"You need to relax," he says, reaching into the pocket of his trousers.
He's out of his mind if he thinks I'm smoking with him. There's no way I'm showing up at the Palace tonight high.
"Keep the pot in your pocket. The only thing I want from in there..." I angle my head toward his crotch. "...is Your Royal Scepter."
"Just the scepter, huh? No interest in the Crown Jewels?"
"Obviously, I'd prefer the whole package, but you said the jewels weren't yours to give."
"I spoke too soon." He pulls something sparkly from his pocket and dangles it in front of me.
It's exquisite. A delicate chain links together several clusters of diamonds and amethysts to form a substantial bracelet. I've seen my share of bling; god knows my mother has enough of it. This is different. This is the kind of jewelry that would be in a museum if the Royal Family wasn't hoarding it—and they do hoard it. Most of their collection never leaves the vault. That Queen Charlotte allowed Esme to wear a tiara this morning was a huge deal.
Meanwhile, Edward's carrying a piece of it loose in his pocket as if it's a tin of Altoids.
He reaches for my hand. "May I?"
My arm trembles as he works the clasps. Even after bracelet is fastened around my wrist, I stare at it, stunned by the value of what he's given me. Not the bracelet—I know very well that's just a loan. But the trust that comes with it is mine to keep.
And that's priceless.
"Do you like it?" he asks. "I know you don't generally wear this kind of thing—"
"I love it. I'll make sure you get it back right after the party."
"I was hoping you'd want to keep it."
I laugh. "Of course I do, but I doubt it's up to me—or even you, for that matter."
"Actually, the bracelet was my mother's, so it is up to me. It's yours for as long as you want it."
"Thank you." I pull him against me for I mean to be a quick hug—the last thing I want is for us to show up at the Palace looking like we spent the car ride fooling around.
But I can't find it in me to let him go.
After a moment, he sighs. "We should get out to the car."
"Okay, just give me a second." When I step away from him to check myself in the mirror one last time, I catch him staring at me. There's an intensity to his eyes that makes me all kinds of self-conscious, so I fiddle with my skirt and say the first thing that comes into my head. "Did you come into the hotel through the back?"
"The front."
"See, if I'd known you were coming I would've told you to pull up behind the building. That's how we left for the ceremony this morning. It's set up so no one can see—"
"I want everyone to see."
"There will be pictures everywhere." I raise my arm and point to my bracelet. "People will notice."
"You think?"
I study his face in the mirror. It's obvious he's manipulating the media. What I don't know is why.
"Why did you wear your uniform to the ceremony this morning?"
His eyes are on his reflection as he straightens his sash. "The men in my family always wear uniforms to weddings."
"I meant your own uniform. Your military record is the hot topic online right now."
"Oh, I bet your ass is hotter." He reaches behind me and grabs my butt.
I smack him away. "No, really. You had to know it would out you."
"It was time. My army days are over, and the last thing I need is for your father to think of me as Prince I Drank The Bong Water."
I narrow my eyes at him.
"What?" he asks, laughing.
"I'm serious."
"So am I."
"Then why are you laughing?"
"Because I should've realized it wouldn't work!"
"No, you should've realized it wasn't necessary. My dad forms his own opinions. He doesn't know you well enough to dislike you."
"Oh, he doesn't dislike me—he made that clear. But he doesn't want me anywhere near you. Your mom, on the other hand..." He shakes his head. "When she let me in here, she made a point of telling me that she and your dad were leaving and we'd have the whole suite to ourselves. She actually winked at me. "
I cringe. "Sorry. I hope she didn't embarrass you too much."
"Eh." He turns to me, shrugging. "You're worth it."
When I open my mouth, the words just tumble out. "I love you, Edward."
He doesn't react—not at all.
He pulls me into his arms and holds me tightly against him.
"Will you stay with me?" he asks. "I mean, after..."
I don't care that he doesn't say I love you back—there's a desperation in his voice that tells me exactly how he feels. I'm not sure if he's asking me to spend the night with him or to spend my life with him, but my answer's the same regardless.
"Yes."
-o-O-o-
It amazes me how much my week-long crash course in royal protocol didn't cover. I don't sit with Edward at dinner, though not because the Palace doesn't acknowledge me as his girlfriend. Apparently, established couples are always separated at formal meals. So I break bread with four princesses, two princes, two grand dukes, and a count, wondering exactly when Edward and I became official.
After dinner, Edward introduces me to Queen Charlotte. We're alone except for a footman, so the rules are a bit more relaxed—even for me. I do a small dip instead of a full curtsy and address her as Ma'am rather than Her Majesty. Meanwhile, Edward only ever refers to her Grandma.
This is what's so crazy. If the little old lady in front of me wasn't dripping with jewels, I wouldn't know I was talking to a monarch, not that it matters—that's not the reason I can't stop tapping my foot against plush red carpet. When it comes to whether or not someone likes me, I'm down to my last few fucks. I'm not about to waste a single one on this divine right crap. But the opinion of Her Majesty Queen Charlotte The First of Her Name matters to Edward, therefore I do give a fuck.
The more time I spend talking to her, the more frustrated I get. I can't read her—not at all. My ankle tires out, and I switch feet. Good thing my gown relatively full. The whole stiletto-stuck-in-tulle-underskirt debacle is a small price to pay for the ability to fidget undetected. She changes the subject, but it's still small talk. How can a conversation about nothing go on this long?
At some point, my foot falls asleep. It reminds me of the day Edward came to my office to apologize for puking on me, except the stakes are higher. Then it was about pride—and when it comes to relationships, pride's the one thing I can swallow without gagging. But a chance at love? No way I'm giving that up without a fight.
I shift my weight and try to wiggle my foot back to life. But before I can get the pins and needles to go away, my heel catches on the carpet.
And there goes my shoe.
My blood pressure pressure rises and my face gets hot. It's just a matter of time before the eye twitch kicks into gear...
Ah yes. At least I'm consistent.
The Queen turns to Edward. Just as I'm about to risk a stealthy shoe-recovery mission, she looks back at me and nods.
"Lovely meeting you, Bella."
From the corner of my eye, I notice Edward bowing his head. I have no idea why he's doing it, but I know better than to question it. My right foot takes a small detour as it moves behind my left heel, collecting my shoe in the process.
I sink into a full court curtsy feeling nothing less than triumphant.
By the time I straighten my posture, Edward and I are alone.
"Come on," he says, offering me his hand. "Let's get out of here."
He leads me back to the ballroom. The orchestra's playing to an empty dance floor.
"Where is everyone?"
"At their tables where we left them."
I wrinkle my forehead. "Still?"
"They were a good half hour from adjourning to the ballroom."
"But we were in the audience room for such a long time..."
"Four whole minutes," he says, laughing. "An eternity."
"Unless you've ever lost your shoe during a conversation with a monarch, you're in no position to judge!"
"You lost your shoe?"
"Yes! Thank god I saw you bowing. Otherwise, I wouldn't have curtsied, and that's how I got it back. By the way—why did you bow? I thought your family didn't do that in private."
"We don't. My dad poked his head in for a second. King Juan Carlos was with him."
Makes sense. Those two would hang out together.
"How do you think it went?"
He thinks for a moment. "As well as can be expected under the circumstances."
"What do you mean?"
"I'm not my grandmother's favorite person right now."
"Uh oh." I fake a nervous laugh. "What did you do?"
"It's more what I haven't done."
He takes a few steps forward and turns to face me, dropping his arms to his sides. The look on his face is one I know well—it usually means he wants something. Then he bows, and I don't care if I'm being hypocritical—Edward bowing to me is the sexiest thing I've ever seen. If he keeps it up, he'll get whatever he wants.
"May I have this dance?" he asks, extending his hand to me.
"I don't think we can until Carlisle and Esme have their first dance..."
"I can't wait that long to touch you."
We're making a huge faux pas, but I can't bring myself to say no to him. I give him my hand, hoping no one catches Our Royal Gaffe. Edward pulls me into his arms and leads me in a slow foxtrot. I expect him to know how to dance. What I don't expect is for him to be quite so practiced and graceful.
It's unreal. The man is fluent in four languages. He rides, shoots, and fences. He plays the piano, and he cooks. And he can dance. There has to be something he can't do.
"Random question: how are you at art?"
"I took a few Art History courses at university."
"I mean drawing, painting, photography...stuff like that."
"I'm okay with a pencil. Once I drew a dirty picture in art class and the teacher didn't punish me because it was so well done. I don't have my dad's talent for watercolors, if that's what you're asking. Why?"
"You're a really good dancer."
He laughs. "Uh, okay. Not sure I see the connection there."
"I'm beginning to think you're good at everything."
"Yes, I'm good in bed."
"Perv!" I smack him on the shoulder. "I wasn't even thinking that way. I just don't think I've ever met anyone as well-rounded."
"My education was designed so I'd be able to speak to anyone about anything without making an ass of myself. So yes, I have a basic understanding of just about everything that could come up during small talk. It's hard to speak knowledgeably about something you've never done."
"And no one's ever stumped you? There has to be something you can't do."
He thinks for a moment. "I don't think I could make it without my title."
"Right," I say, rolling my eyes. "Because you didn't have a successful career in the military or anything. You went to war. If you were that inept, you'd be dead right now. Nice try, though."
"I'm serious. Even when I was deployed to active combat zones, I had two Royal Protection Officers watching my back. Of course I never fucked up—they wouldn't let me. Sometimes I wonder what life would be like without them watching my back, if I'd have amounted to anything..."
"I think you'd surprise yourself."
"Maybe."
It's heavy talk for the dance floor, and the last thing I want is for him to feel bad about himself.
"I didn't mean for this to be a downer. I was waiting for you to tell me you couldn't sing or something."
"Oh, but I can sing. In fact, I have perfect pitch."
Right. Now he's just fucking with me.
"You're lying."
"Am I? Now would you please just shut up? This was my mom's favorite song, and you're ruining it for me."
"Sorry!"
"Don't be sorry. Be quiet!" He gives me a stern look, but when he pulls me closer, I can feel his chest rumbling with laughter.
A moment later, he sings softly in my ear. "In these dreams, I loved you so that by now I think I know what it's like to be loved by you..."
Uh, yeah. I may not be able to tell perfect pitch from a pothole, but the man can definitely carry a tune.
"...I will love being loved by you."
As we glide across the floor, I think this is what it must be like to live in a fairytale. Not because Edward's a prince—that's just an accident of birth. It's that he makes me feel as if I'm a princess.
He raises his arm for me to turn, and when I do, my hip brushes against His Royal Hard-On. Oh, yes—definitely a fairytale. Someday, my prince will come.
I can't help my laughter.
"What's so funny?"
"You're hard."
"I am. And when I finally get you alone," he whispers, "I'm getting you naked and putting my mouth on you. After you come, I'm going to make love to you the way you deserve—that's how it will be the first time. The second time, I'm giving you the thorough fucking we both know you need."
I trip over my feet.
"Not funny anymore, is it? I didn't think it would be."
There's only one thing I need to know.
"How soon can we leave?"
-o-O-o-
When I come out of the bathroom, Edward's standing beside the bed, barefoot and shirtless.
He unbuttons his trousers as he moves toward me. "Turn around."
So I do. He lifts my hair off my back and lets it against my chest. His lips move from my shoulder to my neck, following the trail of my zipper as he slowly pulls it down my back.
I have the feeling this time is different—that if I want it to happen, it will. And I do want it. I want him.
This doesn't stop me from clutching my gown against my chest.
The only other guy I've been with likened me to a Buick, and I seriously doubt four years of celibacy have improved my skill set.
"I want you," I tell him, "but I want it to be good."
His forehead wrinkles. "You think it won't be?" He slides his hand into my gown and cups my bare breast. "I know you like this..." He rubs my nipple between his thumb and index finger. "And this..." He gives it a squeeze.
"That's stuff you're doing to me. The stuff I'd to you? Supposedly, I'm pretty bad at it..." I shrug. "And I haven't done any of it for a long time."
"It's like riding a horse. You never forget how."
"I've never ridden a horse."
"Oh. Still, you shouldn't be nervous about pleasing me—anything you can do to me is going to make me happy. As long as you tell me what you like..."
I open my mouth, but all that comes out is a sigh.
He pulls me back against his chest. "Come on, Bella. You've never had a problem telling me what was on your mind before."
"Sex."
"Sex?" The word hangs on his breath, hot enough to make me shiver. "What about it?"
"You've only ever been with women of a certain experience. Meanwhile, my ex told the world I was bad in bed."
Edward sighs. "Your ex took money from Royal Bitch. He has no credibility."
"But if he's right—"
"He isn't." He lets go of me and takes a step back.
Oh shit. Please tell me my nerves haven't made him change his mind about this. I know performance anxiety isn't hot, but I never thought it would be this much of a mood killer.
"Edward..." My eyes are downcast I turn to face him. Then I see his trousers slide down his legs into a bunch at his ankles. A second later, his dark gray briefs follow suit.
"I won't let us have bad sex." He steps out of one pant leg, then the other, before kicking them across them room. "I don't believe in it."
When I finally look up, it's at his face. For a second or two, they actually stay there. As much as I want to check out His Royal Scepter, I don't want to be obvious about it. Despite my good intentions, my gaze slowly creeps down to his chest and stomach. The light spattering of reddish hair around his navel gets darker and thicker until it stops altogether at the base of his penis.
Yep, he's definitely a grower. He's also extremely well-groomed. I can just imagine the kind of paperwork Edward required His Royal Manscaper to sign. I'll ask him about it later. Right now, I just want to touch him.
I hold my bodice against my chest with one hand and reach for him with the other. Slowly, I close my fingers around the shaft. He's hot and smooth and very, very hard. I watch his face as I give him a little squeeze.
He closes his eyes as he gasps. I slide my hand along his length then brush the underside of his head with my thumb. He lets out a quiet moan.
For a while, I take my time exploring him. I want to know every vein, where he's most sensitive, and whether or not he's ticklish.
Eh, fuck it. We'll have plenty time for this later. I let go of his scepter and push my dress to the floor.
"Impatient much?" He's laughing as he takes a step toward me and cups my face in his hands.
Ever so slowly, he brushes his lips against mine.
It's chaste and tentative, and it doesn't matter that we're both naked and less than a minute ago, I was jerking him off. His kiss makes no assumptions.
"I love you, Bella."
His eyes are closed as he says it, but that makes it no less sincere. I thread my fingers through his hair and pull his face to mine.
This time, he doesn't hold back. His hands creep down to my bottom, lifting me so my hips are flush with his and my feet don't touch the floor. He walks us toward the bed. I tighten my arms around his neck to make it easier to carry me and up scratching him with my bracelet.
"Sorry." I press my lips against the narrow red stripe that runs from his chest to his collarbone. "I should probably take it off before you end up needing stitches or something."
"Keep it on." He lays me down on the bed.
I lean back onto my elbows and smile. "You thought about this, didn't you? Me, here, wearing the bracelet and nothing else?"
"Not exactly." He shakes his head and hooks his thumbs under the waistband of my panties. "I wanted you like this."He pulls them off me, then gentlypushes my legs apart.
For a while, he just looks at me. I wait for him to move between my legs, but he doesn't. Without breaking eyecontact, he licks the back of his thumb and presses it between my legs. With a light touch, he drags it along one lip, then the other.
Then he does it again, but this time, he pushes inside me. Then he drops to his knees. replaces his thumb with his tongue.
Oh my god.
He licks and sucks and finger fucks, all the while keeping his eyes on mine. I hear myself making noises and telling him how good it feels. The tension builds and builds, almost to the point of pain. My body goes rigid; my hips come off the bed. Then it happens, and I feel it everywhere from the inside my ears to the soles of my feet.
Edward keeps his mouth on me until my breathing returns to normal. Then he climbs on the bed and lies on his back with his head on one of the pillows.
"So..."
"So?" I ask, stretching out beside him.
"And you thought cunnilingus was on the NDA for show!"
I'm laughing as he traces the perimeter of my nipple with index finger. Then he starts to flick it with his tongue, and I can't remember what I thought was funny. His hand moves back between my legs as he sucks my nipple into his mouth.
After what he just did to me, I want to go down on him. The problem is I've given exactly three blow jobs in my life and gagged through each and every one of them. Since that's two more times than my ex went down on me, I never felt compelled to hone my skills. I do now.
Edward grazes my nipple with his teeth as he releases it. "I want to watch you come again." He pushes himself on top of me and settles himself between my legs.
He presses his hips against mine with a slow, even rhythm. Though his pace stays the same, little by little, he increases his pressure.
Whoa there.
Was that him inside me just now? It couldn't have been much—probably just the tip—but he still should put on a condom. I open my mouth to tell him, but he's already shifted his hips and pulled out of me. Guess it was just a slip. I am pretty wet down there.
He sits up so he's kneeling between my thighs. One hand he rests on my stomach, the other he wraps around his penis. His gives it a quick tug then rubs it against me.
I close my eyes and slowly blow the air out of my lungs. How the hell does he do this? I'm close to coming already.
He's inside me again. Like before, it's just the tip and only for a second. I don't say anything about it—I'm worked up enough that the last thing I want is for him to stop. He shifts his hips and pushes forward, entering me more deeply. Once again, he pulls out right away.
He leans forward and brushes his lips against mine.
"Is it okay when I do this?"
I feel his penis rub against me where I'm most sensitive. "Oh yes."
"And this?" he asks, pressing himself inside me.
It's too shallow to count. I raise my hips to bring him in a bit deeper.
"Yes?" he asks.
"Please."
"I love you..." He cups my face in his hands and brushes his thumbs across my cheeks. "...and I'm going to care of you. You know that, right? I'm yours for as long as you want me."
He kisses me—a slow, deep tongue kiss that makes me feel dizzy even though I'm lying down. Ever so slowly, he pushes inside me. He's a lot bigger than what I'm used to, and though I wouldn't say it hurts, I have to stretch a bit to accommodate him. When he's in as far as he'll go, he stills.
For a while, he stays like that.
"The way you feel around me...I knew it would be different like this. That I'd be able to feel..." He pulls out until just his head is inside me, then slowly pushes back in. "...all of your soft, wet heat." His movements fall into a slow, steady rhythm. "You're even tighter than I thought you'd be. God, I'm so close already. But I want you to go first..."
"I'm not there yet."
"Are you close?"
Part of me thinks I should fake it—it's what I've always done before. The handful of times I told my ex something wasn't working for me, he got really offended. But something tells me Edward's enough of a man to want to know the truth.
"No," I admit.
He cradles me against his chest and rolls over so he's on his back and I'm straddling him. "Maybe this will be better."
If he's at all offended, it doesn't show on his face.
"Thank you." I lean forward and kiss him.
He lines us up in such a way that when I sit up, I take him inside me.
Okay, this is nice. I shift my hips. This is very nice.
He brushes his thumbs across my nipples. "Better?"
I raise my hips, then slowly lower them. "Yes."
"What about this?" He rubs me right above where we're joined.
"Mm hm." My movements get faster and faster. "I'm right...there...Don't stop...Yes!" I feel myself pulsing as fall forward onto him, an inarticulate mess of sweat and tingles.
"May I finish?"
I nod against his chest.
He rolls me onto my back again. His thrusts are deep, and his moans are loud. It doesn't take long for him to finish. After he softens inside me, he gathers me into his arms my kisses my forehead.
"You're perfect," he whispers.
Seconds later, he's asleep. After the day we had, I can't say I blame him. I'd probably be asleep right now, too, if I didn't have to pee.
I get out of bed and head into the bathroom to take care of business. Once again, he's out of toilet paper. What is it with this man and TP? You'd think his staff would make sure the roll never runs out. I hop off the toilet and open the cabinet under the sink. Thankfully, there's a stack of extra rolls right next to the used-condom receptacle—the condom receptacle that sits empty because we didn't use protection.
My ass hits the marble floor with a muffled thud.
How the hell could we be this stupid?
PSA: Practicing safe sex is extraordinarily important. Getting caught up in the moment, as Bella did, isn't smart. That being said, I'm not writing an after-school special. Just because my characters can engage in risky behavior without it biting in them in the ass doesn't make it okay.
(And no, she's not getting pregnant or catching an STD. I do, however, have my reasons for writing the scene the way I did.)
"I Have Dreamed" copyright 1951 Richard Rogers and Oscar Hammerstein.
Thanks for reading. xoxo.