Chapter 21

I woke up next to Edward Cullen today.

I can't stop thinking about soft, slow breaths and sleepy eyes that opened to meet mine.

I can't stop thinking about twined legs and twisted sheets, bodies curved against each other.

I can't stop thinking about parted lips and pressing tongues sweet goodbye-kisses.

It's kind of crazy, but it's this beautiful, exciting kind of crazy. It's this warm that grows hot as the morning passes – just like the sun that has amazingly made a repeat appearance today.

I hope the library is empty again.

He had to go to work, so I've stayed busy with nothing of importance. Downloading silly love songs that until a week ago, I would have considered embarrassing. They're still embarrassing, but no one will ever know I own them.

I try to read Bronte – Emily, because she was the best. But the tone of the book is all wrong for my mood. Everything in the world is happy and bright. And nothing in the world is gothic or tragic. I choose Austen instead.

Brandon, not Darcy.

I look at the clock and count the minutes to what I feel is the appropriate time to go and see him – a time that won't make me seem too eager or crazy.

I wanted to go immediately.

I want to go right now.

I wonder if he's thinking the exact same thing.

And then he texts.

If I had a flower for every time I thought of you, I could walk in my garden forever.

- Alfred Lord Tennyson

I want to vomit rainbows.

When I walk into the library, the cool air rushes over me. But his eyes meet mine almost instantly, and absolutely nothing is cold.

Not my blush, not the space between my legs.

He's with a patron – a woman with her three children. Kids kind of annoy me, so I walk down an aisle and look for the book I was reading earlier. I hold it in my hand, flipping until I find the passage that I'd found while I was reading. I fold down the corner, then I wander around looking to see if anyone else is here.

They're not.

It's totally empty.

I walk back to the nonfiction section, I sit down on the floor, pretending to read, and I wait for him to come and find me.

Not even a minute later, he does.

"Whatcha doing down there?"

"Reading." I grin. "I like it back here. It's quiet."

He leans back against the bookcase in front of me – legs crossed, hands gripping the shelf.

Seriously.

I can't stop staring.

"Quiet and secluded." His voice is laced with innuendo.

"I hadn't really thought about it being secluded," I tease.

He grins.

I grin back, knowing full-well that all I have done is think about how secluded it is back here. Especially after yesterday, and of course last night when Edward shared his fantasy.

Fuck, his fantasy…

"I don't believe you."

"That's right," I tell him. "We've already established you're perceptive."

He doesn't miss a beat – he just laughs and says, "Exactly."

And this is my life right now – flirting with a man who seems to find me equally as fascinating as I find him. I wondered when this would happen. If this would ever happen. In the past, with other guys, they were either interested, and I wasn't. Or I was interested, but invisible.

It's nice to be seen.

And I want to see him – even more than I already do. I want to know him. I want to spend the whole summer reading books and trying to read his mind.

But I'm really hoping that he's just willing to share it all with me.

I realize I'm staring, so I look down at the book.

"What are you reading?" he asks.

"Sense and Sensibility."

I wait for a snarky comment about Austen. Men never seem to appreciate the subtle work of such an amazing female mind.

But Edward surprises me. "My mom's favorite."

"Really?" I ask, smiling big. "People generally love Pride and Prejudice most. My personal favorite is Mansfield Park. But there's something about this that...resonates with me. At least today."

"I've never read it. Why does it resonate with you today?"

I flip to the page I marked in the book.

"Umm...for a lot of reasons, actually. But I was just reading this:

"It is not time or opportunity that is to determine intimacy – it is disposition alone. Seven years would be insufficient to make some people acquainted with each other, and seven days are more than enough for others."

I'm almost afraid to look up, and just from reading those words, my heart is pounding like mad. But then I remember that Edward sent me Tennyson – maybe because he thought it would impress me or maybe because he was feeling sentimental himself. But either way, Edward was thinking about me.

Just like I'd been thinking about him all day.

Every single day since I first saw him.

So, I chance a look up. His expression is soft, but there's something about his eyes as he looks at me.

Something deeper than before.

"You know what I think?" he asks.

"What?"

"It won't take us nearly that long."

I blush…all over.

Everywhere.

And every part of my body tingles with this need that has lingered since he left my bed this morning.

"You know what I think?" I ask.

"What's that?"

I just do it – I give him the truth.

"I think I haven't been able to stop thinking about you since you left this morning."

"I couldn't stop thinking about you, either," he says quickly, quietly. "Why do you think I was texting cheesy poetry?"

There's a sincerity in his voice that reaches out and just grabs hold of the girl inside me.

"Poetry is not cheesy."

"Did you like it? The poetry?"

"I might want to walk with you in your garden."

Then, with his eyes never leaving mine, he bends down and takes the book from my hands. It falls to the floor beside me, as he pulls me up until I'm standing just in front of him.

My heart pounds.

His does, too.

And then he kisses me over and over and over again.

And standing in the library with his arms wrapped around me is so much better than the sun shining outside.

I don't think about what I'm doing. One minute my hands are on his stomach, and the next thing I know, they're reaching for his pants. I hesitate just for a moment – wondering if he'll try to stop me.

He doesn't.

I kiss his lips one more time, then his cheek, then his neck.

I don't have to tell myself that I want this – that I want to do this.

And I think he wants this, too.

So, I slide down to my knees in front of him.

"Bella, I…" His voice dies the moment I reach inside his pants. I would almost find it comical except for the small part of me that's really scared that I have no idea what I'm doing.

He's already hard and so fucking hot as I take him in my hand.

His whimper becomes a moan as I awkwardly pull down his pants a little. This sound is encouraging, so I don't stop. For a second, I wonder if there are cameras in here, but I assume that he would warn me if that were the case. Also, I realize that I'm looking at him in my hand, and his pants are pushed down on his thighs. And the sight of that is just so good, so erotic that I forget everything else.

I kiss it.

Just once.

And now he's moaning more, breathing hard and erratically. His hands are on my head, his fingers in my hair.

Please don't let anyone walk in.

Please don't let anyone walk in.

I don't know who I'm talking to – I'm fairly certain I'm not praying. God probably doesn't listen to women who do this in public places.

I look up at him once more, and his eyes are wild…needy. I know that look. I felt the same way with him last night.

"Please," he whimpers.

And then I just do it – I take him in my mouth.

I realize quickly there's no real science or art to it. I kiss and lick and suck him like I would a thumb.

A really big thumb.

He tastes like salt and skin and traces of soap, but none of that matters because the sounds he's making are so fucking sexy – even more than they were last night. And I can't help but imagine what it will feel like when he finally puts his mouth on me…

"Jesus, fuck…"

I suck him harder.

I don't know why – if it's the thought of reciprocation or the fact that he's enjoying it. Maybe both. Probably both. And with his dick in my mouth, I panic for a moment because I don't know what I should do when he comes.

I don't if I should swallow.

I don't know if he wants me to…if I want me to.

But before I can decide, he's saying my name over and over along with words like oh, god and move and then finally, I'm coming.

It's slick and salt in my mouth, and I can't lie and say it's awesome. But it's him…and I made him do that. And that makes it easier to swallow.

He's soft and wet as he slips from my mouth, and before I can be embarrassed, he's pulling me up and trying to kiss me. It try to pull away because, you know... But he tells me, "I don't care," and then kisses me like it doesn't.

"That was fucking amazing, Bella," he says, still breathing hard.

"Yeah?" I ask, equally embarrassed and proud of what I just did. "You weren't...worried that we would get caught?"

"We're pretty hidden back here," he says, pulling me even closer. I settle easily against him. "Although, I have to admit, the chance of getting caught...made it even hotter. You know?"

I grin against his chest and murmur, "So, it was like your...fantasy?"

"It's...part of my fantasy. My ultimate fantasy is more like...that movie, to be honest."

I feel the heat cover my face, not because I don't want that, but because I do.

Just maybe not right at this moment.

"But that can come later," he says. I look up at him, and he kisses me gently. "Much later, if you want."

"Maybe…just later."

He chuckles and I reach down to straighten him out. I fight the urge to touch him again even though I might want to.

"Two things have to happen before...that can happen."

"What two things?" I ask.

"First, you have to let me take out on a second date. A real date," he tells me seriously, sweetly. His hand touches my neck, his thumb traces small circles. "And, secondly, you have to tell me one of your fantasies."

Leave us some love. Or tell us one of your fantasies.