A/N *waves* Hi. So...some of you are probably clicking on this update link and thinking - What story is this? And some of you are probably remembering this story and thinking - What's the point of posting this now!? Who cares, we're gone! Or, something else along those lines, lol. A few of you are probably thinking - It's about time, I've waited forever! And you might even be happy. I'm hoping there is more of you in that category than the latter. *fingers crossed*
I'm not going to blather on with excuses. I have lots; those of you who follow me know all about it, but the bottom line is these characters just quit talking to me. I'm not sure why. Maybe they wanted to keep their private moments private. Whatever. Point is I begged and coaxed and banged my head against the writer's block wall hard enough they finally relented and let me back in. ;)
Truth is, I probably just didn't want to let this particular Edward and Bella go by writing 'the end.' I still don't, which is why this epilogue will be in two parts.
If you're willing to still read, you have my utmost gratitude and appreciation.
Disclaimer: Stephenie Meyer owns it all. I'm just trying to keep her characters alive a little bit longer in our hearts and imaginations.
Warning: The following chapter contains material of the citrus variety. Is it intended for readers 16 and over.
Reminder: I asked readers to vote on what type of honeymoon scene they wanted. Non-canon won. I chose to blend a little canon in here as well though to keep the feel of DfE intact.
Defrosting Edward
~~xx~~
Epilogue Part 1
Island Heat
. . . . . .
Isle Esme.
Isle. Esme.
Esme's Island.
An island. An entire large, beautiful, tropical island. 'A gift to Esme from Carlisle,' Edward said casually when he docked the boat that brought us here, as if describing something average and normal, like flowers or jewellery.
An island!
My jaw hurts from gaping. Even in the dark I can see how perfect everything is. Edward is leading me across a moon-washed beach, my bare feet making imprints in pristine white sand that literally glows under my feet. He's carrying my shoes in his free hand; the overly priced heels with a designer name I can't pronounce aren't exactly beach material.
They aren't exactly Bella material either. The sand under my feet is fine and soft, but even if it wasn't, I still would have taken them off.
I look around, the word gobsmacked coming to mind in terms of my mood. I would have been happy to stay in Rio, I think to myself and almost say out loud. It was amazing, or at least what little I saw was amazing. So colourful—a sensory overload really. There certainly wouldn't have been any shortage of things to do...
I lose the train of my thoughts and gape some more as a house comes into view. I should be far beyond the ability to feel surprise by now. I mean, what did I expect? A cute little beach bungalow? I nearly snort at that thought.
Edward turns back to me, stopping so I'm forced to do the same. I clamp my jaw shut, too aware that standing there with my mouth open is hardly attractive. Tonight, of all nights, I want to be attractive.
I clear my throat and try to act worldly. Instead, my silence and rapid blinking conveys exactly what I am—a fish out of water, and the clichéd nervous virgin bride on her wedding night. I force my throat muscles to swallow over the lump in my throat, offering him a weak smile I doubt reaches my eyes.
"Wow. It's...um...wow."
This house reminds me a bit of the Cullen home in Forks. The same lines, the same large windows that I know will give the most stunning, unobstructed views of the prettiest places on the island, first and foremost the ocean.
"It's certainly...big."
Edward nods at my less than eloquent appraisal, and I realize I'm not the only nervous one. I reach up to wipe a bead of perspiration from my forehead. I'm sticky with the hot humid air and feeling every one of the thousands of miles we've travelled in my stiff muscles and joints. I'm also overwhelmed and incandescently happy.
I grin.
Edward grins back.
I laugh, and his smile turns mischievous—a devilish smirk that only barely preludes the sudden unexpected movement that has him scooping me up into his arms.
I gasp and laugh some more. "What are you doing?"
"Carrying my beautiful bride over the threshold, of course."
"Oh, of course."
"I'm nothing if not traditional." He smiles down at me. Just like that my universe finds its footing, and I fall madly in love with Isle Esme.
How can I not? Blissful endless days and nights stretch out before me. Days and nights spent alone, completely and utterly alone, with Edward. No meddling sister-in-laws, no teasing brother-in-laws, no friends or family members at all—just us.
Edward sweeps me through the door and sets me gently on my feet in a large, open space living room. Mainly decorated in soft creams and ivories, splashes of warm corral reds and cool aqua blues add colour, blending beautifully together as though the outside has spilled in.
Someone has been here, I realize as I take in the lit candles on the tables, the soft, well placed lights, some of which are now turned on. An insulated ice bucket sits on a glass coffee table, cooling a bottle of champagne. A gorgeous spray of flawless velvety-red roses lay beside it, their stems tucked inside tiny vials of water. Loose petals are scattered artfully around the arrangements, looking almost black in the shadows the candlelight fails to reach.
I glance at Edward questioningly, wondering if maybe we aren't truly alone after all. He's watching me, leaning against a pillar that seems more artful than structural, his arms crossed over his chest. He looks so handsome. Despite the weight of the rings on my fingers it's still hard to believe he's mine. The warm wind has messed up his hair even more than normal. The dark linen pants and crisp, light blue button-down shirt he's wearing fit him so well my mouth waters a little. Anxious, excited little butterflies take flight in my belly when he moves in that sinfully graceful way of his, coming to my side and running a gentle hand down my bare arm. He links his fingers with mine and watches as his thumb traces back and forth patterns over my rings. His smile is radiant and a little smug.
He looks up when I squeeze his hand, following my lead when I glance at the champagne and flowers with an inquisitive look.
"Carlisle and Esme employ caretakers who look after the house year round. They come in once a week to clean and inspect the property unless told otherwise. I called ahead and asked them to prepare everything for our arrival," he answers my unspoken question.
"Efficient."
He smiles in answer and reaches for the champagne, plucking it from the melting ice and inspecting the label. It's French. I wouldn't be able to pronounce the name if I tried.
"They'll come twice weekly while we stay to clean and bring us anything we might need from the mainland."
"That's not necessary. I can clean." I try to sound practical when what I am is horrified at the expense and the idea of having housekeepers cleaning up after me. And it will be after me. Edward doesn't eat and never makes a mess.
"Don't be silly, Bella," he admonishes gently, wiping condensation and ice water off the bottle of champagne. "This is our honeymoon. I want to spoil and pamper you, not watch you do menial labour. He grins a bit. "Not that those tasks don't have their appeal from a spectator's standpoint, especially when you wear those tiny cut-off shorts that should be illegal..."
I slap at him playfully, careful to do it lightly so I don't hurt my hand. My cheeks get hot remembering the day I spent with him and his family—well my family now, too—putting in a garden for Charlie. Those shorts and his frustration at not being able to touch me were the creative fuel he used to create a stunning bed from branches in our meadow. I remember that night so well that even now I can easily draw on my memory and relive the exact sensation of silk ties around my wrists, Edward's hands on my skin, his mouth...
He changes the subject, though I see his eyes dance with the same memory that makes me blush. "They've stocked the fridge as well, if you're hungry?"
I resist the urge to pathetically proclaim an appetite for things other than food, and settle instead for shaking my head. Food is the last thing on my mind. With my nerves still buffeting my insides, I think it will be a while before I get hungry.
"Are you tired?" he asks next, his tone concerned and gentle. "It was a very long flight."
"I slept nearly the entire time," I remind him.
"Yes, you did." He looks amused, and I roll my eyes at him. It was a crazy, hectic week and our flight took place in the dead of night for obvious reasons. What did he expect? If he wanted scintillating conversation from an alert, energized travel companion, he should have thought of that before whisking me away after such a long—wonderful, but really, really, long—day. I am only human. Between the nerves, excitement and the overwhelming ceremony and reception, not to mention tearful goodbyes to Charlie and Renee and my few friends, I was exhausted.
"I'm not tired now," I insist, when he uses the hand not holding the champagne bottle to skim his thumb under one of my eyes. I probably have mascara smudges highlighting the dark circles that will need more than broken, uncomfortable sleep on an airplane to banish.
I most likely also need to brush my hair; if Edward's looks messy, mine must look like small animals are trying to nest in it. Looking down, I also notice the pretty dress Alice put me in is rumpled. A knot forms in my stomach and doesn't relent despite Edward's light laugh and the kiss he places on my lips that though brief, hints he's not finding me unappealing.
"Would you like some champagne?"
I think about teasing him by pointing out the legalities of alcohol and minors, but if ever there was a moment where I felt less like a minor, this is it.
"I'd love some." I watch him pop the cork, laughing with him when it spills over, splashing a little on his shoes. It smells crisp and sweet and makes the nicest fizzing sound. I'm sure it's outrageously expensive and completely wasted on someone who won't be able to tell the difference between it and the cheap stuff Renee used to buy and let me have a small glass of every New Year's Eve.
Edward puts the bottle down to wipe up the excess, and I decide I need a minute to myself.
"Will you pour me a glass?" I ask him. "I'm just going to...take a human minute."
"Go ahead," he murmurs, rising and kissing my forehead. "Come outside when you're done. We can watch the moonlight on the water."
I nod and point toward the short hall I can see on my left. "There?" I ask, clarifying where I think the bedroom and bathroom most likely are.
"Yes. I'll bring the luggage in, too. Take your time."
. . . . . .
I find the bedroom easily, passing the gleaming, spotless, modern kitchen on my way. It's large and airy with more floor-to-ceiling windows that no doubt have a view as amazing as the living room. I wouldn't know for sure though. My attention is too fixated on the giant white bed in the center.
White, tons of white—white down filled comforter, white satin sheets, white pillows so fluffy they look like clouds. More white cascades down the sides from an elaborate mahogany wood canopy, frothy, gauzy material fluttering slightly in the warm breeze that floats through the open windows.
More roses and more loose rose petals, this time scattered across the white bed. I don't miss the symbolism in the way they show so intensely red against all that white, like blood on snow.
Or a virgin sacrifice.
Did I really just think that?
I make my way to the bathroom, barely noticing the opulence. My stomach twists and flips, and it takes effort not to hyperventilate.
I don't even know why I'm so nervous. Despite the inappropriate thought I just had, my trust in Edward isn't wavering. After everything we've been through, all our ups and downs and tortured moments, I trust him more now than ever before. In the last few months he's proven what I knew all along, that real intimacy is not only possible between us, it's more intense and beautiful than I ever imagined.
We've had the dress rehearsal. I haven't changed my mind about wanting the real thing. I take a deep breath and look at myself in the mirror. The girl who stares back at me smiles confidently. I find my gravity and sink back to earth.
Outside, waiting for me, is the love of my life, the love of my existence.
"Be brave," I tell myself, then I proceed to whip myself into shape, starting with brushing my hair.
. . . . . .
Edward is waiting for me, exactly as he said he would. A large deck spans the front of the beach house, and he's standing at the waist high railing, looking out at the view. The moon is high and large, emitting a cool silver glow and dappling the water with striations of whites and grays that ripple with the waves. Everything looks serene and magical.
I join him, and he instantly puts an arm around me, gently pulling me into his side. He hands me a champagne flute halfway filled with gold, little bubbles dancing against the insides.
It tastes divine, and I resist the urge to chug. I've never been drunk before; have in fact hardly ever imbibed. Tonight would be a poor place to change that even if my nerves crave a jolt of liquid courage.
"Have you ever had champagne?" I ask him suddenly, aware of the way he watches me drink.
He shrugs. "I believe so yes. It wasn't uncommon in my time for even young children to have a bit of wine or champagne at special events. I can't remember the exact circumstances, but the smell is familiar." He watches me take another sip. "Is it good?"
I nod, letting the flavours slip over my tongue, enjoying the tickle of effervescence in my throat. "It's delicious."
He smiles, pleased. Reaching out he draws my attention to a small dish of strawberries. He plucks a large one free from the others and offers it to me, holding it to my mouth so I can bite. The fruit is ripe and luscious, bursting with sweetness on my tongue.
"I hear these go well together," he comments, eyes fixed on my mouth. A little of the juice escapes the remnants of the berry and slips down my chin. Before I can wipe it away, Edward suddenly swoops down and licks the trickle away, starting at my chin and ending up at my mouth where he seals his lips over mine and thoroughly kisses me. When he pulls back I'm breathless and trembling. It's all I can do to hold onto my glass.
He seems to notice this and takes the glass away from me, his expression playful and musing.
"Hmm," he hums teasingly. "I disagree on the taste of the champagne and strawberries, but you, Mrs. Cullen, are definitely delicious."
There is only a mild breeze, and it's as humid and warm as the still air. I'm suddenly overheated, though I think it has nothing at all to do with the ambient temperature and more to do with that kiss.
Edward places a cool hand on the nape of my neck, massaging my damp skin gently.
"I'd apologize for the heat, but under the circumstances I think it will be beneficial." His eyes dance, and his lips quirk up at the corners. Still, I sense a slight hesitance in him that undermines the teasing. As if he knows I've noticed, his expression turns serious and contemplative. He studies me, searching my eyes and my expression the same way I'm searching his. "I tried to think of everything that would make this...easier."
Reaching up, I tug his hand away from my nape and link my fingers with his. "It's perfect, Edward. I can't imagine a more romantic place to spend our honeymoon."
He glows under my praise, or maybe that's the moonlight, either way, the tense line of his shoulders relax somewhat. He raises the hand I'm not holding and strokes my cheek, cupping my face gently in his cool palm. I see conflicting emotions battle for dominance in the way his jaw tightens and his gaze skips back and forth between my eyes.
"I promised we'd try, Bella..."
"Don't," I whisper, tightening my fingers over his to the point if he were human it would most likely hurt. "It's just me, Edward. You don't have to prove anything, and you don't have to be afraid. All you have to do is love me."
He takes a breath, the deep unnecessary inhale proof of just how nervous he is. My own nerves settle slightly at this realization. I step closer to him, sliding my free hand around his waist, tilting my head up further to see him more clearly. Rising on my tiptoes, I kiss his jaw, his chin, his cheek, and the corners of his mouth.
"It's just me," I repeat softly. "Just us. We'll figure this out together, Edward."
He exhales roughly and clamps me closer, a groan escaping his mouth seconds before he captures my lips with his. His taste fogs my head, and his wicked tongue slips sensually between my lips and steals my ability to breathe and reason. My knees threaten to give out.
Before I can figure out how to move and function and tackle him, Edward breaks away to press his forehead to mine. Our panting breaths mix, and my heart beats double-time for both of us.
"Come for a swim with me?"
I blink, confused. My head can't absorb the words that aren't what I wanted to hear at all.
"Swim? Now?" What I wanted to hear was come to bed with me. Is he trying to put me off? Has he changed his mind?
"The water is warm. I think you'll approve."
The teasing tone is back, but my traitorous self-doubts wonder if it's fake.
He steps backward, forcing me to let go. I watch him. Despite the fact I've had my own attack of nerves on several occasions tonight, it hurts to think he might not want this, might not be willing to try.
"I don't have a bathing suit on," I tell him, not even bothering to try and hide the flat hurt and disappointed tone to my voice.
He takes another step backwards, cocking his head slightly, smirking a little. He glides effortlessly down the stairs, transitioning from hard wood to soft sand without any marked difference in his movements. I see his fingers move up the collar of his shirt and hear buttons sliding out of their fabric holes. Moonlight kisses the skin he bares, painting him in soft almost ethereal light. He looks like a dark angel, wickedly beautiful sin and innocence. The shirt falls to the sand. His fingers fall to his waist band and the button and zipper below.
"There's no one here, love. We don't need swimsuits."
A rasping sound of metal teeth parting heralds a flash of more skin and the darker trail of hair on his lower abdomen. My skin breaks out in goosebumps. He isn't wearing underwear.
Before I can see more, Edward turns away and heads for the water. Darker shadows obscure my view as he moves away from the lights of the house. I catch a better view of him again when he reaches the ocean's edge, naked, before he glides into the water and vanishes completely.
With my heart in my throat and every nerve ending in my body igniting, I force my shaking hands to work, slipping out of my dress and underwear before moving to join him.
It's clear he's not backing out.
Neither am I.
. . . . . .
I hear Bella gasp a second before I dive into the water. I know I've shocked her. I also know I've made her nervous and insecure with my hesitance moments ago. I'm sorry for that, but I needed to slow things down before I ended up laying her out on the hard wooden deck and taking her without the proper romance and care a bride deserves on her wedding night.
I tamp down my anxieties and slice through the water until I reach a suitable depth. When I stand up, the water level reaches just above my waist. I resist the urge to turn around when I hear Bella's clothing slide off her skin. I have a moment's regret that I did not undress her myself, but it passes quickly. Time enough for that later.
If tonight is to be a success, I need to set a slower more careful pace. I cannot let my confidence with how we've been intimate these last few weeks cloud my judgement. Making love to Bella is less risky now that I know so much more about how to touch her and how to control my instincts, but it's still not safe by any means. If anything, all our so-called practicing could be our downfall, especially if I let my pride at my successes lure me into false confidence.
She's no less fragile, and I am no less strong or dangerous. I use the minutes she takes fumbling out of her clothing and making her way through sand that sucks at her feet and challenges her balance to ground myself and put my lust up on a shelf. I want her, so badly. All I've thought about from the moment we left Forks is the way her skin feels under my hands and mouth, the way she tastes and the sounds she makes when her pleasure consumes her and she forgets to guard her actions and behaviours. I've imagined so many times what it will be like to make love to her fully, but I know not even my imaginative mind can measure up to such a sublime, unknown reality.
I hear her feet slip into the water and hear her shiver a little in response. I didn't lie, the water is warm, but of course it isn't as warm as she is. I let my hands sink to my sides, allowing the warmth to penetrate. I cannot be mortally warm for her, but at least this way I'll be closer to her temperature. The water will lower hers and raise mine. Somewhere in between human heat and vampire cold is a happy medium. I'm striving for that now. I want our lovemaking this first time to be as un-jarring and unnatural as possible. I chose to bring her to Isle Esme in large part for the heat. My cold skin will comfort her in the days and nights to come, but tonight, I want to be more like her. More human.
I want her to feel she's making love with her husband with little reminder of my real nature.
I know it's ridiculous. Were I to tell her this she'd be upset and quick to tell me she knows who and what she married, and that she loves me as I am. I know, too, that she has never been repelled by the coldness of my skin. Still, I want this for her.
And yes, for myself as well.
I say a silent last prayer for patience and strength as Bella finally makes her way to my side. I turn my head and manage not to groan through sheer hard effort. I've seen her naked. Kissed and touched and caressed almost every inch of her body, and still the sight of her fills me with unbearable yearning and desire, just like the first time.
I turn towards her, slowly, waiting for her eyes to meet mine.
"It's beautiful here," she murmurs, looking up at the moon and the stars.
"Not half as beautiful as you are."
She smiles and blushes, the scent of her enfolding me like a warm blanket. The fire ignites in my throat, venom filling my mouth so that I'm forced to swallow it down past the pain. It's nothing. Effortless to ignore when all I see is her. Bella, my wife, my life, my soul.
Under the water, I find her hand and begin to walk backwards, drawing her with me this time, leading her out to deeper waters.
Slow, I admonish myself again and again.
Slow.
. . . . .
The water is so warm, Edward was right. It floats over me like a soft touch. I giggle as he scoops me closer, my legs coming up and wrapping around his waist, my arms around his neck, fingers in the hair that brushes the nape of his neck as he keeps us effortlessly afloat. I can't see the shoreline anymore. You'd think I would be worried about that. I'm not. Likewise, I don't worry about sharks or jellyfish or anything else that might go bump in the ocean. I feel safe and happy and deliriously turned on.
Edward kisses a trail up my neck and over my earlobe.
"You smell so good," he groans.
I shiver, well aware that a vampire is at my neck and all I truly care about is that he stays there. Well, maybe not permanently. I have other places aching to be kissed. I tug harder on his hair, trying and failing to pull him to my mouth so I can kiss him back in some way.
He chuckles, and the sound ripples against me.
"Edward," I groan in frustration as his hands slip down my back and cup my bottom, pulling me closer.
"Oh..."
I can feel the hard press of his erection nearly where I want it as he drops his head and kisses over my collarbones. If he doesn't touch me soon, I'm going to combust.
"Please."
"What, love? What do you want?"
"You. I want you."
"You have me, Bella. All of me, always."
I groan, frustrated as his fingers skim the backs of my thighs and his mouth brushes over the tops of my breasts, teasing and never quite giving me what I want, what I need. I let go of his hair and run my hands around to his front. It's his turn to groan as I slide over his wet skin, learning anew all the dips and hard curves of his chest and abdomen. He looks at me as I slowly lean in to kiss him, careful even though what I want is to attack him. I brush my lips across his.
"Please," I plead again.
"Tell me."
"I need you."
"Tell me."
"Edward, please."
"Tell me what you want, love."
"I want you, inside of me," I breathe against his mouth, running my tongue over his bottom lip, beyond shame or pride. I'll beg if he wants.
He groans, loudly this time, the sound curling up into a low growl.
"Now," I tell him. "I don't want to wait anymore. I need to feel you." I'm nervous about this, but it doesn't change how much I want it.
I'm aware of movement, but it's too quick to process. I feel the water, and then the air, and then the soft touch of white, plush fabric as he lays me down on the big white bed.
"Slow," I hear him say, so quietly I'm not sure if he's telling me or talking to himself. Either way, I want none of it.
"No, not slow."
"Bella..."
I drag him down on me when he tries to pull back. I'm aware he lets me do this just as I'm aware I'm probably pushing him too far, too fast. I try to care, but he feels so good over me, and I want, I want, I want...
"Now," I demand, hooking my leg over his thigh, pushing my entire body off the bed and up against him, my hands greedy down his back, moving to his hips, trying to find the perfect point of connection and align us. I'm awkward and grasping, and he's stone still and not breathing.
The haze over my mind fades when I realize this. I let my weight fall back on the bed, my hands falling to my sides, frustrated and worried.
"I'm sorry," I tell him, trying to catch my breath. His eyes are closed, and I ball my fists up, clenching handfuls of snow white sheets, striving for self control. "I'm sorry."
I barely realize I'm repeating myself until his eyes fly open and he kisses me silent. Soft, gliding little kisses.
"Hush, love, hush." He lowers himself down to me, our bodies touching at all points the way I so desperately wanted. "It's all right."
"I'm pushing you."
"No," he answers, one hand sliding down my side to my hip and thigh, keeping me where I am, my leg hooked over his.
"You stopped. You weren't even breathing."
He smiles though it looks a little forced. "I'm trying to pace myself."
"Why?" I realize I sound incredulous when he laughs a little.
"Bella, this isn't a race."
I blush, because to me it feels like it is. I've waited so long it seems, and my nerves make me antsy.
He trails a cool finger down my hot cheek. "Let me do this at my pace, love."
"Is it too much?"
He shakes his head, smiling a little. "It is and it isn't. I want you very badly, but my other...urges...are well in check."
I relax a little at that, grateful I didn't send him into the equivalent of a vampire tailspin.
I reach up and touch his jaw, running my fingers over the almost sharp delineation, marveling at his cool skin and gorgeous face.
My husband.
"I get carried away," I admit, blushing.
He smiles. "I like when you get carried away. I just want to take my time. I want to touch you, love you until you can't breathe for how much you want me. I don't want to hurt you." He looks tortured at the thought that he could, and my heart hurts. This is all so hard for him.
"You won't hurt me, and I already can't breathe for wanting you."
"Love," he breathes, lowering his mouth to mine, soft kisses quickly becoming deeper. He breaks away to let me breathe, peppering kisses over my cheek to my jaw, up to my ear where he whispers, "You haven't come for me yet tonight, Bella. I want that first."
I shiver all over.
"Cold?"
"God no." I'm hot, boiling. His words just made it worse. I feel starved.
"Good." He shifts slightly, his movements bringing me closer as his kisses move down my neck.
"I want...oh," I lose the train of my thoughts when he finds a sensitive place halfway down. Trying my best to focus, I grit my teeth a little to keep form moaning. "I want...us, I want to...do that together...with you inside me...Edward."
He seems to interpret my disjointed mutters, lifting his head and brushing my hair to the side, freeing more skin to be kissed. His expression is gentle, knowing.
"It's your first time, love. It doesn't always happen that way."
I blush hard and shake my head. I know that, really I do, but it doesn't matter to me.
"It matters to me," he says, like he's read my mind, though most likely he just knows me well and is interpreting my head shaking.
A cool finger caresses my warm cheek, soothing the burn of my embarrassment. I start to protest again, but he kisses me quiet, and really this kind of torture is the sweetest kind.
I give up and give over, letting him have the control he so obviously wants and needs.
. . . . .
Bella acquiesces sweetly, settling and relaxing against the bed. I know what she wants, but I also know what I need. She's taxing every part of my self control. The burn in my throat is hotter, harder than it's ever been, and while there is no part of me that wants to bite her, I worry about instinct and nature kicking in.
I worry even more about getting carried away and hurting her with my strength.
I need to take the edge off, for both of us.
Very carefully, I trail my fingers down her body. Her breasts fit my palms like they were made for them. Her nipples tighten, and I drop my head to lavish them with attention, the sweet tips firm under my tongue.
She moans and arches, and I slip my hand between her thighs and over her. As I suspected, she's warm and wet, but not nearly ready. I can feel how tense she is and taste her nervousness in the air she releases on a sweet gasp. I cup her, letting her heat saturate my palm, pressing the base of my thumb against her, rocking lightly before sliding my fingers up, opening the tender outer lips of her sex.
She feels exquisite. I growl in approval as she grows wetter with my touch, letting her thighs fall open as I skim the opening of her body, drawing her honey up to her clit. She's swollen there, perfect.
When she moans my name, I circle that bud slowly, using the lightest touch, wanting to make her arch and squirm. She pants and trembles as I slide down and press inside, one finger then two. I feel her stretch around me, silk and tight and, God, she's perfect. I use my thumb on her tender little clit now, finding that rhythm I know she likes best.
Her heart pounds and races, the sound better than any symphony I've ever heard. Her moans are nearly constant, soft whimpers and exhalations that convey her rising pleasure. Her hands roam my arms and shoulders, clenching down on my muscles every time I press inside, a delicious little gasp escaping her mouth each time I slide out.
She's melting and clutching at my hand, tight and so deliciously warm. I can't help wonder what it will feel like to finally, finally be inside of her. My erection aches and strains, and the impatient part of me wants to be in her now, but I need her to come first. I need it.
It will ready her body and ease my mind.
It will remind me how fragile and precious she is.
It will center me and fill me with heat and pride.
It will also burn me alive in the best way, making me so hot I won't be able to stop myself from taking things to the next, natural, level. I need the courage so I won't break my promise, for the truth that I'm hiding from her is I'm terrified.
She's never felt more fragile to me, more precious. I've never felt like more of a brute, capable of atrocity.
I kiss her mouth, drawing in all her uninhibited cries, moaning my approval.
"Yes, there, love, right there," I groan when she scrapes her fingernails down my sternum. "You feel so good. Let me feel you come for me, Bella. Let go." She's right on the edge, fighting it like she always does that first time, resisting, like a part of her struggles to stay in control. I don't let her resist. My fingers move faster, deeper, pressing further inside of her than I have before, faster, stroking the sensitive nerves on her upper wall. It's always a bit of a fight to make her come the first time. The sweetest struggle between male and female occurs here in this moment.
She cries out, louder, tensing. I run my thumb over the very tip of her clit, back and forth, quick and demanding, knowing how sensitive that is and swallowing her final cry as she begins to shake and come apart in my arms.
I've won and her pleasure is the most decadent prize.
Beautiful.
I don't let her catch her breath. I don't even let her orgasm fully complete before I'm up, over her, my fingers still caressing her as I push her thighs further apart. I struggle for control and grasp proverbial thread that is weak and tattered.
Careful. Slow. God.
I'm right there, nudging against what has to be the gate to heaven. Her heat is unbelievable, her wet arousal slippery and inviting. She's forgotten her fear and is arching against me, riding out the last of her climax.
Careful, my mind screams, except I need this, and I'm not sure careful can play any part. Oh, how I need this. To be a part of her, to be buried in her comfort and heat, to possess and bond in this most carnal way. I ache.
Gritting my teeth, I push forward, feeling her open for me, tender flesh parting perfectly. I can feel her stretch, the small piece of delicate skin that marks her virginity still partially intact despite all we've done. I push forward a little more and feel it tear under my persistence.
"Sorry, love. Hold me, I have you."
She doesn't react outwardly. Her eyes are closed, her head turned slightly to the side. She's panting, dragging air in quick, shallow inhalations. A tiny V appears between her eyes, a furrowing of muscle and flesh that speaks her pain louder than words.
"Look at me, Bella." I need to stop breathing. If she bleeds...
Her eyes meet mine, gravity yanking me back down to earth.
I inhale tentatively.
Blood.
Bella's blood.
I stop breathing, stop moving, stop thinking. She surrounds me, and the sensation is like nothing I've ever experienced. Better than her touch, better even than her mouth...
The monster I feared underestimating rattles his cage.
My hips surge against hers, once, twice, a third time.
My hands clench into fists, tearing sheets and the cover of the mattress beneath us. I push into her, deeper, wanting deeper, needing deeper. I'm not breathing but the smell of her perfect blood is locked in my airways, lush and alive. Venom pools so that I have to swallow again and again, and with every swallow more of that scent is consumed until I see red, feel red, need red...
"Edward, look at me."
Warm hands frame my face, and her voice stops the monster cold.
Her.
She is his...
Mine.
Ours.
I open my eyes and groan. Bella is pale. Her eyes glisten with unshed tears.
"There you are," she murmurs, her smile tremulous and grounding—an anchor in my personal, conflicting storm. "It's okay."
I try to pull back, terrified I've hurt her in some way. Her legs are around my waist, and I don't want to hurt her more by tearing away from her. I can't get my hands uncurled from the springs inside the mattress. They seem wrapped around my fingers.
I'm evil enough the feeling of her tight and wet around me is just as much of a deterrent to moving away as any of the other reasons.
"I'm fine, Edward. You didn't hurt me at all. Not at all, okay? I'm fine."
"Are you lying to me?" I sound harsh and angry, though I don't mean to be. The anger is directed at me and my weakness, not at her. Bella only smiles, shaking her head, forgiving my tone the way she forgives everything bad and dark about me.
Speaking makes me breathe, and I realize the scent of her blood is actually very faint. No more than a drop or two has been spilled. The smell of laundry detergent on the sheets is stronger. The smell of the ocean-salt on her skin from our swim is stronger. The smell of sex and love is stronger.
"Look at me. I'm not lying. I'm perfectly okay."
Dropping my head to hers, resting my forehead on hers, I exhale slowly, relaxing somewhat while still keeping myself immobile above her.
"We can stop if you want?" Her offer is sympathetic and understanding. I know she will allow me to draw away and not hold it against me. She will forgive my failure and take me as I am.
I don't want that at all. Now that the moment has passed, I'm more and more aware of our bodies and how intimately connected they are. I want to fix this, if I can. I want to do this right. I want no reason to need her forgiveness.
I get my hands free of their shackles of twisted bedsprings and use one to cup her hip, the other to touch her face, caressing her cheek, running my thumb over her parted lips. My hips move against hers, tentatively. Her lips part, and she pants warm breath over the pad of my thumb with a tiny moan, part pleasure part pain. I breathe her breath into me.
She exhales deeper, a tiny wince showing in the minute crinkles around her eyes and the slight tightening of her jaw. Her thighs tighten as well, as though to keep me still.
"You're hurting," I accuse.
Her head shakes in negation.
"Bella?"
"Only a little. It's...uncomfortable."
I sense she's editing, but instead of pulling back the way I once might have been inclined to do, I push forward. A simple flex of my hip that regains the depth I previously had. Her discomfort is all part of this. Her body has been invaded by mine. I've taken over, buried deep, claimed her. She needs to submit, to soften, to accept my claim.
I'd spare her pain if I could, but I would lie if I said a part of me didn't relish everything about this moment.
Mine, my thoughts roar in praise. No one else has touched her like this. No one else ever will.
I move again, and I feel her trying. Trying to relax, trying to accept.
"That's it," I murmur in approval. "Relax, love, relax your thighs," I encourage, reaching to stroke her skin from her hip down, moving behind her knees, unhooking them from my hips and pushing them down on the bed. The action opens her further. My fingers press against satiny flesh, pressure on her inner thighs. I slide deeper.
Dear God there is no match for this, nothing, nothing has ever felt more exquisite...
Beautiful love, my life, moans softly just for me. I sense her pain, but her pleasure is right there as well.
"Feel me, love. Feel me so deep inside of you," I tell her, encourage her, though I say it just as much for myself for I am awed and pride-filled and so delirious with how good this feels, how right. "You were made for me, for this, for us. Take me inside, Bella. Deep, deep inside."
A part of me wants to lay my head against her chest and bite deep, find her heart and bury myself there as well.
A stronger part, the healthier sane part, wants only this.
That part easily wins.
I move faster, and she whimpers, arching a little now, trying to give me what I've asked for—my self-sacrificing, beautiful girl. Instead of biting her heart, I kiss her breast, let my tongue re-learn the sweet taste of her silk-hard nipple. I press her thighs down more and push deeper until I feel the end of her, careful but insistent.
"There," I groan-growl-moan. "Take me, love, all of me."
She says my name and arcs her back off the bed, squirming to get closer, retracting now to get away. She wants and doesn't, the sweetest yes and no as she tries so hard to let me in. I hear her heels dig into the sheets as she fights to accommodate and accept me, this.
I want more than accommodation. I want to own her, every inch.
I slide my hand beneath her, under her firm little bottom, lifting her into me.
She says "Edward, oh," and I can hear the inner battle of more and less and slow and fast and stop and don't stop twisting in her tone of voice.
I move faster, pulling back and pushing in, stroking muscle and flesh that is slick and warm, wet, satin, and she is annihilating me with her love, her acceptance of all that I am despite the way it burns her.
I shake. My steel spine and muscles undergo some radical change, and I shake like I never have before. Heat curls in my groin, blasting through my erection that is so buried in her I can't tell where she ends and I begin.
I'm going to come and there is nothing I can do to stop it.
I don't want to stop it.
Bella curls her arms around me, holding me close. Too close. I feel her pulse against my lips and I want her, all of her. I turn my face to the pillows with a loud groan and bite the fabric just to get my teeth in something, anything. My hands leave her flesh and grab the headboard. It splinters under my grasp as I growl her name into teeth-clenched fabric, my mouth suffocating in down-fill-feathers. She cleaves onto me, around me, saying my name again and again in soft panting breaths, all praise and yes and take me-fill me, come-come-come.
I drive into her, careful but deep, as deep as she can take and my release races through my entire body, down until it's centered right where I am locked inside of her, jetting out of me, spilling from my body into hers with the most sublime sensation, like being purged and re-filled.
Like being reborn.
I gasp at the end and turn away from tortured pillows, keeping our bodies connected until we are both on our sides away from the mess I made. I stroke over her, using my heightened senses to examine every inch I touch and see, searching for hurt places for I lost all control, and what a selfish animal I am...
Bella bats my hands away and captures them in hers, dragging them up her body and tucking them between us before leaving them to touch my face. Her breathing is quick, her skin beautifully flushed and glistening with perspiration. Her smile is incandescent.
"Stop," she tells me, gently. "I'm fine. That was..." She slump-rolls onto her back, our lower halves still connected and entwined. Incandescent turns dreamy.
I groan, a little ashamed and a whole lot happy and proud. I didn't hurt her at all, well, beyond the realm of what any woman feels her first time.
"We did it," she laughs, giddy and blushing.
I groan again and move lightning quick over top of her again, right between her thighs, pressing against, but not re-entering, her tender, swollen, newly invaded place.
"We did," I say as well, allowing her infectious joy to numb some of the inadequacy I feel at having lasted no longer than a mortal man experiencing sex for the first time. Though in my defense, I can't see how any male, supernatural or not, can have any restraint when surrounded by such perfection and pleasure as this beautiful creature.
I sober. "It gets better, love, I promise. I'm sorry I..."
"Shh," she hushes, pressing her lips to mine to stop my apology. She bites at my bottom lip, probably hard, though it feels like a nibble to me, then laves over it with her wicked, sweet tongue.
Unlike a mortal man, I don't need recovery time, and I let her know with a slight rocking motion. She shivers in response, a little moan vibrating from her mouth to mine, reminding me that she didn't reach orgasm. Again I feel selfish, though I know intellectually it's hardly uncommon for a first experience with intercourse. Some women never find release that way at all, and it hardly matters to me. I know endless ways to make sure she's never left unsatisfied.
I lift her, moving until I am upright and she is straddling my lap. I kiss her, slowly, deeply, teasing her mouth open, delving inside, stroking her tongue with mine, petting her lips with mine, sucking her bottom one, then the top, tasting her for long, sweet minutes.
I ache to be back inside of her but refrain, despite the way she moves against me, as though she wants the same.
She whimpers, and I align us, taking her bottom in my hand and dragging her over me, soft, still-wet flesh gliding over my hardness. The feeling is familiar and erotic. She knows this. I know this. We've done it dozens of times, and our bodies move without effort, knowledge and lessons learned combining so that each of us knows where to press, where to glide, when to move faster, faster...
I run a hand up her back, still keeping one pressed tight to her thrusting little bottom, loving the curve of her in my hand, urging her to move the way she wants. She moans my name softly as I curl my palm over the back of her head, cradling her precious skull and precocious mind, fingers twining in her silky tangled hair as she lets her head fall back, mouth open in pleasure. My, God, she's so beautiful as she lets me take all of her weight, trusting me as I lift my hips off the back of my legs where they were bent under me, giving us a new, better angle.
Bella tenses against me, panting, and I know she's close by the way her leg muscles clench around my hips and the sound she makes deep in the back of her throat, a purring whimper that drives me mad.
"Yes, love, yes," I encourage as she lets go, slick and wet and warm, so warm, against me. Before I can stop her, lost in watching her, she moves, and I'm there, right there where she opened for me so perfectly. She presses down, and I groan, "No, love, it's too soon, you're too tender, wait..." But she ignores me, and I have no resistance as I feel her wrap around me, opening and accepting and taking as though she's sucking me in like a hot little mouth...
"Christ," I growl, fighting and then just as quickly giving in. Hands once guiding and cradling tighten. I pull her down on me, burying myself in all her heat and glorious-tight love.
She can't hide a hiss of discomfort, but I don't stop.
I know she doesn't want me to.
I take and I give, and it hurts us both. Restraint is a prison my body aches to be free of. Her tender body fights to rebel the dominant invasion of mine. We both teeter on the brink of surrender.
I lower her back to the sheets and press deep and, oh, I know this now, this place, this feeling, this aching heat and consuming, sheltering, covering, wraparound bliss, and I want more. I will always want more.
I know her now. Know how deep I can go, and how far she can take me, and there is nothing in me that doesn't want to test that limit, to urge her to take more. She opens and does, and nothing is more perfect than her humid breath on my skin and her never-still hands all over me, clenching, stroking until I'm nearly mindless.
I move and she moves, and though I want to last I can't. I fill her with my release and hope she knows every aching toe-curling make me shake like a weakling jet and drop of it is love.
She softens around me, and yes, yes, yes, this is love.
. . . . .
I wake up sore, stiff, sticky and... Ticklish?
Squirming against torn sheets, I blink and rub sleep out of my eyes to survey my surroundings.
Feathers.
Everywhere.
Feathers?
I sag back against pillows that I now can tell are slightly deflated. Blurry eyed I take in more details of destruction as I swivel my head to look around, stirring up more feathers. It's like a small snowstorm in here, fed by my movements.
The bed dips. I turn my head again to watch as Edward puts his knees on the mattress and climbs up over me, smiling and gorgeous, dressed in nothing but black boxers with a designer label. Silk.
Looks like Alice got to his underwear as well.
"We made a mess," Edward tells me, his arms bent on either side of my head as he lowers his body to mine, acknowledging the destruction around us and my notice of it. He keeps most of his weight off me, but I can still feel every incredible inch of him. His skin is blissfully cool, drawing attention to how overly warm I feel in contrast.
"We?" I inquire playfully, my voice slightly hoarse. This level of destruction isn't something I could do. The headboard is broken in several places, and my left foot has sunk into a deep depression, the feel of mattress coils scraping not uncomfortably against my heel. Despite my teasing, my eyes are searching his, looking for signs of unease or self-effacement. Last night, in my opinion, was perfect, but I see things the way a human does, in shades of spectacular life-altering color, and he sees things in black and white, either perfect or not, no room for in-betweens.
He laughs, and I relax a bit. He's not beating himself up at least.
"Well, perhaps it was me that created the destruction, but you were the catalyst so I'm afraid you have to share the blame."
He kisses me, and I groan a little against his lips. "Is Esme going to kill us?" I ask a bit breathlessly when he lifts his head to give me air.
Glancing around the room, Edward grins in that crooked way I love. "Well, she can't kill me, I'm already dead."
I give him a playful smack on the chest but it only smarts my palm. He captures it and kisses it softly, soothing the sting, laughing more.
"Don't worry. I'll replace everything." He frowns a bit at the headboard. "I'll have to tell her about that, though. It's an antique, and it will be difficult to find another exactly like it."
I groan, thinking how that conversation will go.
Hey, Esme. Sorry, we destroyed your one-of-a-kind bed having crazy hot sex on our wedding night...
I'm blushing in an instant. Edward notices, chuckling darkly, running his nose up my cheek and kissing my temple.
"Don't worry," he tells me, lips soft and cool on my hot embarrassed skin. "The only thing she would not want me to break is quite intact. Well, mostly," he grins, mischief dancing in his eyes.
I look around the room warily. The destruction seems to be everywhere...
"Not any of that," Edward murmurs, turning my head back to him. "This." He lays his hand over the side of my face then runs it down my neck and shoulder before moving it over to my chest, directly over my heart that is suddenly speeding up with his touch. "This is the most precious thing, the only thing that matters. You are the only thing that is irreplaceable, Bella."
And just like that I want to cry. Instead, I kiss him, dragging my hands through his hair and pressing my lips to his tightly. We did it, I think, and he's happy and we're good and it was perfect.
When I need air again, I study him, pleased with how relaxed he is. "What do you mean, mostly intact?" I take quick inventory. I feel sore, definitely, yet otherwise fine.
Edward grins some more and slides his hand up my outer thigh and over till it rests dead center between my hips. "One thing is not 'intact' any longer." He gives my pubic hair a gentle tug. I get the meaning and blush more while he laughs at my expense, kissing me until all I want to do is get closer.
He's more than amenable, pressing his knee between mine, pushing my legs open and moving between them. It's then I realize I may be a little more than just sore. I was sore last night. This morning, I hurt. Just the parting of my legs tugs on tissues that want no part of what the rest of me wants.
I wince and Edward draws back, studying me. I lick my lips and shake my head, remembering last night when I was so tired and he insisted on us having a bath anyway. In the bathroom, I was surprised at the small amount of blood on my thighs, and more than a little squigged out as I'd looked at him nervously.
He merely shook his head and urged me into the water, joining me in the huge tub, slipping in behind me where he proceeded to wash me and massage my aching muscles. He admitted the blood took him out of the 'moment' for a short time, but assured me I brought him back. I remembered the moment he spoke about, though at the time I hadn't realized it was the blood specifically. I'd only known he was struggling.
I thought the bath was all about getting rid of the blood so he wouldn't have to be tortured all night. Now I realize it was also about trying to make me more comfortable.
He smiles now, gentle and sympathetic. The hand on my curls moves to cup me and his cool touch feels good. Too good, and I squirm a bit.
"Sore, little love?"
I bite my lip and nod. Stupid human body.
My stupid human body gets stupider when my stomach growls.
Edward smiles more.
"What do you say we get you up and fed, my fragile human?"
I pout and sigh and nod. I'm hungry, and I am too sore for what I really want to do. That's just reality, whether I like it or not.
Edward helps me up and leaves me to do human things while he heads to the kitchen to start my breakfast. I mean to shower quickly, however, the water feels too good and even though sex is off the table, I want to shave my legs and take a little extra time to make myself look nice.
I find a white, pretty, light cotton sundress in my suitcase and thank Alice silently for compromises. White soft cotton panties are directly underneath, making me blush while wondering if Alice saw that I'd only want comfortable undies today.
In the kitchen I'm greeted by the sight of Edward in a white apron. He's still wearing only boxers, and he looks sexy and adorable. He's whistling as he stirs pancake batter, and the love I feel for him threatens to overwhelm me. I don't know how to hold it all inside of me.
Edward turns to check the pan heating on the stove and spots me standing there watching him, overwhelmed. The tenderest expression comes over his face.
"You look lovely," he tells me, and I have to swallow past the lump in my throat, too full of love to respond in kind, because yes, he looks lovely, too.
He puts the bowl with the batter down, his expression growing softer, as though he understands and knows what I'm feeling. He leans back against the counter and holds his arms out to me.
"Come here, my beautiful wife."
I'm across the room and in his arms in a heartbeat. He wraps me up like I'm precious and breathes me in as I do the same. Cupping my face, his kisses are sweet and reverent, like he's worshiping me with his sweet, hard cold mouth.
"I love you, Bella," he groans. "I love you so much. You are my life, my heart, my everything."
I taste tears and move away a little. "I love you, too," I tell him, though it's hardly enough to convey what I mean, how much I feel.
"Thank you for last night," he tells me, still holding my face between his palms, his thumbs brushing away my silly tears.
I choke on a wet laugh and sniff unattractively. "You're welcome," I reply flippantly.
He laughs as well and kisses me some more. When he draws back something passes over his expression and his mouth opens momentarily, like he's about to speak then changes his mind.
He takes me by the waist and lifts me, placing me on the countertop like a small child. Tapping my nose playfully, he gestures to the batter. "Blueberry pancakes okay?"
I nod. "My favourite."
Edward adds blueberries, his eyes meeting mine, the memory of the first time he made these for me present and heated between us.
I remember the taste as he fed me, the sticky warm sweet syrup dripping, his mouth on me as he licked it off despite how awful it must have tasted to him.
What was between us was so new then, so raw and overwhelming as we fought to find our way in brand new intimacy.
It still is.
My body wants more than it can take, and his cocky little smirk tells me he knows it.
In an effort to change the subject, I opt for conversation as the enticing smell of pancakes begins to fill the room. I notice he has fresh cut fruit for me as well and help myself to the bowl as he adds strips of bacon to another pre-heated pan.
"Covering all the food groups, Mr. Cullen?"
"Definitely Mrs. Cullen," he replies, pushing a glass of milk across the counter towards me with a wink. "I want you strong and healthy and energetic."
"You looked like you wanted to say something a minute ago," I say, not rising to the sexual innuendo bait his comment implied, taking a sip of the milk to hide the pink in my cheeks.
"Did I?" he asks evasively, instantly making me more curious.
I arch an eyebrow in answer, and he smirks.
"Are you going to tell me?"
The smirk falls away as he flips the last pancake onto a plate and turns off the burner.
"I was thinking I wanted to apologize," he says quietly, seriously. He pours syrup over the pancakes and uses the fork to cut a small bite-size piece, offering it to me. I accept and moan at the taste. It's ridiculous how perfect he gets these. Fluffy and warm and decadent-rich.
"Good?"
"Delicious."
He gives me another bite and transfers the bacon to a plate lined with paper towels to absorb excess grease. He offers me a strip, warning about it being hot. I skip plates and utensils and take a bite. I'm ravenous.
"Why did you want to apologize?" I ask, swallowing the bacon, worrying.
Edward offers me another bite of pancake. He watches me accept it, heat in his appraisal as I lick the syrup from my lips.
"Last night wasn't perfect..."
"Edward, don't..."
"Let me finish, Bella."
I sigh and scowl. He gives me another bite, and I chew and relent, nodding for him to go on.
"I know you'll say it was perfect for you," he tells me, a knowing smile tugging up the corners of his mouth. "The reality, though, is I faltered, and you had to bring me back. I feel like I should apologize, but I decided not to."
I blink, surprised. "Well, you don't need to, so that's good, but, um, why did you decide not to?"
He spears a large piece of cantaloupe with the fork and offers it to me. I take it off the fork and nibble on it, watching him and waiting for an answer. He seems to be thinking, a small furrow between his brow. I want to touch it and smooth it out. I don't.
"I had a vision in my head of how I wanted last night to be," he tells me quietly. "I wanted to go slow. I wanted to...make it perfect and have no part of what I am come into play. I wanted to be a man, your husband, not a vampire."
I start to tell him how wrong that is, how I love who he is and what he is. He stops me, a finger on my mouth, a "Hush, Bella," silencing me.
"I know now how wrong that was. It made me careless. I am what I am, and yes, I know you love me as I am." He smiles, gentle and conciliatory for making me think he didn't.
He sighs and shakes his head, all crooked smile and self-mocking beautiful man. "As I went to apologize to you, I realized how wrong it was to say sorry for what we shared."
His cool amazing hands come down on my knees and slide upwards, pushing my dress up and baring my thighs. Pulling them open he moves between them, stroking wicked thumbs and clever fingers up and down the skin he's revealed. A few small yet vivid bruises mar the otherwise pale expanse of my upper legs, and he touches them gently. I can see they match the size and shape of his fingertips. Fear of his reaction makes my heart race, but he only bends down to kiss them.
"I should hate the sight of these," he murmurs against me, turning his face so I feel the brush of his cheeks and his eyelashes before he looks up at me. "I should hate myself for giving you these."
My heart beats harder, faster. Does he hate himself?
He unbends and takes my wrist, kissing the inside where another tiny bruise rests. "I should hate myself," he repeats, so soft I barely hear him. "I should believe I'm not worthy of touching you."
"Edward no! They're nothing. I bruise easy, you know that. They don't even hurt. It's only a few marks, don't..." I feel panic clutching at my chest, a cold unease growing.
He brushes his mouth back and forth over my wrist and smiles.
"I don't."
"You don't...?" My voice is high, breathy and quivering.
"I don't hate myself. I don't believe I'm unworthy of touching you."
Relief makes me sag even as I want to hit him for scaring me like that.
He kisses me and groans against my lips. "I never want to hurt you, Bella. I hate the marks I left on your perfect skin, but I think under the circumstances..." He shakes his head, ruefully. I can feel him smiling against my just-kissed lips. "I wanted perfection and the fantasy of sex without effort. I wanted you screaming my name in repeated climax as I filled you and took you with perfect, controlled technique." He chuckles a little as he pulls back. I watch his eyes, trying to see inside his head as he stares back, open and honest—brutally so.
"What happened instead was messy, dangerous, and too quick by far." He trails his fingers down my cheek and rests them on my racing pulse, watching my artery hammer away the last of my anxiety. "No screaming climaxes," he murmurs, "no technique, just me losing control, and finding it, and trying to hold on as you made me humble and loved me more than anyone ever has."
He looks back at me, smiling softly, and, oh, how I love him.
"I thought to apologize for lack of perfection but the truth is it was perfect in its own way, Bella. Every second, every sensation, every touch of your body on mine, around mine, was perfect."
More kisses steal what is left of my breath and any ability I might have found to say something in reply. I pour my 'yes, it was perfects' into my arms that clutch him closer, into my tongue that dances with his, my lips that glide over his, my thighs that press over his hips, and my calves that tighten around his backside and pull him as close as I can get him.
I tell him 'yes, perfect' in the way I moan as he pulls the dress from my body and carries me back to the destroyed bedroom.
I tell him 'yes, perfect' in the way I open for him when he whisper-pleads, "Please, love. I know you're sore. I'll be so careful, so gentle, but I need you. I need to be inside of you. Let me, love, let me inside, let me..."
And he is so gentle, and it doesn't matter that it hurts. Not when he groans my name like a benediction. Not when he holds me like I'm his saviour and his home.
'Yes, perfect,' I say without words as he rocks so slow, so careful, so easy, touching me where we join, kissing me, caressing me, taking me past any part of discomfort.
I tell him 'yes, perfect,' in the way I hold him tighter when I feel him shake and come apart in me, because of me, moments later.
After, wrapped in torn sheets, feathers tickling my skin, cool, solid arms wrapped around me so tight, I tell him out loud as he kisses my throat and that place behind my ear that makes my toes curl.
"Mmm, Edward, yes, perfect."
"And the best part," he tells me in return, "is this is only the beginning." His eyes sparkle as he turns me onto my back and frees me from tattered sheets, blowing feathers off my skin with his cool breath as he kisses a sweet pattern over my breasts. "More practice equals more perfect after all, Mrs. Cullen."
"Really?" I ask, already breathless.
"Really. But for now..."
His fingers glide down and touch me there, right there. My back arches as my head falls back.
Perfect.
. . . . . .
A/N Part 2 will be posted in 2 weeks time. Thank you to those of you who have supported me through this mad case of writer's block with this story. I doubt I would've kept trying to overcome it without the incredible amount of patience and love you guys doled out by the shovelful.
Just for FYI purposes, I've replaced chapters 1-4 with cleaned up re-edited versions of the originals. I will be methodically going through the remaining chapters as well and doing the same. Changes will occur in wording/grammar only and won't alter the original storyline.
To those of you waiting for a Preyward update, chapter 15 is with my beta and pre-readers so it should be up soon.
Aleea