This chapter is heavily censored for sexual content. The uncensored chapter (~4000 words longer) is on Fictionpad.
Disclaimer: Characters belong to Stephanie Meyers. Aside from a few obvious parallels to the Twilight universe, this plot belongs to me.
"Let me see thee, but a glimpse—and straightaway utterance of word fails me; no voice comes; my tongue is palsied; thrilling fire through all my flesh has run; mine eyes cannot see, my ears make dinning noises that stun; the sweat streams down—my whole frame seized with shivering—and wan paleness over me spreads, greener than the grass; I seem with faintness almost as dead." Sappho, translator unknown
Chapter 25
Bella could tell that Edward was shutting down on her. And she didn't like it.
He'd led her to believe that they would continue to enjoy the physical side of their relationship. But now he seemed to be having second thoughts.
He wasn't questioning her, per se, or the fact that she was in his life. But he seemed to be uncertain as to just how they ought to go about things now. Edward was tentative. He was all too obviously solicitous of her needs, sensitive to the fact that she might not want what he wanted.
But she wanted. She definitely wanted.
And while she had enjoyed his gentler side, Bella also wanted the Edward who'd taken her on that sofa in her apartment.
Not the way it had ended, of course, but the spontaneity of it. As if Edward couldn't control himself.
During the course of their little contest, Edward had suggested that Bella wouldn't be able to control her cravings once she finally gave in. And maybe he was right, because she wanted him again.
She felt so wanton. That in and of itself was a turn on.
And it was in a haze of lust that she phoned him one evening after work and school.
"What are you doing?" Bella asked, suddenly feeling unsure. This was much easier in her head than reality.
"Getting ready for a shift," Edward answered.
"Oh, if you're busy—" She felt a pang of disappointment.
"I've got a few minutes. Why?"
"I just wanted to talk to you," Bella said, wondering if she really wanted to go through with this.
"What's up?"
"Um, I was thinking about you." She shook her head, annoyed at her own nervousness. Sighing, she threw out the next three words. "And your gift."
There was a brief pause. "My gift?" Edward asked.
"You were right," she breathed, her voice wavering a bit with nerves and tension. "There's only one speed."
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"What's wrong?" Edward asked, noticing Bella's sigh.
"I don't know which fork's for what," she confessed, dropping her voice so as not to be overheard by the other diners.
Bella felt stupidly nervous in her thrift shop chic. She didn't understand why Edward would take her to a restaurant this "fancy."
"Which one should I use?" Bella asked, eying the hors d'oevres.
"How would I know?" Edward snorted, before shoveling in a spoonful of bisque.
Bella narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously.
"What?" he smiled disarmingly, wiping his mouth.
"Are you lying to make me feel better?"
"How would I know which fork to use?"
"Esme. Carlisle."
Edward shrugged. "Esme tried. But Dad barely had two cents to rub together when he was growing up. He still calls shrimp forks the 'little prongs for prawns.'"
Bella smiled at the picture he'd painted.
But then, a propos of nothing, Edward said. "I wish you'd move. That neighborhood can't be safe."
Bella hitched a shoulder, wondering where this was coming from. "It's cheap. And it's not like I've been mugged yet."
"Emphasis on the 'yet.' There's a free apartment in my building."
Bella gaped at him. "I couldn't possibly afford that."
"I could float you a loan."
She blinked. "Are you crazy?"
"I know you're a fine, upstanding citizen. You have a deviant streak, maybe, but I'm sure you'd pay me back."
Bella tried to stem the sense of panic rising in her chest. "I don't like the idea of owing anyone money," she told him carefully.
"It wouldn't be like that," Edward insisted, seemingly oblivious to her distress.
"I just can't," she said, her voice rising.
Glancing up at her, Edward realized that she was, in fact, distressed. "It's just money. It doesn't matter."
"It does to me," Bella replied, sticking her chin up. But then, the way that Edward was looking at her made her realize that she was blowing his offer out of a proportion. She shook her head. "It's just." She stopped and started over again. "You don't know what it was like with my mother sometimes." Bella huffed. "All the time, actually. Always owing money and trying to wheedle people into giving her more time to pay the bills."
Edward mulled her words over. "I get that," he said after a minute. "My mom was the same way. I have no idea how we managed to keep the apartment. The landlord was always complaining that the rent was due." He shook his head." Sorry, I didn't mean to freak you out."
"It's okay," Bella said. She didn't want to talk about it. She knew damn well was acting like a basket-case.
"Alice asked me about you," Edward said.
Bella took a bite of her quiche.
"She said you've been ignoring her calls," Edward continued.
"I haven't been ignoring them," Bella argued. "I just haven't been answering them."
"She thinks that you're mad at her."
"I'm not mad at her."
"So you just don't want to talk about you and me," Edward observed in a knowing tone. He didn't sound angry. Just stating the obvious.
"I just don't know what to say," Bella complained. "About everything."
"Tell her it's none of her damn business."
"But that—" Bella paused. "Alice won't settle for that."
"Make her settle. It's not like it's her decision, anyway."
Bella wasn't sure that it would be that easy.
"Cheer up, it's just Alice."
Bella shook her head.
"Look, I was saving this for later, but I think that you need a pick-me up." Edward pulled a package out from under his seat and handed it to Bella.
Which just prompted her sense of panic to rise still further. She didn't like the idea of Edward giving her presents.
"What is this?" Bella asked. She hadn't noticed him carrying anything when they had come in from the car.
"Just a little something."
"Caligula," Bella said, without really thinking about it.
"What did you say?" Edward asked.
"Caligula." Bella put her shoulders back.
"Did you—did you just safe word my present?"
"Yes, I did." Bella met Edward's gaze. She had used the "safe word" from their little game at Breaking Dawn. And if it was tacky to bring that incident up now, in the middle of a nice restaurant, well that Edward's problem.
But Edward didn't seem to be put out about being reminded of that night so much as he was annoyed that Bella was refusing his present. "You can't do that," Edward argued.
"Of course I can."
"We're in the middle of a restaurant."
"So?"
"So you can't safe word a present. And not this present anyhow."
"So what?"
"Just open it," Edward said. "Please?"
Huffing, Bella pulled the package towards her and tore off the wrapper. Her eyes widened when she realized it was a book.
She liked books.
And her eyes grew impossibly wider as she flipped the book open and ran her eyes over a passage.
Bella had never before heard of the fantastic and sensational catalogue of titles published in the Merryland series of travelogues. But she was quick to realize that, like others in the series, the book before her—Thomas Stretzer's A New Description of Merryland—was devoted to the description of a somewhat bizarre journey through a landscape oddly reminiscent of the topography associated with a woman's body.
But it wasn't the subject matter that had Bella's eyes bulging so much as the obvious finery of the print. "It's too expensive," she whispered heatedly across the table.
"You don't even know how much it cost."
"I'm sure that it's too expensive. I don't like to get expensive presents."
"Would you take a cheaper present then?"
Bella pursed her lips.
"Thought so. Besides, I never gave you a birthday present," he reminded her. "Consider it this."
"You gave me a vibrator."
"That was really a present for me. And thank you, by the way. I enjoyed it greatly."
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As Bella led the way into Edward's apartment, she laughed, glancing back at him over her shoulder.
"What?" he asked, dropping the leftovers on a small table, then turning to lock the door.
"Oh nothing," she said, pulling off her coat and turning to watch him. "I was just thinking—"
"That I'm right about everything?"
"That we haven't really played any games since—" Bella stopped, not wanting to refer to Breaking Dawn by name.
"Do you want to?"
She did. But would he want to? "Well, I was just thinking that—you can't catch me!"
Bella tentatively took a step back, wondering what Edward would do.
The speculative glance he cast her way sent a wave of warmth through her frame. She reached for the light switch—
And darted away, leaving the apartment in dark as she sprinted through the living room.
"You don't exactly have far to go in here," Edward pointed out as he entered the living room cautiously, running his eyes on the shadow.
A couch cushion sailed across the room and hit him in the face.
"Turning my own home against me?" he growled playfully. "Who do you think you are?"
"I just needed a place to stay," a voice mocked from the direction of the kitchen. "And your door was open."
Dropping his coat, Edward sprinted towards the kitchen and—
Crashed into the counter.
He cursed at himself. This was his apartment, after all. He had the advantage.
"I don't know who you are," Edward called. "But if you don't come out, I'm going to have to call the police."
"Don't do that," Bella exclaimed, clearly having back fled to the living room.
Edward toed off his shoes and crept in the direction of Bella's voice, reaching out a hand to feel his way. Rounding the couch, he fingers brushed against flesh and Bella giggled, darting away again.
"But you've broken into my home," Edward said, creeping down the hallway after Bella. "Who knows what you've been doing in here."
Coming to the entrance of his bedroom, Edward paused. He didn't think that Bella would have hidden in the bathroom. And going under the bed or into a closet was just too cliché.
Quickly, Edward pulled the door away from the wall and seized Bella. Crying out, she struggled in his arms.
"Got you!" Edward celebrated.
"No, let me go! Let me go!"
"But you've been in my home all of this time. Going through my things." Edward pressed Bella against the wall, pushing his body into hers.
"D'you wanna pick a new safe word?" he asked, uncertain about how he felt about the fact that she was still using Caligula.
"No," she breathed. "Same word." It was their word, after all. Special to them. It had nothing to do with Tanya.
"So what have you been doing alone in my apartment?" Edward asked, returning to the game.
"I promise that I didn't touch anything. I promise!"
"What were you doing here, then?"
"I was so cold and tired. I just needed a place to sleep."
"You slept in my bed?!"
Bella tried to pull away from him again. "I didn't mean to! I tried sleeping on your couch, but it was just too lumpy."
"So you thought that gave you a right to sleep in my bed?"
"I tried the floor, but it was just too hard."
"Well, if you liked the bed so much, why don't you lay down now?" And Edward pulled Bella away from the wall and pushed her in the direction of said bed.
"I'm sorry sir," Bella said as she fell on the mattress.
"We'll see about that." Edward pinned her down.
"I could make it up to you."
"You'll make it up to me alright." Edward bit down on her neck.
"I could cook and clean for you."
"No, I think that I'd prefer for you to stay right here in my bed. Since you like it so much."
"Oh no sir! I couldn't do that." Bella bucked, trying to force Edward off of her.
"But you owe me, don't you?"
"Not like this sir." Bella tried to wrench her hands out of Edward's grip, and getting one free, she struck in him the face, and froze. She hadn't meant to do that.
"Don't you fucking apologize!" Edward growled, grabbing her hand and forcing it back down.
"But—" Bella tried to argue.
Edward ignored the obvious worry in her voice, and went back to their role-playing. "You've come into my home. You've been sleeping in my bed. You attack me. I expect you to make up for it."
Bella struggled weakly, torn between wanting to go along with the game and just wanting to get on with the main event, so to speak.
"Rougher," Bella said.
"No," he said, refusing.
"But—" Bella needed it. She couldn't articulate why she did, but she did.
"Please!" Bella pleaded, feeling like she was going to cry if she didn't get something more.
He gave her what she wanted at last and it hurt, and at the same time, made her feel so much better. She felt centered. Calm.
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Bella considered herself a feminist. The notion that she might have wanted to be ravished had always struck her as a little offensive. She'd put up with it whenever Edward or Tanya had suggested it, because it fit in with the plan to seduce Edward.
But now that Bella was actually having sex with Edward—
It shocked her how much she enjoyed rough sex. How much she enjoyed role playing.
She and Edward were spending several nights together, always at his apartment. They would have sex, and usually more than once. Edward was often gentle, but Bella couldn't help admitting that she enjoyed it when he was more demanding.
The physical exercise left Bella achy and sore, but the twinges after-the-fact just made her want it more. Those twinges were certainty preferable to the anxiety—
It had only happened a few times, and only when Edward was especially tentative, especially gentle.
For some reason, afterwards, Bella would be left feeling uneasy.
She knew that it didn't make any sense, but long after Edward had fallen asleep, she'd lay awake, tears pricking at the corner of her eyes.
She never felt that way when he was rough.
And she much preferred role-playing to just being plain old Bella.
She had especially enjoyed the way Edward chased her around his apartment and then held her down.
But Bella had to admit that the occasion had reminded her of the game that Tanya had made them play at Breaking Dawn.
And remembering that night put a sick, empty feeling in the pit of Bella's stomach.
Not because she thought that she'd made a mistake—logically, rationally, it made sense to accept Tanya's offer. To take the money.
But when Bella thought about what she'd done, about what she'd become—just like her mother—she felt a tearing sensation in her chest.
The only thing that made it feel better was Edward.
And not kind, solicitous Edward either. No. Rough Edward.
Bella was self-aware enough to realize that this wasn't healthy. That she was acting out in some perverted attempt to punish herself.
Her brain told her that she'd done nothing wrong. She had prostituted herself, but there was nothing wrong with prostitution. She absolutely believed in decriminalization.
But her body—Or maybe it was her heart—
Either way, something told her that she had seriously fucked up.
She tried to tell herself that it didn't matter.
After all, she'd yet to see a dime from Tanya. You're not really a prostitute until someone pays you, she told herself.
But then she'd remember Edward—and that tearing thing in her chest would get worse.
If Bella was at work at school when the pain began to claw at her chest, she would duck into the bathroom and take an illicit picture of herself and send it to Edward. These pictures were far more risqué than the ones she'd sent in the past. No more teasing lingerie. The images still hid her face, but everything else was on full display. And strange as it might sound, there was something about sending a picture of herself that made the tension in her chest ease up, at least until she could see Edward again.
And when she did see him, she made it quite clear that it wasn't sweet Edward she wanted. She didn't want gentle or nice.
She wanted rough. She wanted to feel used.
And she wanted to go until Edward couldn't go anymore.
Only afterwards, when he was asleep, would Bella allow herself to consider the notion that she had made a mistake in agreeing to Tanya's proposal.
But as she gazed at Edward's sleeping form, Bella consoled herself that at least Edward was enjoying himself. If she had done something wrong, she was making it up with her body. And actions mattered so much more than words.
The possibility that Bella was using Edward never would have occurred to her. Had someone suggested that she was ignoring Edward's preferences—that she was much fonder of rough sex than he was—she would have laughed outright.
To be fair, Edward was enjoying himself with Bella. But he would have preferred a shade less—
Intensity.
That was one way to put it.
When Edward was rough, more often than not, it was because Bella was spurring him on. He was only trying to satisfy her.
But he wasn't unhappy. If anything, he was happier than he could remember being in a long time.
It's not just the sex, Edward told himself. It's not.
Because if it was just the sex, then that would mean he was backsliding into his addiction.
It's not that, Edward thought. It's Bella.
Not that Edward was in love. Edward wasn't ready to countenance the possibility that he was actually infatuated.
But he had definitely worked himself up to the point of "in like." Edward was willing to admit that he was "in like."
That in and of itself was momentous.
And as far as he could tell, Bella was right there with him. In fact, she was often the one initiating things between them, the way she would send him a picture—sometimes twice in one day—or coming over to his place in the middle of the night to have sex.
And every time Edward was the one initiating something, Bella was right there with him, willing and able.
She wanted him as much as he wanted her.
And Edward thought that was just dandy.
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One night, Edward woke to find that Bella astride him.
Groaning, he blindly reached for Bella only to realize that his hands were restrained by handcuffs.
The light was dim, but as Edward's eyes adjusted, he could see the outline of Bella's body.
Edward shifted silently, encouraging Bella.
What she did then was fucked up. She knew that. "I want you to tell me something," Bella said, clenching her muscles again but otherwise not moving.
"What?"
"I want you to tell me about that night."
"Which one?"
"I want you to tell me about that night you had sex with a woman and two other men." Bella knew what she was doing was fucked up. And that the way she was asking was wrong.
Edward was sure that he'd heard her wrong. "You want me to what?"
"I want to hear about your night with that woman."
"Why?" Why on earth would she want to know something like that?
"Not like this," Edward said, because even he could tell how fucked up this was.
She squeezed him again and slowly rocked her hips. "Exactly like this."
"Why?" he asked.
"Because you're with me now. Not her."
"It's not like you really compare."
Bella froze.
Edward realized his mistake. "I don't mean it like that. I mean that you're nothing like her."
Bella still didn't move. "What do you mean?"
He sighed. "Really? You want to hear about this?"
"Tell me."
Even though he knew it was wrong, Edward moved his hips, trying to get her to move, but she had pushed herself off of him and was out of reach in a flash.
Straining at his restraints, Edward growled. "What're you doing?"
"You broke the rules," Bella said.
"Please," he begged.
"Then answer my questions."
He couldn't understand why Bella would want to hear about stuff like this. Or why she would want to hear about it like this, but he agreed.
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When Bella woke up, she felt sore all over. It had been a week since she and Edward had enjoyed their marathon sex session. When they were done, Bella knew what the woman she'd asked about felt like. She knew what it felt like to be fucked by three men in a row.
She still didn't know why she'd asked Edward to do that to her.
Or why she'd asked him to do it while fucking him like that.
Well, that wasn't quite true was it? She was a little screwed up, and she knew it.
And now, here she was, in Edward's bed, uninvited.
She had come over—using the key that he had given her—knowing that he wouldn't be home, and had crawled into his bed, naked, to wait for him.
But she'd somehow fallen asleep.
Stretching, Bella was brought up short by the realization that she was restrained.
"Tsk, tsk," Edward chastised her. "Don't struggle."
"But I like to struggle," Bella breathed, craning her head to try and see Edward. But he was out of her line of sight.
"Such a naughty girl. You need to be punished for creeping in here, again. Close your eyes. Unless you'd rather sleep."
"I don't want to sleep," Bella answered, quickly closing her eyes as instructed.
She could hear Edward moving closer. Something passed over her face and she felt him tying a knot behind her head. She was blindfolded.
Edward suddenly pulled the blanket off of her, and she gasped at the sensation, shivering as the cool air met her bare flesh.
Starting to pant, she realized that she must look so debauched, lying there for him.
"I'm taking your picture," Edward said. "You like the idea of someone taking dirty pictures of you?"
Bella twisted.
"Answer the question."
"Yes!"
"Why?" he asked.
Bella's thoughts stuttered as she tried to think of a way to explain herself.
"I'm your whore," Bella said, and wondered at herself. Wondered that she could say such a thing—as if she belonged to Edward. She didn't belong to anyone. But God, it had turned her on to say it.
She heard Edward moving again and a click, as if he was opening a box. She felt the tip of a wet brush drawing down one of her arms, from wrist to shoulder.
"You're painting me?" she asked.
"You are a work of art, after all."
Bella didn't answer, her breath catching in her throat as Edward leaned over her, his weight resting on her stomach and legs as he carefully painted something across her clavicle.
"What are you painting?"
"I'm writing, not painting," Edward corrected her.
"What are you writing?"
"Just the words I think of when you come to mind."
Bella's mind immediately went to the term she'd just called herself. Not knowing how she felt about that, she asked, "Like what?"
"Like 'beautiful.'"
Her mind stumbling over this revelation, she felt Edward's weight leave her.
"Like 'lover,'" Edward whispered.
AN:As I post this chapter, Fifty Shades is playing on USA (a standard cable network). It's 8 pm Eastern time, so 5 pm in California. So it's kind of hard for me to believe that Corrupting Influence is really the epitome of perversion that some anonymous reviewers seem to think it is.
A reviewer has asked me if I'm serious about the sex, or if it's just a backdrop for the mental gymnastics of the two main characters, who are working through the trauma of their personal issues. (This reviewer didn't use those exact words; this is my paraphrase.)
Ironically, right before reading this review, I had been complaining to someone I know: "I don't think that anyone who's reading this story is paying attention to the philosophical debates. They just think it's about sex."
Needless to say, I was very happy to see that review.
And to answer the reviewer's question: Yes, I'm serious about the sex. The sex and the philosophy and the mental gymnastics.
I hope that you think that I pull it off.
Thanks for reading.