All characterizations, plot lines, backgrounds and details belong to the author. No copying or reproduction of this work in any language is permitted without the express written authorization of the author. Stephenie Meyer owns all things Twilight. Thank you. September 2010.
Many thanks to my amazing beta xrxdanixrx, who also provides the banner. Check out her new fic: My Perfect Mr. Imperfect. XO hun!
Twilighted Beta – Shabbyapple. Thank you.
A million thanks to MizzezPattinson who graciously agreed to pre-read this chapter for me. XO BB. I don't know what I'd do without you.
Thanks to all reading and reviewing. Your reviews mean the world.
Let's check in with Bella.
Chapter 29
The drive home from Revelstoke is a reflective one, for both of us. I tell him about how confronting the mountain is just one step in a healing process that is far from over. The real test will come in January, when I face the mountain again… on skis. But, for now, I feel stronger, more confident, more at ease with myself than I have in a very long time.
Edward seems surprised when I tell him that he has a lot to do with that. And so, I try to explain to him how I was rejected by other men who couldn't wrap their heads around the fact that I am an amputee. How people, even now, treat me differently and assume I'm incapable of doing things. How judgments are made about me before people even give me a chance.
Edward listens, squeezing my hand in reassurance when I'm overcome with emotion. He doesn't try to change the subject or distract me; he just listens, knowing that's what I need.
We're an hour outside of Vancouver, when it starts raining. I'm emotionally drained. I lean back in the seat and shut my eyes, engulfed by a feeling of acceptance and understanding that I never thought I would find. I sink back into the comfortable seat and let the soothing classical music that Edward has turned on lull me into calm along with the rhythmic beat of the windshield wipers.
"I wish my mom could have met you," he says quietly.
I turn my head lazily towards him. "Me, too."
"She would have adored you." He lifts my hand to his mouth and kisses the palm. "Not quite as much as I do, but close."
My heart hammers in my chest while I stare at him, this man who is just as misunderstood as I am, facing his own struggles that I barely know anything about. His beautiful features are almost pained while he narrows his eyes, lost in his own thoughts. "You can talk to me, you know," I suggest gently.
He offers me a half smile. "I know, and I will. But today is all about you. I can't even begin to tell you what that was like for me today, to see you up there… so brave and just…" His voice trails and he starts to rub circles on the back of my hand. "Would you mind if we went to the studio? I need to paint," he says, almost in desperation.
"You can drop me off at my house, if you want," I suggest, assuming he's going to want to paint alone.
"No. I'd like for you to be there - I mean, if you're okay with that," he says anxiously.
This time, it's me squeezing his hand. "Of course," I agree, amazed that he wants me there. The only time I've seen him paint is when he did the piece for the auction. My face flushes at the memory and I wonder if he's contemplating doing something similar tonight. I glance down at my old jeans. At least Alice won't be freaked out if these get ruined.
Just over an hour later, I'm sitting in a high back leather chair at the desk in Edward's studio as he feverishly mixes paints together, almost as if he's in a trance or something, singly focused on his task. He stops and stares at a large, blank rectangular canvas across the room.
He sets the palette down and switches on the iPod, searching through it for only a few seconds before the studio is assaulted with an intense classical piece. He takes his button down shirt off and drops it on the desk, revealing a dark grey t-shirt that hugs every muscle in his chest perfectly.
I feel the blood pump faster through my veins and I watch as he stuffs a number of brushes into the back pocket of his jeans and then purposefully strides to the easel, determination rolling off him while the rain starts to pound harder against the windows of the studio.
The colours practically fly from his palette onto the canvas, varying shades of somber grey and blue covering the bottom half. He then layers vibrant orange and yellow that taper to peak up and off the canvas. It takes me a few minutes before I realize that he's painting the mountain.
He's completely silent as he paints, stopping only to switch brushes or wipe his brow with the back of his hand, his biceps flexing and straining under the sheer exertion. He paints like a man possessed, his movements becoming more intense, but always methodical as the music surrounds us.
I am in complete awe of this man. How he can take a blank and empty canvas and bring it to life. He deserves to have the world, and the world deserves to see his work. I wonder idly about how the meeting with the curator from the gallery went, and feel my body tense as I remember Jane was going to be there. I suppose I need to get used to her, if Edward and I are going to be together.
Time has, once again, ceased to matter while I watch him. I know that he's showing me something that he doesn't share with anyone, and it makes it that much more meaningful.
A loud clap of thunder, followed by a lightening strike, brings me out of my haze slightly and I jump in the chair, letting out a pathetic yelp. He whips his head to me in concern and then smirks, turning back to the canvas. A few moments later, another round of thunder rumbles loudly, rattling the windows. A flash of lightening illuminates the sky and then, the studio is plunged into darkness.
"Fuck!" Edward yells. 'Don't move, Bella. The power will probably come back on in a second." I hear him drop the brushes and the palette, muttering under his breath while he shuffles towards me. Its pitch black in the studio, the only light coming from the intermittent flashes of lightning. He starts laughing as I hear him bump into the desk, and the next burst of lightening highlights the fact that he's standing right in front of me.
"Jesus!" I scream. "You move fast!"
He chuckles and runs his hands up my arms, coaxing me to my feet and pulling me against his chest. "Do you like storms?" he asks, his voice dropping lower in the dark.
"Does anyone really like storms?" I ask sarcastically.
"Hmmm." I feel his nose skim along my jaw before he stills his lips over mine. "I like storms. I like them a lot," he murmurs.
"You would."
He laughs quietly. "What's not to like?" he asks, another burst of lightening accenting the devilish look on his face.
"The fact that I can't see anything, for starters."
"Hmm, just means your other senses are that much more aware," he says suggestively.
"Really?"
He wraps one arm around my waist and runs his hand over my ass, squeezing it gently. "Yeah. Really." His lips travel down the column of my neck. "Do you feel that?" he asks.
"Hmmm," I mumble, my hand blindly moving down his stomach, to his jeans.
I flatten my palm against the ever hardening bulge and he takes a sharp breath in. "Bella…" he warns.
"Edward…" I move my hand boldly back up to the button on his jeans and pop it open.
His chest rises and falls quickly. "Jesus, Bella," he mumbles, his body jerking as the thunder rolls on.
"I though you liked storms?" I tease, slowly lowering his zipper and effectively ending his lame protest.
"Mmm. Wait… umm." His entire body tenses, making me drop my hands from his waist while my heart races. Maybe he's not ready to do this. I try to take a step back from him, but bump into the chair. His arms wrap around my waist and he pulls me into his chest. "Trust me. I want to. It's just… are you sure?" he asks softly, his fingers tracing my face while he waits in the darkness of his studio.
As the storm surges outside, and our deep breathing fills the studio, my heart stutters at this man who has accepted me, who has brought so much to my life, and I know I'm ready.
I move my hands around his shoulder, up his neck and into his hair. "Take me upstairs."
He takes a quick breath in as the lights flicker back to life and the iPod switches back on. He looks down at me, wanting and desperate, pure need radiating from him. He seems at a loss for words as he searches my eyes for reassurance.
The thunder crashes above us again and I break the silence. "I have everything I need in the car… you know. To stay…"
"Stay?" he asks, lifting his eyebrows to me.
"Yeah. Stay. Oh, did you get one of those drying racks?" I ask nervously.
He smirks and nods his head. 'Yeah. I did. I had one of my artist friends make one. He dabbles in sculpture," he explains dismissively as if that's not a big deal.
I shake my head at him. "You could have just bought something at Rona or Canadian Tire," I say.
"Yeah, I could have," he says confidently, lacing his fingers with mine and staring down at me.
My eyes dart to the half finished canvas, where his brushes are strewn across the floor, paint splattered underneath the easel. "Shouldn't we clean this up?" I ask, nodding my head towards the mini disaster.
"It can wait," he says, his eyes never leaving mine. He runs his paint covered fingers down my cheek and under my chin, tilting it up to him. "I am in awe of you. You're the bravest person I've ever known, Bella."
"No, I'm not," I say, trying to look away from him.
He holds my chin firmly, stilling his lips over mine. "Yes, you are." He kisses me slowly, deeply, my heart hammering in my chest. It feels like he's pouring his soul out to me. His touch is gentle and tentative as his hands move down my back, coming to rest on my waist. "I should get your bag," he mumbles, breaking the kiss and leaving my breathless.
"My bag?" I ask, clearly overcome by his intensity.
He chuckles and kisses me quickly. "Yeah," he says, smirking and clearly amused at my momentary zone out. "You know? With everything you need?" He trails his fingers up my back, producing a full body shiver.
"Right. Yeah," I say, shaking my head at the effect he knows he has on me.
He takes a step back from me and moves to the door. "I'll go get it," he offers.
"Okay," I whisper nervously. "Should I go up?"
He stops and turns back to me, a quirky smile on his face. "That is where the bedroom is," he states cockily, disappearing down the stairs.
I hear the door open and close downstairs and take a deep breath, slowly climbing up the stairs. Stopping just inside the doorway to his room, I flip a light switch on the wall beside me. My breathing elevates as I take in his room. It's massive, with large picture windows and a sky light over the bed. The furniture is ultra modern, expensive looking mahogany wood on the two dressers along the side wall. I cross the room and look out the window, marveling at the view of the harbour while the storm marches on. The expensive yachts bob against the docks, the lightening flashing sporadically against their hulls.
I hear a soft thud, the sound I think of my bag hitting the floor, and then, his arms wrap around my waist. He lowers his head to my neck, droplets of cool rain falling from his hair and hitting my skin as he sighs. "You look incredibly sexy in my room," he mutters, brushing my hair away from my neck. "I've wanted you in here for a long time."
"Mmm." It's all I can manage. I've lost the ability to speak as his lips start to kiss behind my ear, moving slowly down my neck. I lean my head back against his shoulder. His shirt is soaked through and cools my back while he presses his body forward and continues to lavish attention on my neck. I take a moment to soak in the feeling of being wanted this way. It's something I was starting to think would never happen.
The lightning explodes again and he slowly turns me to face him, his fingers trailing across my collarbone, down my shirt and between my breasts. He shuts his eyes, taking a deep breath before opening them. "How… I mean… what's the best way…" he stammers.
"I don't know. I was thinking maybe standing first," I suggest.
His eyes grow wide and darken slightly. "Standing?"
I laugh and cock my head to the side. "What, you've never fucked standing before?" I challenge, hoping to ease the stress from both of us.
"Jesus Christ, Bella. I've fucked plenty of times standing… oh, shit. That didn't come out right. I don't just want to fuck… I mean, I do… I just…" He rakes his fingers nervously through his hair, and once again, the lights flicker and die as the power goes out.
We both laugh while I blindly reach up and remove his hands from his hair, squeezing them in reassurance. "Edward. I'm just as much in the dark as you are… literally." He lets out an anxious half laugh. "We'll just try, okay?"
Still holding my hands for dear life, he lifts them to his lips and kisses the backs. "If I hurt you… you have to – "
"Stop talking," I interrupt him, kissing his shaking hands. "It's alright. We'll figure it out. I'm not saying it's going to be easy or perfect, or what you're probably used to, but-"
"Hey. I thought you said stop talking?" He kisses me slowly, his tongue moving gently with mine before he pulls back. "And it will be perfect because it's you." His lips find mine again in the dark and he shuffles back, coaxing me with him to the bed.
He pulls me on top of him, his lips leaving mine only to skim my cheeks, my neck, his murmurs filling the silent gaps between the thunder that continues to roll outside. My body ignites, fuelled by his want, taking in every kiss and reverent touch while he gently removes my shirt.
His breath heats my skin further as he rolls me gently to the side, nudging my shoulder back so I'm lying flat on the bed. "You're so beautiful," he whispers, his fingers tracing my lips, moving slowly over the straps of my bra.
"You can barely even see me," I respond, arching my back towards him, desperate to feel him closer.
"I see you, Bella. And I want to see more," he mutters, pushing the straps of my bra down my arms. I lean up and reach around, releasing the clasp. He tears it off me and moves down in the bed, taking one breast firmly into his mouth, his tongue flickering and teasing the nipple until I'm whimpering with need.
He nips and moves to my other breast, circling his tongue. I arch towards him, sinking my fingers into his hair. "Please, Edward," I breathe, my entire body on fire from him. He sits up and whisks his wet shirt off, a few droplets of water trickling down his chest. The lightening illuminates the room and he grins wickedly at me, descending to my jeans and gently tugging them down. He pays close attention to the prosthetic as he gingerly removes the jeans and my boy shorts, leaving them in a heap on the floor.
He stands and removes his jeans, along with his boxers, his breathing ragged as he stares down at me. He runs his hand over my prosthetic and stops at my thigh, raising his eyebrow questioningly. I'm momentarily stunned as I stare back at his perfectly naked body, which seems to almost glow while the lightening dances through the windows.
"Bella?" he whispers, his hand running from my thigh to the prosthetic while he silently asks what to do.
I shut my eyes, emotion overwhelming me. "On… for now," I manage.
He nods and slowly moves over me, his body covering mine, and I soak in the feeling of how we mold together. He's practically panting, leaning on his elbows, his hands caressing my hair, stroking it away from my face. He layers kisses on my forehead, my face, my neck, and then stretches his arm to the nightstand. He fumbles, knocking over whatever is on it in the dark, the rustling stopping with the sound of a drawer opening. His breathing elevates further in frustration while I hear him root around in the drawer.
"Hey," I whisper, cupping his cheek with my hand. "I'm protected. It's okay. I mean… if you're okay?"
"I've never… I've never done this without one," he says quietly.
"Me, either."
"So, we're kind of like virgins, then?" he asks playfully, his lips descending to my stomach, his tongue flattening over my navel.
I laugh and shake my head at him in the dark. "Yeah. Kind of."
He groans, sucking the skin at my hip into his mouth.
The storm rages outside, providing only flashes of light while he works me into a virtual frenzy, his tongue flattening over me, his fingers stretching and teasing, keeping me right on the edge of ecstasy. I lace my fingers back into his hair, twisting and pulling, urging him to take us both higher.
I can feel him hard and extremely ready as he grinds his hips against me, his hands slowly caressing my hip, my stomach, my thigh, wrapping around my waist, finding every curve and lingering as if he's trying to commit it to memory.
I wrap my arms around his shoulders, feeling the muscles flex and shiver under my fingertips. I run my palms down his back, over his hip, pressing him impossibly closer. "Bella…" My name falls from his lips over and over, his mouth moving from my center and back my stomach, the heat radiating between us, almost unbearable.
His mouth gingerly moves back to mine, his hand gliding down my thigh, under the knee on my real leg, coaxing it up. I wrap it around his hip, frantic to feel him, and he groans louder. He slides both hands under my ass and pulls us up and off the bed, turning my back to wall beside the window.
My arms encircle his shoulders, holding him to me while I keep my leg hitched around his waist. He bends his forehead to rest on mine, his breathing coming in gasps. "Bella," he whispers, his entire body tensed with exertion as he finally lifts up and slides into me.
The lightening crashes, the room engulfed in its sporadic pattern of light. "Oh, God," he mutters, sliding out and then firmly plunging in, filling me completely.
I press my fingers into his back, desperate to keep him close, needing to hold onto something, fearing he's going to stop. "Harder. Don't stop," I manage. He kisses me deeply, more forcefully as he starts a glorious, deep pace. I can feel his muscles strain. A thin sheen of sweat breaks across his skin while I cling to him, trying to meet his thrusts.
My thigh complains at the force, at the odd angle, but I can't bring myself to care. There is only Edward and pure desire. His head falls to my shoulder, his teeth nipping and biting while we continue to rock against the wall. "So perfect, baby. Holy fuck," he growls, flexing his hips harder, the new angle sending me flying. "Come on, baby. Let me feel you."
I feel the pressure build faster and more intensely as he slides in and out. My walls clench around him, the tension igniting us both, our ragged breathing mixing with the rain while it pounds on the window beside us.
"Edward…" I clench my eyes shut at the feeling, and fresh tears escape, the emotion overtaking me.
"Bella… I can't stop. I'm… mmm," he grunts, his fingers gripping my ass harder while he drives into me.
And then, sensation engulfs me while the tension finally releases again and again, and I explode around him. The room spins, the lightening and his relentless pace overwhelming while my tears fall harder. He moans, deep and throaty, and then stills his hips against mine, pulsating, and emptying inside me.
"Bella," he breaths, keeping his hands set firmly on my ass and stumbling back to the bed. He sinks down to it, holding me on top of him. He keeps us joined, his hands releasing their vice grip on my ass to start a slow and methodic trail up my back.
Our hearts hammer together, his beating just as fast as mine while my tears fall onto his chest. "Baby? Are you alright?" he asks gently.
I nod against his chest, my entire body feels weak, almost as if I'm floating. I feel the calm wash over me while he gingerly rolls me to the side and slips out of me. He groans and brushes my hair away from my face, his fingers lightly tracing the tears that continue to fall.
"Did I hurt you? Jesus, Bella. I'm sorry." His voice cracks, his head falling to my shoulder, his body shuddering against mine. "I'm so sorry," he repeats over and over while he kisses my shoulder, my arm, his hand trembling while it runs over my prosthetic.
I swallow loudly and find the ability to speak. "I'm not hurt, Edward. You could never hurt me," I firmly say, cupping his face between my hands.
"You're crying," he says, kissing my cheeks softly.
I sigh, holding him closer as the lights flicker while the power tries to come back on. "So are you," I say, running my thumb over the tiny tear falling from his clenched shut eyes.
"You're really okay?" he asks, his eyes still shut.
"Look at me," I urge, kissing his forehead. He opens his eyes, his expression anxious and needy. "I'm fine, alright? I'm just kind of overwhelmed right now."
"It was too much, right? I was too much…" he says, almost panic-stricken.
The lights decide to finally stay on and I hear the iPod hum to life in the studio below us. I place my hand over his at my thigh. "Hey. Stop it. You're not too much. You're perfect, and I like intense. It's very… Edward-like."
"Edward-like?" he asks, removing our hands from my thigh and lacing our fingers together.
"Yeah."
He kisses my forehead. "You are incredible," he whispers. "That was so… you're right… intense is the word." I laugh and try to shift away, wanting to get the nightly routine over with as quickly as possible. "Oh, you're not going anywhere. I want you right here." He pulls me gently back, draping my arm over his chest.
I kiss his neck and try to roll away, his grip tightening around my waist. "I need to get ready for bed," I murmur.
"Right. Fuck. I'm sorry." He sits up abruptly, practically bolting from the bed to get my bag that he dropped on the floor. He holds it up, a shy look on his face. "Your stuff," he says nervously.
I sit up and try to pull the comforter up around me. Please don't get awkward now!
"Do you not want me to stay? I mean, I don't have to… I just – " My words are obliterated while he propels himself to the side of the bed, crouching down in front of me and dropping my bag at his feet.
He releases my grip on the comforter, pulling it down, his hands gently rubbing my thighs. "I want you to stay. More than I've ever wanted anything in my life." His eyes search mine, so much passion and want for me. I feel the tears well up, again.
"Okay." My voice sounds so small in his huge room with the thunder rumbling as the storm starts to move. He stands and extends a hand to me, which I eagerly take. He picks up my bag with his other hand and strides purposefully towards a smaller door at the other end of the room, pulling me with him. I try not to snicker at the fact that we're both completely naked and neither one of us seem to care.
He stops at the door and turns back to me, his eyes wide. "This is the first time we're doing the routine at my place," he says in wonder.
"Yeah. It is." I never would have imagined that my daily prosthetic routine would produce an affect like this in me or anyone else. He pushes the door open and flips on a light switch, eagerly pulling me inside.
XXXXXX
A half an hour later, after I've convinced him it's probably not the best idea for us to have a bath during a lightening storm, the routine is finished and I'm losing the battle with staying awake. I tuck myself into his chest, under the expensive sheets on his enormous bed. I'm completely spent; emotionally and physically from the events of the day. To say it has been a monumental twelve hours is the understatement of the last five years.
He sighs and kisses the top of my head, his fingers lightly tracing circles on my shoulder underneath my t-shirt. "Bella?"
"Hmmm?" My eyes slide shut and I relish in the rhythm of his heart beat, the sound of the rain on the windows, the way my body warms next to his; complete and utter contentment.
"Thank you for today. For letting me be there with you on the mountain. For everything."
"I'm glad you were there, Edward." I kiss his chest and try to inch closer to him. "I'm glad I'm here now." A yawn escapes and he chuckles.
"Sleep, baby. I'm not going anywhere," he murmurs.
I wrap my arm around his waist and let sleep take me away.
XXXXXX
I wake up in Edward's bed, the sunlight almost blinding through the skylight and the bare windows beside the bed. I'm disoriented and panicked… he's not here. It's the first time I've woken up in someone else's bed in over five years. So many emotions course through me while I rub the sleep from my eyes. I had hoped to wake up to him beside me so we could enjoy the morning… in bed. I'm only just beginning to realize the depth of the feelings I have for Edward, only now starting to accept his attention, his affection, his unexplainable want for me.
In such a sort amount of time, he's become so important – not in a needy way, rather Edward seems to be a completion of me, opening my eyes to new possibilities, new ways of looking at this. I feel content, like I finally can be accepted for who I am as unfathomable as that seemed to me less than three weeks ago.
Three weeks. It seems like much longer. It feels like I've known Edward forever, and at the same time, like I could know him forever and still be uncovering new facets of his personality.
Where is he? I prop myself up on my elbows and scan the room. I wouldn't be surprised to see him sitting watching me, painting me from across the room. I flush, thinking about how erotic the painting session for the auction was and how I'd like to do that again, soon.
I glance at the empty spot beside me and see a note sitting on the pillow.
Bella,
Gone to get coffee and bagels.
I only have instant shit, and you deserve better.
Be back soon.
Miss me…
X -Edward
I smile, my momentary panic erased. I whip the covers off and swing myself to the edge of the bed, searching for my prosthetic. I smile, remembering it's in Edward's bathroom, on the intricate drying rack he's had his artist friend make solely for me. I push up off the bed and take a hop towards the bathroom.
The sound of the front door firmly shutting downstairs stops my progress, and I quickly sit back onto the edge of the bed. Hmm, Monday morning bagels and coffee in bed with Edward sounds heavenly. So I wait for him, leaning back on my elbows, trying to look inviting.
I hear his footfalls ascend quickly on the stairs. He sounds hurried and rushed. He stops at his studio, and I imagine that he's probably checking on his creation from last night, or, maybe cleaning up the mess. So beautiful, so talented, I am in awe of him. To watch him in his element, to be there when he creates something from nothing, it's overwhelming. So much passion and concentration, I feel the anticipation light from deep inside, my heart beating faster while I wait.
I'm ready to give myself over to these feelings. I'm ready to explore them, to have him explore me. The fire that's been flickering, now rages, out of control, and I don't want it to stop. Five years of waiting, of being rejected, of being made to feel inferior, different, not good enough. And still, I can't be angry about the last five years. They have led me to Edward. They have made me who I am, a stronger person than the one that rode the chair lift at the mountain five years ago.
Movement echoes up to me from the studio, a faint scrapping. Is he moving the ladder in the studio? Maybe he's painting again. I've learned quickly that Edward's impulses to create can't be anticipated; they just come, and he's helpless to stop them. It's quiet for a few minutes, and I wonder what he's painting. I resist the urge to disturb him. He's so particular about his work, and while he wanted me with him last night while he painted, who knows if that's true today?
As the minutes pass, I become more and more anxious. Why hasn't he checked on me? It doesn't seem like him, but then, I know I can't ever anticipate what Edward is going to do. Finally, there is rustling from the studio, like he's moving things around. I hear him descend slowly back down the stairs and then I hear the door open again.
What? Wait. Where is he going? "Edward?" I call out to him, hoping that he hears me from the first floor. There's a pause and then the door shuts, followed by silence. I smile and wait, hearing him climb more slowly. A slow creaking in the hallway signals his arrival to the loft.
I keep my eyes fixed on the doorway and see the shadow move towards the room. My heart stops beating as the shadow leans against the door frame and then realization hits me. I feel the colour drain from my face as my heart stops beating entirely.
I have no where to run…if I even could. I try to pull the covers around me and simply pray. Pray that Edward returns before it's too late. Pray that I can fight. Pray that maybe this is some sort of twisted nightmare.
Our eyes lock and I stare back at a sinister smirk that sends a shiver through my body. "Well, well, well. What do we have here?"
Chapter End Notes:
Oh no.
Twitter: CarLemon
