A/NThis has been a completely enjoyable process, and I owe that to all who have alerted, read, reviewed and tweeted. Thank you to my girls on twitter who got excited for every post, then reviewed every single chapter. You didn't have to, and I love you for that.

There are a couple of outtakes, and I am open to requests via PM or tweet. I will likely post them as chapters after the epilogue rather than as a separate story. One is EPOV.

To my beta, HollettLA: Lisa, you are a rare gem out there on the other side of the world. I treasure your support, friendship and generosity with your time. What you do is a selfless task, and you do it so willingly and efficiently. I hope you realize how much you are valued, and I thank you sincerely. x

I wish you all a safe and happy holidays, and I hope to see you join me in the New Year for the conclusion of my WIP, Eighteen.

Hugs and best wishes,

Em x

-x-x-x-

Off Piste

- EPILOGUE -

He's so beautiful when he laughs with our babies.

He's so beautiful when his green eyes look at me across the room, silently thanking me for what we have.

I should be thanking him. Thanking him for being a big skiing dick, getting on my nerves, making me realize my attempt at hate was really a cover for love. Thanking him for confessing his feelings first.

He watches me as I rinse sippy cups and plastic plates. I watch him as he waxes our skis in the gear room of our house. Watching him rub them over, his arm muscles flexing as he presses his hands along the ski, spreading the hot wax he just baked in our oven. We're going skiing tomorrow - thanks to Nana Esme and Gramps.

Jack and Molly are at the park with Emmett and my nephew, Leo, making snowmen. Yeah, we trusted him alone with our kids. Charlotte is having her lunchtime nap, and Lucy is bundled up soundly in her bassinet. All of these things have aligned, and my husband has beautiful arm muscles that I want to see working me over rather than our skis.

Our medals are framed on the wall next to me. He's so talented; the reminder makes me more eager. I slip in quietly, but he feels my presence. He smiles. I reach my hand out to touch the flex in his bicep. He stills. I run my fingers the length of his arm, removing the waxing tool from his grip. He knows. I bring his hand with mine and pull it around to rest by my butt. He grips. I shift a little closer and kiss against his bare shoulder. He turns. I stand up on my tip toes and find his neck. His white wife beater needs to come off. He grabs onto my hoodie and pushes it off my shoulders; the zip makes a light clunk when it hits the floor. His white wife beater finally comes off. I grin. He grins.

I want him to palm my ass again. He does. My little shorts ride up. He needs to find his way into them. He pulls my tank up over my head first. I'm braless, allowing him to run the back of a finger unhindered down the length of my torso. I whimper. My little shorts finally get pushed off my hips. His finger finds my clit. I'm in heaven.

He looks at me with those thankful eyes again. I want to show him how thankful I am.

I unbutton his jeans. They're soft and well-worn. I'm not surprised when he's commando: I was, too. We like it that way.

I slip down onto my knees and take him into my hands. My tongue flicks around the tip. He groans and strokes his hand through my hair. I take him into my mouth, cupping his balls. Swirl, suck, massage, flick, moan.

He's reaching for me, trying to pull me up. I let him, if that's what he wants this time. There's a stool by the workbench. He picks me up, sitting down on it so that I'm straddling his lap. I love the feeling of him between my legs. He has smooth, muscular skier's thighs, and they're sandwiched between my own. His cock is sandwiched, too. I want more. He palms my ass again.

He guides his cock inside me. I sink down, relishing in the completeness. A look washes over his face which tells me I made his day even better than before. He makes every day better. I show him with careful rolls of my hips. I show him with slow grinds down his length. I show him in the latent heat of my kisses. I show him with fervor when my mouth is against his mouth. I show him with my hands gripping him like they'll never let go.

I show him when I press every inch of our bodies together when we come.

He knows.

-x-x-x-

He makes a funny face at the machine making noise as I express for Lucy. Four babies and still the funny face.

I catch him staring when I'm pulling my ski pants over my g-string clad butt. It's how I roll. It's how I've always rolled. He likes it. He loves my ass. He's still an ass-man. They're pre-four babies ski pants. I smile a little as they do up.

I feed Lucy one more time before we go. She's ready to go back to bed. Edward sits with me and strokes her hair as she suckles. Her little hand is nestled against my chest. Charlotte reminds me of her namesake, Charlie - she's more Swan, like Molly is; dark with big eyes and dimples like her granddad and Uncle Jasper. Jack is a miniature Edward, which is perfect, given he's our only boy. But, little Lucy - for what we can tell from her four-month-old features - might just be a perfect blend of both of us.

He kisses her then kisses me.

"Papa?" It's Jack.

He's absolutely swimming in one of Edward's Olympic t-shirts. Our boy wants to be just like his dad. Molly tells him that Mama won her medals first, but Jack says he has a willy so he can't be like me. It's true: kids definitely do say the darndest things.

He finds us in Lucy's room.

"Hey, buddy," Edward says softly. He doesn't want to disrupt Lucy. I love that he actually thinks of those things. Jack rests his hands on Edward's thighs. He's looking at his baby sister.

"Papa, are you sure Molly and me can't come today?"

They're so desperate to get up the mountain again. We love it, but we don't want to overdo it.

"Today is just for me and Mama, bud. But if you're extra good this week, then next Saturday Nana and Gramps will look after Charley and Lucy so Mama and I can take you. Good deal?"

"Good deal." He beams. My mothering hormones surge at the sight of the mini-Edward replica grin.

Lucy finishes up, and I rest her onto the pillow on my lap. She's milk drunk. It's my favorite time - little stretches and contented mews amongst little full-bellied coma moments. Edward's gazing at her too. Jack's thinking.

"Papa, is that five or six sleeps away?"

Edward gives a little laugh.

"Six. Good counting, son."

He's off back to the lounge where Carlisle and Esme have started to take over the child-minding. I'm sure he's going to trip on the bottom of that t-shirt.

"Is she done, beautiful?" he asks me.

"Yeah, she's full to the brim. You wanna swaddle her up and tuck her in?"

"Mm," he says, standing up and reaching to scoop her up. "Come here, little poppet." She's so tiny in his long fingers.

I put my merino on and go out to check on the troops. The grandparents have it well under control. Esme's getting out gingerbread ingredients with Jack and little Charlotte, who's plonked safely up on the bench, and Molly's showing Carlisle how well she can read. There are kisses and hugs, and we slip away.

I want to park somewhere and have sex in the car, but I also want to ski with my husband. We have special access; we can fuck in Edward's office before we go home. Last year, Carlisle took over one of his father's assets - this whole bloody ski resort. Edward and Emmett became shareholders and spent some of their time overseeing the management. Edward is heavily involved when any big events are being held. Next winter they'll host a World Cup.

"Warmup run and observation?" Edward smirks. I remember using those words.

"You'll be observing my ass, not my form."

"I'll be observing both, beautiful wifey."

"Mm, I'd better warmup. Some things are warm...my legs, not so much."

We slip easily into our form for a couple of runs down the groomed trails. He sits close to me on the chairlift, holding his poles in one hand so he can sling an arm behind me. He kisses me, fogging up our glasses.

"I love the chairlift," I sigh.

"I love off piste," Edward says pointedly.

"Head out there now?" I ask.

"Always. Absolutely."

"Can we roll around in the snow in one of your no-one-knows-about-this-place nooks?"

He smiles, and it means "Oh, hell yes."

"I love you, Bella Cullen." I love you means "I love you, and I thank you for wanting to get busy in the snow with me."

"I fucking love you, too." I fucking love you means "I love you, and I will always want to get busy with you, anywhere, forever."

-x-x-x-