Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight.

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Edward slips his hand in mine as we make our way to his bedroom to have the geography study session we aren't actually planning to have. I feel my heartbeat with every step, as I follow him up the stairs. He keeps looking back at me as if I'll disappear. We're not rushing or touching in a way that would suggest we intend to do anything but hang out in his room, but there's a charge in the air that says otherwise. The lengthy trek up the stairs doesn't diffuse it. If anything, it's gotten stronger.

He stops in the doorway, so I keep walking in. I turn around, walking backward until our hands disconnect, as if I'm the one guiding him. I guess I kind of am. He stares at me a moment. I'm not sure that his mind has fully caught up with my declaration of wanting to go back to our version of studying. He doesn't stop looking at me as his fingers fumble in his attempt to lock the door behind him.

"Where do you keep your maps?" I ask, as if this map business is a real thing.

"Probably over there." He points to his desk, so I walk toward it.

He comes up behind me, wraps his arms around my waist, and rests his chin on my shoulder.

I lift up what looks like an assignment. "Do you have to turn this in?" The border of the paper is filled with his drawings.

"No, but most things I turn in look like that."

I take a second to admire the shape of his handwriting, although I know it well. I still have the note he left in my locker from the first time he invited me over here. The note is still tucked away in my backpack. I haven't looked at it in a while, but I don't have to. The image of his words is ingrained in my memory. There's a precision to his letters, despite the art framing the page. There's nothing fancy added to his penmanship.

I turn my attention to his drawings. He seems to know the design of my flower necklace better than I do. I look at the paper closer, trying to see if I have the placement of the eye just right on the wire piece I've been working on for him. I think I'm pretty close. I pull out my necklace and compare it to his drawings. I usually keep the necklace under my shirt, so he's only seen it a few times. They look identical, aside from the eye he adds in the center. "Do you have a photographic memory?"

"No," he says, lifting the metal petals from my hand. "I just get stuck on some things." He looks at it closer before letting it fall back to where it hangs just above my chest.

He starts kissing my neck and pressing against me, so my back is flush with his front. I close my eyes and set down the paper. "Who needs maps anyway?"

When he starts playing with the hem of my shirt, I pull it off. His shirt is still downstairs, so losing mine only seems fair.

He chuckles at my maneuver and places both his hands on my bare shoulders and massages just a bit, before saying, "I'm sure I have a map somewhere."

I feel my face fall into a frown, as I chastise myself over this map idea. I wasn't ready for him to stop touching me just yet, and now he's off, looking for something I'm not sure he even has.

He opens a dresser drawer and rifles around, mumbling something about hidden maps under his breath. He grabs a condom out and tosses it on the nightstand, as if it's a random object with little significance before going back to searching through his clothes for non-existent maps.

I pull him away from the dresser and close the drawer. "It's okay." I wrap my arms around his neck, needing to feel my skin against his. There are still too many clothes in the way, but for a few seconds, I just want to feel this.

"It's in my head anyway," he says. His hands run up my spine, from the waist of my jeans to where my bra is fastened. When I loosen my hold to press kisses on his neck, he undoes the clasp, and the straps slide down my arms before I let the whole thing fall to the floor.

"Is it?" I try to be as confident as I was with my shirt removal. Looking at him looking at me makes it easier. "What is it a map of?"

"You." He presses his knuckles against a spot on my torso that makes me squirm and proves that this map exists.

When his lips find the very best spot on my neck, I ask, "You've been taking notes then?"

"Yes," is all he says as he maneuvers us toward his bed.

When the back of my legs hits the mattress, I sit down in front of him and kiss his chest as I attempt to unhook the button on his pants. When I start leaving open-mouth kisses, his hands thread into my hair. After I hear a gasp fall from his mouth, I take mental notes. In my head, there should be a map of every inch of him. Geography may be my new favorite subject.

His jeans are too hard to open, so I look up, ready to ask for help, but instead, what comes out is something else. "No pressure, okay?"

"Pressure?" he asks, looking confused at where my hands are still tugging.

"Not about sex." I look down at my topless self, realizing this conversation might have been easier if I still had my shirt on or really, any time before this very moment. I squeeze my eyes shut for a moment before I blurt out, "I mean about orgasms." As much as I'd like to not have to explain, he still looks confused, and I really don't want this to be an issue. I take a moment to think about what I want to say before I continue. "I don't want you to be disappointed if I don't have one, but I really don't think I do that. I just want to be with you, and not worry about anything else. Is that okay?"

He laughs when my frustration at what I'm trying to convey has me tugging harder on his jeans. He reaches down and opens them for me. "Yeah, but before, you said we could try next time, but you don't want to?"

I help pull his pants down his legs. "We can try whatever you want, but it's not going to happen."

I hook a finger in the elastic on his boxers, but he stops me by lifting my chin up. "How are you so sure it's not going to happen?"

Leaving out past experiences that were nothing but catastrophes because I don't want to talk about that, and I doubt he does either, I tell him, "Because I've tried, and it never worked. Some people just can't do that. There's a whole article about it. I've read it. I can send it to you if you want." I tighten my thighs around his legs. "It's fine. I never really had those kinds of desires. It made sense that I didn't have a senusual side because I've never been good with affection either."

My head lulls to the side when his fingers tangle back in my hair. "Babe, that's not true." I let out some sort of whimper when he leans down to kiss me but doesn't. He shakes his head. "How are you saying all of this to me right now?"

I chuckle, realizing that I'm now trying to pull him on top of me. "Okay, so I'm an affectionate, sensual person with you, but this is new. It doesn't mean I'm an orgasmic person."

"You could be though. You probably already would be if I could handle you saying my name the way you do."

I try to protest, but he cuts me off by unbuttoning my jeans like it's an easy task and telling me, "Can you lay down, so I can take these off you?"

I fall back against his comforter and lift my hips to help him. My jeans land with the rest of my clothes somewhere scattered across his floor. When we are down to one last garment each, he climbs on the bed with one knee between my thighs. "We still need to talk about something else you said though."

I nod, ready to talk about whatever it is. Naked talking really seems like something we'd do.

His hair falls forward as he leans over me. "When you said we could try whatever I want…"

I look away. A blush starts warming my cheeks as ideas of what he might have in mind fill my head. "Yeah," I say. "Whatever. I trust you."

He holds himself up on one arm and slides his fingers up my side with the other. The slow and careful torture tickles in a way that makes my breath catch. I cup my hand behind his neck and pull him down, so I can kiss him. Nothing has ever felt better.

We may be barely dressed, but when he starts kissing and nipping at the skin on my neck, it feels like we are still wearing way too many clothes.

As he moves lower, my body lifts off the bed toward him with any spot he touches. The yearning may be strong, but it's cold without his body heat against my chest. My legs are still dangling off the bed, so as he moves even lower, he moves off the bed. "Where did you go? Come back," I say, but then his lips are on my hipbone on one side, and his hand starts sliding my underwear down with the other. "Oh."

"Still trust me?" he asks.

"Yes," I say before I can second guess. I throw my arm over my eyes when he switches sides, pressing his lips against my other hip, and dragging the material down the other side. I trust him, and I want to try new things with him, but that doesn't make me any less nervous. I try to relax by controlling my breathing, but I'm hyper-aware of every inch of skin his hands are brushing against, as he rids me of my last piece of clothing.

He seems to fall down with them, lips connecting with my left ankle. As he travels back up my legs, his hand mirrors the position of his lips on my other leg. "I can move," I manage to say. "You don't need to be on the floor."

"I'm good," he says. "Are you?"

I shift my arm off my eyes and lift my head, but I can't see him from here. "I'm good." I think about mentioning that it's cold, and asking for him to come back up here, but the farther he moves up my legs, the harder it is to put my thoughts into words. It's hard to keep up with anything when his lips and fingertips keep switching sides. When he reaches my inner thigh a bit above my knee, I can see him again. I throw my arm back over my eyes, not because he's in sight, but because I can't handle these spots he keeps managing to find. It makes my breathing all weird. He might not be able to tell from where he's at, but maybe I can tell him later, so he can add these spots to his map. There's a word for people who make maps. As I contemplate if map-o-grapher is a word and whether I should mention it now, he climbs up higher, and the sound from my mouth is most definitely heard. I can see the spot forming on this map of his in my own mind.

My heart starts racing as he moves up even higher. I'm not sure I can handle new things. I may be more of the rip the band-aid off type person, while Edward is set on dragging things out as long as he can. I consider telling him he's driving me crazy, and then consider taking back being willing to try anything, and return to only what's familiar territory for the sake of my sanity, but then his mouth makes its way up even higher, finally to where he seemed to be heading all along, I lose all my thoughts—all of them. Am I even a person anymore? Has my entire existence been reduced to nerve endings? My arm falls off my eyes. My lips press together as I take in the sensations caused by his lips, tongue, and fingers. There's most definitely fingers now. How are people supposed to know what orgasms feel like when things feel like this? My eyes are clenched shut, but still, I cover my face with both hands.

It's all too much, and he's way too far away, so I sit up. "Ok, please…I need…can we?" I can't talk, so I lean over and grab the condom. I rip it open and move up the bed, saying, "Please," again, because he's just standing there with a goofy grin, wearing boxers he shouldn't still be wearing. "Off," I say because one-word commands seem to be all I can handle now.

He takes them off and climbs on the bed. I hand him the condom with a, "Here." I can't even talk anymore, so there's no way my fingers are nimble enough to be of any help with it.

"You sure?" he asks, still with that smirk.

I say, "Yes," but he can probably tell that I'm holding back words, like hurry and now.

He climbs over top of me, and I should be embarrassed by how quickly I get my tongue into his mouth and pull him flush against me, but I can't be bothered to care or even think about much anymore. As we kiss, I almost urge him forward again, but realize, the holdup is my own fault. I'm holding onto him so tight that he can't move much, if at all. As soon as I loosen my hold, he shifts just enough to align our bodies just so. Our kisses slow and my eyes close as he starts moving inside of me. It's a rush of emotions and heat. I feel sex-crazed with how much I want him and intense over how much closer I feel to him now than I did the last time we were in this same bed. If I thought I was into him back then, I knew nothing.

I start running my fingers over every single bit of his skin that I can reach. If I could touch every part at the same time, I would. He moves different, and I gasp. He does it again, and along with the gasp, I breathe out, "Map drawer." I don't mean to say it, but I know he's done this same thing to me in the past. He probably has quite a few things mapped. He laughs and does it again.

We kiss a lot and try moving together in different ways, but eventually, we find a rhythm that has me biting my tongue, doing my part so I don't say his name and unravel his control. His breath hits my ear just before his name can't be held back anymore. It flies out of my mouth as I fly higher than I ever knew was possible.

Moments later, he stops and shifts to lie beside me. That smirk is back. I'm expecting an I told you so, but his gaze is soft as he says, "Never leave."

My limbs are limp, and my mind feels fuzzy, but I reach up and move the back of my hand down his cheek as I shake my head. "I'll never want to." I may have to eventually leave this bed, but I don't think I can say anything truer than what I've just said.

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Author's note: Hey, thanks for reading! I hope to have another chapter up within the next few weeks.

Thanks a million to YourVixen for prereading and dazzled eyes22 for her beta work!

I try to post teasers early in the week if I'll be able to post the next chapter later in the week. You can find them on Facebook: Mylissa Denicks. If you do friend me on there or have tried and we don't have mutual friends, please send me a message, so I know you're from the fandom.