A/N
A little one-shot for you this weekend!
This was originally my entry to A Picture Is Worth A Thousand Words (Valentine's Contest).
I was so overwhelmed by the response to that little 800 word snippet that came to me out of the blue on night.
It won: 1st Place Public Vote, Judge's Pick (thanks to the fabulous Sunshine1220), and The Bouquet Award.
To say thank you, I've expanded it to 6,000 words of pure SMUT! I truly hope you enjoy.
Thank you to Ella and Kate for pre-reading.
To: E. Cullen
From: B. Swan
Subject: Maybe...
Hi, Edward.
This is mad, I know. We haven't spoken in ten years, but I ... I don't know ... I saw you on TV last night—congratulations, by the way.
I don't even know if this email is still in use. It's been ten years, I'm sure you've changed your email address and you won't even see this. That's probably for the best, I'm only embarrassing myself.
Last night, whilst I watched you on TV, accepting your award, I remembered a few things, a few moments I've tried to forget. Funny thing is, I don't know if you know this, but ... you're impossible to forget.
Anyway, it's Valentine's Day and I was reminiscing. Remember that year you got yourself grounded? I was so upset. It was Valentine's Day and my boyfriend was locked in his room. I felt abandoned. In my head, I was the loneliest girl on the planet that night ... how naive was I? You felt bad and escaped your 'cell', only to fall from the tree outside my room during your heroic ascent. I laughed and laughed, so relieved that I wasn't in fact, the loneliest girl in the word. Until I realised your arm was broken. You hated me for a while (ten minutes or so) after that. I had guilt-tripped you and for eight weeks, you couldn't play your piano or guitar. I'm glad it didn't hinder you in the long run. I don't think I ever told you how much it meant to me though. I loved you even more for that grand attempt.
Thinking back, it's one of the fondest memories I have of us. So young ...
Anyway, this is stupid. And I'm sorry. You're famous now, I'm sure you've got more important things to be doing than reading emails from long-forgotten girlfriends of your youth.
I hope you're well. I hope you still smile like you used to—I think of that smile a lot too. Your mouth quirks higher on one side—it's perfect. It used to make my knees weak. You don't smile like that on TV.
Take care of yourself, superstar.
Your old friend,
Bella Swan.
—
Sitting back, I rub my hands over my face, exhausted and instantly regretting the decision to send that stupid email. It's been ten years, for crying out loud!
But there's nothing I can do now.
"Happy Valentine's Day," I deadpan—my words hollow in my empty apartment—snatching the bottle of red wine from my desk and refilling my glass, feeling pathetic and alone. More alone than usual.
It's snowing. The large windows of my apartment offering me the perfect view of the city coated in thick, white snowflakes as they flutter, fall and rest over the concrete jungle outside. Romantic. The lighting is low, as if mocking me; candlelight fluttering and bouncing off every surface within this empty, hollow home.
I scoff, moving to stand before the window, clutching my wine to my chest. There's nothing 'romantic' about my life. Not anymore.
I gave it all up to chase a career that gives me nothing but financial security in return. It took and took, and gave very little in return. But I gave, and that hurts worst of all. I gave it everything.
I don't know how long I've been standing here, lost in the past, locked in my tower high above the city; but my wine is long gone and the traffic below has slowed considerably. It's late, or early, depending on how you choose to look at it. Yet I stand motionless, clutching my wine, still dressed in my suit, looking as though I'm fresh from a day in the office.
It's how I always look. The young girl I once was, dances in my memories, taunting me with her free-spirited joy and bright outlook on life. She was a dreamer, but she had fun with it. The world was her oyster, and she planned to jump in head first and enjoy every moment of her life.
I sigh, wondering where it all went wrong. When did that girl disappear? Where is she?
An alert from my laptop grasps my attention, my head tilting curiously in its direction.
It'll be work, I tell myself, making my way over, the only sound in my apartment coming from my feet—high heels on expensive marble.
It's not work. My heart thuds like jungle drums in my chest, my hands shaking as I open the new email.
—-
To: B. Swan
From: E. Cullen
Subject: It's been a while...
Hi stranger.
Holy hell, it's been a while.
Thank you for your email, it made me smile—that smile. Your smile. It was only ever yours.
Also, thank you for your congratulations, that made me smile too. You always told me I could do whatever I set my heart to; your faith in me mostly unwavering. I owe you for that.
Happy Valentine's Day, Bella. You'll be pleased to hear that I've stayed far away from trees since I fell out of yours. There's a lot of firsts and lasts in my life that belong to you, and you alone.
Forgive me for saying this, I know you're a high-flying, powerful woman now, but I'm glad you still seem to fumble your words when you're nervous. You always did ramble when you were unsure of yourself and it always made my heart beat faster. I'm glad you still have that.
Sometimes, I like to reminisce too.
Take care of yourself, Bella Swan. You'll never ever be forgotten, stop selling yourself short.
Your tree-falling, crooked-smiling past,
Edward.
—-
My throat is dry, I think it's the wine. It's not the wine.
I'm feeling brave, that's the wine.
Before I can stop myself, I'm replying. My heart is thumping and my hands are shaking. I feel like a teenager again, a bubble of nerves that simmers over into excitement and spurs me on.
—
To: E. Cullen
From: B. Swan
Subject: Whilst I have your attention...
Edward,
Those fumbling words were only ever yours. Only you can turn me back into a nervous teenager who always felt unworthy of your affections.
You should know that, too.
Your rambling former,
Bella.
—
"What are you doing?" I ask myself, slouching back in my desk chair, the leather creaking. I keep my eyes off the screen of my laptop and on my glass of wine as I shakily bring it to my lips.
His reply is fast, and earth-shattering—elating. I can't breathe.
—-
To: B. Swan
From: E. Cullen
Subject: Incoming...
Where are you, Bella? I want to see you ... Are you free this weekend?
—
"Holy shit!" I throw myself forward, re-reading his email over and over again, my mind whirling with a myriad of emotions that blend into a jumbled mess. I can't focus, I can't think straight.
He wants to see me?
Do I want to see him?
Again, I'm staring at the bright screen of my MacBook, but I'm not seeing anything. That's a lie—I'm seeing a lot. Flashes of us both, ten years younger. Of unfiltered joy and breathless moments. We were inseparable. So in love that it consumed us and drove our parents to drink.
I see his glowing green eyes in the dark as he looked down on me, crawling over my body after sneaking into my room in the dead of night; whispered words and affections, promises of forever—promises I broke.
High school in all its vivid glory; holding hands through the hallway, quick kisses before we went our separate ways to classes that he had no interest in. Driving home, one of his hands on the steering wheel, the other on my thigh, our fingers intertwined. Study sessions as I lay on the floor, my nose in a book; Edward sitting at his piano, providing a sensual backing-track to our youth.
His face as it crumbled the day I broke his heart.
We were so young, destined for much more than our small hometown. He dreamed of a musical career, touring the country; I dreamed of an Ivy League college and a career in city high-rise offices. We were too different, too young to stand the test of time.
I took it upon myself to give him the true freedom to chase his dreams and he begged me not to.
I can't regret it, not truly. Look at him now. I hear his soft, melodic voice on the radio, I watch Musical Award Ceremonies and see his beaming face as he's recognised for his talents. The world knows his name, and he is deserving of every accolade he receives.
I'm proud of him; so heartbreakingly proud and I want the chance to tell him, face to face.
Taking a deep breath, I place my glass on the desk and lean forward, hands settling over the keyboard.
I can't help but smile as I type my reply.
—
To: E. Cullen
From: B. Swan
Subject: I'd love to see you.
Edward,
I'm in New York City, and I'm free this weekend. I would really love to see you again, if you can make it? Or I can meet you somewhere?
Um … let me know. You're the busier of us, so …
Shutting up now,
Bella.
—-
The doorbell rings and my hands are shaking, my legs feel unsteady.
My cheeks puff as I release a breath. "You can do this," I tell myself, making my way to the door and screwing my eyes closed tight as the handle pushes down.
My eyes open with the door and he's there, so tall and so devastating that I think I whimper. If he hears it, he doesn't let on. His heart stopping green eyes survey me quickly, widening a little. He's just as nervous as I am, and just as beautiful as I remember—more so, even. My television screen doesn't do him justice. He's taller, I think, and he has filled out a lot more. His shoulders are broad, his arms strong, his thighs wide and muscular in form-fitting jeans.
"Hi," he says, running a hand through his erratic hair. Hair that always stole my breath and clearly still does, because my throat is dry and I can't speak. All I can do is smile and urge my legs to move as I step back and create space for him to pass.
He smells amazing, a soft billow of warm air as he steps into my apartment, leather and sandalwood, masculine and clean. I savour it, closing my eyes and committing it to memory.
"Hello," I finally manage, closing the door and turning to face him.
The way he looks at me … his heart is still on his sleeve and it's bared. For a long moment we're silent, but he's undaunted and unfaltering as he watches me closely, trying to figure me out, trying to understand who I am now and what I've become. It hurts a little, because I can tell he's still the exact same, beautiful person he was ten years ago and I'm … not.
I hate that.
I want to be that girl who he loved; who laughed and loved him hard.
I don't realize I'm crying until his bag is dropped heavily on the floor and his strong arms envelope me.
"Don't cry," he whispers softly, making me cry harder and grasp the back of his hoodie in tightly balled fists, holding onto him like he's the very air I need to breathe.
"I'm sorry," I finally croak, burying my head into his chest. I'm sorry for so much—not just my tears.
"Don't be," he assures me, his arms tightening around me for a beat, pulling me even closer. It's the best feeling in the world, being right here, in his arms. It feels like home. "If it's any consolation, you looked really good before you started snotting on me." I can't help it, I laugh, my fingers tightening their hold. "I just want you to know that." His voice is so soft, so low and comforting, just like it always was.
"You look amazing," I tell him, unable to look up, unwilling to let go.
He doesn't respond, just offers me the comfort he knows I need, holding me close, his tall body blanketing me, fitting perfectly around me. I think he's taking what he needs from this moment too.
It's been ten years, and that's way too long. If you had told seventeen-year-old me that she'd go a decade without touching Edward Cullen, she'd have laughed and told you she'd rather die. But here we are, after so long.
"Do you want something to drink?" I ask, my voice muffled by his hoodie, my grip never faltering. I really don't want to let go. I want to stay right here … forever.
It's true what they say: you don't know what you've got until it's gone. I've missed Edward every moment of every day since I broke his heart.
"In a minute," he answers, the softness of his voice making me melt further into his embrace.
"We've got so much to catch up on." Inhaling deeply, I savour the smell of him, so familiar yet not. It's a little different, maybe a little more expensive.
"We do." I feel his nose bury deeper into the crook of my neck, feel him inhale just as deeply as I did. "But it can wait." His words are warm and smooth, heating me and soothing the ache in my heart. His breath sets my nerves on fire, making me tingle all over.
We've got the whole weekend, but this moment feels weighted and very much needed. There's no animosity here, for the way I left things; there's no heartache for what may have been; there's nothing but solitude and … hope? We're being reacquainted in a way that's perfect for us, because we were always so in tune with each other, so open in our love for each other, and right now, it feels as though that hasn't changed.
Could a whole decade apart change so little? We've changed, but this undercurrent between us? It feels exactly the same.
Slowly, begrudgingly, we pull apart, keeping our eyes locked. Edward smiles, that mischievous grin that used to make my heart race, and clearly still does.
"You're all growed up, Bella Swan," he says, teasing me in that kind way that never felt like teasing.
"So are you, Edward Cullen." I smile back, just as heartfelt, just as soft.
He winks, turning to look around a whistling as he admires my apartment. "This is nice," he observes, dipping his head a little to get a better view without encroaching on my space.
"You can, you know … walk around."
I hear his low laugh as he bends down to grab his bag, and watch him closely as he takes a few tentative steps further inside. I keep watching him, following closely as he stands in the center of my open-plan living space, looking toward the view outside. "It's cool, this place."
Chuckling, I make my way over to the kitchen. "I'm sure you've lived in some cool places."
"Yeah, but not …" his words trail off as he thinks hard for a moment. "I don't have a place that's mine, you know?" His voice is wistful and low, almost regretful. Looking at the counter beneath my palms, I can't seem to hide my confusion. He always wanted an apartment in New York; deep down I know that's the reason I was drawn here. It wasn't the promise of climbing the highest corporate ladder, it was a way to feel connected to Edward, to maintain it when I thought it was lost forever.
"You travel too much?" I ask, hoping that's the main reason, something else telling me it's not.
He shrugs, continuing his perusal. "Something like that."
I watch him as I open the refrigerator. He looks larger than life, even in my spacious apartment. His hair gives him another couple of inches of height, even though he's well over six feet tall. He's so much broader now, more muscular and manly in his build, less of the gangly teenager I knew and loved.
Wordlessly, I offer him a beer, which he accepts with a bright smile that makes me blush. I'm sure he's immune to making women blush now; I've read the articles and the comments attached to his pictures online—he's a hot commodity amongst the female population of the world. Quite rightly so, the man is just as talented as he is beautiful. He always has been.
"So, what's new with you?" he asks casually, resting his hip against the marble island and watching me as he takes a long pull from his beer bottle.
I can't help but laugh. Where do I start? The answer is: nothing. Absolutely nothing is new with me. I've lost everything I was, and though I'm everything I wanted to be, there's no rainbow or happiness at the end. It's a sad story, and I'm not too willing to share my tales of woe. It wouldn't do us, or the atmosphere, any good.
But I forgot that it's Edward I'm conversing with, and like he always could, he reads me like an open book.
"That good, huh?" he says, his eyebrows furrowing.
All I can offer is a weak smile and a quick change of subject. "Your life looks exciting," I say, schooling my voice so it's upbeat.
I'm not fooling him. I never could. But he tilts his head and smiles softly, nodding once, humouring me. Then it's silent, and this becomes everything I hoped to avoid. His eyes are piercing, and soul shattering. They hold me captive with no way of escape and they grow darker and darker as the seconds pass in silence. Each tick of the clock represents a heavy beat of my heart, hard thumps in my chest that make it harder and harder to breathe and focus as I'm held prisoner by his gaze. His eyes don't move as he places his beer quietly on the counter. They keep me pinned in place as he straightens himself to his full height. When I swallow hard against the lump in my throat, they shift quickly, as though they can see my pulse, before snapping back to my face.
When he speaks, his voice is quiet but demanding. "Fuck this." And then he's rounding the island with the speed and stealth of a cheetah. I gasp as his hands cup my face, taking in a quick breath before his lips crash on mine and I'm lost. Lost in who I was, who we were; lost to what I always wanted and still covet—him.
I can't deny, I can't argue. His lips against mine feel like they were always meant to be right here, on me. His body against mine, towering over me, feels like coming home. I don't have the strength to think clearly or let my judgment cloud me. I did that once before—a decade ago—and I've regretted it every day since. If this is a second chance, I don't deserve it, but I'm taking it.
"Tell me to stop." His voice is husky and needy, just like it always was when he wanted me. "Tell me to stop, and I will." I say nothing, I'll never tell him to stop. I can't. "Bella, if you don't tell me to stop, I'm going to take what I've dreamed of taking every fucking day for ten years."
My voice cracks, tentative words with the implications of a life I don't feel as though I deserve. "Take it."
He doesn't waste a moment, crashing his mouth to mine once more, open, his tongue searching and finding no resistance. I match him breath for breath, swipe with swipe as he lowers his hands to grasp my hips, picking me up effortlessly and sitting me atop the cold marble.
I pull him closer, fisting my hand in his hair, wrapping my legs around his waist, whimpering when I feel his erection right where I want it most.
"I've missed you every day," I tell him, kissing him harder before he can respond, dropping my hands to his waist and pulling his hoodie upwards. He doesn't break our heated kiss until it's bunched around his neck, lifting his arms so I can pull it off and drop it to the floor—his t-shirt goes with it. Mouth to mouth, my hands roam his solid torso, feeling every groove and ripple of muscle as his arms move to rid me of my sweater and shirt. He's so warm, his muscles taut and hard-earned. I can't help but moan as I explore, letting my fingernails drag over his nipples, earning a deep groan as he pulls back for only a second, just enough time to grab my waist and pull me toward him.
He's so much more sure of himself now, so confident in his movements, more dominating that he used to be, and I love it.
Before, he was a teenager. We lost our virginity together and explored sexually with each other, but we knew so little. Now, there's a definite shift and the way he feels, the way his hands move and his mouth makes me surrender completely … it's heat and want like I've never felt before.
"Fuck," I whimper, letting my head fall back, his lips like molten lava against my throat, his hands snaking their way up my ribs, opening my bra with zero fumbling. I let it fall down my arms, unzipping his jeans with wanton abandon as our lips battle in a heated war of pent-up sexual freedom.
I lift my hips, bracing myself against the counter, as he unclasps my jeans and pulls them down my legs roughly; his breath warm and rushed against my cheeks as he watches every inch bared to him.
He groans, bucking his hips as I push his jeans and his boxer briefs down his thighs, his impressive cock springing free and slapping against his taut stomach. I've missed that sight.
He kicks his feet free of his jeans, toeing his shoes off as his eyes stay locked with mine. I want to touch him all over, feel him all over and intimately reacquaint myself with every square inch of him.
When I slide myself off the counter, he watches me and I feel like we're both holding our breaths. The air is cool, but the atmosphere is warm. We're so close, but there's so much uncharted water between us. We're familiar, but we're strangers too. I should be nervous, but the trepidation is a distant voice, drowned out by a sense of belonging that we always is what we always were: open even without realising, confident in the face of uncertainty. We always offered each other a safe place to land, to love. It's with that thought that I kick my jeans free, and drop to my knees in front of him.
His eyes widen just enough to show his surprise, because I used to hate this. I was young and squeamish, but I've had ten years to grow. As my hands ghost throw way up his strong thighs, my breath fans his cock and his knees buckle. Using the counter behind me as leverage, he grips the edge and drops his head forward to watch me as I take his length in my hand and lick his tip, just enough to taste the saltiness, to savour it. Guiding him into my mouth, hallowing my cheeks and using my tongue. His muttered curse is like warm, expensive silk against my bare body, spurring me on in my movements.
I've learned a few things in the years between then and now, and I smile when he reacts perfectly to my relaxed throat, the tip of him so deep in my mouth that my nose touches his lower stomach.
"Shit," he cries, when I swallow around him. Fisting my hair, he pulls my head back. "I'm gonna cum if you do that again." I want him to. I want to taste him, but he gives me no time to react before I'm in his arms and he's carrying me over to the sofa, depositing me heavily and smiling wickedly as my limbs and hair flail and fan out over the cushions with a deep "oomph."
"I need you," he says, breathlessly, looking down at me with such unguarded intensity that I'd give him anything he asks for. "I need to be inside you."
Biting into my bottom lip, I reach out, taking hold of his hand and pulling him down onto the sofa, so he's hovering over me, shifting only a little to settle himself between my legs.
"Not yet though," he whispers, dipping his head to capture one of my nipples in his mouth. I moan—loudly—as he takes turns, moving from one breast to the other, and then kissing, nipping and licking his way downward, over my stomach, towards when I'm aching for him.
I need to grab something; so with one hand buried in the sofa cushions and the other finding his hair, I part my legs further, relishing the feeling of his warm breath and his soft lips against my sensitive skin; the tip of his nose tickling in its touch as it works lower and lower.
"Please," I manage through a gasp, begging and hoping he takes pity on my aching, wet core. It's been too long since I felt him down there, but my imagination does the memory of him no justice. As soon as I feel his tongue licking the length of my core, I see stars, almost screaming in ecstasy as he flattens his tongue and licks the length of me.
"Fuck," he moans, moving one hand to part my lips and hold me open for him, and then he nips my clit gently with his teeth at the same time he inserts two fingers, and it's all I need for my orgasm to crash over me. Ten years of imagining this, of wishing for it, of screaming his name into the empty air of my room as my vibrator hums in the heavy silence. My legs shake and my muscles clench around him. Every muscle pulsing as my stomach does somersaults and the tightening in my belly explodes into stars that flicker behind my eyelids.
He's always been good at oral, but that? That was nothing like I have ever felt before. I grasp for him, pulling him back up my body and welcoming his lips that taste of me, his tongue that is coated in my juices, swallowing the moan he gifts me as our bodies lay flush once more.
I feel the tip of his cock at my entrance and I buck my hips upwards, begging for it, for all of it, all of him.
"I'm clean, Bella, I swear …" I believe him.
"I'm on the pill and I'm clean too. I promise." My words leave me in gasps between kisses as his hands grip my waist, holding me steady, his thumbs circling gently.
I've been with other men, but never without a condom, and I get tested regularly.
I trust him. I hope he trusts me too.
He does.
It's all he needs to make the final move, lowering his hand to guide himself and then pushing his hips forward. He's bigger than I remember, my body unaccustomed to his size and girth, but like an old song, I welcome him, inch by inch as he pushes inside, our mouths together, swallowing breaths.
"Jesus," he groans, pushing in, meeting very little resistance. My body is coiled, my pussy wet and wanton for him. Only him. Always him.
It's too much, but it's not enough. It'll never be enough, I'll always want more and though I know this weekend will end, I don't want us to. Not again.
He kisses me, his lips soft and tender as he pulls his hips back, his cock almost leaving me completely before he pushes forward once more. Both of us moan, our mouths still as tightly locked as our bodies.
I need him closer still, so I lift my legs around his waist and lock my ankles, guiding him forward, urging him on.
"More, please," I beg, tangling my hands into his soft hair, trying to memorize all the feelings and emotions of this moment, every inch of his skin under my fingers, just in case …
I don't need to ask twice. He picks up the pace and the force of his thrusts, breaking our kiss to look down on me, holding me tightly just below my breasts as he pumps in and out, his thumbs teasing my nipples just enough to send me crazy in my noises.
"My memories don't do you justice," he says slowly, between thrusts, his jaw clenched and his face serious yet open and so vulnerable. "God, I've missed you."
A noise—something between a sob and a mewl—escapes me as I push myself up, linking my arms around his neck as he lifts my into his arms, guiding my movements as I straddle him.
Our gazes meet, and there's so much said, yet no words spoken. I see our past, our little moments together that made us who we are, but I see so much more too. We ended prematurely because I was scared and driven—we both were, but Edward was all-in and I wasn't. I'll regret that for as long as I live. I'll always wonder what we could have been had we stayed together. This though, it's a second chance and I can't help but think we both deserve it.
We were so young and we wanted so much. If my fear and drive hadn't ended us, something else would have. Now, we're ten years older and we know what we want; we've achieved what we wanted to achieve and became the people we wanted to be. We're lucky in that sense, even luckier now we're faced with this second chance and I see it reflected right back at me in his eyes. He feels the same. I know he does.
He swells inside of me, his thrusts becoming more erratic as he pushes his hips to meet my down-strokes. He's close. His hand moves and his thumb finds my clit. A few circles of his thumb and my hips and we climax, together. Our foreheads touching, our breaths ragged and unforced. He stills and we both cry out as he spills inside of me and my orgasm tears through me.
Silence descends. Thick and heavy, but full of promise too as we struggle to regulate our breathing, our bodies slick with sweat.
When he kisses me, everything I feel is mirrored in his touch.
We're on the same page.
The sun rises softly over the horizon; soft, warm hues that pour through as pockets of light between the tall buildings that surround us.
We're a tangle of limbs in my bed, exhausted but sated. Finally. Content and warm all over.
Edward's fingers brush gently through my hair, stroking my scalp, making my eyelids heavy. My head is on his chest, his heartbeat strong and steady under my ear. I don't ever want to move.
"Do you think we would have made it?" I ask finally, my voice quiet, but clear in the early morning silence.
He hums, and it's not really an answer, but I give him a moment before I tilt my head back to look at his face. He dips his chin to study me closely and smiles softly. "No," he answers. My eyebrows hitch, making him chuckle and elaborate. "We were kids. Real life would have burst our bubble eventually. It could have been much uglier and taken a lot more time to heal."
"It was pretty ugly," I say, frowning, sipping my head once more, remembering his tears and his pleading as I broke his heart and left him devastated.
"We were in love. You did what you felt was right. I see that now."
"I don't." I've always struggled to come to terms with the decisions I made back then.
His arms tighten around me, forcing my eyes back to his. "There's no saying what would have happened. We can't regret what transpired, it's not healthy."
"You're very wise," I observe, smiling softly as I place a soft kiss against his chest. He laughs low, and I feel him shake his head.
"Don't get me wrong, I vented in my own way."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
I shift my body, draping myself over him and bringing our faces close. "How?" I ask.
"Like, every song I ever wrote."
I can't hide my surprise. I always wondered who he sang about, not wanting to believe I meant enough to him to be the focus of every song, his muse. I tried not to let my jealousy spike as I listened to the words and imagined the women that came after me.
He kisses me quickly, lifting his head before letting it drop back to the pillows. "Every one."
The magnitude of what he is saying hits me like a train and I can't hold back the tear that escapes my eye. He doesn't miss a beat, reaching up to gently wipe it away with the pad of his thumb.
"I thought about you all the time. I missed you every day. I never stopped loving you and I'm sorry for what I did to us."
His eyes flicker between mine, looking for a sign of any untruths and obviously finding none. "Fuck," he whispers, lifting his head to kiss me once more, cupping the back of my head with his hand and rolling us, so I'm on my back and he's hovering over me. When he pushes himself up, bracing himself with his arms, his face is an open book and I see everything I ever dreamed of seeing staring right back at me.
Affection, contemplation, understanding, growth … love.
"I never stopped loving you either."
A choked sob escapes me as I raise myself to capture his lips.
I whimper when I feel his cock, erect and ready to go again. "Promise me something?" he asks, breaking the kiss to look down at me, his eyes so vivid in the morning light.
"Anything."
"Don't ever do that again," he says, a mock sternness to his voice that makes me purse my lips to hide my smile. "Don't ever let me go because you think it's what's best for me."
Smile gone, I look up at him, matching the seriousness of the moment. "I promise."
And I mean it. I'll never do that to us, or myself again. When it comes to Edward, I'll be nothing but selfish from now on.
"I won't let you go so easily a second time," he warns gently.
"Promise?"
"I promise. You remember that song I wrote, That Girl?"
I nod. "About the one you're going to marry."
He smiles, kissing me quickly once, and then again. "And what did I say about all my songs and who they're about?"
My eyes widen, my mouth gaping, making him chuckle. "Me?" I splutter.
"You," he assured me through a smile. "I never lost hope."
The sun rises in the sky, dawning a new day and a new promise of a brighter future, for us.
As he holds me close and kisses me softly, whispering sweetly into my ear as we come together once more, I feel as though a weight has been lifted. I feel more like that young girl with so many hopes and dreams than I have for a decade.
Edward Cullen was always such a massive part of me that when I lost him, I lost myself too. I've found him again. I've found her again.
And this time, I won't let go.
A/N
Thank you so much for reading!
I'd love to hear your thoughts ❤️