Stephenie Meyer owns all things Twilight.

LovelyBrutal has a smile that's home to me. i love you with all my heart. thank you for your help with this and for knowing when to change means to needs.

thank you guys for being here.

read the rest of this story in the dark.

feed my hungry soul

you gotta give your love to me now

The Acid: Feed

VII

I've never began a feast so drunk.

Swaying, stupid euphoria usually sets in somewhere between the first taste and the last lick, and then gives way so quickly to the hangover that I'm incapable of ever really reveling in it.

But not here.

Not tonight.

My vision is soft around every edge and all my reflexes are relaxed. Not unready, but at perfect peace in their readiness. The moonbeams I've got for blood hum through my veins, turning all of me into a hypersensitive echo chamber for my heart, and my heart - the lonely, death row of my heart feels like it's making love to my wide-open nervous system with every beat falling harder than the one before.

I've been swimming in the cup of this man for hours by the time I'm finally kneeling at his bedside.

And this is just the beginning.

My whole body blooms warmer than my darkest desires as I lean over Edward-sober-and-celibate-but-I'll-fuck-a-god-up-Cullen. The air between us bends until it can't anymore, burning away completely as I start to close in. Grinning. Parting the smile I can't fight right over his perfect mouth, I breathe out and he has no choice but to breathe me in.

Even with the steadiness of centuries coursing through me, I shake as it happens. My lungs change every breath I draw into something Stygian. A curse. A trap - and feeling him take his first hit of narcotic air from me is a rush in itself. His lips part for it and his neck arches, infinitesimal in amount and unmistakable in meaning. He's so eager for sleep that he casts the start of my spell for me, willfully and unwittingly sealing himself into heavily receptive rest.

A sleep where he'll dream only of me.

And it works instantly.

Leaning back up, I gaze down while he sinks subtly into the bed, tension releasing every muscle from his arms to his abdomen. His pulse and breathing patterns become languid, and his fingers stretch and curl along the pillowcase. He tilts his head slowly left then right, making himself even more comfortable while pride rises in me like a wave.

My grin deepens as I grab the edge of his ash black sheet and drag it down, laying him bare to his hips so I can gaze upon him without modesty or restraint. So I can let my eyes do to his body what his body did with my breath.

Starting at the top, where his hands remain loosely draped above his head, I see finally that his left arm is completely blacked out with ink. It runs from what look like claw marks on his shoulder, all the way down to his hand, where not even the tips of his elegant fingers fade clean. A stained-glass spider's web takes up his other shoulder, and there's intricate old English script scrawled across his chest that reads Save the Turtles.

Endearment opens somewhere under my heart, fusing and flowing through my veins with pure possession as I take his right hand in mine. His fingers close around my own, and the urge to kiss his knuckles flutters inside me like too many butterflies as I extend his arm instead.

His grip tightens when I let go, pausing my perusal of his skin to indulge the sadistic streak I can't help. It's as much a part of me as moonlight and longing. It feels so good to taunt him - to tease my touch over his open hand and watch his fingers curve and seek and need - I swoon a little.

Serves him right.

Reaching and not finding what he wants is the least of what he gets for making me so supple.

Leaving his right hand wanting, I push my own through my hair and return my eyes to his arm. There's a rain cloud with beaded drops tattooed above a band of technicolor rings the shade of a TV test screen wrapped just below his elbow. The rest of his forearm is bare, save for a red rose growing down his thumb.

The impulse to put it in my mouth is so strong I can hardly breathe.

Shifting my focus, I find his chest pierced with two metal barbells, and an ornate oracle of two winged sphinxes, eyes closed, tits exposed - knelt piously on his sternum. Lower, high on the side closest to me, there's simple print that makes me smirk, engraved between bones - in case of apocalypse, create woman from this rib - and now that the patch is off his other side, I can see the fresh work there.

As I walk around the bed to look closer, I trail the sheet incrementally lower to reveal a single white feather nestled in the dip of his left hip. Tracing its downy tip with the lightest hint of contact does exactly what I want. He lifts slightly toward my hand with his whole body, tilting just enough for me to see the new shiny black kitten, climbing his rib cage.

Like every other inch of him, I want to reach out and pet it, but I'm not finished feeding my eyes.

Still holding the edge of bamboo fabric, I pluck it entirely away with a flick of my wrist, making him as naked as me and dropping it to the floor.

Long legs are mostly unmarked, except for some ink on the backs of his calves that I can't make out from his position, and the tops of his feet, where fine-lined daisies are pushing up. Trailing my eyes higher, I notice little scars on his shins and knees, so faded they must have come from boyhood, and two other small, shallow streaks indented slightly into his thigh from something more violent.

Walking slowly around the bed once, then twice, I take my time adoring his form from every angle. Even in this state, he's almost too beautiful to bear. My blood feels like a current of cherry blossoms, trembling on the eager breeze of my pulse. My hunger aches and my already so pink skin warms even more. Reaching out, I trace serene cheekbones and smooth brows, from the dark bronze of his widow's peak down the bridge of his nose, over his Cupid's bow to his chin. I rest my touch there just for a moment. Just long enough that his lips part slightly. Seeking another sedative breath. Revealing arrogantly perfect teeth and a hint of gilded sharpness.

Smiling wide through a surge of prodigious softening, I draw his mouth a little more open and hold it that way, watching his right canine, capped in pointed gold, glint at me.

Ask how bad I suddenly wish he was like us.

Like Alice.

So he could do to me what she used to do to everyone she craved so they'd follow her around like puppies.

Ask me how I go from controlled admiration at this sleeping mortal's bedside, to abject adulation in his bed.

I couldn't tell you.

All I know is I'm crawling over him now, pulling an ocean of inhales from his neck. Making myself sightless-drunk and soaked-sodden on the salt and summer of his skin. Swimming in the scent of ripe nectarines and black powder and rain heavy enough to drown cities. I slip drunkenly to his chest, dragging my nose over indelible ink, parting ardent lips right over his heart to get stoned on his pulse like eucharist wine, and I feel what he does to me throb over and under my nakedness in warm, weighted waves.

I don't realize just how open my mouth is until the taste of him fills my senses and I revel out loud, seeking skin and steel with my tongue the same time he shifts in entranced rest, obliviously lifting his arm, and I catch his wrist mid-air.

Still sound asleep, he's easy to pin back down, but his tendons stay tight and his chest stays raised, arched for more attention. His lips stay open as I lean up, out of reach, and it takes my own breath away as I consider kissing him.

Just for a split second.

Because just the thought of putting my mouth on his mouth, my tongue on his tongue, makes me feel like coming again.

But knowing a kiss from me would send him completely under, that he wouldn't feel what I'm dying to do, is intolerable.

Placing his arms firmly above his head once more, I straddle the bottom of his stomach and lean my face over his face as I exhale slowly. The drug of my breath falls across his neck and jaw instead of past his lips, and watching him twist and turn and chase it deepens my mean streak to a shameless shade.

I've never had prey fight to engage in their own undoing.

I've never wanted to play with a man more than I wanted to take what I crave.

I've never, ever gone this tortuously soft for anyone, and I've never, ever been so at one with the devil in me.

While Grim struggles unknowingly under my influence, I bestow him with the opium he's craving. I send my spell deep, deep into him, and grin as it sinks in. Permeating muscle tissue. Weighing down his limbs, but leaving his senses aware and wanting.

Leaning finally as very low as I dare, I let his tempting lips just barely graze mine.

Nowhere near awake and no way of knowing better, he takes the bait, parting his mouth so I can fill the cave of his chest with a shaky breath of lurid, unholy need.

This is what you get, it whispers into his subconscious as I pull back, watching his forehead crease, feeling the length of him rise against my backside.

This is what you get for ignoring me.

Neglecting how hard he's growing, I distract how wildly it attracts me to him with the bass of his heart, pounding up to my mouth. It's deep in sleepy oblivion, but it throbs when I lick where it beats, and so do I.

Between my legs.

Low in my belly.

Inside my mouth and down my throat.

My whole body is a pulse for him.

Of hunger.

Of need.

Greed -

Dragging my tongue possessively over his pulse, I lose myself in marking this mortal. In painting his chest and neck and arms with softness that's invisible to the eye but impossible to ever wash off. I cover his stomach and sides, both sphinxes and his tender kitten with kisses he'll always just barely feel and never, ever understand.

I kiss his burning cheeks and the knifelike edge of his jaw. His nose. His chin.

Everywhere but his mouth.

I kiss his navel and his hips, his white feather and all around the base of his ache.

Everywhere but his cock.

I kiss him to make him mad now - truly mad and even madder still tomorrow, when he'll still feel me but have no concept of me.

My lips feel swollen when I finally rise, panting and unbridled in nighttime's pale glow streaming through his windows. My own pulse roars through my veins, and disheveled locks fall over my shoulders as I sway against the fleeting impulse to lean back, take in, and ride.

Mine, every nerve, every bone, every sorely smitten fiber of me sings.

All mine.

Mine more than he'll ever know stretches through dreaming as I slink down his bed, nudging his thighs apart to kneel between them. Accommodating me without missing a beat, he moves through sleep to make room for me. To let me.

Mine, I kiss my way from the daisy petals on the tops of his feet to his unsteady patellas, all the way up each leg so he'll feel me everywhere from here on out. Everywhere except where I stop short both times. Everywhere except where he needs kissing the very most.

Mine, I lift my head to breathe along his thick length, breaking his sleepy exhale into coarse little quakes while his hardness strains toward my elusive warmth.

Mine, I hum, wordless against the earth of his skin as his blacked-out hand comes down, unconsciously and easily finding the back of my head and pressing me close.

Closer.

So close I can't help but open my mouth.

I want him in my mouth so bad I could cry.

But I hold out, sulking and punishing him with a breath that makes his hips lift while my whole body rolls through the unrelenting urge to go down on him and never come back up.

Not for air.

Not for a full moon.

Not even if all the gods demanded it.

I crave this one so deeply I can't see anything past possessing him completely, but as I shift and his grip loosens to let me, I still don't make contact. I open my starving mouth so wide, so near to the so tempting head and tease him with another wet breath.

This? I ask without a sound, invading his sleep with an internal voice while I angle evasively under his hand, trying to guide me into place. I hold out my needful tongue, grazing him with the promise of hot softness but not letting him have it because this - the way his hips surge and seek, his stomach tensing, sinews taut, the way his pinched brows and pouted lips plead with me - I want his desperation even more than I want my fill.

I want him to need it like I do.

And that means unfairly.

That means too much.

That means coming unhinged whether he wants to or not.

You want - I let him lead me to the end of himself so he can feel the apple-polishing tip of my already so devoted tongue - this?

A low groan fills his room, a rugged sound cornered between gravel and groveling while I push back against his heedless hand, trying his hardest to push me down. If he was irresistible before, he's insufferable now. Pulse pounding. Lungs struggling to keep up. Every vein strained, and the small of his back arched in a way that means one thing. One thing only, because even though he's deprived his body for years, it remembers. Even fast asleep, his body knows what he wants. What a girl on her knees needs.

Lapping so lightly where his cup runs over that it makes his crown fall back against pillows and his heels dig into bedding, my heart flutters like a teenage swallowtail at the first hint of the lushest honey in all creation. I'm enlivened beyond anything I've ever imagined. I'm so instantly and entirely hooked on his taste that I forget myself, and give in to him.

I take his achingly full length so completely inside me I see stars.

I feel stars.

I become his private little star.

A heavenly body just for him that melts with rightness as my mouth meets the base, and I do my best to kiss him there too. Humming. Unbridled. Filled to the brim with his desire and covering every formidable inch with lips so soft he'll always feel them. Always want them.

Right here.

Just like this.

As I come back to myself and up for air, the cadence of his shallow panting fills my ears and chest with a rush of glory. Worth their weight in gold, every breath lifts my chin and straightens my vertebrae until I'm knelt upright. Soaked to the bone with his scent and starry-high on the first sip of why I exist, I bask in the sight of him. Silver-lined in moonlight and darkly sacred, his jet-black arm searching for me, bewildered in need, and I love -

I love -

how much he already misses me.

I love it so much it stings, denying him. My ribs and lips and skin pang every second I don't meet his body's demands. I'm feverishly impatient to give myself back, but I want him bereft. Overwrought. I want him at war with himself.

Leaning low, I let his hand find my crown again, and what comes next makes my heart rush into my throat.

Pushing his hips up while he pulls me down, he grips a fistful of my hair and his possessiveness tickles me so pink, I giggle in satisfaction as I loom over him. Still not giving in.

For a cock overflowing with so much need, it looks powerful. Relentless.

It looks proud.

For a man unable to put me where he wants me, he looks proud.

Even with his eyes closed.

Half lost in the garden of dreaming, half tensed-tight with yearning, Grim makes need look less like desperation and more like deserving.

Like he's entitled to my attention.

My affection. My mouth.

The pulse in the back of my throat.

Like he has every right to all of me, and somehow, he knows it.

Granting him just past the edge of my made-for-this lips, I take my time soaking the tip in a slow kiss. Spilling passionate little love notes all over the crown of his cock while a tide of tingles I can't fight makes me tremble for the taste of him.

You like that? I ask under his skin, between his heartbeats while giving him the softest slide of the softest part of my tongue. Slipping insolently away the moment he moans, I reach up and bring his other hand down.

Show me, I whisper through his dreams, my grin digging into my cheeks as he lets go of my hand. Automatically knowing right where to go. Exactly what to do.

More man than any man I've ever known, he strokes himself toward me, and it's so beautiful - he's so brutally beautiful this way, it's a burden to look and not lay back for him. His movements are slow, sleepy-surreal and shamelessly self-satisfying. He's making himself feel good, and watching him touch himself, knowing he's abstained from this kind of pleasure for so long, feels more erotic, more intimate to me than anything I've ever done. My hips roll on their own, hopelessly transfixed by the display of pure instinct.

How unrestrained. How commanding it is. The enthralling opposite of modest.

No man has ever looked so primitive and so divine at the same time.

Weighted warmth swells and tightens inside me as his strokes quicken, and I grip the fitted sheet, desperate on the crest of more tingling than I can take, but his free hand, his entirely blacked-out one grips me roughly by my hair. Forcing me to focus on him instead of coming again.

Harsh darkness engulfs every single tingle, burning up all my warmth as I lean forward and lick where it's killing me not to. Turning his next breath into a ragged moan, I part my kiss-swollen lips and lap at the generous length of his cock, stilting his rhythm and making his hips arch. I drag my aching, eager tongue over his knuckles and pour my sorely devout mouth over the head. Sucking while he strokes toward my mouth. Showing him how enamored I am.

How soft he makes me.

How subservient to him.

How base I'll be just for him.

Lowering his right hand to the base of himself, brandishing what's already mine like an offering, he nudges my head down with his left hand, but I hold back. Turning his moans into groaning. Making him flex and writhe.

Beg, I whisper inside him, teasing him with coy lips. Fawning over his thick tip. Keeping him slick.

Ask for what you want.

When he doesn't do it, I take him deeper, letting him touch the back of my tongue.

Ask me, I urge, swallowing sweetly around half his full height. Luring a sound from so low in his belly it thunders through his whole frame, into my mouth, and I know - the second I lift away, I know -

I've got him.

"Please." His jagged whisper washes over like a wave, searing me with satisfaction.

I kiss him with generous little licks.

Beg for it.

But only breathless, ragged sounds escape him, impatient and ungrateful. So I swirl my tongue and let him slowly back inside, all the way down until I'm kissing his hand, and his thumb comes up to trace my lips.

My chest caves in as I slide away again. All the way out of his hold this time. Off the bed. Watching him search his sheets like shadows.

"Beg," I bid out loud, the softness of my voice making him face where I stand and stroke himself toward me. Naked and waiting at his bedside. Dizzy in heat. Struggling to hold out.

His free, dark arm stretches toward me.

Stepping out of his reach feels like being torn apart.

"Bella…"

It comes out like a thorn, split from the pith of him, and I'm confused at first, then elated. He must have heard us talking in the shop. He must have been listening too.

But Bella isn't who I am or what I want to hear right now.

"Lilette," I correct, weak in the knees. Mesmerized with the sight of him so in need, I can't even swallow around how badly it hurts not to mount him like a throne.

Grim's gold canine glints as he remains silent save for rough, shallow breaths. Still placating how hard he is with one hand, he slides his other farther across disheveled sheets. Pitch-black palm up. Beckoning me back to him.

My heart storms against my stillness.

"Lilette," I insist, wanting to hear him say it but hating how soft and small my own voice is. How sorely soft he makes all of me. How small I've become in his presence, how susceptible I am to the force of this person.

He stretches his dark fingers in sleepy summoning and I can't help crawling back onto his bed. Back between his knees. I have to. Just to touch his legs again. His scars. His feather. I have to feel his skin on my skin.

The corner of his mouth curls as I graze his waiting palm with my burning cheek, hovering above where he wants me while his strokes become languid. Conceited.

Need holds my mouth open as a shore.

"Come on," he whispers, angling his hips to draw me in.

I sway forward, sullenly helpless, coating the head of his cock with a breath so warm, so wide open, it gives him goosebumps.

It's such a human reaction - such a strong reminder that I'm not - I almost laugh.

Slipping my hand beneath his right one, around the base, I steal his inhale with an inviting caress and I swim in magnetic heat as he closes his hand over mine, and we move together.

Leaning down, I offer him my open mouth so he can rub the heavy tip against the center of my tongue, giving me the decadent taste of why I'm here with every slow stroke of our hands.

It only takes a few before I'm caught in the flow of him. Lightheaded and laden with softness and possession and the full-body longing to give all, all the way in.

"Come on." His low-laid murmur hangs a lock around my neck, tugging me to himself. "Come on, baby."

I blush so pink my whole body feels heavy.

"Come on," he coaxes under his breath, deep in dreaming and tilting his hips. Guiding my head down. Pushing the head of himself over my hungry tongue. Giving me no choice but to feel how good it will be. How good he'll give it to me. How good I want to do for him.

This isn't how it's supposed to go.

He's supposed to beg me.

I'm supposed to make him give in.

But then he sighs. Or moans. I can't tell. The sound that slips out of him as he leads me to where I belong is steeped in sheer gratification.

Relief.

Awe.

"Baby," he exhales, so fervently I recognize the sound for exactly what it is.

A prayer.

So pure.

I feel like holy water.

Lilting entirely to this man, I kiss him how I was made to, sea-deep and dew-sweet. I worship the hardest part of him with lips that have never been more sensitive and licks lush with more lust than I've ever felt. I'm besotted in passion. Insatiable with it.

My tongue can't get enough of him.

My mouth, my throat, my pulse -

No part of me can have enough of him.

I sink forward like waves, like there's nothing more natural than pouring over this part of him.

Because there isn't.

Not for me.

Both of his hands are in my hair now. Not pushing anymore. Just feeling. The bass drum of his heart rolls like a storm between my lips and all around us, and the heady, intimidating scent of him, the delicate taste compared to the demanding fullness of him inside me - the satisfaction of finally having him feels as ominous as a threat.

It's too much.

It's never felt perilous, getting what I want.

It's never gone so beyond every limit.

Lapping faithfully at the coastline of his skin, sucking with all of my made-soft heart, I take him as far as I can. Deeper than deep. So deep it feels dangerous. I soak him in softness. In devotion. I hold him in my throat like a good little star and let him push against the pulse he turned so tender.

It possesses him wholly and instantly, the way I keep him there, coating him in hums and heartbeats.

Heat and hardness flood me as he arches his hips, rocking out and rising rhythmically deeper into me like a tide. I hang onto his sides as he holds me down, his grip on my crown just as affectionate as it is irrefutable. His ecstasy paramount. He flows into fucking me, and he fucks like he needs to. Like he's needed to for so long.

Not just for the years he's abstained, but like he's always needed to.

Like he's always needed me right here, to fuck just like this.

Ceding myself to his self-serving cadence overwhelms me on a brand new level. My toes curl. My legs shake and my knees spread wide against his bed. My own hips rut and my stomach tightens like his, fluttering so hard I can't help covering him with dire little pleas. My tits ache for contact. My pulse throbs in my bones while he digs deep through sleep to get deeper into me, to stay drenched and pressed against every butterfly-soft beat, and my lips tingle with longing to never, ever leave him.

Holding me in place at the base of his instinct, he draws all of me down with him as he leans back, guiding my head in heavily low waves while he relaxes into bed. Nestling against pillows. Bending one knee. Commanding me without words to sustain this pace, to keep him deep, to make the love he needs for him.

I practically purr as I continue his cadence, sucking sweetly and desperately. Just how he likes. Carrying out his indulgence, I keep him veiled in heartbeats, kissing him as deeply as he deserves to be kissed, without end.

He hums too, his breathing evening out as he settles into being obeyed. Fulfilled.

I love that he let me.

That he found a place he goes wild for.

A place that makes him weak.

A place so his, he can claim it even on his back.

I please him for hours this way.

I'll heed his pleasure for far longer soon enough.

But for tonight, I let him lose himself in me. I let him bask in blacked-out velvet waves of dreaming until my hunger becomes too much to bear. I can taste how much he wants to come as twilight starts to creep into his room, and it's almost blinding, how after hours of having him, I need him so much more than before.

In the dim glimmering before dawn, relentless, inherent yearning that's been a siren in my ears all day cries out so sharply that I whimper around relentless fullness. Caressing him with pouty lips, I kiss him wetter. Wilder. Filthy-helpless. I make his breathing falter and his back arch in surrender as I lap sweetly. Sweeter. Sweetest. I bathe him in starlight-licks that make him so mercilessly hard his hips shake as I take him deep. Deeper. Deepest. I slide my mouth up and down with unmistakable intent that makes him rise and rut along my tongue as I suck his cock with a singular purpose now.

Harder than he knows how to be, the man I'm making only mine presses me all the way down on himself as he starts to come, but I'm already sinking, swallowing the first drink so eagerly I barely taste it.

Mine to have all of gives me so much more though.

Like a god himself, he gives me more.

He gives me enough like I've never had enough. So much I could drown in how much he has to give. How good every swallow feels. How good he feels breaking his vow, abandoning years of temperance and giving into his body, giving into mine with all he's got. He gives me so much that I'm sated before the last drink and drunker than I've ever been as he finishes, a threadbare exhale leaving his lungs as the very first drop of his soul hits the very back of my tongue.

I suck instinctively harder, and he balks audibly, groaning in protest as both hands immediately push at my shoulders, even as his hips lift in impossible offering. I know it's human instinct to try to stop me just like I know that's it for now. I know there's no more yet. The last pulse is never enough, but it's what sustains me. What keeps me alive, if that's what I am. It's all I'm ever allowed of the gift our great maker refused me, and filled mankind with.

It's a sip of soul.

And it's everything to me.

And Grim's tastes just like rose water.

Addicted to the gravity of him and the lushest kind of fulfillment, I drag out letting him go.

I'm never sated. Ever. Remaining forever unslaked is my birthright. My nature. I can always keep going because I always want more. I always need more. The hunger never goes away. But as all his tension eases, legs relaxing, his jaw falling slack, I realize I'm not holding myself up at all. I'm leaned-drowsy against him, wrapped warm in the way he's breathing as I dote on the still-hard tip of him with an open in love kiss.

Farther in the garden of dreams than he's been all night, my prey mindlessly strokes my hair as I finally release him, letting my head rest right there on his hip. The pad of his thumb wanders between my temple and cheek as he sleeps with me there, and I nestle closer, curling contentedly low against his thigh as my eyelids slip. Heavy with how settled I feel. How bewildered and enchanted. How euphoric and sleepy, and then it's happening.

I feel myself drifting too.

For the first time in my life.

I'm sleeping.

I'm dreaming.