A/N: Ok, getting back to the good stuff. Thank you to Pearlyfox for helping me so much and for Dawnbreaker8 for pre-reading this chapter :)
~Was my love too wild for you?~
It's Sunday morning and Charlie's gone today. I'm pretty sure he's dating someone with how little time he spends at home now. For some reason, he's keeping it a secret, but I don't mind. Usually, I'd be happy because it just means I'll have more time to sneak Edward in, but now that he's not in my life anymore—the house feels cold, empty.
After the panic attack I had yesterday at the grocery store with Esme, I'm at my breaking point. I know I'm going to run back to Edward—I just do. I was so tempted to leave with Esme, but I needed to compose myself and think everything through before I make any rash decisions. I'm known to make bad ones whenever I'm in distress.
Between my talk with Leah and Esme, I've accepted that I need to try again with him. I can't be without him; I even see a glimmer of hope in us. If we crash and burn, it's better than being alone. Everything's better than being alone — being without him.
Maybe I'm pushing him too much, or maybe it's just that my expectations are too high. Edward has come such a long way since we first met, and I haven't been the most honest, innocent person in this relationship myself. I plan on talking to him tomorrow, and if he's not in school, I'll go to his house after—I need to do it in person. This is not something I can fix over an impersonal range of text messages or phone calls.
There's absolutely no point in getting dressed today. I'm not even leaving the house, so the only thing I'm wearing is an oversized shirt—that belongs to him. After the emotional rollercoaster of the past few days, wearing his clothing comforts me. I haven't washed it, and since it's been a few days, his earthly, musky smell barely lingers on it. It's cheesy, and it's not much, but it's all I have of him right now. I treasure it; it's my reminder, of him, of us.
There's a knock on the door. That's weird. Who the hell could it be?
Anyone I know would call before they show up at my house, and Charlie doesn't have many visitors. I don't have time to run upstairs and put on some shorts, so I answer the door hiding a little, the only thing that peeks out from behind it is my head. I gasp, choking on my breath, a wrangled sound escaping my throat when I see who it is.
The first thing I see are his hauntingly beautiful eyes. They're dull, bloodshot, consumed with agony. The once vibrant greens seem hollow and empty with dark circles underneath.
It's Edward. His face is sickly pale, his lean torso covered in a black, fitted hoodie. Strands of unkempt gold strands peek out from under the hood, week-old scruff covers his angular jawline. His inked hands twist together anxiously.
Edward looks like an addict, forced to stay sober, against his will, which is a pretty accurate way to describe us. The only difference with any other case of substance is, I'm his addiction—and so far, we haven't found a cure.
The moment his eyes catch mine, it's like the smoldering heat and electricity between us bursts into flames. Our otherworldly connection draws us in. Only now that we're feet away from each other, our bodies can't resist.
Once I pull open the door and he gets a glimpse of me, bare-legged, wearing his shirt—all of his restraint is cut loose. He stomps in and slams the door shut. In the blink of an eye, he grabs me by my bare thighs, lifts me up so I can wrap my legs around his waist, and pushes me against the wall with a thud.
His mouth frantically crashes to mine, taking possession of my lips. He sucks and bites in hunger, forcing his tongue into my mouth, battling with mine. He groans against me, both of us going crazy at the taste of each other, having been denied it for too long.
I whimper at his taste—fuck, I missed him so much; his taste, his touch, his smell—everything.
How was I able to resist him for this long?
No words are spoken between us. We don't need them. This is our language—how we express our love, desire and pain.
All the heartache, suffering and anger seeped out of our kisses; dissolving and transforming into longing and pure passion. It's as if everything has been forgotten as if we're ready for each other now. Ready to start over.
Edward grinds and thrusts his hips into mine, my shirt pushed up around my hips.
I push the hood of his sweater down and tangle my hands in his hair, gripping and pulling as he moans. I writhe my hips against him, rubbing frantically, craving friction from his hard, jean-covered cock. Fuck I missed it—I need it so badly. I moan into his mouth as he gets the message, angles my body and rubs against the spot I'm silently wishing for.
"Fuck, do you understand how much I fucking missed you?" he mumbles against my lips, in between kisses.
It's the most difficult thing in the world, fighting this all-consuming energy between us.
With his hips holding me up, Edward slides his hand under my shirt, pushing it up my body, the heat from his hands burning through me. He keeps tugging until cotton bunches up over my bare tits, exposing them to him. He lets out a hungry growl, eyes narrowed as he stares down at my chest.
His lips engulf my nipple into his mouth, sucking on the hard peak—the barbell in his tongue flicking against my puckered flesh.
Fuck, I missed the things he could do with that tongue ring.
My eyes roll back and my head tilts back, hitting the wall. I whimper at the sensation of his wet, hot tongue against my skin and the ache between my legs that keeps intensifying. I'm burning up—for him, because of him.
I'm desperate for this, and nothing else in the entire world makes me feel this good, but I realize we can't do this. I have to stop this. We need to end this toxic pattern of fucking away our problems. I honestly want him back, and for that to happen, we need to talk first, fuck later.
"Wait, mmh… Edward, we c-can't. We need to - uhhh - stop," I pant breathlessly.
"Why?" He doesn't stop. Instead, his tongue begins to flick faster, his hand tugs my other nipple. I squirm against him.
My body betrays me again, my hips driving into his, my moans even louder than before.
"We need to talk… Oh God—we need to stop f-fucking all of our problems away."
"Shit, you're right. Ok, I'll stop." He stops sucking but doesn't pull away, his hot, deep breaths and pants sending shivers through me. His fingers continue playing with my nipple—I don't even think he realizes he's still doing it. It's as if his subconscious mind controls his actions now that he's finally able to touch me again.
Why is this so hard—we're like fucking animals in heat.
"Ugh, Edward. I'm serious," I whimper helplessly. The fact that he's not stopping makes me even wetter.
"Oh... Shit, I'm sorry," he half-heartedly apologizes. He lets me down as I slide down his body, whimpering when I feel how hard he is. We both groan at the loss of contact, but he doesn't completely let go of me, his hand caressing my hip while I'm gripping onto his hard bicep.
I don't think we can handle being apart right now, our emotions high-strung. Our breathing is harsh as we try to catch our breaths.
"We need to talk."
"I know, I want to," he confesses, his eyes open, vulnerable, defeated. He's not holding back anymore.
I pray it's not all in my head and not false hope, but I think this conversation will be different—better. I feel like the devastation of us really losing each other this time is what we needed to move forward. It was the push we needed to stop playing games, to let go of our demons. As long as we can stay this way, there might be a chance for us. We might actually make it.