AN:
Chapter 17! When I first plotted this fic, it was going to be 20 chapters long … LOL!
Anyways, Enjoy, and thanks to Kate, Ella and Meg for prereading, and Sally for working her beta magic!
There's a beautiful ache in my limbs when my eyes flutter open, the bright morning light a little offensive, making me groan and stretch. Yup, I ache. Smiling, I roll over, quickly remembering I'm on the sofa, covered by my light blue comforter and … Edward.
He's fast asleep, breathing lightly, looking relaxed and peaceful, his lips parted just a little. I can't help but study him, memorizing every perfect inch of his face. His hair glows in the morning light, its myriad of colors shining brightly; a few strands are falling over his forehead, and like always, I can't fight the urge to brush it back, making him stir. It takes a while, but eventually, his eyes open slowly, tepid green, exhausted, and tempting.
"You're a creep," he says, his voice gravelly and rough, too damn sexy. His smile is half-assed, and I'm glad I know him well enough now to know he's joking; otherwise, I'd probably be offended and taken aback by his deadpanned words.
"You're an ass," I shoot back, making his smile widen, unable to hold back my own. I'm tucked between his long, strong body and the back of the sofa, not sure I ever want to move, even though I really need the bathroom. He stretches, groaning, and I really am a creep because I can't look away.
"You need to let me up," I tell him eventually, but he ignores me, making a noise as he turns to lie on his stomach and buries his face into the small pile of scatter cushions.
"You need to make me coffee," he mumbles, his voice muffled. He can't see my raised eyebrows, but I know he hears my scoff. I can see the corner of his mouth twitch, so I decide to take matters into my own hands, shifting to straddle his back, butt-naked and unapologetic.
He pretends not to care, but I feel the shift of his hips, the slight hitch of his breath under my palm. I keep my hand flat against his back as I lean over, searching for a stitch of clothing, finding none.
"Get off me," he groans.
I lean down to whisper in his ear, pushing my bare breasts into his strong back. "Or what?" I ask quietly. Quick as a flash, I'm on my back, with no idea how I got there and no time to even squeal in surprise. His smile is smug as I blink blankly up at him. "The fuck?" My arms are pinned level with my head, his strong thighs caging me in, his thick cock right there, begging, tempting me. "What the ninja-fuck was that?"
He doesn't answer, not right away. Dipping his face to mine, he runs his nose along my cheekbone and dips his hips so his cock lays right where I'm hot for it. I whimper into the air, my hips bucking. "I warned you," he whispers, nipping at my jaw with his teeth, laying his chest flat against mine, driving me absolutely fucking wild—damn it!
"You don't scare me," I tease. "Warn away; if this is the punishment, I'm heeding nothing."
I feel his smile against my jaw, his lips ghosting down to my neck, his hips shifting just enough to lower his cock, and I'm squirming, gasping, pleasing, my restrained fists clenching.
"You think this"—a slight shift and the head of his cock rubs my clit—"is your punishment?"
"Please?"
His chuckle is deep, breathy, and sexy as hell. When he shakes his head, his erratic bed-head tickles my skin. It's sensory overload. "Not a chance." He releases my wrists and sits straight, still straddling me, stretching his arms high above his head and groaning. Pushing myself on to my elbows, I quirk a brow, looking between his so-beautiful-I-want-to-punch-it face, and his gloriously erect cock. I'm lost, staring, probably drooling, but I'm snapped back to reality when he attempts to stand.
"Nope," I quip, lunging forward to grab his hips, taking him by surprise. He opens his mouth to speak, but I don't give him much of a chance, shuffling forward and dipping my head to lick his cock from base to tip.
"Fuck." He stumbles back onto the sofa fully, allowing me the space to maneuver between his legs. He groans, and one of his hands finds my hair, his breaths puffed and ragged as I take him into my mouth. He's warm, smooth, and too big to fit wholly into my mouth, so I move a hand, stroking the inches I can't take. "Jesus." His choked words and curses spur me on. My tongue laps the underside of him, and I hollow my cheeks, making his hips buck. I gag, but I don't care and neither does Edward. Coffee is forgotten as I work him with my mouth, pushing him farther and farther until he fists my hair and guides my head onto his cock. Now we're talking. "Look at me," he begs, his words almost hissed. My eyes are watering, but I look up and meet his gaze, my movements speeding up, his thrusts and breaths becoming more erratic, and I know just what to do …
"I'm close, Bella."
I don't move away; instead, I lower my head farther, relax my throat, and take as much of him as I can, feeling his warm head deep in my throat. I swallow around him. That does it.
"Shit. Fuck …" With a deep groan, he comes in warm spurts down my throat, his hips jerking, his head thrown back, and the muscles in his torso clenching with each pulse of his orgasm.
I lick him clean before removing my mouth, sitting back on my heels and watching him as he catches his breath. Sprawled over my sofa, he's easily the prettiest thing in my apartment: so tall and muscular, masculine but damn pretty with it.
"Come here," he commands lightly, but I shake my head despite the ache between my legs. My clit is throbbing, begging to be touched, but …
"I need to pee." I don't wait for an answer, but I hear his chuckle as I jump over the back of the sofa and pad my way quickly to the bathroom.
I take my time freshening myself up, brushing my teeth and washing my achy body. I almost shower, but then I think about showering with Edward and decide to throw a large T-shirt on and tie my hair up. Breakfast first.
Edward's in the kitchen, wearing only his black boxer briefs from the night before, and my feet falter when I spot him, because … those legs and those arms, and that damn chest of his. His hair hangs forward a little, over his forehead, and his face is a picture of concentration as he pours two cups of coffee. I want him here all the time. Naked.
Realizing how terrifying a thought that is, I shuffle my feet a little louder as I walk, alerting him to my presence.
"Thank you," I say, jumping up onto the counter beside him and taking the mug he holds out to me. It smells divine. "Very nice of you to make the coffee."
He smirks and leans his hip against the counter. "That's my good deed for the day. Don't expect any more."
"Oh, I'd never. There's only so much charity one can expect from you."
He sighs mockingly. "I'll have you know I'm a very charitable person."
I laugh. "Last night doesn't count. That was just a way for stupidly rich people to flaunt themselves and their wealth."
He nods. "True. But I wasn't talking about last night."
"No?" I take a sip of coffee, watching him closely, waiting for him to elaborate, but it soon becomes clear he's not going to. "What charities do you give money to?"
Shrugging, he takes a sip of his own coffee. "Lots."
"Details, Cullen. I'm trying to figure out what causes mean a lot to you."
"Those fucking donkeys, for one."
I choke on my coffee, spluttering. Wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, I finally manage to speak. "Donkeys?"
"Yeah." He rolls his eyes when he realizes I'm waiting for more information. "You know, those commercials with the overworked donkeys … breaks my damn heart."
"Donkeys." I'm biting my lip, nodding, trying not to burst out laughing.
His eyes narrow. "Don't hate on the donkeys, Bella."
My mouth drops open. "I couldn't possibly. I love donkeys." It's not a lie; those commercials break my heart too. I just didn't take Edward as someone who would donate to the plight of miserable donkeys.
He's taking another drink when a phone rings far off, in the bedroom I think. But I've never heard the ringtone before so it takes a while to register. Edward looks in the direction of the shrill ring, but doesn't move.
"Is that?"
"It's my cell," he answers, apparently deciding on ignoring it. It's then I realize that I've never seen him distracted by his phone, ever. For a businessman, I've hardly ever seen him with it.
"You had it last night?" I ask, confused, trying to remember if I've ever seen him sending a text or answering a phone call. I don't think I have.
"I always have it."
That just confuses me more. "Does no one ever call you?"
For a second he looks perplexed. "It's always bloody ringing."
"But—"
"I silence it when I'm with you."
"Oh." I don't know what to say to that. Thanks? I mean … What does that mean? Is it a good thing?
"It's usually set to Do Not Disturb until the morning, but … it's morning now, hence …" He nods toward my bedroom and the phone, which has now stopped ringing.
"Shouldn't you maybe … answer it?" My voice is unsure and a bit too timid for my liking.
Shaking his head, he moves over to the sink to rinse his cup. "Whoever it is can wait. I have an assistant and a massive team who are more than capable of handling the business in my absence."
"It might be important," I say, no idea why I'm taking this stance instead of being happy that he doesn't allow for any distractions with me.
"It probably is. No one calls on a Sunday for no reason."
"So …"
He turns back toward me, placing his hands on either side of my thighs, caging me in. His biceps bulge under the weight he's leaning on his arms, and I'm suddenly picturing how sexy Edward must be when he's doing push-ups. I want to see it. So badly.
"You don't want my undivided attention?" he asks, knowing full well that when he's standing over me like that—his face only inches from my own, his scent enveloping me—I struggle to form a coherent sentence.
Still, I decide to play with fire. I shrug. "Meh. I'm okay either way."
His growl is deep—a low rumble in his chest that is so damn feral it turns me on. In another ninja move, I'm over his shoulder, trying to scream but laughing too hard too as he marches into the living room, throwing me down heavily on the sofa.
With an "oomph", I hit the soft cushions, my limbs flailing, but he's climbing over me, pinning me down, driving me wild. I'm no longer laughing; I'm biting into my bottom lip and groaning when I feel every inch of him come into line with me.
His lips are hard against mine, the kiss chaotic, a frenzy of lust that makes me feel boneless. Lifting my arms, I wrap them tightly around his shoulders, my fingers finding his hair, my legs lifting to wrap around his waist.
We're moaning, moving together, getting carried away, and then his phone rings again. Breaking the kiss, he sighs as his head drops to my shoulder.
"I really do love having your undivided attention," I start, running my fingers through his hair and willing my heart to slow. "But that really might be something important."
"Fucking better be," he groans, standing. I watch as he shifts his cock in his boxers, trying to make himself more comfortable. He catches me watching and smirks, palming himself harder, like the tease he is. Somewhere in the distance, I'm aware the ringing has stopped.
I push myself into a sitting position and reach out for him. He takes a step closer, his eyes hooded as he looks down, watching me.
The phone rings again.
"Fuck!"
I try not to laugh as he storms away, grumbling and cursing, threatening the life of whoever is calling him.
I watch him go, my arm slung over the back of the sofa, staring into the hallway even when he disappears into my bedroom. I hear him talking but can't make out what he's saying. He doesn't sound happy.
It's a while before he appears again, half-dressed and tugging at his hair.
"Everything okay?" I ask apprehensively, my fingers playing with the suede on the sofa. His demeanor is completely different, closed off, simmering. I don't like it.
He sighs and sends me a small smile. "Just my brother."
"Emmett?" I ask before thinking, flinching when I realize my mistake, cursing myself.
Edward stops walking, his eyes narrowing suspiciously. "How do you … I didn't tell you about Emmett."
Think, Bella. Think.
"I, eh … I heard you had a brother."
"From whom?"
Shit. I don't want to lie to him, I really don't. So I choose the truth.
"Rose …"
"Who?"
"My friend. Rose. She …" I groan, sending a quick prayer toward the ceiling. "She looked into you and your family."
He's silent for too long, the weight of it is suffocating. I steel myself and meet his eyes again. He hasn't looked away the whole time, his gaze laser-sharp and penetrating, and his jaw tight, ticking. "When?" he asks.
I take my time, unsure of the answer. "When I first moved in, I think. Right after you left me the first note."
"Huh." His snort is anything but humorous. It makes me feel queasy, uneasiness climbing and clawing its way up my spine. "Gossip. And you led me to believe you weren't like that."
"I'm not!" My argument is too quick, too desperate. It makes him scoff, his brows furrowing as he thinks, his eyes no longer on mine but on the floor in front of him instead.
"What did your friend uncover?" he asks, his tone cold and defensive. "What gossip and spiteful whispers did she share? Did you believe them all? Everything she told you, did you believe it?"
"Edward." I stand and round the sofa, approaching him slowly. "I can't even remember the details—it's not important."
He shakes his head, his eyes still narrowed when he looks at me again. "Yes, it is."
"No, I—"
"You get a kick out of discussing my family problems behind my back like everyone else? I bet you all had a good laugh—"
"Of course not!"
His laugh is sinister. I hate the change in him. Only a few minutes ago, he was lying on top of me, kissing me …
"I thought you were different."
"I am," I argue, pathetically. "It's no big deal; it's just gossip. It doesn't … it didn't change the way I felt—feel—about you."
He looks stunned for a moment, pulling at his hair. "Look," he says, sighing. "Just … I just need … I just thought you were different from everyone else I know. That we took each other at face value and …"
"I get why you're angry," I cut in, taking another step closer to him, pleading with him silently not to shut me out.
"No," he says. "I don't care. I truly don't." He doesn't. His voice is flat and emotionless. "I'm used to it—the gossip, the whispers … I can brush it off. But you? That shit hurts, Bella."
If he punched me in the gut, it would hurt less than those words. I feel my eyes water; I feel my throat tighten. "I'm sorry." My voice cracks, and for a fleeting moment, Edward's eyes soften.
"I know," he says. "I'm touchy about this … it's … difficult."
"I don't understand," I tell him truthfully, my voice weak, my eyes on the floor as I wipe at my face. "But I'd really like to, if you'll tell me?"
He's quiet, but he doesn't move. When he speaks, his voice is low. "Maybe. I'll be in touch once I've seen to Emmett."
I nod because what else can I do? "I'm sorry," I say again. "I didn't mean …"
"I know." He takes a step, and I feel his lips against my hair, a gentle kiss that almost makes me break down. It feels final, and I don't want it to be, not before we've even got started. "Just give me some time to work through this."
When he leaves, I don't watch him go, but each of his footsteps echoes, and the soft click of my door may as well be a gunshot. I jump. The silence is deafening, my apartment way too big now he's gone.
"Shit," I whisper, rubbing my face, urging myself not to think the worst. It'll be okay; he'll cool off and come back.
I make my way back to the sofa; it smells of us.
I get why he's angry. I'd feel the same if his friends had dug around and unearthed gossip about me behind my back. I'd be just as paranoid, just as hurt. But at the time, I had no idea we'd become … whatever we are. I had no idea I'd fall hook, line, and sinker for the gloriously bratty man across the hall. If I did, maybe I'd have thought twice about rummaging in the private life of him and his family. It feels like a dirty thing to do, and I can understand how touchy he is, given his wealth and upbringing. I've seen Gossip Girl, I know how brutal people can be, and I led him to believe I was different …
I feel awful.
But I am different. He knows that. I know that.
My parents always taught me never to sleep on an argument or leave in the heat of the moment, angry.
They've been together for over thirty years, so I intend to heed their advice.
I'll give him some space, some time to deal with his brother, but I'm not going to sit back and wait for him to come to me, like a neglected little puppy waiting for its next meal. I promised myself I'd never be that girl again.
It's time to be proactive.
After a shower.
AN:
uh oh.
Look, don't hate me. This is about as angsty as this fic will get, I promise!
Thank you so much for reading! I love hearing your thoughts. reviews really do fuel my writing fire and I appreciate every single one.