I do not own Twilight.
High School: End of Junior Year
The cicada outside of my bedroom window are playing an off tune, off beat melody of a nearby start to summer, but I am certain my heart beat is louder than them.
I'm so certain of the fact, that I am terrified my mom and Charlie can hear my racing pulse from down the hall. Like it will transcend three walls and echo around their room, sending off an alert that I have a boy in my room and it is way past my curfew.
Edward's mouth is relentless on mine, his tongue velvet and soft along mine and I have to turn my head to break away from his torturous kissing to pull in a lungful of air. I swear, the boy can hold his breath for hours. Or, more likely, he is more skilled at kissing than I am, and so knows how to breath in between.
I am not as skilled and so my head is jutted up towards a source of air. It's warm and hot and sticky in my room, and I'm not entirely convinced it's just from the summer heat.
His lips move open, hot, and heavy across my chin, down my throat and a small sound of pleasure twirls in the air between us, released from my lips.
"Edward," I manage to gasp out and he hums against the skin of my throat, thinking I am moaning his name in ecstasy—which, really, is not too far off base.
But I'm calling to him in warning, out of fear.
"Charlie will kill you if he hears us in here," I moan, but it's ironic that I am saying this to him because I am the one being dramatically loud.
"Let him," Edward mumbles against my jaw. His fingers move from my waist to grasp my chin and turn my face back to his, "I'll die happy."
I'm kissing him back feverishly until his hand travels up my tank top and the back of one of his fingers brushes just beneath my breast. My already staggered breathing hitches and he takes a hint, moving to cover my full breast with his hand. I marvel at how I seem to fit perfectly within his palm.
Just days before, I had been comparing my chest to the well-developed ones of Jessica Stanley and Lauren Mallory and had been bereft with the results.
I am not tiny like Alice, as she had hotly pointed out when I aired my concerns, but I am not like the cheerleaders.
Nevertheless, Edward seems to enjoy my body despite the fact that he has probably had handfuls of larger breasts, and he sweeps a finger across my budding peak.
I pull back from his mouth, blinking up at him in a haze of desire and he's already watching me. His normally emerald eyes are a darker jade, slightly hooded with his own burning desire that I can feel pressing into me just beneath the sheets.
The pad of his thumb brushes over my covered, sensitive peak again as he stares down at me and my eyelids flutter, though I fight to keep them open. There's a hunger in his expression that scares and excites me, and I can't look away.
He draws his hand back down towards my waist and then is slipping his hand beneath my tank top, running his palm and fingertips quickly over the hot skin of my stomach back up to my breast and the whimper that escapes my throat embarrasses me. But he is already bending down to me again, fitting his mouth perfectly over mine as he lets his fingertips strum and dance and caress my breast.
My legs, which are on either side of his hips, fall open a little further on their own accord as heat travels up and down my body, landing hot-white between my thighs. He falls into me a little more, and I can feel him just there, just where I want him.
I move towards him, arching into his hand, tilting my hips up to meet his and it's ecstasy. Complete and utter ecstasy.
I'm just starting to wonder how good it will feel when we finally go all the way, especially if these small touches feel this good, when he moans long and low in this throat, pressing back against me. He's hard and large and long and I know that if he wasn't in his shorts and I was not in my underwear, he would be sliding inside of me. So easily, so quickly, so fully, and it terrifies me.
He's already rolling away from me before I even have time to tense up, moving to lie on his side next to me as I freeze where I am, my eyes wide and on the ceiling.
He doesn't say anything, or make any further moves, but I can feel his eyes on me.
Finally, I release the air that was stagnant in my lungs and close my eyes, letting the rushing desire, the startling fear, the ever-present anxiety wither from the center of my body out through my fingers and toes.
After a few seconds, I turn my head to glance over at him and the beauty in his face, behind his still-dark eyes takes my breath away.
"Are you okay?" he asks softly, but there's no judgement behind the question, no underlying concern. He only wants to know if, in this moment, I am all right.
And I am.
I smile at him and then bite my lip because I know I am probably being unreasonable. Alice had sex with Jasper after a month. The other girls I've heard talking about sex went all the way in even less time. I've made him wait months and for what? Because my mother brainwashed me into thinking sex is the end-all?
I can already feel my bottom lip trembling slightly and Edward's eyes are running over my face, his fingers moving to brush through my hair.
"What's wrong?" he asks gently, but even his caring tone makes me feel horrible.
"I'm sorry," I croak and try to keep the tears at bay.
He isn't having it.
He leans up on his elbow, reaching out to cup my face gently in his hands, his thumbs tracing first my cheekbones, then my lips.
"Bella," he's whispering, the emerald of his eyes softening. "Tell me. What is it?"
I bite my bottom lip, the movement throwing off his thumb.
"I just…" my words hitch with an impending sob and I know in the back of my mind that I have to be quiet. "I just feel bad…making you wait for me."
He's shaking his head, bending to press his lips to my brow.
"I would wait for you forever, Bella," he says. "Everything that you give me is enough on its own. Everything."
The slight hysteria is beginning to dwindle at the look of absolute honesty in his eyes. He means it; he will wait for as long as I need him to.
He lowers his lips to mine and, despite the eternal passion in the kiss, this one is much less desperate and much more forgiving.
"I love you," he breaths into me, giving me life. "You are my forever," he promises and I wrap my arms around his neck to pull him closer to me.
He will always be my forever, no matter what happens.
"I love you," I say, and my voice is almost harsh with the truth of the words. He smiles against my mouth.
"You are worth all the time in the world," he insists quietly, lovingly. My throat feels thick with emotion.
He pulls away from me and pulls the blankets over us, holding me close to him. He holds my hand in his and presses them against his chest, just over his heart. The moment is so sincere, and I want, more than anything, for him to stay the night with me, just like this.
I want to wake up next to him. I want to kiss him awake every day of my life.
He buries his face into my hair, letting my smaller form mold to his larger one.
"You're worth everything," he whispers.
I don't think I was supposed to hear him, but I do.