Nosfera who?
Warning: some might find this somewhat offensive. If you are seriously offended when reading about various sexual activities and perhaps, perversions, ya might want to hit back on the browser. If you are not old enough to read or buy porn, stop here.
"Ahem," Edward coughed into his makeshift microphone.
Staring into the steamed mirror, hairbrush in hand, he quickly ascertained how ridiculous he appeared. His wild bronze mane was disheveled and in sore need of a cut. A lone, misbehaving lock taunted him through his fogged lens, mischievously ignoring all of his efforts to tame it back. His jawline was littered with two-day old stubble, irregular and splotchy, both in coloring and in dispersion. Curious, he fingered a bare spot just under the right corner of his bottom lip.
"Well, at least I'm not some swarthy gorilla with a perpetual five o'clock shadow," he muttered under his breath.
He continued his personal appraisal, noting his lean form hidden beneath a rumpled, navy terry cloth robe with too-short sleeves. The blue monstrosity had been a Christmas gift from his mother, and he suspected that it had been purchased from the women's department at the Boscov's - an odd store, reminiscent of the antiquated Sears Roebucks of his youth - that she so often frequented with her strangely red-hat bedecked comrades. He supposed that he should simply be grateful that she did not purchase for him those bizarre black and white spotted footed pajama pants that she'd forced upon his father. His father's expression had been one of absolute terror as he'd unfolded the demon pants. More than once during Edward's brief visit to his hometown for the holiday had he wondered about the suspicious silver flask that seemed to make regular appearances from within the confines of his mother's rucksack of a purse.
With nervous agitation, he continued again, gripping the plastic-handled brush as though it would make the speech for him. After a quick glance at his ever-faithful shower clock/radio for start timing, and with careful enunciation, he started, "Thank you, madam chairwoman, for the opportunity to speak today, and thank you, fellow colleagues, for your attendance at such an early mor- Fuck!"
Why does my particular topic warrant presentation? he questioned for the eighth time that morning. Well, obviously, he reasoned, with just a touch of common scientific arrogance, my research was the only work worth discussing. Of course, he'd never have said that out loud. But his research was coming along nicely, and he was already planning next summer's Phase I Clinical trials. Additionally, he'd recently sent in multiple journal article submissions, three of which had already been unanimously accepted by the peer review committees. And daily he received congratulatory and inquisitive emails from his colleagues around the globe. His work was the logical choice.
In contrast, the other scientists in his department were still scampering around with insect and flatworm experiments. Well, and then there was Emmett. Emmett McCarty was no closer to a breakthrough than he was to being a fucking priest. For the life of him, Edward could not resolve why management allowed that man to continue to piss away valuable and covetous resources and funding. Although, he had to acknowledge that Emmett had recently become less intolerable; he suspected Bella Swan's attentions had something to do with that. Regardless, the man was becoming something of an acceptable hallmate, just so long that he stayed his ass out of Edward's laboratory. In addition to being an exasperating juvenile in the field of blood pathology, Emmett had the uncanny knack of ruining Edward's lengthy experiment runs. The man couldn't seem to not touch things.
So, here he was, in wrinkled loungewear and in desperate need of shearing, no more than a week away from his address as a keynote speaker at the annual International Symposium of Pharmacology. Edward was grateful that, at least this year, the event was to be held in New Orleans, Louisiana. As the previous Regional, and now newly-promoted National Chair of the International Pharmacokinetics Association, he attended such conferences with never-failing regularity. Last year's meeting had regrettably been held in Tokyo, Japan. Edward had nearly starved due to his overwhelming aversion to fish. Sake had been his only form of comfort. Well, that and the demure ladies at the high-end massage parlor near his suite at the opulent Strings Hotel. They had been quite welcoming.
But this year's meeting in New Orleans would no doubt be interesting, Edward surmised. In fact, were it not for his own hour-long address, he would actually be looking forward to the week-long affair. Having never visited the locale, he had already formed grand plans to tour the old, gothic city. Specifically, he was more than excited about the prospect of seeing the home of his favorite Vampire author, one Anne Rice.
On top of it all, the city was simply riddled with old world charm and it had a curious acceptance of the more deviant lifestyles. And in the absence of his co-workers, he and Bella Swan would surely discover tremendously entertaining diversions in the Vieux Carré once his keynote address was put behind him.
~O.o~
The late-night flight from Philadelphia to New Orleans was a relatively brief one, a mere three and a half hours. Or rather, it was supposed to be a brief flight, but the torrential Gulf thunderstorms had other plans in mind. At the approximate mid-way point, the pilot had come across the intercom in a blaring and static-filled racket and informed the passengers of a minimum two-hour delay in landing.
"So, what shall we do to entertain ourselves?" Bella murmured from the oversized leather fitted seat to his left.
Edward had to admit, traveling on the company dime did have its perks. Aside from the luxe suites at the Maison Orleans that Rosalie had secured, for both the departing flight and the return, he and Bella were fortunately seated in the AB position of the first row of under-occupied Airbus A330s. Why an airline would choose to run such a large plane for undersold flights was beyond him. Even their envoy class had empty seats! It was no wonder that airlines were failing financially, Edward concluded. Although, admittedly, it was pleasant having the seats directly to their right vacant. Privacy was never to be squandered, after all.
Immediately comprehending Bella's inflection, he shifted his bright green eyes and traced her form. He smirked when his eyes settled on the creamy, smooth skin of her bare thighs. Only Bella would choose to wear a skirt on an always-frigid late-night flight. Most women would have opted for comfortable sweats or jeans. But no, not his temptress. And of course, with her supposedly casual khaki skirt, she would have coupled a deliciously thin blue blouse. It was so thin and sheer, in fact, that Edward could see the delicate lace of her dark lingerie through the fabric.
With a rapid glance around, he leaned over to her and whispered in her ear, "You have exactly three minutes to find your way to the lavatory, strip that string of fabric you call panties off, and be back in your seat. I want the bra gone, too."
She looked at him with unveiled lust. Her tongue slipped from between her moist lips and her grip on the armrest tightened.
With a pointed flit of his eyes down to the heavy watch adorning his wrist, he stated, "Go. I'll be counting." And like that, she was off. Edward smiled as he watched her hips sway back and forth in her hurry to the cramped bathroom nook.
Once she was out of reach, he nervously dry-washed his face and quickly darted his eyes around the cabin. "Fuck, Edward. What the hell are you doing?" he breathed. The surrounding passengers all appeared to be asleep. One gentleman was even snoring! The sounds emitting from this man's chest reminded him of a braying donkey.
Quickly, before Bella could return, Edward stood and pulled out a new, plastic-wrapped fleece blanket, thankful that it indeed was freshly packaged. Years ago, he would have never considered touching an airline-supplied item, as they were rarely disinfected. Disgusting, Edward thought, as he considered the bacterial content of those old, unsanitary sundries. Fucking, disease-infested cesspools of fabric!
Just as he returned to his seat, Bella emerged from the restroom. She had that sly, seductive look about her, knowing that he had something lascivious intended for her. And that I do, he thought with a grin. As she approached, Edward instantly noted her thin shirt and thanked the plane for its poor temperature control.
Her pert nipples jutted out from her chest at sharp attention, and the outline of her silver rings was readily apparent. He pushed his wire rims up on the bridge of his nose, and upon closer scrutiny, it appeared as though she'd even added her sparkly, jeweled beads to the rings. Slut, he thought happily. She knew full and well the effect those rings and those glittery items had upon him.
As she climbed over him, he paused her movement, just as she had one leg on either side of his. Surreptitiously, his hands found the bare skin of her thigh, and his fingers ghosted upward, underneath her skirt until they grazed the outside of her pussy lips.
Fuck, he thought, she is already wet! Is that even possible?
Reluctantly, he released her and allowed her to settle in her prior position to his left. Their seating arrangement really was ideal. As they were the front row, there was no one to worry about looking backward. The passengers behind were out cold from over-consumption of alcohol - and a few pills, from what Edward had quietly observed. And the seats to Edward's right were unoccupied.
"Cover yourself," he whispered, handing her the newly unwrapped fleece.
With his words, she looked up at him through long, blackened eyelashes, and her tongue traced her bottom lip. Goddamnit, she was so fucking transparent, he realized with glee.
Bringing the hand he'd touched her with to his nose, he inhaled her wet arousal and then ran his tongue along the moistened skin. Fuck, he cried silently. His quick mind rapidly flashed to their pre-flight session of lustful fellatio and cunnilingus. He could taste her all day long and be content.
Her lips dropped open, and she sucked her bottom lip between her teeth. Edward had noted weeks prior that Bella tended to exhibit this behavior when she was aroused, and he found it to be amazingly alluring. It was almost innocent, a stark and bold contrast to her body's other reactions.
She lifted one leg up underneath the blanket, and placed her heel on the leather seat, effectively creating a miniature tent, an easy access portal to her damp entry. Such a naughty, horny girl, he thought. Providing me with such ease of maneuverability! She must want to come badly, indeed.
Edward still did not quite grasp Bella's libido. He'd always been aware of his, of course, but he was male, and he had lived the majority of his life wanting and undersexed. It made sense for him to be so... aroused all of the time. But goddamnit, if Bella Swan didn't meet him hump for fucking hump. He'd contemplated once whether or not she might be a certifiable nymphomaniac. Not that he took issue with that in any shape or fashion whatsoever. He had his own psycho-sexual oddities to contend with after all. I mean, really! he mused. He gladly acknowledged that he craved the taste of her. As in the erotic salt and metal of her blood as well as her other fluids. And he enjoyed biting, both giving and receiving, a bit more than the average individual. If that wasn't a sexual deviance, Edward wasn't quite sure what would be considered as such.
Regardless of either of their predilections, he happily obliged her wanton desires. Even on an airplane. In fact, eagerly on an airplane. There was something about it, about the probability of being noticed or caught that set Edward's blood to boiling. Just the thought of her wet, hot pussy, just concealed underneath that slip of fabric, called to his cock. Glancing down, he could see the building bulge against the stiff denim of his jeans.
His long, slender fingers crept across the wide armrest, and slinked beneath the fleece covering. Her skin was hot and silken. He could feel her body tremble at his touch. With secret pride, he smirked. Inwardly, he reveled in his ability to entice her. Somehow, some deity had granted him the unexplainable ability to pleasure this goddess of a woman. Never mind his social failings, he could make her scream his name with just a simple touch.
Edward leaned in and whispered into her hair, "Bella, you have to be quiet. Can you do that, baby? I want to make you come hard. Right here, right now. Can you be quiet?"
Her chocolate eyes burned into his as she nodded. As his hand glanced further upward, he felt the wet coating of her juices along her thigh. But instead of touching her folds, he pulled his hand back and ventured his fingers on the outside of her skirt up her thigh to her waist. She whimpered softly in disappointment, a barely heard low keening.
"Shh," he whispered, as his fingers slid beneath her shirt. Her breath caught as they abruptly locked on the ringed nipple closest to him. To Edward's delight, her nipple was hard and pebbly, and her breast swelled to fill his hand. He rolled it between his thumb and forefinger, all the while listening to Bella's erratic, breathy pants. He pinched the pebbled flesh, and locked his fingers, maintaining tight pressure.
Her breath sucked in, and her eyes clenched shut. Just as he feared she would articulate, he released her nipple, and leaned in to nip at her throat.
"Please, Edward. God, please. Let me come. Please," she begged in a low whisper.
At her pleading, his hand resumed its position underneath her khaki skirt, and traced upward along her thigh.
"Remember, Bella. You must be silent," Edward reminded. But as soon as his words left his lips, he abruptly plunged two fingers inside of her already drenched pussy. Bella's mouth gaped open in a silent moan, and her hand gripped his upper arm. He pumped her slowly, curling his fingers to meet the rough spot that sent her into frenzies.
He feared increasing his pace. Edward did not think she could bear the intensity. Small beads of sweat popped up along her forehead as she contained her screams. Even in the dim light of the cabin, he recognized how beautiful and sensuous she was. He wanted nothing more than to take her right there, to bend her across the chair and slam his cock inside of her repeatedly.
Slowly, his fingers worked her pussy while his thumb pressed into her clitoris. She leaned into him, biting down on his shoulder to contain her screams. He nearly moaned himself when he felt her walls constricting and tightening down on his fingers. As tangible shudders coursed through her limbs, Edward continued his ministrations, allowing her come down gradually.
When she finally stilled, she looked up at him with undisguised hot longing. Her hand flitted over and pressed against the bulge between his legs, and in a hoarse, labored voice, she breathed, "Edward, when we get to the hotel, I want you to fuck me with absolutely no inhibition whatsoever. I want you to make me scream and cry. If I weren't worried about knowing people on this flight, I'd fuck you in that bathroom."
Fuck. My dick will never go down, he mused.
~O.o~
Edward's keynote address had gone off without a hitch. The room had been the largest reserved by the conference, and it had been filled to the point of standing room only. His colleagues listened with rapt attention, and several took notes. Oddly, despite Edward's earlier bout of nerves, the moment he assumed the lectern, his anxiety was quelled. He launched, with his characteristic dry, clinical impassiveness, into a lengthy, highly technical discussion about the mechanistic qualities and potential effects of his protoporphyria formulation. He surmised it was simply due to the fact that, as with any specific research area, the researcher always knew more than the audience. Superior knowledge tended to promote confidence. Then, he also noted that since the inception of his and Bella's relationship, his confidence had soared in every aspect.
As he spoke, he paid special attention to his wandering eyes. Purposefully, he avoided glancing down at the first row. For if he had, his eyes would have certainly been drawn to the slit in Bella Swan's skirt. Considering the venue, he did not particularly care to deal with the uncontrollable reactions his cock always had to her stocking-covered slips of skin.
However, her legs were tantalizingly luscious today, he admitted as he fielded questions. With force of mind, he quashed the oh-so-pleasant image of those same stocking-covered ankles positioned on either side of his head as he pounded into her.
After his talk, he had little time for conversation as several other topics followed. In fact, he wasn't free until late afternoon, just before the sessions closed for dinner. He searched out Bella, hoping not to have to deal with his colleagues on his own, and hoping to escape with her back to his suite. That unruly skirt of hers required his attention. Dinner could be served in the nude. He smiled widely at the vision of licking his dessert from between her legs.
But he had to locate her first. And that meant wading through the cacophonous throng of people and probably being stopped along the way, as well. Some of his peers seemed to believe that nonsensical small talk was essential to developing networks. Whatever that meant.
Speaking one on one was never Edward's strong point, and the prospect, frankly, made him nervous. Edward was never sure about which small talk topics were appropriate or interesting to others. He, being the scientist, would have preferred that individuals seeking him out wished to speak about science. If not, he certainly had no idea as to what to discuss.
Sports were off limits. Edward was completely useless in this regard. Emmett had teased him relentlessly the day he had discovered that Edward had always thought the Phillies were Philadelphia's football team. Who would name a football team the Eagles, anyway? he'd questioned.
Art was always a pleasant topic, but he'd found that few in his field knew the difference between a Chagall and a Vermeer! God forbid if he discussed sculpture.
Music, again, was a disaster. Edward obsessed over classical music, no doubt a byproduct of his years of piano study. And he had an unhealthy affection for opera. This, combined with his knowledge of art, tended to portray him as homosexual, at least in many of his close-minded male colleagues' eyes. Idiots. Regardless, music, like art, was not a wise topic.
Luckily, his trained eyes caught a glimpse of shimmery deep plum silk from across the room. But just as he moved toward his target, he was accosted by two young ladies, clearly graduate students, or even undergraduates, judging by their appearances.
"Dr. Cullen!" one dark, curly-haired girl squealed. To Edward's disdain, the girl had singularly the most annoying voice he'd ever encountered. As she squawked a nervous introduction, his ears were assaulted by a high-pitched, nasally accent. Simultaneously, his nostrils were flooded by an unpleasant sugary smell, like bubble gum. Not the fruity sweetness he remembered of Bella, but a sticky, overly-sweet manufactured smell. Yes, bubble gum, he realized as a large, pink globe grew from between her lips.
Months ago, he'd have been flattered and stammering at the attentions of a young female. And this girl - Jessica, he vaguely recalled her screeching - was attractive, albeit in a forced way. The girl tried too hard, he realized. Her breasts were pumped up by a monstrosity of a lie, undoubtedly a Wonderbra. Bright pink, he guessed. Her legs and hips, sheathed in a too-tight skirt, however, were pleasingly proportioned, and her face was pretty enough. Although, considering the amount of paint she used, he was unsure of the true color of her complexion.
Her companion was none of these. She - Lauren? he wondered - was sour-looking and drawn, with flat brown, mousy hair. She was overly thin, having no shape whatsoever. And her nails, long and sharply manicured, looked dangerous.
But these young ladies were irritating and trifling. They continued their inane chattering, most of which he readily and easily ignored. Apparently, they were graduate students, and were supposedly interested in his field of study. As they continued, he nervously looked around and raked through his tousled hair.
Eventually, however, all Edward could think about was escape from the wretched nasally accents and his desire to find Bella. In his distraction, he'd lost sight of her again and he was aggravated. But then, the curly-haired one blurted out an invitation for dinner and reached out to stroke his suit-covered forearm.
What the fuck, he thought wildly, as he started at the unexpected contact. His mind raced through the possibilities and abruptly came to the implausible conclusion that these young women were flirting with him. What the fuck, indeed! he cringed. Had this been going on the entire conversation?
Uncomfortable with dismissing them completely, but more unsettled by the potential of speaking with them further, he stammered out a panicky excuse. Breaking free of their grasp, he eyed the room until he found her.
But Bella was not alone. To Edward's immediate consternation, she was speaking with a rather tall, dark gentleman in a black, well-cut suit. From Edward's point of reference, the man's face was obscured. But he, or rather, his frame, looked... familiar?
As he tentatively approached, all the while considering the appropriateness of his intrusion, recognition suddenly flared.
It dawned on him that this dark stranger was none other than Jacob Fucking Black. Dr. Jacob Fucking Black.
Fuckity, fuck, fuck, fuck, Edward cursed silently as he debated on retreat. His mind warred between the discomfort of encountering his decade-old rival and the knowledge that if he didn't, Bella, his Bella, would be left alone with him. Jealousy obviously won out.
"Cullen," Jacob Black uttered, as he approached.
"Black," he returned flatly, trying desperately to shield the evidence of his apprehension.
Jacob Black was, barring none, Edward's least favorite person on the planet. They had attended Johns Hopkins together, and had never gotten on well. To Edward's mind, Jacob was nothing more than a conniving cheat, a brown noser, and a philanderer. He had fucked his way to his degree, having purposefully filled his advising committee with female professors. More telling, his research had been sub-par at best, but because it had involved a 'hot topic,' he'd been a darling of the department.
On top of the intellectual and professional feud that had risen between them, during his last year, Jacob Black had managed to infiltrate and break apart his, up until recently, only long-term relationship. Edward certainly harbored no feelings for Tanya, but it was the principle of the matter.
As he recalled their past interactions, internally, Edward groaned. Unwittingly, he conjured up images of his Bella on her knees sucking off Jacob Black. He pictured her kissing his mouth, and allowing his fingers to caress her. Anxiety hit Edward like a ton of bricks.
"Gentleman, I see that you already know each other," Bella said smoothly, interrupting his abstraction.
"Yes, you could say that. Dr. Black and I attended graduate school together," he hastily stuttered.
As they continued careful and tense conversation, Edward watched as Jacob maneuvered himself closer to Bella and he flinched when Jacob touched her shoulder. Fuck him. Goddamnit! he thought. What do I do? Should I say something? Should I grab her and run the fuck away? Should I knee the fucker in the groin? Fuck!
They chatted about work primarily. But Edward detected the false notes of interest, Jacob's well-honed, panty-dropping faux sincerity. He wanted to punch the fucker in the mouth.
Worry and fret addled his mind as he considered the potential loss of Bella. It was frightfully more painful to consider than he'd realized. He'd understood long past that his attachment to her was well beyond simple sexual exchange. Faced with what he considered to be a real possibility of losing her, he tightly pinched the bridge of his nose, just under the nosepiece of his wire frames. His other hand clutched the satin fabric lining of his suit pocket as if he could will the bastard away by the force of his grip.
He watched, helplessly, as Jacob leaned closer and closer still. Bella's reaction escaped Edward's notice. He unhappily assumed that, as with every other estrogen-filled individual, the man would charm his way up her skirt. And more importantly, to her heart, he acknowledged.
"So, Bella, what are you doing this evening? I have a reservation at Galatoire's already. I'd love to have you accompany me. I'm sure we would find that we have a great deal in common," Edward heard Jacob purr, sensing victory. His eyes were already hungrily undressing her slight frame.
Before he realized he was speaking, Edward found himself returning with considerable heat, "I'm sorry, Jacob. Dr. Swan is unavailable for dinner, or for anything else, for that matter. To you, or to anyone, other than myself."
Grabbing her hand, he pulled her along. Over his shoulder, he threw back, "My apologies, Jacob, but really, we have reservations."
Fuck, what have I done? Edward debated. She's going to kill me. He'd essentially outed their relationship in his fit of jealousy. Yet, he could not seem to find in him any real remorse.
He quickly exited the building, Bella in tow. He couldn't bear to look her in the face, fearful of her reaction, so he focused on departure. Outside, it was already darkening. In fact, the only real light came from orange streetlights and the faint glows of the remainders of the low sun, hidden behind thick clouds.
"Edward, stop," she commanded.
Goddamnit, here it comes, he panicked.
"What the fuck was that all about?" she asked excitedly as he rounded to face her. Bella's expression was a conundrum. Despite Edward's well-trained eyes and his months of absorption with her, he could not identify the emotions flickering across her face.
"Do you realize what you've done?" she continued.
Edward huffed, preparing for her ire. Quickly, however, he grasped her wrist and tugged her into a small alleyway, just to the side of the building.
"Yes. Yes, I fucking understand what I did. But I'm not sorry," he stammered.
"Edward!" she exclaimed, her eyes wide and livid.
"Fuck it, Bella. I wasn't about to sit there and watch that asshole take away the only thing I care about," he interrupted.
"What?" she asked disbelievingly. "You, you think I was interested in that pompous prick?"
"Wait, what? You weren't?"
Bella exhaled loudly, her hot breath washing over Edward. "No, goddamnit. Why would you think that? Seriously, Edward. You know that I'm yours. Fuck, I bear more than a few of your marks. How could you think that?"
Edward looked down nervously, clearly stunned by her declaration.
"What were you thinking?"
"It, well, just doesn't make sense for you to be with me. I mean, fuck, Bella. You're intelligent, well-spoken, and so goddamned beautiful it makes me half-blind. And me, well, I'm… me," he stuttered as he waved his hand as if pointing out something obvious.
"Edward Cullen," she laughed. "Are you really going to make me say this?"
"What?" he asked, having no sense at all of her direction.
"Fine, Edward. I'm in love with you. I don't want anyone else. And you aren't just 'me'. 'Me' is what I want," she snapped.
Edward's mind didn't quite process anything beyond 'in love with you.'
As soon as her lips closed, his descended upon hers, furiously attacking. His hands palmed her ribs, gliding quickly and easily underneath the silk of her blouse. Her skin was hot with her irritation, and heat flowed from her body into his.
Roughly, he lifted her and her legs wrapped around his hips, her skirt bunching up around the tops of her thighs. Without a glance to the street, he stepped forward until her back was against the brick of the building wall.
Her hands pawed at him, hastily peeling off his jacket, and then loosening his tie. His shirt was untucked in seconds, and her fingers scraped along the flesh of his chest and abdominals.
His teeth grazed her jawline, and he lapped at the thin layer of salty sweat. Bella threw her head back to grant him easier access, and she moaned in pleasure when he sucked hard on her skin. He palmed her breasts, and at the strain, buttons popped off her blouse, skittering across the pavement.
Her fingers tugged and pulled at his hair, jerking his head back to meet hers again. Teeth clacked and clanged in their desperate motions. He groaned into her mouth, as her hands trailed down to release his belt.
"Fuck me, Edward," she moaned, feeling the hardness of his cock. Her pelvis rocked against him, and he grunted in time.
"Here?" he asked breathlessly.
"Here," she demanded.
"You love me?" Edward asked, begging to hear her say it again.
"Yes, Edward," she moaned again. "Yes, I love you. Now fill me and make me yours right here."
"God, Bella. You don't know how long I've wanted to hear you say that. I love you," he said against her overheated skin.
Her response was a needy, pleading whimper and a tight grip on the waistline of his pants. With a quick flick of her wrist, his zipper was down, and his cock sprang free.
Using one hand, Edward reached between her legs, and yanked aside the thin string of her panties. Grasping her shoulders and using the wall behind her for leverage, he pulled her down on him.
"Fu-u-ck," he cried, as he felt the hot, wet velvet of her pussy. His mind spun as he concentrated on the tightness of her walls. She gasped as he filled her, and her fingers gripped his shoulders. Her nails dug into his skin through the white cotton of his button-up.
After a handful of slow, deep strokes, he set a fast, pumping rhythm. He carefully shielded her head from the brick, but her suit jacket was a lost cause. The harder he thrust, the more she begged.
"More, Edward! Harder! God, yes! Oh my god! Fuck me, Edward," she grunted.
Sweat beaded his brow as he met her demand. Her breath came in shallow, rasped pants. His own breathing was strained and labored. The force of gravity pulling her down onto him, coupled with the newly discovered passion of their mutual declarations sent him into a near frenzy of exertion. He couldn't get close enough to her fast enough.
His hand left her shoulder, and he began shakily thumbing circles against her clitoris as his hips bucked against hers.
After long moments of continual pounding, he felt her walls begin to tighten. His mouth clamped down along her silk covered shoulder, immediately finding its place. He didn't break skin, but instead, added the pressure that he knew would send her over the edge.
"Oh, oh! Oh, fuck, Edward, Yes! Yes! God! Fuck!" she screamed into the fabric of his shirt. Her body rippled with tremors as her orgasm overtook her. As her pussy muscles locked down on his cock, he felt his own climax mounting.
With short, fast strokes, he allowed his body to react. In a mind-numbing spasm, he exploded inside of her. Edward instantly acknowledged that it was the hardest he'd ever come. His vision was blurred, and his abdominal muscles were taut and clenched.
Their rather public locale was lost and forgotten. Fortunately, the cars passing by had muffled the sounds of their activity. And it was relatively dark, so any sidewalk passerby would have had to have odd cause to look into the alleyway.
Edward settled his forehead against her shoulder as he tried to regain his breath. Her legs tightened around his waist, and Bella buried her head into the side of his neck. Her hands gingerly stroked and massaged the back of his neck as she mumbled, "Oh, Christ, Edward. Tha-that was amazing."
He grinned into the silk, and murmured, "Tell me about it."
She laughed a full, throaty laugh, "Though, I suppose, we're going to have to change our relationship somewhat."
"How so?"
"Well, you can't work under me anymore for one," she chuckled.
"I work under you just fine," he teased, placing pointed emphasis on 'under.'
"That is true. But we can't have a supervisor dating her employee. That wouldn't be appropriate," she continued, amused.
"Wait, you're willing to tell people about us?" he asked incredulously.
"Edward, I'd say the cat is out of the bag. That asshole, Jacob, will certainly blab his mouth. And on top of it, I'm tired of slinking around," she purred. "I want people to know I'm fucking you. I'm tired of having to watch those technicians eye fuck you when you aren't looking."
Mouth agape, he eyed her warily. "You're going to tell people we're fucking?"
"Well, not all the details. I doubt we should disclose your nibbling tendencies."
Edward smirked, "Fine. But the nibbling tendencies stay. In fact, I'm going to have to get you back to my suite as soon as possible now. I think I'd like to nibble my dessert off of your naked body."