Today is a sad day in the Twilight Fanfiction fandom. Our beloved Judy, who goes by the FFN name grandmachix, is unfortunately no longer with us. All reviews always matter, but she was such a loyal reviewer for me and MANY other writers, and she will definitely be missed.
So this one is for Judy. I'm sad I won't be able to read her thoughts about it, I know she would have loved it.
Rest in Peace, grandmachix
-65-
Let me paint a picture for you:
Isabella, spread out on her bed, a threadbare T-shirt draping over her porcelain skin. Porcelain, that is, except for the reddish flush of her face, running down her neck, probably on her chest as well. I can't quite see that much.
Her nipples are perfect, hard tips pressing against her shirt. It makes me wonder what the fabric feels like against them for her. It makes me want to take them into my mouth, T-shirt, and all, and hear the sound it draws from her.
Her hair fans out on her pillow, still damp from her shower, and she's biting her lip so hard I worry she's going to break the skin.
Biting it so hard, I want to pull it into my mouth to soothe the ache.
I can't see anything below her waist, but I don't need to, to know exactly what she's doing.
The zipper of my dress pants echoes around my empty office, accompanied only by her hushed little gasps. Reaching into my boxer briefs and wrapping my hand around my cock isn't even a conscious decision at this point. It's a necessity.
… Like air, water, food.
The groan that falls from my lips is barely even human; I'm so swollen and sensitive. Hell, I'm still hard from kissing her outside her door.
Any time Bella has started to pleasure herself, it's always been to porn. But there's nothing besides that open document on the screen of her computer, so I wonder what she's thinking about. I don't think I'm too pretentious at this point to assume it's me flashing behind her eyes that are screwed shut.
Fuck, she felt so good writhing underneath me. It would have been so easy to give in. Accept her invitation, carry her to her bedroom. Strip her down and tell her that I know. I know everything. And it doesn't fucking matter because, for some reason, I still want her.
I would spread her legs wide, pin her hands to the bed and tell her it was time to confess her sins. She'd be so fucking wet; it'd be so easy to drive my cock into her. I can feel exactly how she would arch against me, the same way she did with her tongue in my mouth. Even as I think it, she lets out her first moan on the screen—as if she knows what I'm doing to her in my head.
Her tits are shaking with the force she's fucking herself. She's not going easy, not at all. She's frantic and desperate, I can feel it through the technology that separates us, and I speed up my pace to match hers.
One of her hands digs into her hair, pulling at the roots, her neck craning as she arches. Fuck, what I wouldn't give to see lower.
She's fucking glorious, lost in her pleasure. Even if I were there, I doubt she would even know.
Fuck, I can hear how wet she is. The sound her pussy is making clenching around her toy.
I can't wait. Can't wait to be there pounding into her, hearing her moan like this for me, knowing that I'm the one making her feel this way.
I can't wait to put my lips, my hands, my tongue, my teeth on every inch of her skin. Sink my teeth into her flesh and claim her as mine.
Somehow, she speeds up, and she better be fucking close because my spine is tingling with the need to come. My balls and my lower stomach ache, begging for release, and I swear my cock has never been so swollen.
And when she finally does come? When she screams out into the room like the fucking rapture has hit her, her perfect pink lips falling open and her face twisting in the most beautiful way? I follow right behind her, my cum painting my pants, my desk, and my shirt. It's a downright fucking mess, and I wish she were here to clean it up for me.
I can't stop watching her even after we've come together, both fighting for breath and composure.
And then fuck me if she doesn't bring that goddamn toy to her lips and suck it into her mouth, tasting what I've done to her.
It makes me hard all over again; my rebound rate never so fucking fast, even as a teenager.
I fucking need her. Now.
I only haphazardly clean up my gentleman's relish.
Throat yogurt.
Wank paste.
Wait…maybe I'm high in the thought of finally getting myself inside Isabella. Ya, know, before she kills me.
But when I open the door to leave, a five-foot Latina firecracker stops me in my tracks. And man, is she pissed. If the slap she lands on the side of my head, the one she has to jump a little to achieve, and the stream of curses in a language that's not English is any indication.
