Hello, people!
Usual housekeeping first:
1. Thank you, thank you, thank you for all your reviews and alerts. You propelled Ivories waaaaay past 1,5k reviews and EditorWard is thankful and humbled. I love hearing your thoughts. Keep it up.
2. Also thank you to Team Momo, who work tirelessly to help me make this readable. My stories wouldn't exist without them and I'm so grateful they're in my corner. Alice's White Rabbit and Midnight Cougar are in the editing chairs. AGoodWitch, IAmBeagle, Driving Edward and RobsmyyummyCabanaBoy pre-read.
Some fiddling occurred. Momo fiddled. Momo is the fiddler. Still not on the roof, though.
3. I still don't own - SM does. But I still own a collection of mugs. One of them is shaped like a bat. With tiny cute bat ears.
So, to clarify my AN from last week about Edward and his reluctance to start another relationship being part of a trauma response. He no longer loves Kate. He stopped the minute she dumped him and stole his job from under him, all while he was still in the hospital with his entire left leg in a cast. But the end of that relationship, into which he'd poured all of himself both personally and professionally for 5 years, is inextricably tied into his trauma. The accident in Syria, losing his job, and losing Kate (and the betrayal that came with this) are all tied together in his brain. His trauma sees this as one thing. It's not a matter of love. It's a matter of "what if it happens again?". It's his PTDS tripping the wires in his brain. It doesn't have to make sense to you, because guess what? Most of the time PTSD responses are not rational.
And in his brain he knows this makes little sense, but his heart and his subconscious needed more time and reassurance to catch up.
Also - someone commented that the big reveal of his scars maybe wasn't necessary, and Bella would love him anyway. Yes, but that's exactly the point. SHE knows that. It's his heart and brain that need to catch up on that. He has lingering insecurities. That's why he needed Bella to accept him warts and all BEFORE they jumped into a sexual relationship, and he needed that to happen in a somewhat neutral location - hence the pool. They made sure it would be as empty as possible by checking the online booking for the building. After all, remember, this happens on a Friday afternoon in early June, in a building that's not exactly family-oriented (Edward lives in a loft development in Kendall Square, Cambridge, MA). How many people are going to be around that time of day? Say it with me: FICTION! They got lucky ;-)
Special shout-out to the incomparable Ooza who's been binging Ivories and leaving me wonderful reviews, and recc'd this story on My Brother's Pet Vampire. Thank you to Ooza, and Heya! to everyone coming on from over there. Welcome!
Are we ready? It's getting hot in the loft!
BEHIND THE IVORIES – CHAPTER 26
We tumble into the loft in a mess of wandering hands, wet towels, and squelching flip-flops. Most of it ends up dotting the floor on the way into my bedroom.
My bedroom Bella has never seen, for obvious reasons. My bedroom no woman has ever entered, possibly other than my meddling mother.
"We both reek of swimming pool," she murmurs. She's trailing kisses along my chest as far as her height and reach will allow her.
Her duffle bag slides off my shoulder and onto the floor with a thud.
"I believe I have technology that can fix it." I bend at the knees and gather her around my waist; despite a small yelp of surprise, she doesn't protest.
"Tell me about this technology."
Because I'm a big believer in showing rather than telling, I walk into my bathroom with Bella still pretzeled around me.
When we cross the threshold into my favorite room in the loft—second only to the kitchen—Bella's reaction surpasses my expectations.
"Holy shit! You're a spa shower snob. A serious spa shower snob." She drives the point home by poking me in the pecs.
"I bought this place because of the shower. At the time, I needed it after physical therapy. Now, I'm just fucking spoiled."
"Oh, I can see that. Tell me all about it." It's not a question.
I set her on the quartz countertop and move a few steps away to fiddle with the shower's control panel. "This thing controls temperature, intensity of the jets, aromatherapy mist, mood lighting."
She chuckles, shaking her head at me. "Aromatherapy? Now I get it."
After I set the jets and temperature, I walk back toward her, wrapping my arms around her shoulders. "We'll make our own therapy in there today."
I capture her lips again because, at this point, I can't help myself and don't intend to. Her reverent acceptance, her unconditional support, has blown open a dam of sorts within me. My whole being knows I'm safe with her. Safe to be me. Which is why it surprises me a little when she suddenly looks bashful and breaks away from me, leaning her forehead on my shoulder.
"Hey, what's the matter, Ladybug? We can have a strictly utilitarian shower if you're not feeling it."
"It's not that, Edward. I do want you. So much." She punctuates her affirmation with more kisses and nips to my collarbone. "But it's … it's been a while for me."
And it perfectly stands to reason, considering her bastard of an ex.
"It's been a long while for me, too."
She looks up at me, frowning. "A long while?"
"My ex dumped me between surgeries. Or close to it. After that, I couldn't walk on my own steam—or feet—for months. Then—"
She disentangles from my embrace and slaps her forehead. "Then it's true. I thought it was Mac being Mac. He called you—"
"Let me guess, a monk?"
She nods, hiding her face in my chest between snickers.
"He's a loudmouth jackass sometimes, but I love him like a brother. He wasn't joking when he used that word. I haven't been with anyone since then."
I don't want to utter her name, not now. Not in this room that's been a sanctuary to my breakdowns over the years and could now become another kind of haven.
"Neither have I," she whispers. She doesn't need to elaborate either. We know enough about each other to fill in the blanks. "I wanted it to mean something."
We're on the same page without ever having discussed it. With her sweet, gorgeous face in my hands, I look her in the eye before answering. "This will mean more than something, Ladybug."
"Yes. Love me, Edward."
She doesn't need to tell me twice.
I rip my wet T-shirt off my chest and propel it across the room. With a questioning gaze, I motion to Bella's clothes. She nods and, anticipating my movements, discards her cover-up to the floor.
I take a step back to let my eyes roam over her. She sits there with her legs hanging off the counter and her wet blue bikini looking darker on her skin. The top ties at her neck and back, and when she reaches behind her head to one of those knots, I stop her gently.
"Let me, please? May I see you?"
"Fair's fair. I've been admiring you all along," she replies.
Her hands fall to her sides but grip my waist when I step closer to her again. I feel around her neck to untie her suit, berating the wet, unyielding fabric for a second, when my fingers meet a plastic clasp. Thankfully. With both clasps released, the top falls off to her lap.
"You're magnificent," I murmur. And mean it.
Bella's body may seem small and boyish at first blush because she hides it in black, unpretentious clothes made for comfort. Despite that, it's been hard for me these past few months to compartmentalize my growing attraction for my friend every time my eyes took in her curves. There's only so much V-necked shirts and skinny jeans can hide, especially from an observant fucker like me. And now, I don't have to fight that attraction anymore; I've given myself permission to revel in her beauty. A beauty made of toned arms, dainty hands, soft skin, and round, firm breasts.
I'm so lost in my personal revelry that I barely notice her jumping off the counter. When her hands push on the waistband of my board shorts, her intent is clear.
"I'm all yours, Bella. All yours."
She knows there are more scars hidden under those shorts, and that's why I cover her hands with mine and help her push them down my thighs. When the last stitch of clothing falls off me and onto the floor with another squelch, I heave a shuddering breath.
Not from fear. Not from nerves. Not from shame.
Anticipation. Desire. Awe.
Being here, naked in front of her—naked in body and soul—I let myself float in the moment. My eyes follow Bella's movements, her hands caressing me—every inch of me, every inch uncovered by the discarded shorts.
Now the map of my scars is unfolded before her; the map of my body is hers to explore. When the familiar tingling of her touch dissipates and other noises reach me, I follow them to the source.
She's pushing her bikini bottoms down her legs, and I almost avert my eyes. Almost. But when she comes closer and plants a kiss on my chest, right where only my skin separates her lips from my beating heart, I look. Take in the shape and wonder of her.
"I'm yours, too, Edward."
When I hoist her up in my arms, she hooks her legs around me. Action, reaction—we're already locked in a rhythm of give and take, fueled by love and lust.
"This will change everything. Everything."
"I want it to change everything. I want you," she replies. The firm grip of her fingers threaded through my hair excites me and reinforces the meaning behind her words at the same time.
I walk backward into the shower stall, and we both laugh when water sprays on our faces. Moving away from the rain showerhead above us, I step to the side of the enclosure and aim for the wide bench that runs the length of it. It's not exactly a graceful transition, more of a plonking, in fact. But we're in one piece and still tangled together.
Without another word passing between us, my arms wind around her torso to keep her close, and I seek Bella's lips again. Our sighs and moans mingle while our ravenous hands roam.
Mine find her breasts, and my dick gets painfully harder when my fingers graze and pinch her nipples, my movements blinded by the steam that cloaks our bodies.
Hers rake my chest and the sparse trail of hair on it until I feel her. There. Around me. Moving her hand up and down, all over my cock.
"Ugh." I hiss at her touch, throwing my head backward until it hits the wall.
"I didn't hurt you, did I?"
Cupping her face, I kiss her again for good measure. "No, baby. But I can't make you feel good in here." The idea of shower sex is hot until I remember how much shorter she is than me.
She pouts. "You don't need to—"
"But I want to. I'll take my time with you because we both deserve it."
The pout turns into a mischievous, luxurious smile, punctuated by a nod.
So we put on the brakes and turn off the showerhead. Bed it is.
&&&IVORIES&&&
"Oh, God … Edward, please …"
The change of scenery has done wonders to counteract Bella's earlier pout. I admire her splayed beneath me with her fingers gripping the sheets as she hitches a leg around my calf, grinding her hips into my probing hand.
She contracts around me as I tease her with my fingers, in and out, while my thumb circles her nub and her moans grow shallower. She's glorious. Beautiful and glorious and so responsive.
I've never allowed myself to imagine how sex would be with her. I was too deep in the land of denial to recognize my feelings for her are this all-encompassing torrent of love, want, and desire. I never even thought I'd have this chance, so I'm still reveling in it, basking in every sound she makes. Every look she gives me—and she's giving me plenty of those. Her breath hitches if I stop moving or touch a more sensitive spot. Her hisses devolve into keening cries when I get bolder and gently bite her nipple to soothe it later with my tongue.
That's when I feel her—when she clenches around my fingers and grabs my bended arm where I'm supporting my weight off her, near her shoulder.
She's falling off a cliff of pleasure I just gave her. This is her and me—together. I can't stop working her over as she comes down from her high, but she stops me, pulling on my shoulder. She hasn't let go of me since we fell into bed a while ago.
"Now, please."
I nod, pulling on her thigh, the one hitched around my waist. Her warmth surrounds me. She surrounds me. I've never been this hard in my life, and I can feel my cock weeping as it slides over her entrance.
"Yes, baby," I hiss into her ear. Then kiss my way down her neck and align myself with her.
When I thrust inside her body, the world disappears. There's only her—beneath me, around me, on me, inside me. Inside my heart, my soul. As our skin melds together and our breaths hitch with every push and pull, it's not only a tide of wanting and need drowning us.
"I love you, Ladybug … so much."
Her only responses are a saucy grin and an adoring look. But without warning, she grabs my butt cheek, pushing me deeper.
"Like … that," she breathes, nipping at my lips with hers.
Demanding, voracious little thing, my Bella. Let's see how she likes my next move.
I stretch out on top of her, stilling my movements when I'm fully inside her. She cries out, her hips ricocheting off the bed as she pushes them against me. And that's when I thread my fingers with hers and flip us over until I'm lying beneath her on the bed.
She looks dazed, surprised by the sudden movement and changed scenery, but she recovers when I talk to her.
"Take me, baby."
Those few words are enough to spur her actions. She sits up on my thighs, still connected with me. When she leans back, bracing herself on my legs, her answering gasp tells me what the change in angle is doing to her.
I slide my hands down her sides until I cup her round, firm cheeks and guide her up and down my shaft. The frenzy catches up with her quickly, and she gets lost in her rhythm as she rides me.
And now, I'm admiring her again as she envelopes me. She's everywhere again—on me, around me, above me. I can't get enough, but I feel the inevitable coil building low in my groin.
"Edward, Edward …"
My name on her lips does it. Something in me snaps at her voice—lustful and reverent at the same time—as she chants herself into oblivion.
The same wave that's crashing over her shatters inside me, and I sit up, locking my arms around her, emptying myself inside her with a roar.
"Bella …"
&&&IVORIES&&&
Ten minutes later, after cleaning ourselves up with not too much conviction, we're lying in bed, still naked and cuddling.
The sunny, clear sky of this afternoon has given way to a symphony of cobalt, ultramarine, and sapphire blues. The sun has dipped over the horizon to the west, and there's only darkening skies and a smattering of stars out the window. The noises of the city filter inside in random patterns of car horns, occasional screeching tires, and indistinct voices hollering over the din of Cambridge traffic on a Friday night in early June.
Bella's curled up beside me, a leg thrown over my thigh as her fingers play with my chest hair. She's humming something under her breath, but I don't recognize the melody.
"Is that new?"
My voice startles her out of her musings, and she forms an adorable frown when she looks up at me. "Huh?"
"The melody you were humming just now."
She smiles. "It could be. I get snippets of chords in my head all the time. Sometimes, they end up being something, sometimes they don't."
I kiss her forehead, reveling again in how easy it is to be with her like this. No barriers. No walls. The pack ice around my heart melted around the time she said, "I love you." Now penguins are playing with the leftovers.
"It's so peaceful. Being with you."
She plants a sloppy kiss to my pec, then rests her head on my chest. "I never knew it could be like this either."
Her rumbling stomach ruins the moment, and we both erupt into laughter.
"I love you, Ladybug. And I'll feed you."
"I could eat. But I want more cuddles later."
I kiss her forehead. "Anything the lady wants."
We root around my bedroom for clean clothes. She steals one of my T-shirts, and I opt for sleep pants. A shirt would be unnecessary—it'll end up discarded before long.
Bella follows me into the kitchen and starts setting two places at the breakfast bar since she already knows where everything is.
Dad did a great job of cleaning up after me when I left in a hurry this morning. All the food Mom sent is stored away in the fridge in neat stacks. Guess you can't deprogram the methodical lawyer out of him, even when he's dealing with leftovers and a grown-up son on the verge of a nervous breakdown.
"Are leftovers okay?"
She snickers. "Your leftovers are better than Michelin-starred restaurants. Of course, they're okay."
"Hate to disappoint you, but these are not the leftovers you're looking for."
"Is that so?"
I pull the containers out of the fridge and set them on the counter. I have no idea what Bella will want. "Mom's."
"She cooked for you?" Bella asks with a tender smile.
I nod. "Dad came over this morning and brought food. I needed a bit of an … intervention, shall we say?"
She hops off her stool and reaches me in a flash, hugging me with all her might. "No, Edward. I'm sorry."
"I've been a dick to a lot of people this past week."
"You were hurting," she counters.
"Not a justification. I'm grateful they didn't give up on me. Mac and Dad, that is. That you didn't either," I add. Then I cup her face in my hands and kiss her. It's her acceptance and love that pulled me back from the brink. It always goes back to her. "I love you."
"I love you, too. But you promised to feed me," she jokes with a playful swat to my side.
"I did." With some reluctance, I break the kiss but tuck her into my side. "We have a few choices here, courtesy of Esme Platt-Cullen."
"She hyphenates? I didn't know that."
I reply with a strangled sound halfway between a snort and a chuckle. "If she were here, she'd launch into a long diatribe about equal rights and '70s feminism, but she isn't, so I'll just say 'yes'."
Bella waves a dismissive hand at me. "We can argue about equal rights later. She's feeding us, ergo she can do no wrong in my book. What do we have here?"
I begin pointing to the containers as I recite our menu options. "Veggie omelet, chicken noodle soup, potato soup, and the pièce de résistance, broccoli and cheese soup."
Bella tries to pull two bowls out of the cabinet above her but relents when she can't reach them. "I need a tall person." She huffs. Her tone is adorably disgruntled. Situations like this are the only times when she berates her height.
"I'm your tall person. There you go." I hand her the bowls. "May I infer that we're having soup?"
She nods. "Broccoli and cheese, please."
"Somehow, I knew you couldn't resist the cheese."
It's one of her food obsessions, as I've learned over these past months. Her offering of baked brie at the dinner of misfits was a pretty blatant indication of preference.
Minutes later, we're as sprawled as we can be on the couch in the front room, with our feet propped on the coffee table, while we munch on Mom's soup. We scrounged up some baked pita chips to go with it. You can never have too many carbs in one sitting.
"This is just orgasmic," Bella exclaims between bites.
"Now, I could be offended at that, but I won't. You're hilarious."
"Yeah, yeah, have fun at my expense. But this soup should get an award. Or something." She pauses to eat her soup. "You know, I've never eaten half-naked on a couch with anyone."
I shake my head. Unsurprisingly, it's a first for me, too. Kate was too disciplined, too prim and proper to do something so haphazard and undignified. I turn to look at her and find her face a mere inch from mine. "It's easy to be with you. So easy. I had to fight to be myself with her. Kate, I mean." Then it occurs to me—it's probably a big dating no-no to discuss ex-girlfriends at a time like this. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't even mention her. But you … you told me once that you're not her, and—"
She interrupts me, putting a finger to my lips. "You're rambling, Cullen. But to your point. Thank you for seeing that. I don't want you to censor yourself. She was a big part of your life for years, and I won't demand an embargo on conversation topics. I want you to feel free to come and talk to me about anything. Even her. I'm your safe place."
Again, she amazes me. I'm sitting here just smiling at her like a loon, basking in how much grace and understanding it takes her to offer me a safe haven. Knowing that she'll be there for me gives a whole other dimension to the overwhelming love I feel for her. "And I'll be your safe place, too, my love." It's more than an offer. It's a solemn vow.
She kisses me in reply, and I taste the creamy, cheesy sauce on her lips. I dwell on that and lick her lips clean a little longer than the kiss alone would require.
She smiles against my lips. "Stop trying to steal my cheese. Eat yours."
I chuckle at her antics and go back to eating my soup.
"What were you saying earlier? About Kate?"
When she asks, her intent is clear. She wants me to know hers are not just words. She's following through on letting me talk things out. "It was, at times, a struggle to be with her. To feel like I was being heard. To be me. There was always something I was doing wrong. I wasn't ambitious enough or flashy enough. I was too rowdy, too passionate. Mac wasn't the right kind of friend. In a way, she steamrolled through my life and I let her, and it took me months of therapy after Syria to recognize that. I don't have to fight to be myself with you. You've embraced me as I am, warts and all."
"You know, that sounds a lot like James," she replies, pointing a pita chip at me. "If they weren't otherwise occupied at the moment, the apex of revenge would be to match-make them into a battle of egos. The implosion alone would be epic."
Not for the first time today, we erupt into laughter, until our breathing turns to wheezing. We unsteadily set our bowls on the coffee table before the sticky residues of our soup end up in our faces. Then she launches herself on my lap, coiling her arms around my shoulders.
"Can I stay the whole weekend?" she asks with pleading eyes.
Little does she know, she doesn't need to plead with me for anything. I'll gladly and willingly give in.
"Yes, please," I answer, waggling my eyebrows.
"Someone's greedy. Not that I'm complaining." When she kisses me, we quickly cross the line from sweet cuddles into heated foreplay. "I want you, Edward."
"Have me."
&&&IVORIES&&&
Turns out, Bella had unfinished business with my shower because that's where she leads me when we return to the bedroom. With a frown to the rumpled bed sheets, she discards her shirt—my shirt—and steps into the bathroom.
"How do I work this thing? Do I need an engineering degree? Someone from NASA?" she hollers from over there.
Hugging her to my naked chest, I kiss her collarbone to placate her. She shivers, leaning into my embrace. With a few touches to the control panel, temperatures and jets are set.
"There, all done."
She pulls me into the stall, and with a no-nonsense attitude, she instructs me to sit on the side bench. I'm momentarily puzzled when she steps out of the stall to grab a towel from the warming rack. But my questioning look dissipates the minute she sets the folded towel on the tiled floor, and kneels on it. Will she? Won't she?
She leans her head on my bare thigh, which puts her face within touching distance of my dick. When she languidly caresses me, I realize that was her intention all along.
"Let me play with you, Edward." She just put her hands on me. Again.
"Oh, God, Ladybug," I hiss. "Come here." I pull her up to kiss her. "I love you." Even when it's frantic and ravenous, even when we can't keep our hands off each other, I want her to know I love her. Every touch, every thrust—it's fueled by love.
"I love you, too," she murmurs between kisses.
When she kneels down again and wraps her hands around me, I groan and let her have her way with me. It's been so long since I've been touched like this that I have no way of knowing if I'll last. But she wants this, and I'm planning to let her have her fun and enjoy every second of it.
She pumps my cock a few times, spreading around the moisture that leaked out of me.
Then the wet, soft warmth of her lips surrounds me.
"Oh, fuck." I suck in a breath.
She moans, and the sound jolts through me. My hands grip the bench for restraint; I don't want to be a douche and push her head on me. This is her choice, and I'll let her do it on her terms. If she keeps it up, it might be over soon. The sensory overload is getting to me—her lips sucking me, her warm breath on my skin, her hands on my balls, her sounds resonating in the stall, her arousal wafting up to my nostrils in the steam of the shower. It all sends me a little closer to the edge.
"Oh, shit. Bella, I'm …" That's all the warning I can muster before the last pass of her lips over my head sends me off the cliff. I come with a shuddering growl. "Oh, yes!"
She doesn't stop there. She keeps caressing and licking me. It goes on for minutes until I'm limp and spent.
"You've ruined me."
She hops off her perch on the floor, landing on the bench beside me with a smack to my thigh. "That was my plan."
&&&IVORIES&&&
We spend the rest of the weekend in various stages of undress, in a mellow, sated state that's only partially due to the voracious sex we're having.
We talk. A lot. We eat some more. Cuddle some more. Sleep, at some point.
On Sunday morning, it dawns on us this weekend away from the world will end soon despite our best efforts at avoidance.
"I have to go home tonight," she says between sips of her tea.
"You can always stay here with me. You don't need to ask." When I bump her shoulder with mine, she doesn't reciprocate. That's when I know this is a serious discussion. "Hey, Ladybug. Talk to me."
"I don't want to go, but I need to. We both have lives. Jobs. Stuff to do. People to annoy."
We're having breakfast in bed where it's easy for me to gather her close to me and comfort her, even if her last words are pretty telling. "Yeah, I have a long backlog of people to annoy, too. This—us—doesn't end outside this room, this bed. We'll navigate the outside world together."
She nods, linking her fingers with mine. "Together."
When I capture her lips for the millionth kiss of the weekend, her hands land on my naked back. I let her roam because her touch on my skin is another electrifying blessing I'll never take for granted again. Her touch means she's here, with me, loving me. And it's priceless.
At some point, her exploration stops. Then her fingers slide back and forth over the same area twice. I think she found my little secret.
"Is that a tattoo? And why have I not noticed it before?"
"Yes, it's a tatt. And I normally don't go gallivanting around Boston shirtless, so …"
She tickles me in retaliation. Tickles. It's adorable, but she caught a sensitive spot, so I'm half-squirming and half-laughing.
"Quit being a pest, Cullen. Show me."
I set my mug and my bagel down on the bed tray. When I moved in, I protested every time Mom came over with more housewarming knickknacks. Six years later, I'm gradually finding a use for all that shit. A bed tray is a godsend when you want to have breakfast in bed with your girlfriend.
Especially when the girlfriend in question wants to examine your tattoo. I lean forward, giving Bella a full view of my ink.
"How did this never come up in conversation?"
I shrug. "I don't say 'Hi, I'm Edward Cullen, and I have a tattoo on my back' when I introduce myself."
She snorts. "Point taken, Mr. Smartass. But, I mean, we talked for months and …"
"As you may have guessed, love, I'm a very private person. Most of the people who gravitate around me have known me for decades. They already know this shit."
"And I'm a newbie," she counters.
I turn to face her and kiss her for good measure. "You're my newbie. But what I mean is this wasn't an intentional omission. It just never came up in conversation. Now you know."
She nibbles on my lip, then smiles into the kiss. "Tell me all about it. Why the old typewriter?"
"I love the cranky, noisy old things. I want to have one of those old typewriters one day, but I haven't found one I really like just yet. They're the quintessential symbol of my profession. Good, old-shoe-leather journalists. The ones who actually type their shit."
She traces the lines of the tatt on my shoulder blade, mulling over my explanation. "What about the quote?"
"'Freedom of the press, if it means anything, means the freedom to criticize and oppose.' It's a George Orwell quote."
"Pretty self-explanatory, if you ask me. It's very you. Why did you choose it?"
I lean my head on my bended legs so I can face her while we talk. She sits beside me, legs crossed with the sheets falling off her frame in random folds.
"One of my professors in journalism school wrote it on the board on the first day of classes. He said that if we weren't willing to uphold that principle, we might as well switch majors, stat. It stayed with me. I used it as a yardstick in my job for more than a decade."
"You still do, Edward. It doesn't matter if you're dodging grenades or writing editorials about lifestyle changes. You're still upholding a commitment to the truth. You're still demanding the same commitment from your newsroom."
Her insight—pretty damn intuitive, I must say—warms me to my core. She sees me. The real me.
"Thank you, Ladybug. For years, I didn't believe that was the case. But I'm starting to see the error of my ways."
She burrows into my side, and we end up lying on the bed still intertwined, our breakfast forgotten.
"I missed you these past weeks. I wanted so bad to talk to you, but I'd asked for space—"
I silence her with a kiss. "I missed you, too. And I know why you did it. I had to pull my head out of my ass on my own."
She snickers. "You did. Now, Mr. Editor, I have a question."
"Fire away."
"Are we having lunch together on Monday?"
I pull her onto my lap and kiss my way down her neck, along her sternum, and between her breasts until she's writhing in my arms.
"You can bet your sweet ass we are, baby."
Sooooo? How's the temperature at your end, loves?
Update news: TFMU is upon us, and the Momo will be in Cleveland for fanfic-related shenanigans. Y'all, I'm also on a panel with Lady Gwynedd/Mrs Brownloe, Cheryl Sunshine1220, and my fanfic minion and secret keeper AGoodWitch.
For this reason, and due to overwhelming public demand democratically decreed in a poll in LaMomo's Lair (my FB group), the next Ivories update will be on July 13 (early update), and the following one will be back on regular schedule on July 23.
Also, reminder that for polls, Rob pics, fanfic musings and other shenanigans, feel free to join my FB group: type "LaMomo's Lair" in the search bar and click join. I swear we bite only on request :)
See y'all on Wednesday!
