That's Some Long Fangs You Have

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.

"Agh, gah, sonofabitch, motherfucking…" Edward grumbled under his breath as he glared ahead through the glass at the unmoving line of traffic ahead.

When he glanced down to his knuckles, he saw that they were pale white, stretched tautly from the apparent overpressure of his grip on the steering wheel. He ventured that at some point, when he would be able to finally escape the madness, there would be deep indentions in the leather grip in the shape of his fingers. But that was unavoidable really as Edward did not handle traffic well in the base case. In fact, it made him want to suck down entire rolls of anti-acid pills. Were such medications not so disgustingly chalky and fruity, he'd have already had his fill.

But the traffic on I-95 was a true disaster. It was a Friday afternoon and spring's fine weather was at its pinnacle. As such, the traffic was simply a given. The hordes were fleeing the city and urban areas en masse. And by Edward's estimation, the flow was split fairly evenly: half headed to the shore and the other half to the Poconos.

In truth, he'd never understood the region's fascination with the outdoors. The outdoors was… dirty. And hot. And sticky. And there were creatures. But as a long time resident, he'd resigned himself to simply ignoring his fellow denizens' odd tendencies.

But of course, people in New Jersey were truly terrible drivers. They were overly aggressive, rude, and had never seemed to adapt to the concept of using turn signals – a failure that both baffled and horrified Edward. Oh, and proper following distance was completely foreign.

Once Edward had argued at length with Dr. McCarty concerning the matter. Dr. McCarty had proposed that Floridians, citing quite inappropriately the age factor, were the worst. He was clearly wrong. Floridians were merely number 43 in the seriatim. New Jersey was far below Florida in terms of poor driving. Data were data [11] after all, and Edward never discussed such matters without it. Thus, as usual, Dr. McCarty was proven wrong with little effort. He had been strangely amused when Edward provided references.

Although, Edward noted, New Jerseyans were not so horrible as New Yorkers. Those people were downright frightening. Not to mention deadly - they carried weaponry!

Regardless of the whys and wherefores of the traffic at present, to alleviate his climbing stress, bubbling stomach, and resultant bout of cursing, Edward opted to exit as soon as possible to wait out the debacle. Quickly, he pulled out his cell phone to tell Bella that he would be home somewhat later than expected. It was a shame that they didn't ride together today. Fucking Caius, he spat. Who calls an offsite management meeting on a fucking Friday that starts at seven in the morning?

As his apartment was more conveniently located to work and was larger, they'd opted for her to move in with him, at least until the baby was born. Afterwards, they'd decided that they would find something even larger, preferably with small back yard suitable for children's play activities. While he had yet to tell her, he already had several homes mapped out and included in a file he'd set up. As with anything, preparation and research was key. But regardless of the building in which they chose to reside, each and every time he used the term 'home' with any reference to Bella, Edward felt a warm flicker in the pit of his stomach. There was a permanency there. It was a remarkable feeling.

As luck would have it, the first exit he came upon happened to have a variety of options to divert his traffic-stressed mind. So, he speedily pulled into an empty parking space at the closest shopping plaza and prepared to venture out.

While entering any variety of store or shopping venue was painful in the utmost, not doing so was an even more daunting task. Knowing his limitations and acknowledging his slightly obsessive predisposition, he resolved that sitting in the car alone with his mind was not a good option for him at the moment. For the past several weeks, his mind had been plagued with one thing and one thing only. Or perhaps, two things, he corrected.

1. Baby.

2. Bella.

Edward Cullen, PhD, was going to be a father. And a married father at that!

While a portion of his brain pole vaulted with glee at the knowledge that Bella would be his forever and ever, he could not deny that the knowledge that she was pregnant with his child was… intimidating.

No, that thought was absolutely terrifying, more so than anything else he'd ever experienced. It was so petrifying, if truth be told, he'd not had a single full night's sleep since before Bella's big reveal. Instead of sleeping, the moment the lights went out, thoughts of diapers and bottles and nursery rhymes galloped around and around, rendering his mind a speeding carousel running to the tune of Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star. Only the version he heard had a bit of a disharmonious and sinister tone to it. It was really quite disconcerting when he thought about it.

"What the fuck am I doing?" he cried softly, glancing up the cushioned ceiling of his Volvo. He barely noticed that his hands had yet to leave the steering wheel, and if anything, they were gripping the leather even more forcefully.

Edward surmised that he uttered this exact phrase at a minimum of thirty times per day, plus or minus three times. While his medical degree offered him detailed understanding of the anatomy and physiology of humans in general, including infants, the concept of holding and caring for a child felt entirely alien and completely out of his realm of apprehension. And without question, he had read – exhaustively – every major text he could find on the topic of children and fatherhood. Still, it felt as though he were trying to comprehend some foreign language. One that he didn't already speak, of course. More like Klingon, he thought as he scrunched his nose in distaste. No one learned Klingon anymore anyway. It was a dead language. Much like that silly Elvin language. "Really, who actually did that?" he muttered, furrowing his brow.

They can't speak! he mused for the fifth time that afternoon. How will I know what it wants? What if becomes ill? Or tired? What if I hurt it because I don't feed it enough? Or if I over feed it… Can one overfeed an infant? Are they like dogs in that they eat past the point of necessity? Or what if it won't eat at all? Does one intravenously feed children who won't eat? Goddamnit, of course not, Edward! AGH!

Before, when he was stressed, to calm himself, all Edward had to do was wrap his hand around his cock and think about Bella's legs tightly cinched around his waist as he pounded her pussy. Or perhaps, her lips locked around his cock and her head bobbing up and down. Or maybe even her bent over his desk at work, legged encouragingly splayed out. Or even his tongue licking the deliciously musky wetness that he always managed to elicit from her. Considering the frequency and the adventurous nature of their trysts, his list of salacious images was quite long. But not surprisingly, however, now, those once treasured thoughts led him directly to the cause of the very stress he was currently trying to evade.

Edward noted that, as it did whenever he thought of the baby, or fetus, or whatever the appropriate term was, his breathing had turned to shallow pants, and he recognized he was heading sharply into the direction of a full-blown panic attack. And that would be most inconvenient, he chastised as he quickly loosened his tie to better breathe.

So, as swiftly as he could muster, he leapt from the car and walked toward the nearest shopping plaza entryway, searching for any and all distractions, despite his discomfort in mingling with the populace.

"Good afternoon, sir! Welcome to Target!" a chirpy blonde sang as he walked through the doors.

"I should think not," he muttered under his breath as he sped by the overly cheerful girl.

Out of the corner of his eye, he realized just how little he understood the current generation of teenagers. For the life of him, he could not fathom the sheer volume of makeup this girl wore. With her trendy, too-tight tapered pants – which somehow made her ass look tremendous, despite her slim build – and ridiculously loud Chuck Taylor All-Star tennis shoes, complete with cartoon-patterned tchotchke, she looked more like a throwback to the mid-80's. Add to that, the vibrant blue eye shadow, which climbed almost to her brows, the glittery mascara, and the colored lip liner, she was partly comical and mostly frightening. She reminded him of a certain cross-dressing rock star from said 80's. Clearly, she believed her attire to be tasteful, but he did not understand how anyone could come to such a horrid and indisputably incorrect conclusion. Perhaps, she is color blind, he offered as generous excuse for her clown-like color matching.

With a fair measure of restraint, Edward resisted querying the girl regarding her startling choices in fashion. And then, surprisingly – or perhaps, not – after some mental wandering, he found himself arguing that his child, were it to be a girl, would certainly have far superior taste in attire. Or if not… well, he really had no idea as to how he would manage. Bella would simply have to take care of that, he recognized. That kind of issue was undeniably out of his purview. Men did not discuss fashion and appearances and whatnot. At least not… well, him. He supposed that boys were easier in this regard. Though, boys carried a whole host of other issues, of course – that he knew, having been one himself.

Despite frequently weighing the pros and cons, Edward had yet to come to any conclusion regarding his preference for gender. Were there a third option, it would possibly be preferable.

When he glanced up again, he was startled by the immensity of the store, not to mention the disturbing number of people milling around. As a devout avoider of public locales, randomly waltzing into big box stores with too many too touchy people and too bright lights was… unpleasant.

And there was music – revolting music. Edward did not recognize the voice, but he assumed it belonged to a young male. Although, it sounded closer to that of a braying mule. With a grimace, Edward observed that in addition to the wretched sounds blaring from the speakers, there were so many people, all of which seemed to be laughing loudly and bumping into others. And there were intercoms blaring garbled price-check requests and assistance-on-aisle-one messages. And there were no less than eight million children squealing at decibel levels that should have required double hearing protection. Nervously, he palmed the small portable bottle of Purell in his front trouser pocket.

The entire scene was beyond unpleasant. It was torture. It was torment. It was… still not as dreadful as sitting in the car.

Meandering a circuitous path through smaller, lesser-visited aisles and pathways, Edward effectively managed to avoid the larger crowds. He observed that, oddly, they seemed to congregate around the electronics and candy sections. For the life of him, he could not understand, however, why anyone would purchase his or her electronics at such a store. He much preferred online retailers as the prices were often far better and the offerings were infinitely wider in range. And too, acne-prone teenagers working registers knew nothing of the finer qualities of high-end electronics.

And the candy was just unhealthy. That was all there was to say about that. Edward shuddered thinking of, not only the exorbitant calorie count, but the chemical preservatives. Being a trained biochemist, he knew exactly the garbage that was added. Any food that could last for months in non-pressure sealed wrapping was unsuitable for the human digestive tract. Unhealthy indeed!

After approximately fifteen minutes and two laps around the perimeter, Edward found himself drifting toward a section of the store he'd never even considered. There is a baby aisle at this Target, he marveled. Yet, he had no idea as to what said baby aisle would contain. He wondered if all Targets contained such sections. Or Wal-marts for that matter.

No, not Wal-marts, he thought with a visible tremor. If Targets were frightening, Wal-marts were the ninth circle of hell. He'd made the mistake of entering one once – not a mistake he was likely to make again. That event had ended disastrously.

Tentatively, Edward sidled up to an end display, carefully looking side to side to see if anyone noticed his approach. While it was well-understood that to have a child, fucking had to have been involved, he wasn't quite comfortable broadcasting the fact that he'd managed to knock up his soon to be wife. That was a very personal experience after all. Although, at some point, he knew, she would grow large enough such that it would become obvious to anyone and everyone. And he wasn't sure how he felt about that. Prideful, no doubt – impregnating Bella was, undoubtedly, if not the, then the second most monumental achievement in his life, only being behind successfully proposing to her. But still, having people readily comprehend their private activities was unwanted.

He noted that this display was rather distracting. It was so… colorful, unlike his typical, conservative neutrals. Do they not make beige accessories for infants? he wondered, observing the plethora of primary-colored paraphernalia.

Nervously, he picked up the nearest box. "What the…?" he mumbled, fingering the bright dangling objects. It was the most baffling contraption he'd ever seen. It looked like some neon-colored spider with long legs. Only on each leg, there was attached some toy-like oddity. And when it moved, it made horrific noises. Why would you buy such a strange toy? What the fuck does it do? he mused.

"It's a mobile," a woman called from down the aisle.

Startled, Edward looked up and stammered, "Um, I'm sorry, what?"

"A mobile. You hang it over the crib. It… I don't know, entertains the baby."

"Really?" he asked incredulously. How can nothing more than hanging mirrors and rattling balls capture a child's interest? Surely, they require more stimuli than this?

"It plays music, too," the woman continued, "Classical, I believe. You know, Mozart and Chopin and stuff."

Now, that caught his attention, immediately piquing his interest in said merchandise. Suddenly, the toy wasn't quite so mundane. While it was irrefutably ugly, at least the manufacturer had tried. He was then curious if there were other such items. Mental stimulation was very important.

The woman was pleasant seeming enough, short, with dark brown hair and hazel eyes. Her smile was kind – slightly patronizing, but still kind. And Edward's curiosity was nearly boiling over.

Reluctantly, he looked her in the eyes and asked, "How-, how do you know these things?" Because really, such information – toys and colors and such – was not well documented in his literature. Instead, his reference manuals were more geared toward the mechanics of child-rearing rather than the more… subjective nature of it.

"Let me guess, first-time dad?" she laughed.

"Um, yes?" Edward answered nervously as he fingered one of the squishy appendages. This woman was either psychic or he was losing it.

Is it that obvious that I don't know what I'm doing? he wanted to scream. I'm going to fail. I'm going to be a terrible father. And Bella is going to leave me for someone who knows what the fuck they are doing!

"Don't worry. You'll get the hang of it. Need some help?" she offered politely.

Do I need help? he wondered. Yes! Fuck yes, oh, fuck yes, I need help!

"Erm, do you mind?" he answered quietly.

The woman laughed even louder and simply responded, motioning him over, "Not at all. Come on, let's see what you know and what you don't. You look like a smart enough fellow. But it's not rocket science or anything. Don't worry."

Well, base-level rocket science really isn't that difficult, he wanted to comment. This – this baby… stuff – on the other hand, is far more complex and consequential.

Biting his lip, Edward tried not to whimper.

~O.o~

"Oh, Christ… Edward!" Bella moaned as he lapped at her clit, simultaneously thanking himself for his clever diversionary tactic. Likely, she merely thought he just wanted to fuck and, considering her perpetually horny state, took no issue with being awoken to do so.

Edward really hadn't meant to wake her. In reality, he was attempting to surreptitiously measure her as she slept, but had misjudged her depth of slumber.

For some reason, Bella had not taken kindly to his request to measure her soon-to-be vastly growing abdomen. And that had frustrated Edward to no end. He needed that data!

Weeks ago, in an attempt to rein in his spiraling mind, he'd distracted himself by creating a master mathematical model to track and project her growth throughout her pregnancy. Of course, his model was non-linear and extrapolatory in function, as opposed to the low-quality, simple tracking tools that were available on various websites. In his opinion, from the data he'd seen, those models were significantly less accurate in terms of growth patterns, and they were more suited for just logging past data to chart. His model, on the other hand, would be detailed and geared toward projecting out in time, which was, first off, more interesting, and secondly, more useful. But for a construct such as his, he required inputs to fit and tweak the curves. And Bella was not cooperating.

As such, Edward had resigned himself to waiting until she went to sleep each night to measure her. To increase his sampling, he opted to measure her three separate times using three separate soft tapes. Unlike tonight, for the past several nights, he'd been quite successful in not waking her. That he'd done so this time was evidence of his own exhaustion and hurry.

Objectively, he had to admit that the exceptionally slow rate of growth was, in actuality, outweighing his measurement-associated error bars. After all, gauging the diameter of a woman's stomach as she was lying down was not the optimal methodology. But he knew that with a few more months' worth of data points, his coefficient of determination would increase substantially. He was very excited.

But the one thing he really wanted and needed, however, was to add her weight as a second curve. Edward thought it might be interesting and meaningful to study the extent of correlation between weight and waist distension. It should be rather strong, he predicted. But Bella had screamed at him when he'd asked for that, and unfortunately, he could not perceive a way to weigh her in her sleep without considerable risk of her waking. And too, unlike with the measuring tape, it would be difficult to pretend he was soliciting her for fucking when he was holding her over a scale in the bathroom. She was far too astute to fall for that.

Edward acknowledged that his behavior was not really covered in his reference texts, but he viewed that as an oversight on the editors' part. Surely, husbands and significant others would want to know this type of information, he'd argued. He'd even decided to send the data out to a few journals once the baby was born for future fathers' references. Edward was certain that once Bella saw the output, she would not mind his sneaky data gathering. She was a scientist, too, after all. In fact, she would probably congratulate him on his ingenuity.

"God, oh… fuck me!" she groaned as rippling shudders coursed down her back and through her thighs.

His fingers walked up her ribcage to her already somewhat swollen breasts and tugged lightly at her nipple rings. As soon as he did so, her back arched off the bed, and she pushed her hips down against his face, grinding against him for more tongue to clit contact.

Edward could not prevent the grin from spreading across his lips at her encouraging response. Being the thoughtful lover he was, he tugged again, granting his ear more cries and his face more near-suffocation from her thighs clamping.

Bella's libidinous nature had, from the get-go, been exceptional. She had been right with him, bite for bite and fuck for fuck. But now, she was something else altogether. She wanted to fuck all the time. As in constantly. And as long as he was with her and not alone with his overly active and spiraling thoughts, Edward was more than simply okay with meeting her needs. Really, he was fucking ecstatic. It was like he'd won the sex lottery. She was so needy and wanton. He debated if he could make her come just from speaking. He thought so. Which was really only fair considering what she'd always been able to elicit from him.

Just that afternoon, she'd waltzed into his office and practically assaulted him. As soon as the lock clicked, she was already stripping. Two minutes later, as she rode his cock with her mouth clamped to his, he'd never been more grateful for the windowless door to his office. Because really, fucking at work was appealing on so many levels. First of all, he was always happy to fuck her. Secondly, orgasms, of course, tended to ease his always-present high-stress level. Then, there was a certain danger of being discovered, despite his end of the hall office and private instrumentation lab. Perhaps it was some pseudo exhibitionist streak. Regardless, it was fucking hot. And he wanted to do it every single day, never mind the risk.

And too, how many men could say that they fucked a walking sex goddess in his laboratory or office! That was the stuff that male scientists the world over jacked off to every day. He certainly had before she'd seduced him – he could admit that now. She did seduce him. And he thanked multiple gods every day for that. Had she not, Edward knew, with no doubt whatsoever, he would have never had the balls to approach her and, as such, he'd still be wanking in the men's room after every staff meeting.

While their trysts were currently frequent and enthusiastic, in the beginning, it'd taken Edward a solid week and a half of convincing that sexual relations were acceptable during the fetus's gestation. He had been appreciably worried that their typical sexual exuberance could harm it. And initially, it'd seemed just wrong and beyond slightly disturbing. It didn't seem polite, especially considering the location in which dicks were supposed to fit when it came to fucking.

Of course, Bella had been exceptionally displeased with his reticence. Accordingly, until they could meet with a highly regarded pre-natal physician – a well-known and respected physician from Philadelphia whom Edward himself had researched and requested – he'd happily appeased her with phenomenally delivered cunnilingus.

The pre-natal visit had been a success on many fronts. First of all, Dr. Eleazar Benitez was the consummate professional and equally importantly, was a very good and respected friend of Edward's research advisor. Edward had been rather pleased when he'd agreed to take them on. Within the first few minutes, they were quickly assured that Bella was more than healthy. Edward didn't really need another doctor to tell him what he already knew – her health was fairly obvious, but it still was paramount to his ability to think reasonably and coherently. Eleazar, as he demanded to be called as they shared common associates as well as for sake of professional familiarity, assured Edward that the fetus was also fine, at least according to preliminary tests and blood work. And lastly, after Edward had nervously asked, he had assured them that sex was most undoubtedly fine and recommended even. With no further encouragement, he and Bella had fucked like rabbits that very afternoon, albeit slightly more subdued on the thrusting front than typical mostly due to Edward's lingering hesitancy.

That hesitancy had, for the most part, vanished. He still refused to use all of his force and strength, and he wasn't keen on continuing their bloodletting until after the baby was born. Bella, and thusly, the fetus, needed her iron. Abstaining from that portion of their sexual partnership was admittedly not fun. Each time he slid into her, Edward fought the urge to clamp his mouth down and sink his teeth into her smooth skin. In that sense, a small portion of him couldn't help but to consider the fetus a bit of a cockblocker. Or more accurately, a bloodblocker. Of course, he could be patient. We will have the rest of our lives to share bodily fluids, he relented with a smile.

He slipped a finger inside of her, noting how extraordinarily wet she was. Apparently, her hormones were in overdrive. The moment his knuckle curled, she immediately began thrashing beneath him and, to his great pleasure, began begging him for his cock. No porn on the planet could rival the reaction his body had to her pleading.

Fuck, he cursed, noting her nearly pulsing pussy walls. Heat flooded his abdomen as her muscles began clenching and tightening around his finger.

"Now, Edward! Stop dicking around and fuck me!" she wailed, reaching down and running her nails along his bare shoulders.

Edward smirked in the dark, very pleased with himself and his ability to render her to mush. It was flattering.

"Are you sure that's what you want, Dr. Swan?" he purred against her clit while adding a second finger to his ministrations.

"Ah… no… no, wait, yes, oh, damnit… tsss… Fuck, yes," she garbled, as her fingers wound themselves in his hair, pulling relentlessly. His scalp would probably ache in the morning, but frankly, he didn't care in the slightest. Over the past several months, he'd gleefully borne various bruises and soreness from their activities. And scars, he added with a silent chuckle.

"Can you say that again? I didn't really understand you," he answered teasingly. While he was certainly toying with her, his cock was in pain, as in serious, almost blue-balled, physical pain. Her body was hot and writhing, simply begging for him to crawl inside of her. As it were, the only relief in terms of friction he had was a rhythmic shifting of his hips against the sheets. And sheets just do not compare to Bella's slick and hot… Fuck… I need her like now, he whined.

Her head shot up, and she nearly shouted, "Goddamnit, fuck me, Edward. Or so help me God I will tie you up and fuck you myself."

His eyes shot open in surprise. Hormones. Obviously hormones. He'd encountered those before, but the magnitude of her… reaction was startling. She really does need to get off. While he did not fully understand her dramatic shifts in temperament, and on occasion, if he were honest, her outbursts were even frightening, he'd quickly learned to give her whatever she wanted as soon as possible. As if that is any different from my norm! he scoffed. Nothing pleased him more than pleasing her.

Twenty seconds later, at her command, he was on his knees hovering over her, tip poised to pussy. Risking another taunt, he demanded, "Tell me, Dr. Swan. Say it. Tell me what you want from me."

"Please, Edward," she moaned. "Make me come. I want it so fucking badly. I need it… I want you inside of me. I can't stand it. Ple-,"

Before she could even finish her statement, he plunged inside, not pausing until his hips roughly met hers. Some combination of a groan and a reverential incantation came out of his mouth. The heat was just astounding. It felt like liquid fire constricting and stroking his cock. Being inside of her was something akin to religion or at least to some religious experience. He never wanted to leave.

"Yessss…" she exhaled, as her hands again dropped to his shoulders. Wincing slightly, he felt her fingernails dig sharply into his flesh.

"Jesus, Bella," he sighed, as he slowly withdrew, sliding out with slick ease. "Fucking incredible."

"More," she cried.

He reached down and curled his hand around her calf. "More?" he asked, hitching her leg up around his waist. "More what, Dr. Swan?"

"You. Harder, Edward," she mumbled.

Careful not to put any of his weight on her abdomen, but still with enough force to lift her off the mattress, he slammed into her again, concurrently pulling her to him by the leg he still gripped.

"Like that?" he panted, clenching his eyes shut as he felt her velvety muscles flutter.

"Again!" she wailed. "Don't stop. For fuck's sake, don't stop!"

Roughly, she pulled him down and locked her lips to his, instantly parting them and searching his mouth with her tongue. Urgently, she pawed at him, biting along his bottom lip. Not breaking their kiss, in no hurry and thoroughly enjoying her tormented cries against his lips, he set a torturously slow pace. Each motion was languid and exaggerated, pulling out until the tip of his cock was just inside of her and then pounding back into her as deeply as he could manage. Over and over, he rocked his hips, only to be met by hers lifting in time. With every thrust, she moaned and sucked on his tongue.

"Do you…have any idea… how fucking… good… you…feel? Ah, God, yes," he huffed between strokes. Her hands were everywhere, pulling, kneading, scratching, squeezing. It was divine punishment. He nipped at her skin, bringing tiny, red welts to the surface. With each touch of his teeth, her body quaked and her skin pebbled.

He slid one arm beneath the small of her back and lifted her slightly. The new angle coupled with the extraordinarily slow pace he set was simply mind-blowing. He could feel every single inch of her as he relentlessly drove into her. For how long it went on, he couldn't even guess. It felt like it had been both seconds and hours all at once.

Her skin was so wet and slippery, a combination of the abundance of her natural lubrication, her sweat, and his sweat. The smell of sex and Bella flooded his nostrils; he didn't ever want to bathe again.

Each time he pulled out, he leaned down and licked along her neck and chest, tasting salt and perfumed skin. When he pulled her hardened nipple between his teeth, her back bent sharply, forcing more of her skin into his mouth. He fucking loved tonguing the shallow indentions where her rings pierced her skin. Every time he flicked the ring, she called out, moaning what he thought was probably his name.

So fucking sexy.

Again, his hips propelled him forward as his arms pulled her into him. So..so…Oh, God, she's… so damned… tight! Can't last… much longer. Too… fucking… good… his mind spun. While the pace he set was initially to please her, it was quickly sending him toward a massive and intense orgasm of his own. He could already feel his muscles tightening and pulling. Fucking like this was a full-body experience.

"Touch yourself, Dr. Swan," he ordered through gritted teeth.

Her response was another loud and mangled incoherency.

"Show… me, Dr… Swan," he commanded again. "Touch yourself… while I… fuck you. I want… to see you."

With no further hesitation, he looked down and watched in lascivious delight as two of her fingers began circling her clit. Behind her small hand, he could see his cock sliding into her, disappearing inch by inch. It was entirely too erotic. He wondered if she'd allow him to record that at some point. He could masturbate for days just watching that one scene on repeat.

"You… have no idea, Bella," he groaned. "No idea how… that makes… me feel. Watching that, I mean…I want to… come inside… of you. I'm dying right now."

As he spoke, her motions sped. Intuitively sensing her pending orgasm, he immediately matched the pace her fingers set.

"There! Oh, Edward. Ah, ah, God… That's it, that's it. Oh my God!" she screamed.

When she came, Edward felt every microsecond of it. It was like a vise had locked down on his cock, sucking it deeper inside of her. Her pussy was so hot and so unbelievably tight. As the wave of her orgasm crested, he summoned what strength he had remaining and pumped her for all his worth. With each thrust, he felt heat streaking down his stomach and upper thighs.

"Shit, unfff… fucking… love you," he strangled, as his body shook, shooting into her in thick long cords.

For a long moment, he stilled, holding her against him, frozen inside of her. His chest was thumping like a racehorse and his lungs were wheezing for air. As soon as his vision cleared, he gently lowered her back to the mattress and crumpled down beside her.

"Edward?" she asked lazily.

"Huh?" Edward gasped, still sucking in air like he'd just run a 10k.

"You woke me up to fuck?" she queried. If he hadn't known better, he'd have sworn that he heard a tinge of amusement in her voice.

"Maybe," he hedged.

"Were you measuring me again?" she chuckled.

Wait, what? he stammered, his heart immediately jolting.

"Do you really think I don't know about your nightly data gathering?" she laughed again.

His arm shot across his face and he hid in the crook of his elbow. Against his skin, he mumbled, "Um, agh, but Bella, I-, I need those data points. And you are just being fucking difficult. And I-, I, well, just know that once you see the result… you see, I've built a model! I will be able to predict and tell you… um, what size you will be! And we'll, um, know more about the baby! And well, it's important, okay!"

"Why?"

"What do you mean, 'Why?' Why what?" he asked, dumbfounded by her inquiry.

"Why do you want to do this?" she asked, suddenly serious.

A blossom of anxiety welled, the type that was usually reserved for when he was alone. With Bella's near-constant mood swings and other pregnancy-induced issues, he'd smartly kept his mouth shut, not wanting to cause her any undue stress. Because really, he understood that his panic attacks could and would affect her negatively. So, he'd been trying his damnedest to be confident and supportive.

But at this moment, he failed and let loose weeks' worth of pent-up stress and frustration. "Because! I don't know what else to do! I mean, what can I do, Bella? I can't have the baby for you! I can't throw up for you – thank God that's getting better. Do you have any idea how horrid it is for me watching you be sick and tired and cranky and then all of the sudden horny. It's like I'm useless. Like I'm some evolutionary dead appendage – you know, like the appendix – that just sits there like a fucking rock… and I don't like it, okay! I need to help you and do things and make your life easier and better and I'm failing at it. And I'm scared out of my mind that… well, I have no idea what to do with a fucking baby. But I want it and you and a house and marriage and maybe a dog. No, not a dog. Hair. And fleas. Maybe a fish. But anyway, I'm just… I know I'm going to be awful at being a father. And I hate knowing that. And well, this is what I do. It's what I do know how to do. I gather and interpret… stuff! I'm good at this."

His face felt hot against the skin of his arm. Immediately regretting his outburst, he sighed in aggravation. "Just never mind. I won't do it again. I'm sorry. Please don't be mad. I-, I hate it when you are mad at me."

Oddly, she didn't say a word. But she did roll on her side and press her body against his. Her fingers trailed up his jaw and into his hair and soothingly combed through his sweat-soaked tangles.

"Why didn't you tell me? You could have just explained what you were feeling," she murmured as she pushed his arm off his face.

"I don't know," he grumbled, still refusing to open his eyes.

He felt feather-light kisses along his stubbled jaw line.

"You are going to be a wonderful father, Edward," she whispered between tender kisses.

"No, I probably won't," he argued. "I'm too… fucking awkward and whatever the hell it is that I am."

"You're wrong," she said more firmly. "I know you will be."

"Why?" he answered somewhat petulantly.

"Because of everything you just said."

At that, he opened his eyes and turned his head to face her. Her dark eyes were warm and inviting and she had a soft smile on her lips. She was breathtaking.

"Really?"

"Yes, Edward," she assured him.

"Um, you will let me, um, maybe… erm, gather data?" he asked with a hopeful lop-sided grin.

She sighed but there was no frustration in her tone. "Fine. I suppose."

"On one condition."

"What?" he stammered instantly. "What do you mean 'condition'? I don't understand."

Slowly, exaggeratedly, she said with a grin, "Yes, you may measure me daily, Edward. But on one condition."

"What is it then?" he asked, thoroughly perplexed with what she wanted from him.

"I'm hungry. Go get me a Big Mac and a chocolate milkshake."

Horrified, he immediately began calculating the caloric intake and sodium content.

"Absolutely not!" he exclaimed.

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