Sava, My Ass
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.
"Beelllllaaa!" he whined through clenched teeth. "Oh, God… you have to stop or I'm… Oh, God, I'm going… to come in your mouth!"
Her head stopped bobbing just long enough for her to glance up and laugh, "Yeah, no kidding, Dr. Cullen. That's the idea." But before he could blink, her head darted back down to his crotch, and her lips parted over his cock, sending the most mind-numbing sensations throughout his entire lower half.
As her teeth grazed over his already sensitive skin, Edward garbled out something that might have been her name again. When she reached down to cup and massage his balls, his heart nearly leapt from his chest, and his hips reacted in the rudest of ways. Involuntarily, his hands shot to the back of her head, where his fingers tightly wound themselves in the already tangled locks of her long, dark hair. The dual pleasure of cock and ball manipulation was simply too much for him to handle in any polite manner. Luckily, Bella wasn't big on polite.
"Don't stop," he whimpered as his head lolled back, smacking the cushioned headrest. Above him, he could just make out the cross-hatched thread pattern in the stuffed fabric liner of his car's ceiling. But disconcertingly, the lines kept running together, mixing and mashing. After a moment, Edward concluded that the blurriness was probably due to the fact that his eyes were continually rolling back in his head from the near-spasms below his belt. Obviously, his upper half was lacking in oxygen – being that all of his blood was currently flowing to his cock – and as such, his brain was rendered useless and stupid. Her mouth could do that to a man.
Dr. Isabella Swan had the finest mouth he'd ever seen. Or kissed. Or fucked. Edward ventured that they could likely manufacture silicone molds of it and make a fortune by selling reproductions in smut shops around the globe. It was divinely structured, as if it had been perfectly designed for mouth fuckery, or, more so, as if it had been perfectly designed for mouth fuckery involving his dick in particular. Her lips were full and soft, like plump and succulent silk. And her tongue was just magical, seemingly knowing without direction exactly where to lick, where to trace, where to press. And fuck, when she used her cheek muscles to suction down, it was like some kind of otherworldly, coming-to-God experience.
And right now, said divine mouth was clamped down around his nonsensically hard cock, sucking and stroking him to certain orgasm. Every time he felt her lips pop around the defined ridge of his head, he wanted to cry from the pleasure. And every time he felt the tip of her tongue tease the slit, his thighs shook. This was torture of the most sublime variety. If he had his way, she would never stop, and he would just orgasm all day long. But then, I would likely lose my job, he reasoned. Briefly, his mind wandered, trying to visualize how that might be able to work.
He had no idea as to why she'd abruptly decided to suck him off, but his brain wasn't exactly functioning enough to protest. Indeed, Edward couldn't quite remember even where they were specifically. Some vague notion that someone could see in flickered but was immediately repressed the moment her hand gripped the base of his cock, with precisely the right tightness, and began mimicking her mouth's motions.
With each slippery pass of her hand and mouth, a raw, desperate groan built in his chest and rose in volume. Sharp, hot pangs streaked down his abdomen, and he felt the sudden tightening in his testicles. Without thinking, his hands pulled her down a touch more forcibly and guided her pace as his hips lifted to thrust. He could feel himself hitting the back of her throat, and he could not help but to thank the mouth-fucking gods. How incredibly lucky he was that Bella had never seemed to have a gag reflex! If anything, she just moaned in time, as if she were getting off herself. Hearing that moan and feeling the resultant vibrations rolling down his skin was what sent him over the edge. No longer able to hold back, after but a handful of quicker pumps, he was pulsing inside of her mouth and grunting in ecstasy.
A moment later, puffing for air, Edward settled back against the leather, not bothering to close his jeans. Really, pants were the last thing on his mind. In the rearview mirror, he caught a glimpse of himself. Behind the lightly fogged lenses of his glasses, his eyes were bright and excited, and his normally pale skin was flushed bright pink. A light sheen of sweat decorated his forehead, matting down a few stray clumps of hair. I need a fucking haircut, he thought distractedly, grimacing at the mangled bronze mop in the reflection. He looked like he'd just fallen out of bed, or perhaps, like he'd just been fucked properly.
Hmm-mm, he hummed. Well, that's fairly accurate.
Satisfied, he glanced over to the passenger side, only to find a smirking Bella. She was clearly pleased with herself and her ability to completely annihilate any sense of reason or decorum in him. Not that I mind, Edward mused. He was always a willing participant. But she certainly looked… mischievous, like the cat that ate the canary. Her russet eyes, like his, were alight and glittering from their play. She was amused, with herself, with him, or whatever, he wasn't positive.
But fuck, if her lips aren't swollen and red from her oral ministrations, he noted. Somehow, someway, despite the throbbing orgasm he'd just be granted, his cock twitched in response. At one point in his life, the reaction would have been startling, but not so with Bella. When it came to Isabella Swan, it was as though she had some invisible string wrapped around his dick. Every single motion of hers pulled and tugged at it. It was like his lower region was her own personal marionette to play with and tease however and whenever she saw fit. Thankfully, even with the small beach-ball-like distention of her lower abdomen, she was a kind mistress and wanted to play often. Quite often.
"Um, what was that for?" he exhaled, still breathless. "Not that I'd, erm, ever complain."
"Do I need a reason to suck you off?" she chuckled, throwing him a not-so-subtle wink.
"Ah, er, no, I guess?" he replied, grinning. "In fact, well, you don't ever need to even ask. You know, just unzip and, um, do whatever you want. It's all yours anyway."
Her smirk transformed to a broad, warm grin, matching his. "Feeling better?"
"Yes," he sighed, contented, threading his fingers between hers. He couldn't help but to notice how flawless and smooth her skin was. She was absolutely breathtaking, like some ethereal creature he'd conjured up in his late-night dreams. And wanks. "Undoubtedly."
Because in reality, these last few weeks he had felt better. Or at least more assured of their situation. His mild panic attacks were coming less frequently – likely due to Bella's continual distractions. Regardless of the whys and wherefores, he was calmer.
Reflecting, he decided that this entire pregnancy process was entirely absorbing. Between the exorbitant number of doctor appointments, the ultrasounds, and the near-constant bombardment of changes in Bella and with the baby, Edward had little time to dwell or brood. And in the moments that Bella was not vomiting – that nonsense about the nausea stopping after the first trimester was a lie – they actually managed to have fun. Especially being that she wanted to fuck relentlessly, he added with a smile.
First off, at twenty-four weeks along, Edward had managed to accumulate a reasonable amount of data for his pregnancy-tracking model, and he was more than pleased with the results. It was coming along quite nicely! Truly, the fit was much better than he expected. Now that Bella was a willing – though occasionally grumbling – participant, he no longer had to resort to circuitous methods of measurement. And in exchange, she had some inkling of what to expect weeks down the road. It really was a win-win. He would definitely be submitting a paper on the topic. Likely, it would be accepted immediately. This was important! He already envisioned a clamoring response.
And too, so many momentous events had occurred over the last few weeks, all of which had somehow made him feel closer to the unborn child and, perhaps, less frightened. He was certainly scared shitless of it, but he was becoming at least more familiar with the concept of fatherhood.
When Bella had initially told him that she could feel the baby kicking, he'd been one part alarmed, visualizing disturbing Alien-like images, and the other part tremendously fascinated. And jealous. Of course, it took weeks for him to be able to detect the motion. But the moment he did, it was as though some light bulb lit up inside of his head. At that precise point in time, there was some tangible connection beyond the increasing size of her waistline, a connection that did not require ultrasound assistance. Now, he could interact with the child.
Well, not really. But it was almost as though it was talking to him when it moved. And for his part, each night before bed, Edward took to gently massaging Bella's stomach while reading aloud, his way of talking back to it in the language he knew. It was both amusing and intriguing that the baby seemed to kick more when he read excerpts from his favorite hematology texts. Our child is obviously intelligent. Even before birth, he thought with pride.
And then there was what might have been one of the best and simultaneously most terrifying days of his existence. Just a month prior, they had learned that the baby was no longer an it, but a she.
Edward Cullen was going to be the father of a baby girl. A pink, bouncing, giggling, likely curly-haired baby girl. A surely beautiful baby girl, considering her maternal parentage.
An as yet to be named baby girl, he thought with a grimace. Naming a child was stressful, and it carried enormous responsibility. Too many parents gave their children ridiculous names that sounded more like homage to acid-induced daydreams, or, in extreme cases, venereal diseases, than usable, respectable names. Even still, it was an undertaking that required considerable thought and deliberation. As such, they were procrastinating. Or rather, he was. There were simply too many options with regards to names. Stressful, indeed!
Bella glanced out the window, taking in their surroundings. Barely containing a laugh, she waved toward the windshield and went on, snapping him back to the present, "While normally I wouldn't really need a reason. This time, I suppose, well, I thought you might… need a little preventative action for the airport."
Airport.
That's right.
Fuck. Fuckity, fuckity, fuck!
Reality crashed down around him – he could actually hear the sound of glass breaking – and he abruptly realized that they were already parked in the airport parking deck. And Bella's parents' plane coming in from Seattle was only thirty minutes from landing.
"I'm going to throw up," he mumbled dizzily, as fresh beads of sweat popped up along his brow. Nervously, he raked through his dampened hair and clenched his eyes shut. Annoyingly, his frames slid down his nose. He needed new nose pads.
Bella's hand was immediately on his jaw, turning his head. "No, you aren't."
"Look at me, Edward," she continued. "You will be fine. They will love you."
"But," Edward whispered, suddenly wild-eyed, as his foot started frenetically tapping against the floor mat. With a trembling hand, he shoved his frames up the bridge of his nose. "I knocked you up, Bella! You are fucking pregnant. And it's all my fault! All my dick's fault. And, well, it's obvious, too – you, well, um, the baby kind of, erm, shows… Not that it doesn't look fucking hot on you…Fuck. Shit. Damn. I-, er, nevermind. But we're not fucking married yet!
"Oh, fuck me. Your father is going to shoot me! In the face! Or, um, conceivably, in the groin – that would be more apropos, don't you think? Considering that's where it all started. Yes, in the groin. Likely with a .44 magnum. Oh, God, he's going to fucking castrate me… I will have no cock. I will have to have a bag. And they are, um, not sanitary."
He paused for a moment, shuddering at the imagery. "Nunnnngh! I know it, Bella. I can see it happening! He will murder me! I would murder me!
"Oh God, lunch… not a good idea…" he exhaled, fighting a violent swell in his gut.
Bella's hand tightened around his, and in his periphery, he could see her eyes rolling. "I'll handle him if he gets to be too much," she laughed. "I'm thirty-two years old, Edward. I think I can protect you." The last part was said with a pointed wink. As if that makes me feel any better! he wanted to scream.
"And too, vomiting is my job now," she giggled, teasing.
His head swiveled sharply in her direction and visions of himself sans equipment were replaced with the very real, somewhat disgusting, and the more than heart-wrenching images of her routinely heaving in their bathroom. "Not funny, Bella," he snapped.
~O.o~
"So, Edward," Chief Charles Swan drawled.
Edward's heart stopped. As in, it completely stopped. As well as his breathing. Somewhere, some small part of his brain suggested that he breathe, but his lungs were too busy being terrified. Were he to check a mirror, he would probably be blue from oxygen deprivation.
Chief Swan's black, beady eyes looked into his as if he were weighing him. Clearly, Edward was coming up short. He imagined the look to be one of pure, unadulterated hatred. And possibly – no, definitely – violence. With every fiber in his being, he wanted to turn away. But like a mouse caught in the snake's hypnotic trance, Edward was frozen under his stare.
Frantically, Edward shifted his eyes and looked around the room, searching for Bella. Surely, she would save him. But, of course, as his luck would have it, she and her mother had decided some sort of foot treatment and prettying was in order. Bella had explained it to be some variety of feminine bonding. Edward did not quite understand this ritual – the idea of some stranger touching his feet was… troubling and not hygienic. Despite his personal aversion, he did recognize it to be some kind of pink version of the afternoon of baseball and beer with Emmett and Jasper that he had been cajoled into enduring. Frankly, he'd take that afternoon any day of the week as compared to his current circumstances and situation.
Because Chief Charles Swan was probably an evil man, Edward decided. He had the mustache for it. By Edward's summation, mustachioed men were untrustworthy. He believed that they were hiding behind the facial hair. Much like men who were constantly adorned by sunglasses, they were sneaky. He could just imagine Bella's father taking an axe or knife to him for impregnating his only daughter. Or, perhaps, he would opt for a back of the head, mafia-style tap with a 9mm. Considering his life-long police profession, Edward surmised that he would most likely be a highly skilled marksman. So, Bella's father could easily choose a long-range sniper rifle and he would be none the wiser. One minute he would be happily going about his day. The next, Kcccckk! he thought, dramatically imaging his finger slicing across his neck.
Bella swears he will not hurt me. She should know, right? We're all adults, yes? And I did survive the car trip home. Okay, so not evil. Maybe, Edward relented, trying to maintain some level of reasonableness and sanity. Just fucking scary.
Unless he's plotting. A smart man would bide his time and catch his prey off guard. Taking into account Bella's intelligence, her father was assuredly highly gifted in his own right. With a frown, Edward reminded himself to lock the bedroom door when they went to bed.
"Erm, yes, sir?" he answered, trying his damnedest not to stutter, knowing that predators could sense weakness. Expectedly, he failed. His own ears recognized the high-pitched, petrified whine of his voice. It sounded like a wounded animal – plainly, Edward was easy prey.
"Tell me, do you like to fish?" Chief Swan asked, looking wistfully through the window.
What?
"Fish, sir?" he stammered, his palms suddenly dampening. Do I like to fish? What does this mean?
For some reason, Edward's brain could not process these words. He had no idea what they meant, absolutely no idea. Frightened that his brain had finally broken and collapsed from sudden onslaught of stress, he shook his head, trying to clear it. Nervously, his fingernails dug through denim and clawed the tops of his thighs.
Chief Swan swung his gaze around and looked at him expectantly. "Yeah, fish. You know, trout. I hear New Jersey has some decent trout fishing."
"I-, I, uh, I'm not sure?" Edward answered, all the while wondering what this had to do with Bella's growing abdomen and his subsequent pending murder.
"Hrm, where do you think people usually go fishing around here?" he asked.
It was like he hadn't even heard Edward's response. "Any lakes nearby? You know, nothing on earth can beat being in a john boat out on a lake or hip-deep in a stream in the morning. It's just like heaven, Edward. Hell, you don't really even have to catch anything. Although landing a big one is certainly the bonus. I bet there are some mighty fine trout around these parts."
What the fuck is with this man's obsession with fish? This is borderline psychotic! Edward worried, narrowing his eyes.
Edward was curious if this was some homicidal euphemism that he'd missed. Is he telling me something? Perhaps instead of being evil, Edward debated, scrunching his nose. Chief Swan is simply unhinged. He hoped whatever variety of derangement he suffered was not genetic.
"Uh, sir? I'm not really sure to be honest. But one of my colleagues would undoubtedly know. I can give him a call? If you'd like?"
Surely, Emmett would know such nonsense. While he was a pathetic excuse for a scientist – meant in the best possible way, Edward amended – he knew everything there was to know about manly topics such as sports and alcohol and strippers. In fact, Emmett was a goddamned fountain of macho knowledge.
Edward's eyes widened as Chief Swan suddenly grinned like a maniacal Cheshire cat. Disconcertingly, Edward noted that he had very large teeth.
And his salt and pepper mustache was inordinately distracting. Edward could not understand how he could bear to have hairs touching the top of his lips. While he allowed a few days' worth of stubble – mostly at Bella's request as she seemed to like the feel of it along her skin… really more than liked, especially along the insides of her thighs during their rounds of cunnilingus – the idea of constant follicle irritation and aggravation was impossibly distressing. And food. What if food somehow got stuck between the hairs? That would be unsanitary. Edward hoped he wasn't gawking. He didn't want to be rude or incur unnecessary wrath.
"Maybe next time," Chief Swan laughed. "You seem to be a methodical kind of guy. I bet you could tie the hell out of a lure."
"O-kay?" Edward replied, having no clue as to how to answer otherwise. Of course, he could tie things. He was a fucking expert at knots by this point. But he wasn't sure what that had to do with fishing. Edward did not think tying up appendages in order to participate in kinky fuckery had anything to do with fishing. Again, he worried that there was some murderous underpinning to this discussion.
After a moment of uncomfortable silence, Chief Swan chuckled – his distracting mustache puffing up with his breath. "So, you're marrying my daughter, right?"
And there it was.
The death sentence.
"Um, yes, sir. Or-, or, rather, she's agreed to marry me. Of her own free will, of course," Edward rushed, clamping his teeth down to prevent further likely word vomit. He would marry her that very day if she wanted. That was not an issue.
"You know, I didn't think she'd ever find anyone who she could tolerate for more than a week… No, wait, I meant the reverse of that. Anyway, we figured she'd always be single."
What in the ever-loving fuck is he talking about now? Edward thought, fighting his brows' climb to his hairline. He really is crazy. What does he mean 'I meant the reverse of that'?
Is he implying that men did not want Bella? No. Just no. How in the hell can he think that? There's a goddamned line of them just waiting for her to wise up and drop me. Fuck. Everyone wants her! She's, she's fucking perfect.
Bella's father is insane. Yes, insane. I need to warn Bella. Edward paused his mental rambling a moment and pursed his lips. He was a trained medical doctor after all. He recognized the signs. More coherently, he considered, tapping his chin, Maybe, this is early-stage dementia. I can suggest some possible medications… Yes, there are a few new ones in trials. I can probably get him in a trial.
"Sir?" Edward asked politely, now bearing in mind that the man was possibly not right in the head. If this were the case, he would need to be coddled to avoid a mental break. Dementia patients are susceptible to stress, he recalled from an old text. Yes, this must be it. This explains the fish.
"Oh, Ed, now don't look at me like that," Bella's father laughed. "Come on, Bella's a goddamned handful. Surely you've noticed? You don't have to pretend for me! I know my daughter."
He sounds lucid. He looks sane.
No, can't be, Edward corrected, replaying his words. Madness.
"Erm, not really, sir. Bella is… um, perfect," Edward replied honestly, unable to hide the longing in his voice.
A loud snort resounded in the room. "Well, hell, son," he chuckled, smacking his palm to his knee. "Guess you are two peas in a pod. Oh, shit, make that three.
"So, when's she due? Her ma won't shut up long enough to tell me. And God forbid you get her talking any more than she already does. That woman's a fruitcake."
Fuck.
How appropriate. Both sides.
~O.o~
For the last forty-three minutes, from his perch opposite the table, Edward had been quietly observing Bella's parents. Gratefully, for the most part, they chatted about the baby and focused less on interrogating him, which Edward viewed to be some sort of magical blessing from the in-law gods. It was perfectly evident that her parents were ecstatic. At least about the baby. Their view on him was still unclear. But somehow, much to Edward's discontent, they had been working under the assumption that grandparenting was not in the cards for them. So now, they were like kids in a candy store.
True to form, like any even remotely competent researcher, throughout the interaction, Edward was gathering data in hopes to fit a model. Although these data, he recognized, really could not be put into a spreadsheet or software for algorithmic computation. These data were more subjective and qualitative – his least favorite category, as such information was always unreliable and could easily be misconstrued or misapprehended. But by his motto, data were data, and some data were better than none. So, his mind was processing the inputs as quickly as received and attempting to come to some real and reasonable conclusion regarding his future in-laws.
Edward was a smart man – in all actuality, a genius – but trying to follow Renee's disjointed and rambling conversations required considerable effort and a level of social aptitude he decided that he did not possess. For the life of him, he could not understand how these two people – Bella's parents – had genetically managed to produce her. She was really nothing like them, other than the smattering of physical features she'd inherited. She was perfect. They were crazy. Wholly.
While Chief Charles Swan was fairly predictable – never mind the probable mental illness, the obsession with fish, and the startlingly erroneous assessment of his only daughter, Edward revised – Renee Swan was… not. In many ways, she reminded Edward of his mother, a certifiable madwoman in her own right. Renee was boisterous and too-touchy. She had hugged him upon arrival for a solid two minutes, during which Edward stood stock still, trying to quell his anxious fidgeting. She spoke entirely too rapidly and had the most remarkable ability to launch into mind-boggling tangents with little to no forewarning. Conversing with Bella's mother took enormous focus. Add to that, she made him incredibly edgy, as her questions were never expected. Nor were her answers to his questions. Clearly, her mind worked… differently.
"Tell me what you do, Edward!" Renee erupted, clapping her hands in excitement. She was almost bouncing! Renee Swan was frightening.
This particular conversation vaguely reminded him of the first meeting between Bella and his parents. While she'd not run away, Edward was certain she didn't only out of obligation. Or more likely, pity. In that moment, he wished that he possessed Bella's uncanny social expertise. Where he was bobbling, neurotic, and twitchy, she was smooth and perfectly at ease in any societal situation. Undoubtedly, this would be painful and nerve-wracking. Knowing this pain was necessary, he sighed, resigned to suffer through whatever was thrown his way. It was very important that her family not hate him. Or at the very least, not want to murder him in a dark alley.
"Mom," Bella warned, a hint of good-natured laughter in her voice. Beneath the table, he felt the light, reassuring squeeze of her hand on his knee. Her hand lingered on his leg, slipping to the inside of his thigh, softly stroking the smooth fabric of his trousers.
Without fail, her surreptitious touch sent a wave of shivers straight to his cock, as his mind conjured up too many inappropriate images for their current locale and company. With a scowl, he added, Especially seeing as how her hormone swelled cleavage is up front and center. Like every other part of her body, her tits called to him. Only Bella would wear a deep v-neck and want to play under the table on the one night he needed to keep his cock in check. Sometimes, his overwhelming attraction to her was extremely inconvenient.
Cocktease, he silently accused, gently pushing her hand away. When he glanced over, Edward tried to give her a chastising look, but failed miserably after seeing her mouth twitch in entertainment. Because apparently, that's hot as well, he realized with a dip of his chin, both frustrated and amused by his body's betrayal. Thankfully, before his defenses were completely shot, she was sympathetic to his body's inability to behave and relented. Had she not, thinking and thusly, speaking would have been a challenge.
Other than his lunatic mother, Edward had never seen a woman emote in the fashion of Renee Swan. He likened her enthusiasm to that of a cocker spaniel – his aunt had owned one of those deplorable animals at one point so he had a valid reference point. The thing urinated every time someone came to the door. Obviously, Edward had avoided her house at all costs. Animal urine and Edward were not a well-matched pair.
"Um, no, it's fine. I-, well, I do research. Like, erm, Bella. Well, not exactly, since she manages researchers. I do the research. Um, in the lab. More accurately, my technicians do. But I tell them what to do. I manage them. Kind of like Bella, but, um, not," he explained timidly, not entirely sure how much to divulge. Experience had taught him that lay people did not appreciate overly detailed job descriptors. And too, they really did not have the background to understand.
Renee giggled and tsked, her blonde hair – again, very appropriately cocker spaniel-like in color – flying everywhere. "Ah, Edward! I know that! What do you research?"
Really? Well… okay… This he could discuss. Too well.
"Er, currently, I'm working on novel treatment for protoporphyria. Well, more correctly erythropoietic protoporphyria [13]. Though, erm, the hepatic variant is a secondary project of mine, as well, as there are obvious linkages," he answered warily, testing to see how much detail she would want. Usually, the moment a multi-syllabled word was uttered, eyes would glaze over and he would know to stop.
But Edward had nothing upon which to gauge Renee's reaction, as her eyes had been rather glassy from the moment they had arrived. Edward had seen eyes like hers. On Jasper. All of the time. For Professor Jasper Whitlock, in addition to being both an expert in Astrophysics and a consummate pervert, was also a stoner. Considering the similarities in appearance and the unpredictable behavior – though Renee was far livelier than Jasper – Edward suspected that Bella's mother was an occasional recreational drug user. Not that he would say anything. In fact, on some level, he was more comfortable with her being high than not. Stoners typically made for poor marksmen.
"Oooh! What's that?" she asked brightly, clapping again. Her clapping was bewildering; Edward did not know how to respond to that type of behavior. His co-workers did not clap. He did not clap. Bella did not clap. But Renee did. What that meant, he wasn't sure. The mannerism was mildly intriguing on a psychological level.
As evident from their earlier conversation, Bella's father was used his spouse's odd behavior. Currently, Chief Charles Swan – or, 'Charlie' as he now demanded to be called – was gazing off to the side, out through the large, picture window at the front of the restaurant. He had a faraway look to him. If Edward were a better, he would have wagered that his thoughts had more to do with gills and scales than human health deficiencies. But again, Edward was fine with that. The more he thought about fish, the less time he had to think about violence.
"Ah, um," he stuttered, looking wildly to Bella for guidance. Unfortunately, she merely smiled innocently and shrugged, leaving him to his own judgment, essentially, hung out to dry on a conversational level.
Raking his hand through his already disarrayed hair, he launched into explanation, "Erm, erythropoietic protoporphyria is a broadly classed genetic skin disorder characterized by ferrochelatase deficiency, which results in too high concentrations of protoporphyrin in the cutaneous tissue layers. Most commonly, it manifests itself in symptoms of severe photosensitivity. See, upon exposure, the skin itches or in more severe cases, it actually burns, even to the point of blistering if the event is prolonged." He paused taking in Renee's rapt attention. But she might have just looked confused. More generally, he explained with a nonchalant wave of his hand, "As in, um, pain when exposed to light."
For a moment, there was silence.
Fuck. See, Bella, this is why I don't 'do' social.
Renee's brow furrowed in concentration, as if she was solving a puzzle. But then, her eyes gleamed with what Edward took to be understanding, and she abruptly clapped in excitement. "Vampires!" she squealed entirely too loudly.
Edward's eyes shot wide open and his verbal response was nothing more than a strained, gurgling groan. Bella's palm darted to his knee once more and he heard her choking back a laugh.
"You know, I've always loved vampires. They are so romantic and sensual. Very erotic," Renee continued dreamily, completely oblivious to Edward's stunned expression and now-puce complexion due to lack of oxygen.
"Oh! Did Bella tell you that I'm a writer?" she asked innocently.
"Ah, no?" Edward coughed, still trying recover.
At this point, Bella's father gruffly interrupted, thankfully rescuing him from certain death by way of asphyxiation. "Renee, if you start talking about that damned porn you write, we're leaving."
Edward's head dumbly swiveled to face Bella's still amused expression. His jaw flexed, and his lips parted, then closed, and then parted again.
Renee's eyes flashed in irritation. With a frown, she argued, "It's not 'porn' Charlie. That's just crass. It's called erotica."
~O.o~
"Finally," Bella sighed shrugging out of her wrap. "I thought they would never leave."
While he could easily agree, the sight of skin unveiling was exceedingly diverting, rendering his mouth mushy and mute.
For the last three days, he'd fought every fiber in his being, refusing to participate in their always loud and likely impolite sexual adventures. And she had not made it easy. At all. In rather blatant attempts at seduction, she'd donned all of his favorite negligees, including his favorite, a very black and very sheer number from Agent Provacateur. It was rather unfair. But he had been bound and determined to not have intercourse with her while her parents were under their roof. He had been convinced that the moment he touched her inappropriately, her father would barge through the door and cut his dick off. Never mind that her 'delicate state' required that they had fucked at least once.
And Bella had been none too pleased, citing their raucous tryst in his own childhood bedroom as evidence. She didn't seem to grasp that the difference was that his parents were happy that he was fucking; they, especially his mother, viewed it as an accomplishment. Bella's mother? Perhaps. Probably even. Bella's father? Likely, not so much.
"Your parents hate me," he mumbled, as he peeled his shirt over his head.
"Shut up, Edward," she huffed impatiently, as she turned to walk into the attached bath. Whether her impatience was due to irritation with him or hormones, it wasn't obvious. "They don't hate you. They actually like you a lot. Especially dad. And mom thinks you are adorable. So shut it, okay? I'm not in the mood for this insecure shit."
His eyes widened in alarm. Edward had been mentally preparing himself to warn her of her parents' likely mental illnesses, but the snap in her voice told him that now was not the time. Based on previous experience, even in a good mood, Edward knew that her current hormonal upheaval would likely send her into overreaction if he were to divulge his worries. Now, she might throw things. So, he did as he was told and shut up about anything to do with her parents.
"Um, are you mad at me?" he asked quietly, walking into the bathroom behind her. Nervously, he scratched the back of his neck, uncertain of what he would do if she said yes. Edward did not handle anger well. Truth be told, the very worst days of his life were those in which Bella was angry with him.
"No," she exhaled. Edward's ears told him otherwise. Cautiously, he moved to stand behind her, and when she didn't tell him no, he slid his arms around her slightly tensed body, resting his hands lightly atop the swell of her stomach. Leaning in, he kissed the spot of skin just below her ear, hoping to assuage her irritation at whatever it was that he'd done wrong.
When she didn't respond, instead remaining rigid and unresponsive, his brows creased, but then, determined, he pulled the thin strap of her dress down her arm, opened his lips, and trailed his tongue from her shoulder to her throat.
While she remained stiff, her head lolled back against his chest, and in the mirror in front of them, he could see her eyes slide shut. With her hair pulled back away from her face, she was so stunning, that for a moment, all he could do was stare.
"Why are you mad at me, Dr. Swan?" he whispered against her wet skin, trying to rein in his panic. In an almost whine, he continued, "Tell me… so I can fix it. I will. Um, fix it. Whatever it is. I won't fuck up again. Please? I can't stand it when you are displeased with me."
"I'm fat," she muttered abruptly, sad disgust evident in her voice. "It's okay that you don't want me that way right now. I understand."
? ? ?
For a brief moment, he froze, absolutely still, arms locked in place. The sound of clanging metal echoed in his head. But no words would come to his mind. It was as though his brain had been bleached and left bereft of all thought.
"Why do you say that?" Edward wheezed, the air expelling out in a single gush. "Is this because… because I wouldn't have sex with you?" he continued, incredulous and not quite believing his hearing. There was no possible way she could think that.
His chest felt thick and bruised when he watched her head nod slowly up and down, and he almost lost it when he saw a rivulet of moisture streak down her cheek. Even though from his literature searches, he knew that her reaction was probably simple hormonal imbalance and would likely dissipate on its own, the very idea that she could think that he didn't want her was absurd and intolerable. Self-loathing and relationship uncertainty was his realm, not hers. She was confident and beautiful and fucking perfect. Hearing such nonsense from her lips sent him into a virtual tailspin.
"Bella!" he cried, partly to her and more to himself. "No! Fuck. God, how many ways can I fuck up? I just, gah, just, fucking, I just didn't want to disrespect your dad. And okay, um, maybe I am a little afraid of him. Because regardless of your assurances, I think you should know that he is really a little off in the head and I think – no, strike that – I know he wants to murder me. I, er, just didn't want to give him anythi-," he stammered trailing off at the end.
"But really, Bella!" he growled, moving his left palm to cup her breast through the fabric of her dress. "How, seriously… um, how? Do you not see what you do to me? Do you not hear how you render me to nothing but a flailing pile of moans and fucking whimpers? Have you not seen that my cock is perpetually hard around you? That every time you touch me, I shake and tremble and beg you to do it again? Don't you see how I stare at you all the goddamned time? Well, because there's nothing else I'd rather look at, okay? Can't you see that I fucking worship you?
"And well, I'm sorry but the sight of this," he continued, his brows knitting down in a sharp 'V', as his hand rubbed across her stomach, "is probably the sexiest thing I've ever seen!"
"What?" she started, her expression confused.
"Agh. God, either you are blind or I'm the fucking idiot who obviously hasn't told you what I should have. Yes, okay! I think it is fucking sexy as hell that I made this with you. That, that," he said, pausing and pressing against her abdomen, "she or you know is ours. I did that. Or I contributed. And I like it, okay. I like the idea what we made another person together. And, um, that I have a family. My family."
His gaze dropped to the floor. "I-, I didn't think I'd ever have that. And now I do. And I love it, or, erm, her. And you."
"You are remarkable, Edward," she whispered, turning her head and pressing her lips to his neck. Her tiny hand snaked up and tangled itself in his hair, pulling his face down to meet hers. "How do you do that?"
"Hmm?" Edward asked, distracted by the proximity of her mouth.
"You always manage to make me feel adored and cherished, even when I'm a moody mess. You're entirely too perfect."
"That's my line, future Mrs. Cullen," he returned just before clamping his mouth to hers.
Fueled by his emotional outburst, he kissed her with abandon, lapping at her lips, invading her mouth, twining his tongue around hers. Within moments, he was slipping her arms out of her straps and pushing her dress to the floor. Quickly thereafter, her bra and panties followed, leaving her deliciously naked against his shirtless but still jeans-clad form.
Eagerly, his palms cupped her now-swollen tits, kneading and squeezing. By Edward's estimation, she'd gone up a solid cup size, not that he would complain. Bella's tits were perfectly shaped and fit precisely to his hands. They were so soft and supple, so tantalizingly round. He wanted to bury his face between them and suck on them. And maybe bite. As his thumbs skimmed across her now-ringless nipples – at Eleazar's recommendation – she moaned loudly against his lips and pulled his head down more firmly.
"Are they sensitive?" he asked as he rolled her nipples between his thumbs and forefingers. "Does it feel good, Bella? When I pinch them a little? Or when I tug?"
Her answer was a spluttering of breathless pants and a sharp nip at the skin below his jaw. So, of course, being the accommodating lover he was, he pinched and tugged a little harder, all the while grinning like a fool when she moaned again.
"What else can I do for you, Dr. Swan?" he teased, trailing one hand down to her hip. He pressed himself against her, rubbing his now-hard cock against her ass. He loved her ass; despite her current state, it was still perfectly shaped, a succulent upside-down heart that never failed to send his libido into overdrive. He grazed his teeth across the tops of her shoulders. "Do you want me to lick your pussy? I'd like that, you know. I love how you taste."
"Later," she stammered.
"Later?" he repeated in question. "What do you want now then?"
"You know what I want, Dr. Cullen. Coy suits you no better than it does me. I can feel you cock. It wants to play. And I want it to play in me. Now."
Fucking okay! he yelped in a silent fist pump at her flagrant desire. "We'll see," he chuckled.
Two seconds later, his jeans and boxer shorts were unbuttoned, off, and in a heap on the floor.
Quickly, he moved back behind her and nestled between then soft mounds of her ass cheeks. Bella rocked her hips back, swaying sensually, teasing and urging his motions. When she took his ear lobe between her teeth, tingles swept up down his spine, pebbling his skin. Enthusiastically, he watched in the vanity mirror as his hands trailed down her bare skin, circling her tits, tracing the shape of her hips, reaching down to palm her upper thighs, and then, finally darting to the front to test her slit.
"Are you already wet?" he asked, knowing the answer.
"Are you already hard?" she teased back.
"I'm always hard when you are around, you know that," he groaned he slid against her skin.
"Well, I guess it's good that I always seem to be wet when you're around," she laughed.
"Come with me," he murmured, biting the back of her neck. Gently, he pulled her toward the shower. After a quick flick of the faucet and a momentary pause for heat up, he pulled her inside and under the stream.
"Why here?" she exhaled as his tongue found and circled a nipple. Not answering, he pressed her back against the wall. Falling water ran down her skin in thin rivulets, diverting around and into his mouth. Her skin was wet and hot and felt entirely too good beneath his hands. His mind was clouded with the urge to sink himself into her. When he reached down and found her clit, Bella stuttered a violent series of curses, all of which echoed off the marble tile walls of the shower.
"Sound," he finally answered, his voice muffled against her chest. His lips closed around her nipple, sucking and pulling at it, as his tongue teased the indentions where her rings had pierced. Simultaneously, his fingers ran a path along her wet pussy lips, spreading her and pressing his fingertips just inside.
"Wha- Oh, fuck," she answered. "I, God… don't under… stand."
He grinned, pausing his suction. Without warning, he plunged two fingers inside her pussy, curling his knuckles as he slid them in and out. Her resultant reply was a loud wail and frantic pawing of his biceps.
"Easy. I like the way it sounds in here when you come. And you look fucking hot wet. Now spread your legs so I can taste your pussy, Dr. Swan. I want to hear you scream my name when you orgasm."
Lips parted, she stared at him, her sorrel-colored eyes filled with pure lust. Not waiting for her to comply, he sank to his knees and gently pried her legs apart. "Here, put one foot on my shoulder," he directed, buckling her knee and lifting her leg up. Wasting no time at all, his tongue targeted her clit, and he began a rhythmic pattern of licking and humming. He pulled her down onto his mouth, grasping and holding her in place by wrapping his hand and long fingers around her thigh.
Edward surmised that while the hard floor of the shower was slightly uncomfortable, he could happily spend hours with his face buried between her thighs. Whether it was due to the sounds she made, the taste, the smell, the erotic visuals, he wasn't sure. Regardless, were it not for the throbbing of his cock, he could stay there for hours. As it were, he knew his time was limited. His erection would require reprieve soon. But he wanted her to come first. He wanted to look up and see her face scrunch and hear his name pouring out of her mouth.
He increased his pace, lapping roughly against her clit, knowing she craved the friction. His fingers' motion increased, swiftly pumping, feeling her muscles ripple and tense around them. With a loud smack, her palms splayed against the marble walls.
"Edward!" she moaned, her voice carrying in the small space. "That's… oh, right there! God, don't stop. Fu-… Yes!"
Her heel dug into the top of his shoulder, and he could feel her legs beginning to quake. He pressed the flat of his tongue harder against her and slowed his hand's motion, instead, coaxing her with long, deep strokes. Ignoring the water running down his face, he relentlessly dragged his mouth across pussy. Within moments, he felt hard shudders rolling down her thighs, and he could feel the silk knot of her pussy contracting and constricting around his fingers.
"Now, now, now….now! Edward, oh, fuck me now!" she screamed, as her body shook with the force of her orgasm.
In the second that it took for him to stand, he lifted himself off his knees, catching her leg before it dropped. "Wrap your leg around my waist, baby. I can go deeper like this and I won't be pressing against the baby," he whispered before latching his lips to hers. He knew his mouth tasted like her pussy and he knew that that turned her on more than almost anything – tasting herself on him. He'd gathered that early on when she would do down on him after sex. Or, during sex! he added.
Without pause, he sheathed himself inside of her. Muscles still pulsing, he groaned at the sensation of her heat and tightness. "Damnit, Bella," Edward stuttered. "Like fucking heaven." With her leg hitched high on his hip, he pushed himself deeper, his eyes rolling back from the feel of tensing walls wrapping around his cock.
"Christ, Edward, more," she panted as she ran her hands along his rolling abdominal muscles. He was vaguely surprised at just how easy it was fucking Bella in this position. Really, it wasn't difficult at all. In fact, it was fucking fantastic.
Though, he mused, the one disadvantage of shower sex is that it's hot. As in, the air was steaming, and it was slightly difficult to breathe. But seeing as how he hadn't gotten off in over three days, he likely wouldn't last long enough to worry about heat stroke.
Setting a moderately paced rhythm, he thrust into her, undulating his hips with each upstroke. In this position, he could feel the head of his cock hitting her back wall. Each time he connected, Bella's body would twitch and she would cry out his name or some random curse. This was exactly what he'd meant when he told her that he liked the sounds she made in the shower. The wet thwack of her back against stone and the clapping of their skin, coupled with her voice reverberating against the walls and shower door, were like porn being piped into the room in high-definition stereo. Water and steam be damned, her moans were porn.
"God, Bella… fucking hell… I don't want… want to come… yet. Just a little… more," he grunted, sputtering from the water running down his face. Wanting to draw his release out, he slowed his tempo. In a way, it was like self-induced torture. All his cock wanted to do was to spill inside of her as quickly as possible. But the rest of him wanted more time, more friction, and more heat. It was too good to stop.
Bella's eyes snapped shut and her brow creased in concentration. "Ah, oh, yes, fuck, Edward! I can feel you… shit… it's so… love… the way you… feel…like…Oh my God!"
Her nails skimmed across his overheated and steaming skin. She repeatedly flicked his nipples, eliciting a wild bucking of his hips, enough to lift her off her balanced foot. Some loud, strangled sound came off his lips as that familiar prickling heat built in his abdomen. From there, his mind shut down and his cock took over, driving itself in and out of her pussy with a determined, hard rhythm. With each downstroke, he could feel the head pop.
Bella's cries became louder and more frantic, almost incoherent, and once more, he felt her body shake with uncontrollable tremors. "That's it, Bella," he huffed, sucking in steamed air as fast as his lungs would take it. His hips slammed into hers, driving into her without slowing, and her pussy, still tight from her first orgasm, cinched around his cock, tightening with every thrust. "Oh, goddamnit, can't fucking stand it!"
Thankfully, as the orgasm deities would have it, Bella fell completely apart before the final words were out of his mouth. Just as he'd begged to see, her face contorted, her lips falling into a surprised, silent shriek. She went almost limp in his arms from the strength of her climax. In short order, after but two deep, hard strokes, Edward followed suit, crying her name as he released three days' worth of pent-up sexual energy.
Careful not to crush her stomach, he leaned forward, resting his forehead on hers. In his ears, he could hear the sound of his heart pounding like he'd just run sprints.
"I told you," he panted. "I fucking worship you. And, well, you know, and now, um, the baby, too."
Bella's hand came up and she ran the back of her fingers down his jaw to his chin. Her eyes were liquid and she smiled a smile that sent his heart racing.
"Erm, and I've been thinking. We really need to name it. Or, ah, her. The baby, I mean. I'm not comfortable with an unnamed entity growing inside of you. It's very disconcerting."
Bella laughed, her body shaking against him. "Okay, then, Dr. Cullen, what would you have us name this unnamed entity? What would you like to call her?"
His nose wrinkled, a face of indecision. Edward hadn't expected her to turn the tables on him. Here of all places! He had merely meant to say that they needed to cull through the list he'd put together to begin narrowing down suitable names. One could not decide the name of a child on whim. Not at all!
Apparently, he wore indecision well because she only laughed again. "How about after one of our parents? We could name her Renee? Or Esme? Or, oh, I know! We could combine them. You know like Renesmee. Just think how unique she'd be at school," she pressed with a wink, the amusement in her voice ringing like bells.
Edward froze, mouth agape. His eyebrows lifted, revealing utter and complete bewilderment. Surely, you jest! he nearly yelled.
Renesmee?
What. The. Fuck. That sounds like a disease! My child would never have such a preposterous name. Who would do that to a child?
Perhaps Elizabeth. Or Kathryn. Yes, much better. Those are classic, timeless names. Not some bastardization of the names of, not only one, but two lunatics! Only a witless, overly romantic teenager could come up with such folly.
"Edward? So what do you think?" she giggled.
Glaring, he growled, "I should think not! Don't be ridiculous!"
[12] Sava Savanović is rather famous vampire in Serbian folklore. He had a thing for killing millers who visited his mill. There is some debate as to whether Sava or Petar Blagojević, another character in folklore, was the first Serbian vampire.
[13] Erythropoietic protoporphyria is very real disorder. I debated on going into more detail just because I think it's fascinating, but changed my mind after about three seconds. If you are interested, wiki that shit. I pulled the general info from there anyway so that it would be accessible to most.