Baby Cullen, aka Baby Sparkle Vamp

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.

Thwack!

"Oh, God," Bella panted. Her position faltered. Eyes closed, her head lolled back, lazily rolling from side to side. In the soft glow of the lamplight, Edward could see bright, gleaming beads of sweat along her brow.

"No, not yet. I didn't tell you that you were allowed to move," Edward snapped. "Palms to the wall, back bent, ass up, and legs spread. Now, Isabella, otherwise I may not permit you to come."

Of course, Bella complied immediately, straightening her shoulders and angling her torso, and like always, the sight made his dick throb, impatient and vexed that it was not currently allowed to participate in the lascivious debauchery at hand. A sudden image of pushing her against wall and taking her from behind assaulted him, and it was all he could do to stay put.

Really, the only thing that enabled any semblance of restraint was the knowledge that that time and situation would pursue soon enough. After I make her come, Edward amended, resolute and highly anticipatory in his quest. It had been far too long since they'd last been able to do this, and he was already counting the number of times he wanted to hear her scream. It was perfectly obvious that his earlier verbal threat with regards to withholding her orgasm held about as much strength as a wet noodle. Bella always came when they played like this. Hard and repeatedly. Making her orgasm was his life's goal after all, so much so that his own sexual gratification came secondary.

Returning his attention to his naked wife! – well, not entirely naked as he'd not allowed her to remove her new scandalously high heels yet – he appraised her figure. It was utterly impossible to not dwell on how in her current position, her ass jutted out in a wickedly sinful 'come hither' pose – a temptation of the highest order. But then, Edward had long since decided that Bella's ass was something that could have only been created by a porn god. It was perfect, round and supple, and pale as virgin cream.

Except when he smacked it, that is. Then, it was a luscious bright pink. Unlike the nausea-inducing travesty of Dr. Brandon's baby shower décor, he liked this particular shade of pink. Very much.

Thwack!

The sound of thin, flat leather against her skin was inordinately arousing, as were the faint rosy splotches where said leather had made contact. Barely giving her a moment to breathe and absorb the blow, he popped her a third time, leaving a matching temporary mark on the swell of her left cheek.

When she moaned in appreciation, Edward licked his lips and ran his fingers across her heated skin, gently massaging away the bite of the crop. "You are quite the naughty girl, Isabella. I'm beginning to think that you purposefully try to provoke me."

Slowly, Edward slid the leather tip between her legs and dragged it up and down the insides of her thighs, inching further upward with each pass but never touching her already wet pussy.

"Do you know what it does to me when you wear that particular skirt to work?" This was a favorite game of theirs – one they played rather often.

"Yes," she panted.

Because really, all games aside, the skirt she wore today was his Achilles heel. She assuredly knew this as he'd grunted out his love for it just the other day when she was sucking him off. It was so tight and so incredibly well-cut, outlining exactly what he knew was underneath – what he knew he wanted to fuck. And then beyond the stretch of the fabric, there was the overly distracting slit that ran too far up the left thigh – it was like some pointed arrow directing traffic straight to her pussy. Granted, that little slit was at least helpful when he chose to slide his hand between her thighs. Regardless, every time Bella wore the damnable thing, if they were in the same room, Edward sported a hard-on that rivaled the rigidity of a Grecian marble sculpture. Obviously, a pornographic and well-endowed one.

"You wore it just to torture me?"

"Fuck," she groaned as he pressed the leather end against her clit.

"Answer me," he ordered, lightly tapping along her slit, front to back.

"Yes, God, yes!" she garbled, clenching her fists when he returned his crop to her most sensitive of spots.

At first, Edward had been hesitant to purchase a riding crop – not to mention a whole host of other accessories – thinking it was a bit too far into a realm in which they'd only really dabbled. Readily, he acknowledged, that he and Bella were no dominant-submissive pairing. But admittedly, certain aspects of light play and role-playing had their place in their sexual repertoire. A very loud and very happy place actually. From the get-go, their couplings had been… enthusiastic… and acrobatic. And there was biting. Especially biting. Always the biting. So, it was only natural and reasonable that they'd choose this particular scene as a celebratory commencement of their return to the world of fucking.

"That's not very nice, teasing me so. You knew that I'd be forced to think about you all day long. I couldn't concentrate at all. I kept envisioning pulling it up around your waist so I could finger you."

"Please…" she whined.

"Not yet," he returned, popping her ass again. "You're going to have to wait. It's my turn to tease."

For the next several minutes, Edward alternated between hard, smacking swats to her ass cheeks and soft, glancing blows to her thighs and occasionally to her clitoris, which invariably elicited a barrage of 'fucks' and inarticulate moans and grunts. But he knew precisely what he was doing. He'd spent more than a sufficient amount of time researching the ins and outs of such paraphernalia. He knew where to land the blows, the proper force with which to employ, and more than that, he could read Bella's body like a fucking road map. A skillful investigator in all things, Edward knew, without even asking, what his wife wanted and how she wanted it. And right now, judging by the shift of her hips into the crop, she wanted a little sting with her pleasure this evening.

So be it! he giggled inwardly. What she wants, she shall have!

Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!

"Fuck me, oh God, fuck me!"

"Are you sure that's what you want, Isabella?"

Her back arched into a salacious deep 'S', pushing her ass up and out as if in polite invitation. Teasing, he ran the leather edge along its curve, dipping between her cheeks.

"Yeeeesss!"

Smirking like a mischievous schoolboy, Edward laid the tool on the table behind him and moved from behind her to her side. Barely making contact, his fingers walked up her spine, base to shoulder, and then darted around to her front where her tits were waiting at soldier-worthy attention. Marveling at their fullness, he spent more than a requisite amount of time kneading and squeezing. As her breathing turned shallow, anticipating her want, he raked the flat of his palm across her nipple, pebbled and pert, before pulling it between his fingers to twist – carefully, knowing that too much pressure would cause them to… well, leak.

"Does that feel good, Bella?" he purred, leaning in to whisper into her neck. Slowly, he licked along the shell of her ear as he continued groping and lightly pinching her nipples.

Before Bella could blink, Edward spun her around and pushed her back against the wall. Greedily, her hands stole to his neck, wrapping tightly around and pulling him closer. Her hips shot out, seeking the friction of his jeans.

"Ah-ah," he chastised, grabbing her wrists in one hand and angling away. He roughly pulled her arms up over her head, stretching her torso, as he nipped at the skin below her ear. His other hand ran down her abdomen to the apex of her thighs, where deftly, he slid between her lips and pumped two fingers inside. She was… remarkably wet and far tighter than he assumed she'd be. How that had been managed was beyond him, but he certainly would never complain, and now, more than ever, he wanted to fuck her until neither of them could see. Instead, a model of restraint, Edward bit down a little harder and murmured, "No touching for you. I get to do whatever I want to you. If you can't handle that, then I won't fuck you."

As his withdrew his fingers, only to push them inside once more, Bella's eyes glazed over, drunk on lust, and a low, throaty moan met his ears. She was startlingly incoherent, so much so that Edward couldn't decide if she was assenting his demand or not. Being a gentleman, even in their current less than gentlemanly situation, he pressed, "Can you? Do you want me to fuck you tonight? Or should I stop? We can wait if you'd like."

Her lids opened instantaneously, and vibrant, fiery russet, flecked with autumn gold looked back him. "Don't stop," she begged. "Please, Edward… too long… it's been too long. Please…"

The longing in her voice was surely the most potent aphrodisiac known to man, and it shot directly down through his abdomen, bypassing all else, and straightened his cock to the point where he feared the seam of his pants would require repair. Smartly allowing her time to appropriately heal and mend, it had been well over a month since they'd fucked, and despite an abundance of non-penetrating orgasm-inducing activities, Edward had missed their frequent couplings more than he could possibly hope to express verbally. In all actuality, the need she communicated was nothing more than a mirror of his own painful want.

Despite what some said, it had taken him all of one week sans intercourse to decide that unresolved sexual tension was over-rated and overly romanticized, especially when compared to the sheer unadulterated bliss of actual fucking. That shit was for teenagers.

Edward wanted to fuck.

"Tell me again," he begged, raking his teeth along the top of her shoulder. His tongue licked along the slightly protruding edges of his mark – possibly his favorite spot of skin on her entire body. "Say it. Tell me how much you want me."

"I always… want you… Edward," she gasped to the rhythm of his fingers stroking her pussy. "I need you… to fuck… me… Now…" When his teeth clamped down harder, just on the verge of breaking skin, she whimpered a desperate, "Pleeeease!"

Saying no more and eager himself, he pulled his fingers out and spun her to again face the wall before she had the chance to protest. Like lightning, he grabbed his shirt by the hem and whipped it over his head. Likewise, in one swift motion, his zipper was down and his cock sprang free.

"God, this will have to be quick, Bella. I won't last. I've missed being inside of you too much," he groaned, running the ridged head of his cock along the silken skin – albeit still pink silken skin – of her ass. "We'll go again. And again and again."

Quickly, he adjusted her legs, spreading them just so, and guided the tip to position. Slowly – agonizingly slowly – he pushed inside, politely allowing what he hoped to be sufficient time for her to reacclimatize to his girth. Luckily, Bella was more than accepting – he knew that their fingerplay, and grudgingly, the interactions with her plastic wonder-machine, Mr. Sparklepeen, had been a smart choice! – and leaned back into him far faster and with more force than he'd initially intended.

"Fuck," he hissed, inundated with almost mind-bending heat and wet. Tightening immediately, his balls ached to release into her already-pulsing and constricting muscles.

"Okay?" he managed, gradually sliding out.

"More," Bella demanded, her voice already climbing. "More than okay, Edward. God, just… fuck me."

"Yes, ma'am," he grunted, driving into her again. "Keep your hands on the wall. Push back against me."

"Oh…oh, God," she moaned, bucking her hips to meet his.

One hand on her hip and the other splayed across her back, he set a pounding pace, one he knew wouldn't last, but nonetheless drove her to the brink. With every hard upstroke, she rolled up on her toes from the force, inching forward until he had her pinned flat against the cool plaster of this wall. Her pussy clenched and quivered, flexing in the familiar warning that he knew meant that her orgasm was close.

"Edward!" she screamed as he slammed into her. Sweat-slickened skin made every stroke pop and smack. Mesmerized by the sight of her coming undone beneath him, he bent his head down and licked a wet line up her back until he met her shoulder.

"This, too?" he questioned wildly, begging for the sublime.

"Yes, yes… hard… taste me. Mark me again…" she wailed.

Goddamnit, okay! he cried mutely, his mouth stunned into silence, unable to keep up with the velocity of his mind. Love you, love you, oh God, I love you!

"Edward!"

His motions sped, spurred on by the all-consuming, overwhelming need to possess what was his and the insatiable desire to taste the perfection that he'd forgone for months. This was something that touched the basest of needs, something that made him worship her in every sense of the word.

"Edward!" she yelled, loud and short.

Just as Bella was screaming his name again, signaling her body's explosive crest, he obediently bit down, at once breaking through skin, aiming to mark her exactly as she'd commanded. Her body violently shook and tensed as waves of bliss rocked down her frame. The moment his tongue swirled along her flesh, tasting copper and salt, his own body reacted.

"Edward! Fucking get up! It's time to go! Get up!"

Wait, what? he fumbled, halting all motion, frustrated that he'd pulled up just short of release.

"Hospital! Now!"

His eyes shot open and in what felt like some altered state of time and space, he realized he was not fucking Bella against the wall in their bedroom at all. Rather, he was under the covers and she was standing over him by the bed. And still very, very pregnant.

"It's time to go!"

His thoughts somersaulted. Time to go. Time to go. Time to go. Hospital!

"Baby!" Edward wheezed, at once wide awake, leaping out of bed, and launching into full-blown panic.

~O.o~

"This is the most ridiculous thing I've ever seen," Edward ranted, glaring at the emergency room nurse. "How can you run a business like this! This is not the Dark Ages! Have you people never heard of computers? There is no need for me to fill out all of this nonsense fourteen times like this! Do you people have no sense of efficiency! My wife is going into labor! LABOR! She is in PAIN! And you are having me stand here and fill out mindless garbage that… Nungh!"

"Mr. Cullen," the nurse warned, pursing her glittery pink lips. "Calm down. You are turning red. Your wife will be fine. Would you like to sit down and take a minute?"

Apparently, this nurse was used to men like Edward, as her reaction seemed very practiced – patronizing even. It was maddening.

"I understand how you might not be familiar with hospital procedures and all."

"I'm a doctor!" he yelled, his voice very high and very strained. "I know all about these things! And I'm telling you that this is insane! She. Should. Be. In. Her. Room!"

Exasperated and frustrated, he tugged mercilessly at the absolute bird's nest of hair – sex hair, as per Bella – he knew that he was sporting. It wasn't as though he had had the time or inclination to worry himself with petty grooming anyway. At one o'clock in the morning, he was lucky to be wearing shoes, considering the speed at which he rushed her out of the door.

Taking a deep breath, Edward shoved his lenses up the bridge of his nose while willing himself to remain civil.

"Well, okay, erm… actually… I'm not a practicing doctor per se," he amended, abruptly decelerating his tirade, uncomfortable with his own volume. Yelling was very unnatural for him behavior-wise, and quite frankly, it was a testimony to his off-the-charts level of anxiety. He tapped his lower lip thoughtfully, trying to divine an argument that might appeal to a woman who bedecked herself in scrubs laden with what appeared to be small, colorful bears with strange pictures of rainbows and sunshines on their rounded stomachs. Very bizarre, indeed!

Perhaps, she simply doesn't understand that I most certainly do know, he considered.

"But, yes, um, I do have a medical degree… as well as an academic degree. But I assure you that I do understand these matters very well. I did a rotation at Johns Hopkins – where I attended graduate and medical school, of course – which I assure you, is a fine hospital. More than fine actually. It's one of the top-rated teaching hospitals in the country. Admittedly, I chose the school more for my academic advisor, as he is a world exp-, never mind, you likely do not know him.

"Erm, but I did work in the hospital for a time! Granted, I worked in hematology, not in an emergency room… or in obstetrics. Because well, that – blood and blood organ diseases and disorders – is my specialty, you see. Yes, well, anyway…"

He glanced up, scrunching his nose as he acknowledged his nervous rambling. Palming his jaw, he politely asked, "As I was saying, erm, may we go in now?"

Edward surreptitiously eyed the room behind him, cringing when he heard a disgusting, gurgling cough far too close in proximity to his now-grimacing wife. "You see, my wife is very uncomfortable, as her contractions are coming much too frequently for her to stay out here any longer. She needs to lie down and relax. She's having a baby! Our baby! And well, she needs to be in her own room for… er, my-, my own mental well-being. I, ah, well, I simply cannot tolerate her being here… amongst all of these people. The level of contagions in this room is staggering. Let me assure you. I know such things." He waggled his eyebrows and nodded convincingly.

Apparently, this nurse was not so used to men like Edward after all.

Her mouth fell agape, and her pen hovered above her paper mid-stroke. For a moment, Edward wondered if she was breathing as she'd yet to even blink her… blue! eyelashes. What is with people not breathing! he lamented, ignoring her odd choice in makeup and recalling the multitude of women who'd exhibited the same startling behavior over the last few months. He was curious if this was some new reaction, or if he'd just been walking around purely oblivious before Bella had waltzed into his life.

Or more likely, he reckoned, it was merely basic statistical probability at work. It wasn't as if he'd gone out in public before Bella, so it was highly likely that he'd just missed these behaviors. Indeed, now that he participated – albeit still reluctantly – in the mundane happenings of the social circles of normal people, he plainly had a larger observation pool. And as Edward was clearly not normal with regard to social interaction, he stood out. Thus, their reactions were to be expected.

And he was fine with this, having long since resigned himself as a social outlier. A little gaping could be tolerated. That is, as long as Bella doesn't have to spend any more time than absolutely necessary in this bacteria and virus-laden waiting room! he grumbled.

"Right, Dr. Cullen. Tell you what… how about… No… you just bring your wife right on back, okay? You can fill out the rest… in her room. Will that work? I see her doctor is…"

"Dr. Eleazar Benitez," he finished, relieved that this woman finally seemed to understand the urgency.

"Right. He's not on shift. We'll need to-"

"Already done, um, he's on his way. I, well, called. In the car on the drive here... obviously. He, erm, assured me that was fine. You see, we speak often. I have… many questions. He's really a very good doctor, by the way."

"Of course, you did," she chuckled. "Well, come on. Let's take Mrs. Cullen on back."

~O.o~

"What can I do?" he moaned, mostly to himself, distraught and unsettled by Bella's soft whimpers of pain.

"Fine, Edward… I'm fine," she soothed, just as her face contorted, signaling yet another contraction. "Fuck!"

Immediately, he jumped up from the chair next to the bed to assume his role as her coach – an odd title, as his sports experience was virtually null… unless fucking counted, which was certainly athletic – grasping her hand and whispering words of loving encouragement in her ear. That part was easy as everything he said was nothing but the truth.

In many ways, they were quite fortuitous in terms of timing. As far as labor duration went, at least according to the literature he'd read, as well as per Eleazar's assurances, Bella's was coming along fairly quickly. Over the past few months, in the quiet of his office – unwilling to worry her – he'd read horror stories of days-plus affairs, trying to prepare himself in the case of a slow labor. In fact, he had an arguably huge stack of papers and articles concerning childbirth that'd he'd all but memorized. Some of these women, he'd decided, were truly remarkable with regards to endurance and pain tolerance. He sincerely hoped that Bella would never, ever have to undergo some of the torment these ladies had suffered. For her and for him. No doubt, if she were forced to suffer through thirty-six hours of labor, the chances of ever resuming their sex life would be slim. Thus far, thankfully, it appeared that Bella would evade such an event, as after only a few hours in the hospital, her contractions were already coming with alarmingly increasing occurrence.

As he kissed her forehead, he glanced to the clock, unable to resist mentally plotting this most recent contraction against the last. She'd forbidden him from detailed note-taking weeks ago, and he'd gladly agreed, understanding that he had a more important role to play. All the same, he had an excellent memory. Objectively, Edward noted that the frequency function of her contractions would be almost exponential in terms of curve shape… were he to plot it – which, of course, he wasn't doing. Yet. But each and every time he had to witness her eyes clench and teeth grit, it was like a knife stabbing him in the gut. He had clearly underestimated how much seeing her like this would distress him.

In effect, despite her assurances of his necessity and importance in the delivery room, Edward felt as though he had been reduced to nothing more than a panicking errand boy, trying to maintain a façade of cool calm – not that he was successful in his pretenses, as Bella could always see right through his shenanigans – refusing to stress Bella any more than she already was. So, he fetched damp washcloths, ice chips, and other assorted items to soothe. He rubbed her feet, he helped her up whenever she decided she wanted to walk around, and most importantly, he told her that he loved her constantly. But standing aside, watching her deal with all of the suffering alone, ran counter to every instinct he possessed. Really, the only thing that made him feel slightly helpful was his endless harassment of the nursing staff until they had finally arrived to give her an epidural. They hadn't believed him when he told them she was already at six centimeters.

Ahem. Not that he'd checked and measured himself – that would have likely been against hospital policy.

But either way, the epidural was a good sign. From what he'd studied, it meant that only a few hours remained, and hopefully, it also meant that some measure of her pain would be assuaged.

In the same breath, however, if only a few hours remained in the birthing procedure, it also meant that in the same amount of time, he'd soon be greeting his first-born. And he would suddenly be responsible for another person. And it meant that he would be a father… to a living, breathing, not to mention fluid expelling infant. Edward's eyes snapped shut and his stomach gurgled and rolled, realizing just how close that moment was. His breathing turned shallow and he panted out in audible, tight, high-pitched puffs of air. Abstractedly, he noted that it was at least appropriate that he suffer physically.

"Go throw up, Edward. You're green," Bella urged from her prone position on the hospital bed.

Fuck.

"I'm fine," he gasped, swallowing hard, as he reached over to massage her neck. "Would you like some water, baby?"

~O.o~

"Okay, Mrs. Cullen, go ahead and push now," Dr. Benitez gently encouraged.

Edward did not understand how this man could remain so calm when the room was seemingly in utter chaos. Because truly, Edward felt like he was at his wit's end, on the verge of hyperventilating and passing out. Really, the only thing that kept him in the present at all was his firm resolve to be everything Bella needed him to be. He could vomit later.

"You're doing so well, Bella. I love you," he chanted quietly while carefully supporting her back. He vowed to keep his panic in check and was actually pleased with the smooth delivery of his lines.

"It hurts, Edward!" she cried, and he suddenly despised the hospital and all its staff for not preventing her tears.

"I know, I know. Soon, baby, soon. You're so fucking perfect. So beautiful. That's it. Push just a little more."

"Motherfucking…son of a… Goddamn you, Edward fucking Cullen!"

"That's right, grip my hand. Squeeze. Push, Bella," he urged, understanding that her curses were merely a bi-product of pain. Pain, which, to be frank, his cock had some culpability in causing. Cursing him was more than fair.

But Bella was no longer in simple pain. No, she was actually wailing and cursing like a crusty longshoreman with each contraction, and she'd even smacked him on the arm. Twice! Granted, both times, he'd been in the way, the first, trying to fluff her pillow between contractions to make her more comfortable, and then second when he was trying to rearrange her very damp ponytail so that it would stop getting caught in her mouth.

And this epidural was exceedingly disappointing. Although, he was extremely grateful that they'd opted for it. He wasn't sure he would have been able to tolerate natural childbirth. His balls were clearly not large enough for that.

Natural childbirth was for masochists. Ones far more self-punishing than he.

As it was, epidural and all, the whole situation was dizzying. It felt like he was riding on some cotton candy-colored menagerie carousel that had been kicked into high gear and was spinning around to the tune of some trance-y electric organ. Except that in this scenario, the electric organ had been replaced with the nauseating crooning of Michael Bolton through some inter-hospital radio station – who plays Michael Bolton at a hospital! – and the pastel jumper horses had names like Diane and Kathy. Instead of gilded saddles, they wore more of those busy-patterned outfits filled with cartoon-like depictions. And in some puzzling effort to coordinate, the nurses all seemed to have an affinity for plastic footwear with holes. He did not understand this fashion at all. But the hair, at least, was the same, long and fluffy… like a horse. Or maybe not. As Bella leaned back into him during a brief lull, Edward pondered if he was hallucinating, which was more than a little disturbing, as he hadn't the time or mental wherewithal with which to evaluate. But still, the speeding carousel analogy was apropos, as once again, he was struggling not to vomit.

Fuckity fuckity fuck! No throwing up! Goddamnit! We discussed this! he shouted silently, berating his traitorous gastrointestinal tract.

Between the furtive movements of the nursing staff, the screaming, and now, the sights – while being trained in the field, neither his coursework nor his brief residency had prepared him for this – true lucidity was iffy at best. Internally, he was at war with himself, on one hand ecstatic to the point of hurting that the moment – the most important of his entire life – had arrived, and on the other, overwhelmed and terrified all the same.

How people managed this on a regular basis – meaning that couple he'd seen on television with nineteen! children [16] – was beyond his realm of apprehension. This was a sure way to an early death. People were not equipped to handle this magnitude of stress.

Before he could continue his mental ramblings, Bella gripped him by the forearm, squeezing with a force that he thought could snap a lead pipe.

"That's it, sweetheart. God, Bella, I love you so fucking much. Almost there," he grated, waiting for her contraction to pass before moving his arm away from her death grip. His voice was still surprisingly calm and collected. "After this is over, I'm going to take such good care of you. One day soon, we're going on our honeymoon. Anywhere you want. Anything."

"Fiji!" she growled. "Fucking Fiji, Edward."

Edward's head popped up, not realizing she was actually paying attention.

He grinned as an image of her clad in nothing but a thin slip of a bikini and lying out on a white sand beach flitted through his mind. "Anywhere you want, Bella and it's yours. Now, you just have to push, okay?"

Being the good husband he was, Edward dutifully stood by her side, doing precisely what he was supposed to do. He suppressed the flinches when Bella's nails dug too sharply into his hand, he gently urged the rhythm of her breathing exactly as they'd practiced in their class – based on his intense study and knowledge, Edward suspected that he could, in fact, successfully supervise such courses– and when it appeared safe, he blotted her forehead with an iced down cloth. As for his own neuroses, he forcibly shelved each and every innate reaction he had to the less than… attractive aspects of childbirth, including those in reference to some surprising bodily functions – surprising, regardless of his training. Childbirth was very, very messy. Later! he chastised. I'll think about that later!

Edward wasn't sure exactly how much time had passed, lost as he was in his tasks and concentration. But at ten thirty-two, he heard Eleazar direct Bella, saying, "One more push, Mrs. Cullen. Just one more! Push hard!"

Subsequently, Bella tensed, yelled out a garbled rant of curses once more, and then the room was filled with the most godawful screeching sound Edward had ever heard. It sounded like a pulsing, shrieking banshee, its frequency high and resonating. It actually made his toes curl.

And like that, with his ears ringing, his entire being flooded with uncontrollable, spreading warmth, and it felt like his chest was on the verge of splitting apart as he recognized the source of that sound.

"Dr. Cullen? Would you like to cut the umbilical cord?" Eleazar asked, smiling like the cat that ate the canary.

"Ah, um… what?" he rasped, dumbfounded and unable to take his eyes away from the tiny form with matted bronze hair and slimy, bright red skin.

Eleazar laughed and motioned him forward, "Come on, Dad. Say hello to your baby girl."

Dad, he thought, marveling and starry-eyed, his feet already numbly moving of their own volition toward the ear-splitting cries. Me. Our baby.

Two minutes later, the cord was cut, and breaking him from what felt like the best drunken stupor he'd ever experienced, one of the nurses – Kathy, Diane, or whoever, he wasn't entirely sure – grinned and held out a small pink bundle.

"Here, why don't you take her to see Mrs. Cullen," Kathy-Diane cooed.

His heart dropped to his stomach as the enormity of this moment dawned. Everything fell away except for the creature swathed in pink cotton being presented to him. Tentatively, unable to contain the ear-to-ear grin that threatened to break his face, he took his daughter, which even in her puffy, red newborn state, he could see was a perfect blend of Bella and him, into his arms and stared down. For that brief moment, Edward was completely stunned and consumed. The instant his arms surrounded her, the cries stopped, and all of his fears of being inadequate and incapable of fatherhood vanished. There was nothing but joy.

"So tiny," he mumbled, quivering with elation and love as he gently placed his smallest finger inside her curled fist. Carefully, fearful of jostling her, he walked over to the bed. "Bella? Bella, baby, here. Hold her. Hold our daughter."

The sight of Bella – sweat-soaked and exhausted, but still breathtakingly beautiful – holding his child nearly took him to his knees. His entire life, never could he have dreamed of this day. He felt full, jubilant, and whole. Heaven was here.

"What did you decide, Edward?" Bella whispered, looking up, her eyes liquid and mirroring his wonder.

"Elizabeth, of course, just like we discussed," he murmured, pressing his lips to Bella's and then to his daughter's forehead. "Elizabeth Anne Cullen."

[15] Haha. Obviously, this is in playful reference to her. You know… Renesmee… I'm not going to bother citing. I think it's pretty freaking obvious. If not, um, how did you find Twilight Saga fan fiction, lol.

[16] That would be the Duggars, stars of TV specials, and at one point they had their own show. They have… many children. Last time I looked, it was 19. It could be 20 by now. I don't know.