FFTx Outtake: Vampires Wear Spurs?
Aka Vampires Wear Spurs?
Aka Did She Seriously Buy Me Chaps?
Aka I'm a Very, Very Lucky Man
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.
A/N: this was a futuretake for Fandom For Texas after the devastating wildfires in 2011. Chronologically, this one takes place between the official ending and the FFT: Like Father, Like Daughter futuretake.
Thoroughly bewildered, Edward stared at the items strewn across the bed.
Nervously, in more than moderate discomfort, he palmed the back of his neck as he attempted to catalogue and resolve what appeared to be… an "outfit", the purpose for which, despite his mental aptitude and ample imagination, was completely beyond him. While he and Bella certainly and eagerly participated in their fair share of role play and she unquestionably enjoyed playing dress-up for him, this was… different.
Laid out in the very center of the comforter, there was an article of clothing that vaguely resembled… a vest. Only this vest wasn't like any vest Edward owned or really had ever seen (in person at least). It was dark brown suede. And it had been… bedazzled with bizarre, far too flashy, silvery-black buttons up the front. Eying the hemline and trim, he also noted that the thing sported… fringe.
Edward shuddered.
Equally disconcerting, however, positioned beside this fringed oddity was a pair of faded blue jeans, which appeared to be disturbingly tightly cut, especially in the crotch. Leaning over, careful not to touch the offending items, Edward saw that the tag read, Wranglers.
More like, Stranglers, he mused, wincing and wondering what man would purposefully constrict blood flow in such a manner. Blood flow was very, very important after all. He should know; his PhD said as much!
Not to be outdone by the vest, these so-called jeans had been coupled with a thick leather belt adorned with a preposterous-looking buckle. By Edward's estimation, it was entirely too large, very shiny, and when he observed more closely, he made out what he believed to be some variety of angry bovine creature carved into the silver of it.
If that were not enough, paired with the horrid jeans and belt were chaps. Yes, chaps. Those strange apron-like pant covers that oddly framed one's… package. Ones also that considering their color and cut, had apparently been designed to match the vest.
There were other items there, too: sharp, silver circular attachments for shoes, a coil of blonde rope (the only thing that made any sense whatsoever in their bedroom, by the way), some sort of play (he hoped) pistol, an absurdly large hat, and boots. Indeed. Standing on the floor, there was a pair of overly pointy, terribly uncomfortable looking boots that had been fashioned from what Edward swore was some species of dead reptile.
Judging by the strange clothing and even stranger matching paraphernalia, from everything Edward could surmise, a Western Wear store had somehow regurgitated in their bedroom.
More distressing was the fact that all of these scary, shiny items had, of course, been sized for him.
Fuck.
His wife had clearly decided to dress him as a member of The Village People. Or as Dr. Jasper Whitlock's doppelganger. From Edward's perspective, both were decidedly unpleasant options.
"Bella!"
Still staring at the bed and its occupants, feet glued to the floor, Edward only vaguely noted the encroaching tenor of hysteria in his thoughts and voice.
"Bella!" he yelled again.
No more than a second later, a deceptively innocent voice from the left stopped him from calling again.
"Dr. Cullen? Everything all right?"
Edward didn't need to see her face to acknowledge the undisguised amusement. When he turned, he found his wife wearing not only her usual work attire, which invariably made his abdomen tighten, but a red-lipped smirk, obviously aimed at his befuddled state.
"Um, yes. Wha–" Edward stammered, agitated, haphazardly waving a hand at the bed.
"What's this?" she finished, arching a single brow. Before he could manage a retort, she swished her way across the room, her heels clicking against the wood floor. It didn't escape Edward's notice that the sway of her hips was decidedly pronounced, highlighted by the tight hug of her skirt.
Instantly distracted from burgeoning panic, Edward decided for the hundredth time that his wife's hips were fucking mesmerizing and like always, his analytical eye couldn't help but appraise. Really, they were perfect, lush and curvy, sized precisely for his palms in some kind of gift from the gods. Immediately, as if called forth by the clack of her heels, his favorite image the world over crept across his vision – said perfect hips naked and needy and swiveling in his grip while he pumped his cock into her from behind. As far as Edward was concerned, no porn on the planet could touch that view in its eroticism.
"Ah, yes," he coughed, licking his lips, wanting very much to forget the absurd clothing on the bed and concentrate on getting her onto it instead. Or bent over it. Or on the floor. Or against the wall. Really, anywhere would be fine.
The fact that he could see the outline of her nipples through her silk blouse wasn't helping either.
Seeing his obviously carnal reaction, her smirk grew more pronounced. "It's your Halloween costume, Dr. Cullen."
Edward's eyes widened. "Wha– what?"
"You remember? The party."
Naturally, Edward remembered. It was perplexing that she would ask such a question because Bella knew as well as he did that there was very, very little he didn't remember. It was simply the way his mind worked. Never mind that he didn't particularly want to remember this detail. Parties were certainly not his forte as such events inevitably involved socializing, an activity in which he was loathed to participate.
Anxiously, trying to suppress the involuntary grimace, he pushed his forever sliding lenses back up the bridge of his nose.
"Erm, yes. Well, about that…"
Bella chuckled at his failure to hide his distaste. "Come on. We already said we'd go. It'll be fun."
"But–" he started, wanting to point out that, first of all, his agreement had been obtained under duress – namely, her lips around his cock, which, as an aside, was a very unfair tactic to employ – and secondly, that he was confident that they could find other, far more entertaining ways to occupy their evening sans toddler. It wasn't often that they had a night to themselves after all.
"Please?" Her lips plumped into a play pout, knowing full well that he would relent. "Please, Edward," she asked again, sliding her fingers down his chest, tugging a little on his tie, to the waistband of his trousers.
Edward swallowed and dropped his hands to her waist, automatically backing them both toward the bed. His wife's pleading was always his undoing, turning his mind to mush. In every situation. Unfair, indeed!
"Um, but…" he mumbled. When her ass hit the mattress, disturbing the outfit, that wretched buckle clanged loudly. He glanced down, crinkling his nose. "What am… what's my costume?"
She grinned and flicked open the buttons of his oxford before pulling him down on top of her. "A cowboy. I like the idea of you in chaps."
"Right." Well, that explained the boots. "But… what are you going to be?"
Bella's hand sneaked below his waistband, targeting his hardening cock, and she kissed his neck, open-mouthed and wetly, biting down hard enough to make him thrust into her hand. Gliding her lips up to his ear, she whispered, "A cowgirl."
"A slutty one?" he breathed, his interest piqued as he instantly recalled their very first Halloween together and the sinful supposed costume she'd bedecked herself in. Edward had never understood why Halloween somehow granted women the freedom to dress provocatively, but he was surely never going to complain about it. As far as he was concerned, every single day could be Halloween! Minus the candy. That just wasn't healthy.
"Very slutty." Her grip around his dick tightened and she began to slowly tug and twist. The friction of her hand was damned near mind-numbing.
"Skirt?" he murmured, groaning when her nails gently raked over the ridge of his head.
As if magnetically drawn to his cock's always pleasing counterpart, his hand brushed up her inner thigh, sliding underneath her skirt until his fingertips found sheer, damp lace. When they dipped beneath the dainty fabric, gliding up and down her slit, Bella moaned into his neck and squeezed his shaft. "Very short."
Shit.
"Underwear?" he panted, pushing two fingers inside her pussy. "Fuck, you're wet."
Bella shook her head, and he watched her mouth go slack when he began pumping to the same rhythm of her stroking hand.
"Do I get to see it before?" Edward whispered, his mind launching into overdrive, already imagining lifting this very short cowgirl skirt up and fucking her blind.
"Did you… see the… rope I laid out?" she managed. "Christ, that feels good… I thought… that maybe…"
"Fuck." Suddenly his costume and even the worst of parties didn't seem so horrendous after all. The idea of trussing her up and fucking her any way he wanted made his balls instantly tighten, and heat flooded his lower abdomen.
"Can we… God…go?" Bella gasped, her pussy walls already quivering and constricting around his fingers. "Please?"
Edward garbled some mangled, mindless affirmative, trying to hold off his orgasm until he felt her body tremble. Abruptly needing her to come like he needed air, his thumb grazed her clit before pressing down, timed precisely to the thrust of his fingers.
"God. That's it. Come. Please come," he begged, crooking his fingertips, locating that little rough patch deep inside as he rubbed her clit again.
As if answering his summons, Bella's back arched off the bed and she moaned his name as her thighs shook, squeezing his hand until he thought it just might break. She shuddered over and over beneath the force of her orgasm, and the smile on her face made him feel like he'd just won the lottery. Again. Or really, considering the frequency of their coupling, more like the millionth time.
For a second, she lazily stared up at him, his handjob forgotten in her post-orgasm faze. Of course, despite his mental fistpumping at his no doubt exceptional ability to make his wife shake and scream his name, his cock hadn't forgotten. Fortunately, the moment it twitched, screaming for attention and release, she grinned and immediately slid down his body. Gazing up at him from between his legs in a purely salacious expression that he knew all too well, Bella cooed, "Is that a yes?"
"Not fair…" he whined.
When her lips circled his cock, however, sucking him into her mouth until he swore he felt his head hit the back of her throat, Edward's eyes rolled back and he mumbled a weak and poorly drawled, "Erm, yee-haw?"
~O.o~
The scene in front of them was not what Edward considered to be a party.
Weeks ago when Leah, Dr. Black's metal-clad and tattooed technician, had invited them all, he'd anticipated another occasion such as the event Emmett and Rosalie had hosted years ago: a few dozen people, most of whom he would at least recognize from work, copious amounts of hard, but rather expensive, liquor to lubricate socialization, and a relatively germ-free setting. And perhaps a quiet, secluded library where he could sneak away and fuck his wife into oblivion. And maybe give her a new mark. Or two. For the sake of sentimentality's sake, of course – to relive their first… tryst. Or something like that.
This was… none of that.
Well, except for the alcohol, the smell of which seemed to permeate the air to the point that he could smell little else. Considering the rather high air turnover in the room, the concentration was surprisingly high. In actuality, Edward found it rather astounding – study-worthy even. He was shocked that a single individual here was sober.
But really, never mind the ludicrously high alcohol content of the air, this was indeed not his version of a party. No, this was far, far worse, perhaps even surpassing the Ninth Circle of Hell – also known as Wal-mart. If anything, the nearly packed mass of writhing, sweaty, half-nude bodies, flashing strobe lights, and incredibly loud, thumping music appeared to be an orgy, something vaguely resembling those godforsaken raves Dr. Whitlock had dragged him to during their years in undergrad.
Tangentially, Durham, North Carolina, was a surprising hotbed of late-night activity.
And of course, per his norm, the moment they'd stepped through the door and witnessed the setting, all of the unabashed (and very mutual) eyefucking that had commenced the moment Bella had traipsed down the stairs in her so-call cowgirl regalia ceased, and his stomach plunged in a rapid nosedive.
I'm too old for this, Edward groaned silently, nervously fingering the spool of rope tacked to his hideous belt. Never mind that from what little he could observe in very dark room, most of the said writhing, sweaty, half-nude bodies were within their age-range.
Fortunately, when he studied the stunned expression Bella wore, she seemed equally taken aback. And in his mind, that made his fidgets at least defensible. If she, a veritable social (and sexual) goddess, were wary, it was unquestionably reasonable for him to be climbing the fucking walls. Or at least to be on the verge of vomiting.
"Duuuude!" a voice bellowed, breaking through both his silent self-examination and nausea. "Get the fuck over here!"
Turning, Edward glimpsed a sight that he'd never dreamed of being grateful for seeing. Even the normally offensive "dude" was a welcome sound over the horrific so-called music that seemed to drown out all else.
Sprawled out in a semi-circular black vinyl booth, sat one Dr. Emmett McCarty. To his right, was one very scantily clad Mrs. Rosalie Hale-McCarty.
From what Edward could quickly infer, they were portraying a matching caveman pair from perhaps the Stone Age, complete with fur undergarments and a large, rather dangerous looking club.
On Ms. Hale, Edward decided, such clothing was one thing – blatantly sexual in a pull my hair and claim me sort of way – and frankly, considering her ample tits and voluptuous curves, she pulled the look off quite well. On Emmett, however, the garments were… ridiculous. The man had as much hair on his legs and chest as he had fur covering his dick and ass. In fact, in many ways, Dr. McCarty resembled a fluffy brown bear.
Despite Dr. McCarty's questionable and very disconcerting attire, Edward tugged Bella by the elbow and hastily pulled her toward the relative safety of the table. As all women seemed to do, she and Ms. Hale paired off immediately, giggling and clearly discussing… whatever women discussed. Clearly, some mysteries science would never solve.
"Can you believe this shit?" Emmett laughed. "Leah's a fucking freak. Did you see Black? Bitch has him on a leash. Made him dress up like a dog."
Bemused, Edward gazed out across what he assumed to be the dance floor, his eyes instantly landing on what was possibly the most hilarious image he had ever witnessed. There in the middle of the floor, on all fours, was his once arch-nemesis and now grudgingly tolerated acquaintance and co-worker. He had a bone in his mouth.
"See?" Emmett rumbled, slapping his hand down on the table and wagging his rug-like eyebrows. "Fucker's not even supposed to talk tonight. He just barks and humps her leg. And I thought Rosie and me were kinky."
"Ah, um… well… yes," Edward mumbled, thoroughly amused but definitely not wanting to discuss Emmett's notions of kinky.
"Nice costumes, by the way."
Edward turned, his nose scrunching.
"Okay, not yours. You look like something out of The Village People. Dude, if you break out into the YMCA, I'm punching you."
See! Edward wanted to yell. Instead, he shrugged, trying to ignore the brush of fringe when his shoulders lifted. Bella could have at least provided a shirt to go beneath the vest! he grumbled.
Emmett motioned toward the end of the booth where the two women were seated, still yammering about… things.
"But Swan's fucking hot in that get-up. Holy shit, I still can't believe you tap that."
Edward smirked.
"She has a thing for chaps, doesn't she? I bet she made you wear them." Emmett leaned in, whispering conspiratorially, "Rose does, too, by the way. She tried to buy me a pair, saying some shit about that James Bond fucker and some alien movie." Emmett's brows folded in confusion. "It's fucking weird."
Edward had no idea as to what he was referencing, so he merely shrugged again. As far as he was aware, aliens had never been included in any of Ian Fleming's novels. But then, such was expected; Dr. McCarty wasn't exactly a bastion of literary knowledge.
~O.o~
"Dr. Cullen?"
When Edward looked up from the drink menu, he was greeted by a pair of slender, very bare thighs and a smooth swath of creamy white belly skin. The dark brown suede skirt – which apparently coordinated with his chaps – slung startlingly low on her hips and did nothing but draw attention to exactly how little clothing she was wearing.
When Bella had said "very short", she had not been lying at all.
Reluctantly lifting his eyes from the wanking wonderland that was his wife's legs, Edward followed a slow path from the juncture of her thighs, across the flat of her stomach, to her very pert, not to mention nearly overflowing, tits. He wasn't sure that any cowgirl had ever worn what he could only describe as a suede brassiere, but frankly, he didn't care. Again, he was all for slutty Halloween attire. As far as he was concerned, only a eunuch or an idiot would ever discourage such things.
"Dance with me," she chuckled, grabbing him by the hand and tugging. Her eyes sparkled with mischief. "And I'll let you touch."
A quick internal war played through Edward's mind. Fortunately, dancing was something in which he excelled. After the disastrous affair of his long-ago high school prom, he'd enlisted his mother's assistance to make certain that he knew all the basics. While she was certifiably insane and should never be allowed in public, Esme Cullen's prowess on the dance floor was irrefutable and as such, he learned more than simple basics. Just like any trial in the lab, Edward deduced that dancing was merely the memorization of key steps and experimentation with the various combinations. And he was quite talented in experimentation. Or at least his advisor said so. And Bella, albeit for distinctly different reasons.
And too, from his hour of inspection and study from the safety and comparative quietude of their booth, Edward concluded that the particular style of dancing that the majority of the party-goers seemed to employ looked rather simple. From an observer's point of view, they just looked like they were fucking while dressed (some less so than others). And that, Edward thought, he could definitely do, especially now that he was finally growing accustomed to the flashing lights and dreadful music. Or at least he no longer wanted to hurl in Emmett's lap.
Of course, his typical reticence vied for dominance as well. For his study also dictated that dancing would inevitably involve some variety of… touching. Considering the sheer volume of people on the dance floor, it was a statistical certainty that someone other than Bella would touch him. Or worse, someone other than him would touch Bella. And there would be copious amounts of germ-riddled sweat. And bodily fluids, the thought of which made him involuntarily flinch. It was most unfortunate that the tightness of his jeans had not allowed him to smuggle in his trusty bottle of Purell.
Knowing precisely wherein his hesitation lay, Bella leaned down and whispered in his ear, sensually licking along the shell, "Remember when you asked about underwear?"
His eyes snapped to hers and his dick jumped against the tautness of his wretchedly tight jeans. Not surprisingly, no more than two seconds later, he was clambering out of the booth, the danger of bodily fluids unceremoniously cast aside.
"Traitor," Edward muttered, castigating his lower half for its unfailingly predictable response.
Moments later, however, after having located what had to have been the only bare spot on the entire floor, his arms locked around Bella's slim waist and he pulled her flush against him, mimicking the multitudes in their odd mating ritual. Fitting their hips together – which Edward was always more than happy to do – they began a slow, rhythmic bump and grind to the terribly loud, thumping beat blaring from the speakers.
As Edward had suspected, this so-called party dancing was very, very easy.
And very hot.
In fact, his dick hardened the moment she unashamedly circled her hips against him, not even attempting circumspection.
"I didn't know you could dance like this," she breathed in his ear, grinding against him again. "Do you like that?"
Rather than immediately answering, his grip on her waist tightened, his thumbs edging up to trace the lower swells of her tits, and he licked a line of sweat from her neck. Nipping along her skin, one hand traveled upward to graze her nipple over the suede of her top.
"What do you think, Mrs. Cullen," he purred, the crowd around them – as well as their bacteria-laden bodily fluids – instantly forgotten. Too, it wasn't as though they'd notice anything, as they were all ostensibly equally distracted by their own partners.
"More," Bella whispered, arching into him. When he pinched through the fabric, she moaned and pulled his mouth to hers. Like the rest of her, Bella's lips were soft and pliant, opening immediately when he kissed her. Keeping with the same slow pelvic grind, he pushed inside her mouth only to retreat, stroking her tongue with his in a sensual, overt imitation of sex.
In.
Out.
In.
Out.
"God, I want to fuck you right now," Edward groaned against her lips, remembering again that there was nothing underneath her skirt to stop him. He wondered if he could get away with fucking her here. It was very dark and he doubted anyone would notice. The idea was dirty, dangerous, and more than appealing.
Of course, before Bella could respond what he was certain would be an affirmative, as if to smite both him and his raging hard-on, the music abruptly stopped, and the DJ swapped to something Edward most assuredly did not know how to dance to. Some kind of violent, screeching noise poured out of the loudspeakers, promptly splitting his head, and suddenly everyone around them decided to jump up and down in unison.
Frowning, Edward squinted against the noise (and more so, the insufferably aggravating cockblock). And as usual, Bella simply doubled over and laughed, somehow finding the situation riotously funny. Quickly looking around, Edward surreptitiously adjusted himself, trying in vain to find a position in which his pants didn't flatten his cock or squeeze his balls. Unlike Bella, he did not believe his aching genitalia were amusing at all.
"I'll be back in a minute, okay?" she laughed again, pecking him on the cheek as if nothing at all were amiss.
Shoulders tensing as he stared at the hordes of flailing limbs as if seeing them anew, Edward stammered, "What? Where… um, where are you going?"
Bella kissed him again, her hand falling down his chest, brushing against the bulge in his pants. "Not far. I just need to run to the ladies room. You want to get us a drink?" She winked seductively and ran her tongue along her lower lip. "Maybe by the time we finish, they'll play something a little… slower so that we can… maybe finish what we started."
The suggestion in her voice was unmistakable and painfully affecting, especially as he'd considered the same only moments before.
Grinning, Edward lifted his brows in mock reprimand. "And just what do you mean by that?" Leaning closer such that only she could hear, he whispered, his voice low and gravelly, "Mrs. Cullen… you are such a naughty girl. I didn't realize you had such exhibitionist tendencies. Are you asking me to fuck you here?" Slowly, he fingered the raised edge of the mark he'd left years ago, silently delighting when her skin pebbled. "I will. If that turns you on, I will."
Because God knew the thought made him nearly come right then and there.
Lips parted, she stared up at him with unbridled lust. Grinning even wider, he smacked her ass, startling her out of her daze. "Go. You have five minutes. I'll meet you at the table."
Buttressed by the excitement of impending sexual gratification, the trip to the bar was uneventful. Thankfully, for reasons Edward could not hope to comprehend, the majority of the other party-goers found the offensive racket that the DJ had decided to play appealing and because of which, chose to remain on the dance floor, leaving the bar area relatively unoccupied. And despite the bar tender's disturbingly colored hair – neon green! – painful-looking facial piercings, and odd choices in metal-clad clothing – Edward believed the style was termed steampunk, which he didn't understand the allure of at all, as it looked to be remarkably uncomfortable – Demetri, as he had introduced himself, seemed to be a fairly inoffensive individual. He was articulate and careful in his order taking, his pouring methodology was precise – and precision was something a scientist such as Edward could always appreciate – and his bar was obsessively organized and tidy. And he was clean himself. Edward found his large vat of hand sanitizer enviable.
As such, Edward quickly procured their drinks, all the while thinking that Bella would most assuredly be pleased by the colorful green and orange swirled concoction he'd selected. From his years of study, for reasons he'd never understood but chose to accept, women customarily seemed to prefer brightly colored beverages with toy-like decorations. After all, his own mother only drank purple drinks. And Dr. Brandon's invariable selection was pink. Naturally.
But yes, as stated, the trip to the bar was fruitful and reasonably painless. It was the return trip, however, that nearly made him lose consciousness.
Hands full with drinks and less than thirty feet from their table – now empty as Dr. McCarty and Rosalie were somewhere dancing… or something – Edward witnessed the Apocalypse, complete with the Four Horsemen on their undead stallions. Or at the very least, it was a scene out of his worst nightmare.
Standing at an imposing six feet plus in her heels, a witch blocked his path. A real witch, of course, and of the bad variety, too.
With black, violent-looking, sky-high pumps, sheer black thigh-highs – wrapped around slender legs – a black leather skirt that was so short he swore he could see the bottom curve of her ass, a matching black corset that left virtually nothing to the imagination, long, voluminous blonde hair topped with a black pointy hat, and a scarily symmetric model-worthy face, she was evil incarnate.
And she was staring at him as though she were going to eat him. Or something. He couldn't quite grasp her oddly startled appearance.
"Edward?" the witch screeched, her voice piercing through the music. "Edward Cullen? Is that you?"
Cringing, Edward concentrated on not dropping the drinks in his hands. A cold sweat broke out across his brow and he swallowed against the instant surge in his abdomen.
"Um, ah, right…" he mumbled, looking everywhere but at the devil in black. "Erm… Hi, Tanya."
"Oh, my God! I can't believe it's you!" she crowed, sauntering through an undeniably gaping crowd until she was close enough that he could smell the very same overly sweet perfume she'd worn more than a decade ago.
Edward's forehead crumpled as he calculated his odds of successful retreat. Unfortunately, encountering one's ex while out on the town with one's spouse was not something for which Edward had ever considered preparing.
In fact, he'd hoped to never see the woman again, as their parting had been on less-than-ideal terms. Namely, she'd openly and repeatedly fucked Dr. Black after having used Edward for more than two years to advance her dissertation. Even blinded by lust – as he had been back then – Edward had at least known that. He just hadn't cared.
While exceptionally beautiful and beyond outgoing – he'd found out later on that not only had she fucked Dr. Black, she had also slept with most of their graduate class…even the women – Tanya had never been the sharpest at Hopkins. Frankly, had he not assisted her in her lab work, she'd have never even made it to a Masters, let alone her precariously granted PhD. Really, Edward had found her borderline stupid and had despised talking to her. At the time, however, being a horny twenty-something, her other talents had compensated.
His unpleasant reminiscing was cut short by a pair of slender arms unexpectedly wrapping themselves around his torso, and when he felt a plump set of lips press against his cheek, his entire body stiffened in alarm.
"God, you look amazing," she purred, pushing her chest against his and running her hands down his biceps. Edward noticed that her nails were very sharp and also colored black. "So… different."
Not quite following the peculiar tone in her voice, he attempted to politely pull away. "Yes, well… you look well, too."
And she did. He couldn't argue that. Tanya had always been physically appealing, although unlike his wife, she seemed to try rather hard to do so. For example, her hair looked as though it would shatter if it were touched. Or perhaps burst into flames if it came in contact with an ignition source. Abstractedly, Edward wondered exactly how much product she used on a daily basis. It likely rivaled Dr. Whitlock's excessive usage.
And people wonder why the ozone is depleting! he mutely scoffed.
Unfortunately, escaping while encumbered by an armful of alcoholic beverages was more challenging than Edward wished. It was even more challenging, however, as she seemed to follow him, decreasing the distance between them each time he attempted to lengthen it. Her pursuit was bizarre and more than slightly discomfiting.
"I can't believe it's been so long…" she said again, squeezing his arm. "And just can't get over how… different you look."
"Well, yes, you said that," he mumbled, having no idea whatsoever as to what she was talking about. Well, unless she was referring to the handful of gray hairs that now mingled in with the rust. The day he had discovered those had been a very disagreeable one, despite Bella's opinions to the contrary. She had countered with something ridiculous about it being sexy and distinguished.
Regardless of whatever observations Tanya had made, Edward found his ex's sliding hand to be highly uncomfortable. As well as the strange way she licked her very red lips. And so close, her perfume was downright nauseating. Granted, it didn't help his flip-flopping stomach that he had no idea how to handle a meeting were Bella to suddenly appear. The mere idea made him queasy. For some reason Edward couldn't begin to explain or articulate, having two women whom he had known intimately so close to one another was distressing in the extreme. He wasn't sure of the whys and wherefores of this conundrum, but instinctively, he understood the situation should be avoided. He made a mental note to confer with Dr. McCarty about the matter. He would likely understand.
Far too close for his comfort, Tanya cooed, "Nice costume. Very… Save a horse, ride a cowboy."
"What?"
Something told him that there was something obvious that he was missing. But then again, Tanya had always been one to utter senseless phrases. She could give Emmett a run for his money, Edward mused. Although, he doubted Rosalie Hale would allow that.
"Just saying that I like the chaps… it's a good look on you. Very… flattering if you know what I mean."
"Okay? Thanks, I guess?" Carefully setting the drinks on the nearest table, Edward tried again to extract himself from her death claws. "But I… it's been nice seeing you, but… I, well, I need to–"
"Oh, don't go so soon! I was hoping we could catch up." Overly long eyelashes – also very black – winked at him in obvious suggestion. Her wink, unlike Bella's, just made him fidget. "It'd be fun. I promise. Don't you remember?"
Providentially, before she could say more, granting him a measure of reprieve, one of the eye-gouging strobe lights above decided to flicker, its beam bouncing off and drawing attention to the shiny platinum of his wedding band.
"You're married?" Tanya suddenly bellowed, her bright blue eyes wide and confused. The grip on his arm tightened to the point that Edward swore he would have bruises.
Of course, Edward couldn't blame her for her confusion, as least not in this matter, as up until a few years ago, he'd have never even considered such a possibility himself. In truth, he was still somewhat astounded by the fact that he was not only married, but a father as well! His luck was amazing.
"Ah, yes. Erm…"
"Don't tell me you have children, too?" Tanya's perfectly sculpted brows were high, and a strange look of almost incredulity swept across her face.
Inappropriate flirting forgotten, the grin that immediately stretched across Edward's face could have split it. "Yes! I do! She's, well… her name is Elizabeth!" he gushed, suppressing his nausea in favor of the one topic that he was more than happy to discuss. At length. With anyone, including the scary witch with the death grip. Like any good father in Edward's opinion.
"Well, Beth… for short, you know," he rambled. "Elizabeth… erm, that's a bit much for a toddler, don't you think? We do not call her Lizzie. Ever." He cringed. "But Beth! She's two and she's so very smart. I'm certain she will be a tremendously talented scientist one day, if she wants, of course. She already exhibits such a high aptitude for science and mathematics. I know this. She and I do experiments in the backyard! Not dangerous ones, though. No fire… For example, we do bubbles. In fact, I made her her own formulation the other day. Really, far superior to ones from… um, Target.
"And Beth is so very beautiful. Just like her mother." Edward smiled. "Bella. Ah, that's her mother, of course. And my wife. She's rather brilliant… and a scientist – actually a hematologist like me… But she manages people, which I certainly do not do… Very well. Really, she's good at everything. Yes… and, well…yes."
For a moment, Edward decided that his ex appeared almost cross at his verbal vomit. Her expression cleared, however, and she forced a laugh before he could accurately determine her emotional response. "I'm… just… surprised. That's all. I was never under the impression that you wanted children. Or marriage for that matter…"
Edward's head tilted, considering. "I, well…" He hesitated before quietly continuing. "I didn't know." This time wistfully, remembering, he smiled again. "I'm the luckiest man alive."
"I see." Tanya's mouth drew into a tight line. "A shame."
Still not really following, Edward scratched the side of his neck. "I, but… I need to go? She, erm, Bella – my wife, not my daughter… I would never bring Beth… here – is probably waiting?"
When Tanya leaned over and kissed his other cheek, lingering a second too long for propriety and no doubt leaving a bright red stain from her lipstick, Edward tried very hard not to visibly flinch.
Whispering in his ear, she purred, "Well, Edward, if you ever change your mind… I'm back in New Jersey again. Just down the road in Rahway." Edward did flinch when he felt her reach down and slip something past his chaps into the pocket of his overly tight blue jeans, brushing against his seam not on accident. "I'm sure you can find me. I really hope you call. You know… just for old times' sake."
Edward's mouth dropped, finally and abruptly understanding.
"Ah, um… I have to go!" he squeaked, scrambling for the drinks on the table and almost vaulting over the chairs in his rush to escape.
As soon as he turned, however, Edward nearly fainted. Because, of course, Bella was there. Arms crossed over her chest and lips pursed into a sharp frown, he didn't have to be a mind reader to know that she wasn't pleased. His earlier suspicions were startlingly accurate. Exes and wives should never, ever mix.
"Edward?" Bella asked, looking over his shoulder rather than at him. "Who was that?"
Abruptly, Edward realized that yet again when it came to women, comprehension was elusive and rarely won. Higher than usual, her tone didn't quite match the undeniably irritated expression on her face. If anything she sounded… amused.
"Ah…"
"Spit it out."
Edward's eyes shot wide, and as if pulled from his mouth, a barrage of slurred together words tumbled out. "I-dated-her-when-I-was-at-Hopkins-but-that-was-a-long-time-ago-so-please-don't-be-mad."
"What?" Bella's expression cracked, and he thought he saw the glimmer of white teeth.
"I… um, dated her? A long time ago? I… didn't know she would be here. At all. I've not seen her since… well, since I finished my dissertation?" Lined crossed his forehead, and his thumb spun his wedding band in nervous habit. "I–I have no idea why she started talking to me." Looking down, his heart fully in his throat, he blurted, "I think… I think she was, ah, coming on to me."
At that, Bella's gaze moved from the woman walking away to Edward. Puzzlingly, her features softened and she huffed a laugh. "Of course, she was."
"I… I didn't know that? Until she was…" He paused. "Rather obvious about it." Recalling Tanya's less than subtle hints, he grimaced. "I don't really understand why. I told her about Beth, though. And you." And at that, Edward beamed.
"I know. I heard." Bella smiled then and stepped forward until she was close enough he had to look down. Scanning his face, her eyes briefly darkened, but before Edward could question, her hand appeared in his periphery. With a cluck of her tongue and a loud tsk, she roughly wiped his cheek, deliberately calling his attention to the red, lips-shaped mark that was no doubt on his face.
Fuck.
Without warning, Bella took him by the elbow and guided them back toward the booth. Taking the beverages away, she set his scotch on the table and then took a long drink from the now-melting but still cheerfully colored cocktail he'd purchased for her.
"You're not… angry? At me?" he breathed when she set the glass down again. Molten lead churned in his stomach.
"No," Bella responded, suddenly pushing him down onto the edge of the bench. Inexplicably, with no preamble, she climbed onto his lap, straddling him, seemingly indifferent to anyone who might see. When his lips parted in shock, her fingers wound into his unruly mop of hair, tugging just hard enough to make his scalp tingle, and her mouth literally crashed into his.
This kiss was not like the one on the dance floor.
Or any one that he ever remembered for that matter.
No, this one was deep and hard and hot and unequivocally carnal. And more than anything else, it was arousingly possessive – conquering – as though she were laying claim to him in the basest of ways.
Understandably, it took Edward all of one second to recover from his shock and respond in kind, his cock rising to attention and his palms automatically targeting her hips, pulling her down and tight against his lap.
"Are you… were you jealous, Mrs. Cullen?" he panted, incredulous, barely believing what he was saying. But that – jealousy – was the only explanation he could possibly devise, yet it felt so incredibly wrong. Of course, he was familiar with such emotions. That day when he'd believed Dr. Black was stealing her away would forever be branded into his skull. It had been in all probability the worst day of his entire existence. Well, until she had rectified the situation and made him feel like a god.
When Bella didn't answer, Edward froze. "You are!" he accused, framing her face and pulling away just far enough to see her expression. Her lips were swollen from their kiss, her mascara was smudged, and her hair was everywhere, falling down all around them. She looked positively feral. And so unbelievably hot.
"But– but… WHY?" he demanded, tucking a wayward strand behind her. While he abhorred the notion that Bella could ever even remotely feel what he had that awful day, some not so small part of him did a proverbial victory dance. Her jealousy – wholly unfounded and completely absurd – made him feel loved. And wanted. And coveted. And somehow, by some strange cosmic happenstance, almost on equal footing – truly matched.
When she didn't answer, Edward kissed her again, this time softer, languidly sliding his tongue into her mouth. He could taste a hint of sweet alcohol on her tongue, and it reminded him of the first night he'd fucked her. Her mouth had tasted like candy.
After a moment, he felt her body cave, her shoulders slumping, melting into him, and her fingers relaxed around his hair. Completely unaware and uncaring of the crowd around them – it was still very dark and they were in a rather secluded area of the room after all – Edward ran his hands up and down her back, tracing the line of her backbone before slipping down to cup her ass beneath the cover of her skirt.
"I want you," she whispered, as he kneaded her backside.
"Hmm," Edward hummed, kissing his way down her neck. Her hips shifted in practiced motion, aligning her pussy against the seam of his jeans. When he rocked forward just an inch, rubbing against her clit just like he knew she wanted, she gasped and begged again.
He rocked forward once more, holding her down. "Here? What if we get caught? What if someone sees?"
"We won't. It's too dark back here and no one else is around." Her teeth grazed his earlobe, sending a bevy of shivers down his spine, and her chest expanded, pressing against his. When he looked down between them, the lights flashed, and he could just see the outline of her nipples, hard and begging to be pinched and sucked.
"So needy," Edward murmured, reaching one hand up to cup her breast. When he squeezed, her eyes closed and her teeth bit down on her lip. "You want me? Tell me again."
"Y–Yes, I want you now. Here." she stuttered, and it was like a straight line down to his cock, taking him from erect and straining to nonsensically hard.
Sparing no more than a quick glance to the left and right, Edward reached down and unzipped his jeans. "Get on me then." Slowly positioning her over him – careful to hold down her skirt, of course – he licked his lips. "Fuck me, Mrs. Cullen."
When Bella sank down on him, her pussy hot and squeezing around his cock, his breath came out in a sudden whoosh of air. The soft, corresponding, relieved moan that spilled from his wife's lips was quite possibly the most erotic thing he'd ever heard.
"God, yes," she groaned, slowly – ever so slowly – lifting up and then sinking once more. She was so unbelievably wet, sliding over him at a torturous pace.
"Fuck, you feel good," Edward grunted against her skin, wanting more than anything else on the planet to lift her up and take her hard and fast on the table in front of them. Later, he chanted. Do that later. At home where she can scream.
"Slow, baby, slow. Just… fuck… just move your hips just a little." Bella twisted, swiveling her hips ever so slightly. When he placed his palm against her abdomen, rubbing in slow circles, he could barely feel himself pressing against her wall. "Yes… God, yes… just like that. I can feel my dick inside you at this angle. Fuck, that makes me want to come."
"Please, Edward," she begged, circling her hips again and again.
"Tell me what you want," Edward breathed, skimming his palm down to her clit. "You want me to rub you there? Tell me."
"Make me come. Just…"
"Always," he murmured, claiming her mouth to muffle the moans when he began rocking his hips back and forth, simultaneously rubbing the tips of his fingers against her sensitive clit.
Considering the exceptionally slow pace of their fucking, it was astonishing how quickly she orgasmed. Record setting perhaps.
Edward didn't know if it had something to do with the danger and eroticism of their public fucking locale, the surge of emotion she experienced seeing his ex – which still awed him – or just that she was fucking horny, which he certainly was, having been so on and off for the entire day.
But in less than the span of three songs, Edward felt her pussy muscles lock down, tightening around his dick with amazing strength and friction. Her entire body quivered and shook, and incapable (not to mention, having no inclination) of stopping her, she rose up and slammed down on his cock in a rapid series of unmistakable – were they caught – thrusts.
And as always, like the slave to her will that he was, Edward almost instantly followed suit, groaning as he spasmed deep inside her pussy for what could have been days.
"Shit," he huffed, dropping his forehead to her shoulder. "Shit, shit, shit.'
Lazily, Bella tilted his head up so that she could kiss his lips again, this time closed-mouth and gently. And clearly high from her orgasm. "Mmm. Feel good?"
"Are you seriously asking me that?" he laughed, hugging her tightly against him, drunk off some potent mix of sex and relief.
After a moment, looking around and finding that by some grace of God no one had seen them, they separated just long enough for Edward to rezip and for her to resituate. When he smiled down at his wife beside him, feeling at once somewhat deviant and more than sated, she grinned back.
"Um… were you… seriously…" he started, adjusting his glasses.
"Jealous?" she finished, brows lifted and still grinning away.
"Right. Yes… you know that that's just ridiculous, right? That… there's no one else… for me. Ever." Edward's nose scrunched at the thought of anything else.
"I know. I wasn't…. jealous per se." Edward cocked his head, and she laughed. "Okay, maybe a little. I mean, I knew you'd had a relationship in grad school… but I hadn't quite been prepared to see her. Tonight. All over you. She's very beautiful, Edward."
"What?"
"Never mind. But no, I'm not jealous… now." Bella's nails playfully scraped along the stubble on his chin. Sweetly – but not really… more like maniacally, Edward decided – she smirked and whispered, "But I'll kill that fucking woman if she touches you again."
Considering the vast array of deaths he'd once imagined for one Dr. Jacob fucking Black – a man whom his wife had not even come close to sleeping with – her threat seemed perfectly reasonable, and as such, he merely shrugged in assent.
Really, as far as Edward was concerned, there was only one question remaining in his mind and it had been nagging at him the entire night.
"Um, Bella?"
"Yes."
"What's with women and chaps?"