**Disclaimer: The characters and situations of the Twilight Saga depicted in this story are the legal property of Stephenie Meyer, Summit Entertainment, and Little, Brown & Company, and have been used without permission. No copyright infringement is intended, and no profit is being made.
Chapter 4: Midnight Confessional
[taped to the lined paper of the journal, a photocopy of page 325 of St. Thomas Aquinas' Philosophical Texts; chapter heading: "Living Beyond Reason"
Bella's handwriting scrawled in the margins:] Trying to understand Catholic guilt to understand Edward's sexual constipation. Not finding much useful, but this is nice. [Highlighted passages:]
952. Love is a binding force, by which another is joined to me and cherished as myself. - Summa Theologica, ia. xx. I, ad 3
954. Love works in a circle, for the beloved moves the lover by stamping a likeness, and the lover then goes out to hold the beloved in reality. Who first was the beginning now becomes the end of motion. - Summa Theologica, ia-2ae. xxvi. 2
955. The lover is not content with superficial knowledge of the beloved, but strives for intimate discovery and entrance. - Summa Theologica, Ia 2ae. xxviii. 2
—
So…Blow Jobs, Apparently
I was starting to think Edward might be really into having his dick sucked.
That sounded silly to say, because…yeah, obviously. Except no, it wasn't. In our bedroom, he was reserved, and everything he suggested centered me and my desires. He treated my body as his idol, and bringing it pleasure was his form of worship. Getting clarity about what would please his body was like hitting a brick wall.
It hadn't slipped by me that he avoided any and all discussion about what his fantasies were.
I would guess that he thought prioritizing me and what I wanted was noble and loving—and it was nice, don't get me wrong! But it was also a burden. I was always the center of attention, and how could that not make me feel self-conscious? Some days it seemed like the only reason we had sex at all was to indulge me and my insatiable appetite. I knew that was a paranoid thought that couldn't be true. Of course Edward liked sex. He always enjoyed himself and, more and more, he was the one initiating.
These games we were playing with my fantasies were a revelation! The vulnerability of sharing my sexual daydreams with him was nerve-wracking, but it was all worth it to see Edward periodically come out of his shell. I was learning all kinds of things I never would have guessed about Edward's sexuality. Blow jobs were just the latest piece to the puzzle.
The germ was planted in my brain while we were driving home the night we reenacted my prom night fantasy.
"Again, Edward, thank you."
A soft, affectionate smile pulled at his lips, but he kept his eyes on the road. "Trust me, it was no hardship. This is fun for me, too." He paused. "And honestly, when you said prom, I was worried it was going to be something crazy or illegal. This was very straightforward."
That startled me. "Crazy or illegal? Really?"
He tried to laugh it off, but his elaboration was still surprising. "You know, if it was going to necessitate breaking into Forks High School or something. It's definitely a relief not to commit trespassing just to fulfill a fantasy."
Had his mind really gone there? That was insanity. Of course I would never suggest anything like that.
Then a reminder of my biology class masturbation fodder crept to the front of my mind.
But that wasn't something I intended to pursue! I had written the possibility off entirely. Not only was there the trespassing issue, but Edward would never go for it. I couldn't imagine that game appealing to him.
Somehow, Edward accurately read the expression on my face. "Wait—are you serious? You fantasized about the two of us having sex in school?"
"It's not that strange, Edward." But then I reassured him and myself. "It was one fantasy really, and I wasn't even going to bring it up."
"You weren't? Why not?"
My mouth fell open. "Are you serious? It's pretty obvious why not. I wasn't planning on breaking laws either."
After that admission, I couldn't meet his eyes anymore.
"Well?" When I didn't immediately answer, he tried again. "What is it?"
My breath held. Should I hold back or not? Obviously we wouldn't do this one, but maybe I should tell him just for the sake of transparency.
Speaking haltingly, I tried to explain, my eyes fixed on my window and the trees flying past. "Our lab table in Mr. Banner's classroom…. It's significant to me. It's where I met you. For so long, it was the only time I got to be near you. I could smell your fabric softener, hear your weight shifting. Sitting so close to you…my skin would…just, tingle." I swallowed. "So, yes. I thought about us secretly touching. And other stuff."
"On our lab table?" He sounded shaken.
Oh…. Wouldn't that have been delicious? I suddenly had a vision of myself bent over the table, clothes disheveled and torn, and Edward behind me, inside me. My pussy clenched at the thought, and I bit my lip.
But, "No, it was more specific than that." I finally looked at him. "Do you remember when Mr. Banner put on that movie? During the unit on genetic disorders?"
Edward blinked.
I registered that we were slowing down. He was stopping the car, pulling to the side of the road and shifting gear into park.
"Yes," he croaked, eyes intense. He remembered all right. Had those hours been as charged for him as they had for me?
"Well," I continued, voice faint. "I thought about how much I wanted to touch you. It was dark and everyone was distracted. Who would notice if I held your hand? Or put my hand on your thigh? Or," I swallowed, "if I played with…?" My gaze dropped to his lap suggestively, my cheeks feeling warm even though I knew they weren't.
Edward's eyes flared wide. "O-over m-my pants…?" he stammered.
I nodded. The rain outside the car picked up, pelting the windshield. "For a while. Then I almost always thought about whether I would dare to see how quietly I could lower your zipper, and…well, and continue. I wouldn't make you come—that would be a mess. Just almost, for the rest of class."
It was a good thing that we had pulled over, because his hands lifted from the steering wheel and they were unsteady. He rubbed his face.
Courage bolstered, I pressed on. "That's not all."
"No?"
I shook my head. "After class, I would convince you to follow me into a supply closet—the one across from the gym—and then I would get down on my knees…"
His breathing hitched, audibly.
"…And suck your cock until you came in my mouth."
With a strangled groan, his hand shot to his lap to adjust himself.
I smiled breathlessly, elated by his reaction. It was unexpected, the opposite even from what I would have guessed. My embarrassment was gone completely. The heady, hot lust that had been sated in me only twenty minutes ago, came roaring back. I didn't get to see him like this often enough—his desire was so blatant, so on display and out of his control.
My eyes caressed the bulge in his tuxedo pants.
Impulsively, I said, "Edward?"
He looked at me.
"Let me help you." I licked my lips. I didn't do it on purpose to be sexy; it happened unconsciously. But his eyes darkened and his hand squeezed his erection in reaction. I felt like a goddess.
Unable to speak, he nodded in acquiescence.
I released the latch on my seatbelt and scooted toward him. His hand lifted out of the way as I reached for his broken zipper. Despite our best cleaning efforts with some wet wipes, the front of his trousers were damp and smelled of both of us. He sucked in a sharp breath as I extracted his cock, his hands groping to anchor themselves on the center console and car door.
Already, the tip of him was fat and the skin stretched tight. I marveled a little at that. Usually it took a little more than talk to get him to this point. Had my fantasy really struck a chord that deep?
I bent down, over his lap and kissed. His cock was just so lovely, so beloved, and I felt moved to show my affection.
The muscles of his thighs and hips tensed as though his instinct was to hump against my face, but he restrained himself.
Pleased, I did it again. This one was a lingering kiss, wet, open-mouthed. I sighed happily at the feel of his soft, tender skin against my lips. Then, I licked.
Edward groaned and squirmed.
Invigorated, I trailed my tongue up the shaft, parted my lips, and took the head of him into my mouth.
"Bella," he gasped. "God…my Bella."
Since turning, I had gone down on him from time to time. It was one of the few things I found myself grateful we had waited to do. He was so big, so wide, I couldn't imagine how sore my poor human jaw would have been trying to accommodate him for more than a minute or two. Still, his reaction hadn't been this obvious before. Had he always liked fellatio this much and I was only noticing just now, or was something different?
I suckled and he grunted.
Thinking back to the first time we did this, two weeks after I turned, I remembered that he had tried to stop me.
"You don't have to, Bella. It's dirty."
We were naked in our bed in the aftermath of a thorough round of lovemaking. His cock had been glistening with our mutual juices.
"I don't mind." I was hyper-focused and determined—I wanted to try it, and had worked up my courage to push forward.
"Really, I would never expect—"
He broke off when I took as much of him as I could fit into my mouth. He lay there, letting me experiment with depth and rhythm. Letting me taste us and experience the feel of his ridges, curves, and prominent veins against my sensitive tongue. I was too shy to look up at his face, so I listened attentively to his breathing, which became ragged. Then labored.
Finally, I just heard, "Wow."
That was all. Though I did catch his fists clenching the sheets from the corner of my eye.
He stopped me when he got close and finished himself off. I was disappointed. I didn't know whether or not I was the kind of person who minded a guy coming in her mouth, but I wished he had let me find out. I was too embarrassed to say any of that out loud, so instead, I placed a hand on his forearm and lifted his wrist. A rivulet of his cum caught the light of our bedside lamp. I licked a little of it up, just to try it, just to send the message that I was willing.
I was glad I could no longer blush because his eyes went wide and he excused himself to wash his hands.
When he came back, we were both too shy to talk about it, but the next time I blew him, he didn't withdraw before he came and I tried swallowing; I didn't mind the taste.
Some of his reaction to that first time had seemed promising, but my enthusiasm fell off after that. Edward ate my pussy often, at least once a day, but the reciprocal was much less of a regular occurrence. I blew him maybe twice a month. In my defense, he never asked for it. Ever. And when we did do it, he was stiff and quiet for the most part, not participating or touching me. I had read this to mean that he didn't like it all that much, but maybe it had been the opposite.
Maybe, in his mind, he liked it too much.
That was a wild thought, but after talk of my fantasies had blown his composure to smithereens and he came in my mouth that night in the Volvo, his groans louder than the torrent of rain slapping the car, I began to seriously consider it.
Especially when I grinned up at him and said playfully, "You seemed to enjoy that."
And he mumbled, "Yeah, I'm going to hell."
He tried to play it off as a joke, but a light went on in my head and I couldn't shut it off. I reconsidered his words from the first time: "it's dirty." I had assumed he was being literal at the time, referring to the fact that we hadn't cleaned up yet, but what if he had been speaking in a broader, more symbolic sense? What if he was talking about sin?
As I ruminated over this for the next couple of days, I couldn't help but notice that Edward brought up my fantasy a lot. He always prefaced with a disclaimer about how he wasn't really considering acting on it—of course, we would never—and then he would launch into a comment or nuance that made it obvious he had been mulling over my scenario in more detail than I ever had. Sometimes he asked for clarification on how events would play out, or for me to describe this part or that one. Just out of idle curiosity, of course. By the time I finished, he was worked up enough to devise an excuse to take me somewhere private.
I added tidbits to my regular dirty talk about sucking him dry or needing to taste him. Edward tried to remain casual, impassive even, but I wasn't fooled anymore. The mask had slipped and now I couldn't unsee how his shoulders became stiff, how he held his breath, and his hands became restless at the mere mention of me blowing him.
He liked me sucking his dick, a lot, but he didn't want me to know. I wasn't sure why exactly, but after his off-hand mention of hell and a little research, I started to suspect his upbringing.
Regardless, I added it to the list I started keeping eight weeks into our marriage.
Things Edward Likes In Bed:
- hearing me babble about how much I love him (the more nonsensical the better)
- the noises I make when I come
- kissing during coitus, with or without tongue
- kissing my neck (maybe even more than my mouth—but don't draw attention to how much he does it, or he gets weird)
- see-through nightgowns (for best results: no underwear)
- me naked in a prostrate position—on my back, legs open, hands above my head, like I'm helpless
- me on top, with him sitting or lying down, but only when I am facing him (I enjoy being fucked from behind just as much, but he seems to strongly prefer positions where his lips can reach mine easily)
- playing with my nipples? (inconclusive; does he like doing this for his own enjoyment, or does he just like how much I like it?)
- my "tight, hot pussy" (for best results, i.e. getting him to actually groan/growl the words "tight, hot pussy": clench him when he's doing that slow, deep thrusting thing he does)
- the scent of my arousal
- car sex, especially after a fast drive
- my sexual fantasies, apparently—especially details about me touching myself while thinking of him
- fellatio (in spite of the naughtiness, or because of it?)
I'm getting there—finally starting to flesh out some details. It doesn't seem like much, but the list has twice as much information now as it did six months ago. Progress.
—
[paragraph clipped from a 2000 Salon article, notated as being an interview with French author and historian Thierry Leguay; underlines are in Bella's pen ink:]
"…sexual pleasure and any relation that didn't lead directly to procreation—even within the structure of a traditional marriage—were mortal sins. So fellatio was, and remains to some extent, a taboo. The only sexual activity sanctioned by the Catholic Church is coitus for the strict purpose of procreation. In the 19th century there was also a relationship between religion and medicine that came together under the general aegis of onanism. In fact everything fell under the aegis of onanism: fellatio, petting, lesbianism, masturbation. There were priests who were also doctors, and many of them wrote lengthy descriptions of apocalyptic things that could happen to anyone who practiced any form of onanism."
[in Bella's handwriting below:] Does Edward masturbate?
—
Venial and Mortal Sins
By the time Edward asked me to go for a midnight walk in the most suspiciously casual way possible, I wasn't the least bit surprised when the path he chose led us to the school.
"It looks like the campus is deserted," he said as though suggesting a spur of the moment caper. "Spring Break. No one's here and we wouldn't even have to break the lock on the window."
Usually Edward was a pretty good actor, but here he was painfully transparent. I smiled at my beloved husband and tried not to let too much of my pity creep into it. How much shame must he be feeling to go to such lengths of denial to me and himself?
I had been sincere in having no intention of pursuing this fantasy. So much about it was fun in the abstract but ridiculous in the implementation. But I caved instantly at the excitement in his eyes. I wasn't capable of letting him down when he looked forward to so little.
He went first, scaling three feet of brick up to the awning-style window. It had been left cracked open the day before, and when Edward helped me through, I guessed that the reason was to provide some air circulation.
"Well, that's a smell." My nose wrinkled.
"Yeah, I think a student may have spilled some hydrochloric acid."
Mr. Banner's classroom was mostly as I remembered it. The same unlaminated posters with beat up corners, barely organized lab equipment, and plastic skeleton with a drawn-on mustache. But my senses were different now, so much sharper. I could see all the individual flecks of dust floating in the air. I could pick out each distinct chemical wafting from the supply closet, hear the subtle hum of the generator maintaining temperature in the specimen fridge, and I could read the photosynthesis diagram on the white board across the room, even though it was dark. It was a room from another lifetime, one that belonged to another Bella.
I shook my head and hopped down from the windowsill to the lacquered tile floor. "This is crazy."
Edward had a dopey grin on his face as he moved to shut the window behind us. "It's your fantasy."
Did he really think he could get away with putting this on me? "You're the one who suggested we go for a walk tonight and just so happened to lead us here."
A stiffness traveled up his spine. He contemplated what I said for a moment and then turned back toward me. I felt horrible for drawing attention to his enthusiasm, because it was all gone now. He was second-guessing everything, perhaps even beating himself up.
"You're right," he said heavily. "This is too far. We should go."
No. I wouldn't let him do this to himself. Much like he had dug his heels in when I had tried to call the prom fantasy off, I was determined to do the same for him. I wouldn't let him back out of something he was this excited to do.
Scoffing, I shook my head. "Not a chance." Our old lab table was just three rows away and I was there in an instant, perched atop the work surface in front of his old seat. If he wanted to abort the mission, he was going to have to come over and drag me out here. "I like how excited you are for this." I crooked my finger at him.
All of my playfulness and the last shreds of my good mood were destroyed by his reaction. He looked reluctant, perhaps even wary. Then, resignation took over his expression and he dragged his feet toward me. He looked like a child headed for punishment.
It was impossible not to take his reluctance personally, but my reflex was to comfort. I stroked the hair over and behind his ear, and my voice was reassuring. "No need to look so glum."
He closed his eyes, closed himself, and shook his head.
My heart clenched. Why didn't my husband want to want me? Why didn't he want me to know him? Hot shame and anguish swelled in my throat. I couldn't keep them out of my voice. "Is it really so bad? Letting me see what you want? How much you want it?"
"Of course not!" His response was too quick, automatic. Untrue.
The silence that followed was thick between us. At least he had the decency to look ashamed of his lie.
The despair I thought I'd mastered rattled its cage. Why was this still so hard? I knew he loved me, so what was the problem? I had laid so much of myself out on the table, but his secrets were guarded so jealously. He didn't trust me at all, and I was tired of dragging him along with me, having to seduce him over and over. Was sex with me really such a burden?
"I just…don't understand," my misery overflowed into words. "I thought it made sense before we got married, before you turned me. Why talk about what we couldn't have yet? But nothing has changed. I know nothing about what you want, what you like, aside from what I have gathered from your reactions. You…. It seems like you are enjoying our sex life?"
He took my hand in his. "Yes," he insisted forcefully. "Very much."
I wasn't sure how much I could trust that. He'd say anything to comfort me.
Edward squeezed my hand and continued. "Over the years, I've heard the thoughts of so many humans and vampires, preoccupied constantly with sex. They provided me a fairly detailed picture, and the sheer number of perspectives gave that picture a lot of nuance and scope. I thought I understood physical love, what it was, how it must feel, even though I had no personal experience, but…that was arrogant. Of course, I had no idea. What I have with you, Bella, is something completely new in a world that I thought had run out of surprises for me. And it has always been more—more than I expected, more than I deserved."
For a beat, I was breathless. He'd never said anything so lovely to me. Worries that he was being disingenuous washed away. I couldn't doubt the sincerity of that declaration. It took a moment to register that he still had not addressed the heart of my concern.
"But you won't let me in," I pressed. He tried to jump right in with a response, but I held up my hand to halt him. I wasn't going to back down so easily this time. "Don't think I missed the way you reacted when I suggested we play some games for your fantasies, too." I bit my lip. My pain reminded me that expressing myself sexually with him had been terrifying, and maybe he was just frightened, too. "I know it's hard. It's scary. Believe me, I do. I don't even know where I got the courage to start telling you what I wanted sexually, to keep doing it, especially because, in the beginning anyway, you just rejected me over and over again."
His mouth opened, but I plowed on. I hadn't realized how much I had to say, how frustrated I was, and how good it would feel to get all of this out. "When I first asked you if it was possible for us to have sex, you said no, even though you knew vampires who had done it. When I told you I wanted to be human when I lost my virginity, you first said no, and then said not until we were married. When we finally did have sex, you told me never again until I was changed. Trying to navigate through where we can compromise versus something that is a hard limit for you has always been difficult because you don't differentiate between the two, not to mention it being an absolute minefield for my ego. All those times 'no, it's not possible' turned out to just mean 'I think it's a bad idea'. Those conversations were always terrifying and often discouraging."
He crumpled toward me, head into my lap. "I'm sorry, Bella."
I repressed a sigh. He was missing the point. I didn't want an apology. I took his beautiful face in my hands and lifted his chin so that we could see one-another again. "Don't be sorry. I didn't say all that to make you feel guilty. I know you were scared of hurting me, and I know you never lied to me. That wasn't the point. You were figuring things out as you went, just like I was. The point was that it was important we kept having the conversation, and I wanted you to know that I understand how it feels to be the one opening up."
I had to acknowledge the possibility that maybe he had been hiding this side of himself from me for a reason. Maybe I wouldn't like what I would hear—but I didn't care anymore. Not knowing was worse than anything he could possibly say. "I can't promise you how I will react—I mean, I would say that, when it comes to you, I'm pretty much down for anything, but my brain isn't so fogged up with lust that I can't comprehend the possibility of you wanting something I wouldn't enjoy. If you are this reluctant to tell me, I mean, that's a clue, right? But I can promise you we will keep talking about it until we figure out where we stand. You can trust me, Edward."
He seemed touched, but still gloomy, still closed off. "It's not like that."
"Then what's it like?"
He growled and snapped, "I don't have any fantasies. Not really in general, and definitely not about you specifically. I don't think of you that way."
I recoiled as though I had been struck. But it didn't hurt, not yet. "You don't fantasize about me." I felt disconnected from myself—my vision swam when I tried to focus on him.
He gathered my hands in his, pulled them close to his chest, and spoke gently. "That was poorly phrased. It would be more accurate maybe to say that I can't think of you that way. That I would never allow myself to."
This was so much worse than anything I could have imagined, any fringe perversion or fetish he could have been hiding.
"Why not?"
For a time, he just gazed at me, taking in the pain he had caused. I was too shell-shocked to attempt to minimize my reaction for his benefit. Then, he straightened with a resolute gleam in his eye and grim set to his jaw. I thought he would speak, but instead he took one of my hands and reached back, around, and under the lab table. He pressed my fingers into splintered wood. I was startled from my pain into confusion. It took several seconds of investigating with my fingers to realize that what I was feeling was the strut meant to provide structural support for the lab table. It had been heavily damaged, but not by insects or time. It felt like someone had done this with their hand—but that was crazy. It would have to have been someone ridiculously strong. Someone….
My eyes widened. "Wow, that's…."
"What I did the first time I met you," he confirmed the wild theory that my mind had just thrown out.
My gaze swung back to him sharply.
His expression was grave. "Gripping that strut until I turned it to pulp was the only anchor I had keeping me in my seat. Bella…I don't know how to make you understand how truly close it was that day."
He'd almost killed me. Edward was elaborating on how he'd almost killed me. Is that what this was all about? My poor boy…. He was still tortured, haunted over a crime he hadn't committed. I was here, safe—and because of him, not in spite of him. Couldn't he cut himself a little slack?
But I could see that, no, he couldn't. His desire to drink and kill me had been too traumatic. He'd never forgive himself.
He tried to waive me off but I wrapped my arms around him, pulling his head to my chest and caressing his cheek.
Edward sighed in frustration, and the harshness of his next words made me stiffen. "I don't think you can understand. Not just because you haven't met a human whose blood 'sings' for you, but you also just seem to have an easier time than most managing your thirst. You were able to be around humans mere days after your transformation, for crying out loud."
"Not humans," I denied. "Just Charlie. And that's different. You and I both know the thirst is easier to manage when it's someone you love."
Still not looking at me, he spoke slowly, carefully. "I can't hear your thoughts, so I don't know for certain, but I can hear other people's and I know it is different for everyone. How they describe their thirst, what sets it off, how acutely they feel it." Edward's head slipped down my chest and into my lap. His arms twined themselves around my legs, under my thighs, and he explained further. "I learned the hard way that visualizing a kill was a dangerous thing for me to do. Visualizing led to me rebelling and leaving Carlisle in the first place. It was why I struggled so much to return, and why my adjustment back to my old diet was so difficult. It took years. First would come the spike of hunger, then the fantasy. The fantasy would take hold, and the next thing I knew, I would be rationalizing, creating an exception. And then I would have to go home to Carlisle and Esme with red eyes."
I didn't dare breathe or react audibly. He was finally talking to me, opening up. But my heart broke at the self-loathing I was hearing. My fingers sank into his hair, wishing so badly that I could comfort him.
"We all have our own strategies for keeping to our diet. Rosalie calls my methods repression, and strictly speaking, she's right. But it's what works for me." I bit my tongue, but I was inclined to agree with Rose. I understood the high stakes, but I couldn't help but think that his methods were unhealthy.
He continued, "I am very careful about whether and when I allow myself to imagine the act of drinking someone." Hesitating, he took a breath, nestled against my thighs…then plunged, blurting all in a rush, "With you, it was obviously out of the question. That first day, sitting here, I let myself plan how I might do it—how I would get you alone, how I would deal with witnesses, but I knew better than to picture myself actually drinking you. There would have been no turning back if I had. I-I only let myself do it once—our first day in the meadow, after I was almost certain it was safe. I had to know, beyond doubt, that I was strong enough, so I leaned my face into your neck, breathed in your scent, and thought it through. In detail. How I would do it, what it would taste like, how it would feel. But, in that moment, I wasn't really tempted. Like you said, it's easier when it's someone you love."
Naturally, I remembered all of this. It had been one of the most thrilling events of my life. Did he think that I hadn't understood? My vampire boyfriend had just explained how tempting my blood was, how badly he wanted to drink it, how very likely it was that he would kill me right there in that meadow. And then he had rested his head on my shoulder, pressed face into the skin of my neck and breathed deep. His body had shuddered with need against mine while he basked in my scent. Of course he had been imagining drinking me.
And I, his human girlfriend, hadn't dared move at all. Fear and love and desire tangled inside me, snarled and fused. I was so mixed up. I didn't want to die! And I didn't think I would—despite everything he's said, I trusted him completely. I was safe…and even if I wasn't, I had no regrets. The pit of my stomach had been clenched tight with dread, while my skin hummed and nerves twitched where we touched. My pussy had been a shameful, gushing mess. So hot, so wet, so needy.
Edward was still trying to explain. "But I didn't get cocky. I never thought about it again. I didn't want those visuals in my head in any kind of concrete way. So, that's how it works for me: my body tells me it wants something—to rip your throat open and drink your blood, to touch your cheek, to kiss your shoulder—I think it, an image pops into my head, and I push it aside. I have to stop before it becomes solid, something I can revisit and obsess over. The urge is just a moment that comes and goes; I don't follow it."
I brought myself out of the memory, back to reality—to the dark, lonely classroom that felt like a ruin of my past.
I thought I understood what he was saying. A nervous thrill began to pulse through me. For me, feelings of being his prey and those of sexual arousal were all jumbled together. Was…was he telling me that it was the same for him? Did his predation instinct and carnal urges for me bleed together? I didn't dare hope.
Swallowing hard, I found the bravery to speak. "Edward?"
"Yes?"
"There's still something I'm not clear on." I was impressed at how steady I had managed to keep my voice.
"Okay," he mumbled and raised his head. He looked so lovely, but also so penitent. That made me pretty sure I knew the answer before I even asked—but I needed to hear him say it.
"I understand not fantasizing about drinking my blood. That makes complete sense to me, and incidentally, I appreciate that you didn't spend a lot of time visualizing killing me." And that was true: I didn't enjoy the idea of him wanting to actually kill me, or lingering over the details of my murder—there was nothing sexy about that. I just wanted him to want me, my body, my blood so badly that he couldn't help himself. He'd lose control, fuck me, take a bite, a taste—but I wouldn't die. I knew he'd stop drinking before I died because he had when given the challenge. He wasn't capable of killing me. No matter what he believed of his nature, I would never be convinced that he could.
The thought, the hope that he might get a sexual thrill from his urges to feed off of me was an irresistible temptation. He was clearly disgusted with himself. Were our most shameful kinks matching pair? I had to know. "But why do the same with thoughts about touching and kissing me? I understand being close to me like that could trigger the thirst, especially early on, but after you loved me?"
He slumped and admitted. "You are assuming bloodlust and carnal lust are always distinct and separate for me." Edward inhaled a bracing breath. "That's not the case."
My heart tingled, rejoiced with relief. We were the same. I was not the only one who had been horny in the meadow that day. I was not the only one who had been turned on at the thought of him biting me, drinking my blood.
"At least," he continued, "not to a point where I trusted myself. And not just with you—with most of the human women I have found attractive over the years, as well. It has always been safer just to keep all physical desires on lockdown."
That jerked me right out of my state of relief. Other human women? What other human women? "I thought you said you never really…before me…?"
"I hadn't, not really. I actually thought for many years that I wasn't capable of feeling sexual desire in the way most people seem to; I lived celibate for a long time with barely any discomfort or unhappiness. Until I met you. I wasn't exaggerating when I told you I think I needed to fall in love for my sexuality to fully wake up. But there were moments here and there, women I got to know briefly who were appealing to me in that confusing way of jumbled physical responses. Maybe three or four in ninety-odd years. Nothing ever came of that, obviously, and in terms of intensity, there is no comparison to you at all."
Interesting. I nodded, then clarified the point that was most important, most comforting to me. "And urges to take me for my blood and take me for your sexual pleasure were mixed together for you?"
"Not always, but often enough," he confirmed. "It did get better the longer we were together, and naturally I don't feel that way when we are intimate now."
Yes, of course. I was no longer the tempting human. Still, he couldn't have known what his confession had meant to me. I wasn't the only pervert—we were together in this, twisted in the same way. I felt as though he had calmed a tempest inside of me that I had lived with so long its raging chaos had become normal. On the inside, I fell still and calm.
"So, you don't have fantasies about me."
The idea no longer bothered me, because it made complete sense now. Of course thinking of drinking my blood and popping a boner would be unpleasant and horrifying for him. My own erotic blood-drinking dreams had upset me, sent me into spirals of denial, and I was the one without religious and sexual baggage. If I knew my Edward, disgust with himself and terror at his intentions wouldn't even begin to cut it. He'd avoid the feeling as much as possible, so no wonder his fantasies had been smothered and buried in unmarked graves.
"None."
A new question presented itself and I fidgeted, nervous fingers in my hair. "Not even now? New ones—since I changed?"
He shook his head. "I'm not sure that's a switch I know how to flip."
I couldn't deny that I was disappointed. "But you are open to mine?"
He dropped a kiss on the palm of my hand. "Very. If you couldn't tell, your fantasies have been quite the vicarious experience for me."
I should just be happy. He had opened up to me in a way that he had never before, confessed things I knew he would have preferred to hide forever. But implications were bubbling to the surface and I was starting to understand why things between us were the way they were. In some ways I was comforted. In others….
"Will you promise me something, Edward?"
His brows drew together. "What?"
"That you'll tell me if there is something you want. Anything. Nothing is off limits until we talk about it, okay?"
He nodded automatically and I wasn't sure if I could trust it.
"And that you'll tell me if there's something you don't want to do. You won't just go along with it to make me happy."
"I promise."
"Our safe word is fern," I reminded him.
He chuckled. "I'm aware. But I haven't needed it."
My throat clenched. I wasn't so sure that was true. "You know you can also use it if I am ever…too much, right?"
"Too much?"
I grimaced with mortification. "Like last Saturday, maybe. When you were trying to finish that book, and I just kept coming back for more, over and over again."
"Is that what you are worried about?" He sounded legitimately startled.
Attempting to affect nonchalance, I shrugged, but couldn't meet his eyes. "You just said that you went a century without sex and you didn't even really mind. I just…I can't even imagine. That sounds like a hellscape to me."
Laughter burst out of him and I tensed. I tried to leave, dismount the lab table, but his grip was too firm and I fell forward against him, my head landing on his shoulder.
"It's not funny," I grumbled into the skin of his neck. "If sex is something you could take or leave and I'm basically a demon in heat, that's a problem. I was so worried before I turned that I was going to lose the way I desired you, that you were going to come second to blood, and sex would be an afterthought." I straightened up and glared at him. "But, nope. Not even close. Do you remember telling me how vampire personalities more or less become locked in versions of their human selves at the time they were changed? Their likes and dislikes, their temperaments? And some of it becomes heightened?"
He looked cautious. "Yeah."
"Well, Carlisle thinks I've had such an easy transition because of how much time I had to psychologically prepare, but what if that's not it? What if I was just so focused on how much I wanted to still want you and how much I didn't want to want blood that it…stuck? And now, I'm just like this, forever."
I groaned at the expression on his face. He wasn't taking me seriously at all.
With an infuriatingly charming grin on his face, Edward tugged my body toward his, off the lab table and into his lap. He stroked the side of my face and planted a soft kiss against my left eyebrow. "Bella, if you are like this forever, then I would say that we are going to have a very happy marriage."
I glowered up at him. Didn't he understand that this was a legitimate fear? That I was trying to be vulnerable with him the way he had been with me? "I would take more confidence from that if you weren't still laughing," I snapped. Then I sighed, probing earnestly, "You really don't think it will be a problem if my sex drive is so much higher than yours? Too high?"
Finally, his eyes showed that he was serious and the bands around my heart loosened.
"Bella," he said, voice deep and decadent, "my sex drive after meeting you doesn't even compare to how I was before. Trust me, I can keep up. I have been, haven't I?" And then he gripped my waist to hold me in place while he pressed his fully erect cock into me.
Just for a flash, time hiccupped. Our talk, our intimacy…had aroused him? Oh…my God. I squirmed against his hard dick, elated to have it against me. His lips descended on mine and it was a demanding, dominating kiss. I whimpered, light-headed.
And then, oh…fuck yes, he was groping me. His hand slipped up my shirt and went right for my breasts, my sensitive nipples. He lightly pinched one between two of his fingers. Mhmn. My clitoris throbbed.
Not for the first time, I wondered what it would be like if he pinched harder. Until it hurt, just a little. I shuddered and my nipples somehow clenched even tighter.
He grunted into our kiss at my reaction, his hips pulsing upward. Humping me.
I broke the kiss and cried out. God, I wanted him.
It seemed the feeling was mutual. I felt his hand dip down to my jeans and he began unfastening them, revealing my flimsy, see-through panties.
Immediately, my hand dropped to cover his, halting his movement even though I didn't want to.
Arms tight around him like a vice, I caught my breath, my bearings. "Edward, the fantasy," I reminded us both.
He stilled. A moment of silence and then, "We don't have to—"
Gritting my teeth, I pulled back from him, far enough to see his face. I was not going to compromise on this. If my husband couldn't ask for what he wanted, then I was going to insist on giving it to him. "Oh yes, we do. You have been thinking about this non-stop since I showed it to you, I can tell. You want this. And as we just discussed, you never ask me for anything in the bedroom. Let me do this for you."
His expression softened. I thought resistance was over, but then he tried again. "Well, maybe we don't have to follow the fantasy exactly. We could change up some of the details."
That bullshit didn't merit a response and the look I gave him communicated that clearly. I removed his hands from the front of my jeans and refastened them. He tried a puppy-dog look and I rolled my eyes.
His shoulders lifted and dropped, but his next words held a note of longing that rippled through me: "I wanted you naked."
—
Naked and His
For half a moment, I was ready to scoff, but then I fully processed what he had said, how he had said it, and the look on his face. He wanted me naked. I shivered. "Oh. Okay."
I had to get off of his lap before my own hormones derailed the fantasy. In this moment, I wanted his cock inside me so badly I could have begged, bargained, or schemed for it. Instead, I lowered my feet to the ground, tried and failed to rise on my shaky legs.
Clearing my throat, I made my best effort to speak normally and get our game back on track. "So, it's spring of our junior year. You and I have just started seeing each other. I know you're a vampire, but we haven't been to the meadow yet, and Mr. Banner is showing a movie in class."
I steeled my determination and attempted to stand again. This time I was successful, if unsteady, and I walked through the dark classroom toward the television on the pushcart in the corner without looking back.
"We don't have to go that far," Edward called after me.
Maybe I was being silly, but I wanted to do this properly. I didn't think I would be able to create the mood, the experience of the fantasy without something playing. I crouched down and examined the stack of dusty DVD cases. An uncomfortable jolt went through me as I realized I had no idea what movie we had watched that day. Had I been so preoccupied with Edward that I'd never noticed what we watched? Or…had I forgotten? It was a question that had started coming up often enough to provoke uneasiness.
For now though, I pushed those thoughts aside and chose to go with the movie already in the tray. Loading it up, I called back to Edward, "I'm not going to wheel it out in front of the desks, and I don't care what we put on. I'm just going for a bit of ambiance. It's not like I paid attention to whatever he put on the first time around." Walking back to him, I spoke in a deliberately lower register, lingered on my words. I wanted to remind him why we were here—the scenario he had been obsessed with for days. "All I could think about was the two of us, sitting side by side in the dark, and how badly I wanted to touch you."
I think he actually gulped. "You were thinking about this? In class?"
The film provided chatter and generic music as background noise as I arrived at my old chair. "No. During class, all I could muster was wishing my shoulder might brush against yours, or that you would hold my hand under the desk. But it felt intimate—we were so close, and the dark made it feel more private than it was. That whole side of my body tingled, dying for you to lean close. Both days, when I changed for Gym afterward, my underwear was wet."
So wet. God, he had no idea. It had been an intense enough experience to have echoed and fomented in my mind into the perverted naughtiness we were about to engage in.
I grinned, nipples tight again now that he was close. "This fantasy came later, over months of masturbating in the shower, knowing that when I got out, you would be waiting in my bedroom. I wanted to touch your body so badly, and this scenario was my outlet."
His eyes were wide and there was a dark spot on the front of his jeans that made me want to moan. No, I wanted to touch.
But first, I had to get myself in costume. Shyly, I reached for the fastenings of my jeans, realizing that I had missed doing up the button. No matter—they were coming off now anyway. It occurred to me that he may want to do the honors.
"Do you want to take my clothes off? Or do you want me to?"
He blinked in response, his expression flashing legitimate confusion.
"Edward?" I prodded.
"Your clothes off?"
"You wanted me naked." I reminded him, but then I caught on. Edward hadn't made his request seriously. He didn't think that it was a modification to the game I had accepted. Well, I had. The desire in his words and his eyes had been real—he wanted this, whether he had expected it or not. So, he was going to get it.
If it was the last thing I did tonight, I was going to spoil my husband and his body the way he always did for me.
Before I could lose my nerve, I lifted my shirt over my head and tossed it aside. I hoped Edward liked my bra—a cream-colored lacy scrap of nothing with underwear to match. You could see my nipples through the cups in detail. I had chosen it specifically because Edward seemed to have a thing for transparent lingerie and I would happily use whatever worked to entice him. It was hard not to become self-conscious while removing my shoes, socks, and jeans because there wasn't really an elegant or sexy way that I could think of, so I settled for fast.
He made a choking noise when he finally got a good look at my panties. His eyes were riveted on my body and that reminded me that I was stripping. Stripping for Edward. This was a show for him to watch. So, I removed the bra more slowly, let the lace graze my skin. He swallowed hard when my hands trailed down to the straps of my underwear. With the slightest nudge over my hips, they dropped to the ground.
My poor Edward…. He looked like he was ready to come in his pants. I grinned, pleased, and ignored my own arousal as I pushed my chair close to his and sat.
"Bella." God, his voice was hoarse.
But I was in my element now. This was my game, and I would make it one he would remember and cherish forever. "Shh…." I leaned close to his ear, deliberately angling my breasts so that they caught the moonlight from the window as I did. "Don't disrupt the class," I whispered with a naughty smile. "We're supposed to watch the video."
He moaned hungrily and tried to go for a kiss. I leaned away just in time.
"Behave," I scolded. "Play the game."
Edward was on the very edge of his control. I felt so powerful and wanted that I was riding a giddy high, and we had only just started.
I placed my left hand on the table top and gave him a significant look. He groaned and submitted to me, dropping his right hand beside mine.
Ignoring his tense body, only inches away, was impossible but I tried. I had to focus, calm myself if only a little. Right now, I was too hyped, dizzy with exuberant, horny energy. To play my part, I needed to be more calculated and patient. So, I focused in on the movie I had started up, realizing with vague surprise that it was a documentary on the solar system. A very boring physicist was droning on about the formation of our sun and I calmed my breathing. My eyes darted to the clock on the wall and I began some quick calculations. The point of this game was to drag out the touching as long as possible, to feel the tension and let the anticipation build and build. I took a few minutes to decide how I wanted to progress things, when I would push forward to each next step and how.
Edward shifted his weight, and I tried not to react. It was difficult because I couldn't stop picturing how hard he had been before I turned away. I made the decision to stretch the period before I progressed each point out even longer; Edward was a ludicrously patient being. Far more patient than I was. This should be calibrated based on his tolerances—not mine. So, I waited over six minutes before I so much as touched him. Even then, it was just reaching out with my pinkie finger to brush against his hand. His skin had such lovely texture and the muscles all up his arm tensed. When I placed my hand over his, I heard him inhale.
I tried to think back to human Bella. Unlike our other games, I wasn't pretending I was her right now. How could I? I was a naked vampire queen. She had never felt so far away. Just holding Edward's hand in the dark would have made her week. What would she think of what I was doing just now? I smothered my smirk at the thought.
Ten minutes in, Edward allowed me to flip his hand over so that I could touch his palm. I stroked with featherlight motions and drew patterns. His skin seemed especially sensitive and I watched with fascination the way his fingers trembled beneath mine. My touch traveled up his forearm. His breath hitched, then started again, but a little faster than before. The boring man was talking about Mercury now.
Unable to wait another second, I made the move from his inner arm down to his thigh. I did it casually but furtively—the way I would have in a crowded room if I didn't want to get caught. But Edward would have given us away regardless. At the first touch of my hand, he made a strangled, growling noise that let me know for sure his erection hadn't faded even a little.
I gave him a stern look and mischievously mouthed the word, "Quiet."
I forced myself to explore his thigh as slowly as I had his hand and arm, but the truth was that we were both impatient now. I wanted to feel his cock against my skin, in my hand. I wanted to feel it jerk and twitch and pulse while I played. I daydreamed about it while I dragged things out to match the timeline I had set for myself. I wasn't allowed to touch his cock until the halfway point and the seconds were ticking by far too slowly. But the time did eventually come, slowly, finally. I caressed him, over the jeans. He was fit to burst and his grunt was so loud and pained that, for a second, I thought he was coming.
I finally looked at his face, alarmed, and saw that he wasn't—but…God, he was a mess. Feverish and squirming with madness in his eyes.
Leaning toward him, pulled by a magnetic force, I kept up the game, whispering, "Careful. This classroom is full of people. We can't get caught."
Shifting the position of my hand so that the heel could provide firm pressure and friction, I began stroking up and down. Making sure to do the full length in each pass, from tip to base, I did the slow rhythm he favored when he was trying to drive me crazy. It seemed to work on him as well as it did me. I could see him flail and strain to remain quiet and controlled—whether for the sake of the game or his own dignity, I did not know—but it was fruitless. He had no control here. He was mine, all mine, and I would force pleasure upon him until he couldn't take it anymore.
"Bella," he gasped, "I'm…."
I reacted quickly with a firm squeeze at the base of his cock to forestall his orgasm. I let him regain some of his equilibrium, but not too much. I started up again. I brought him near the peak over and over, but didn't let him finish. At the forty minute mark, I finally let myself lower his zipper and thread his erection through the hole in his boxer briefs. It was sloppy and sticky with all the precum he had been weeping for the past hour. It was also so hard and swollen it looked sore. Watching Edward's face as I jerked and played with him, the noises of pain, pleasure, and desperation constant now, I thought of the way he would sometimes torture me with pleasure for hours. I now knew why. It was a heady feeling.
It became clear that he was at a breaking point when I saw him groping for the table leg to steady himself.
Panic flitted through me. "Don't break it, Edward!"
He turned his gaze on me at last, and his black eyes rattled my composure. They were dangerous with a hunger and brutality I had not seen since giving up my humanity. "Let me touch you," he demanded.
I was tempted, so very tempted. Because those ravenous, mad eyes were on my breasts, not my face. I could only imagine what he would do to them. My clitoris throbbed with disappointment, but I stood firm. "Not yet."
"Bella!" he snarled.
But we were almost there! I released his cock from my grip and held up seven fingers. I dropped each as the seconds counted down. "Three…two…one." God, what a relief! "Hour's up. Class is over."
I jumped from my chair and darted to shut the stupid movie off. I was so focused on my task that I didn't notice Edward had followed me until I felt his erection drag along the lips of my wet cunt while I bent over. Immediately I stood up straight and stepped away, crying out in surprise and then laughing with glee at his eagerness. Still, I couldn't let him enter me, bend me over and fuck me ragged, as amazing as that sounded. We were still playing the game.
Nevertheless, he pursued me. His hands were all over my body, touching whatever he could reach. His lips were on my neck, my shoulders, my upper back. My knees weakened and I sighed happily. The game, Bella, I prodded myself. Remember the game.
For him.
"Walk me to my next class, Edward." My voice was faint, half-hearted, but it was my line and I managed to say it.
We stumbled out the classroom door, and the changing temperature of entering the hall reminded me how naked I was. His lips and hands were a menace and I could barely walk. His body pressed close and I could feel him rub his cock against my hip. This was madness—I had never seen him like this before. Then his teeth playfully nipped the back of my neck and my knees gave out completely.
He caught me as I slumped, scooped me up against him, and began walking briskly toward the gym. I locked my arms around his neck and my legs around his hips. His clothes rubbed against my skin deliciously, and I moaned. I was naked; he was clothed. My pussy throbbed at the stark difference.
Did…did I like that? Being naked for him? Feeling his clothed body against my unclothed one?
His erection bobbed against my open slit as he walked and I gasped, my grip on him tightening. "God, Edward."
He practically ripped the door to the supply closet off its hinges and we walked right in. So much for role-play.
In the dark room, where I could smell the various teaching supplies and concrete walls, I tried futilely to get a grip on myself and the scenario again. I leaned back in his arms so that I could see his eyes. His black, predator's eyes. Fuck, they did things to me. I didn't care about the game anymore—I wanted him in my mouth regardless.
Edward lowered me down his body, his cock dragging against the skin of my torso as I went. I came to rest on my knees, at his feet.
Holding eye-contact, feeling his black hunger in my very cunt, I leaned forward and pressed a kiss expressing all my love to the tip of Edward's cock. I needed him to know—it wasn't torture for its own sake, it wasn't just lust—this was an act of love. Love for him, all of him. My vampire husband and all his dark urges.
I nuzzled my face against his shaft affectionately, then fed the head into my mouth. He groaned like he had been hit by a train and his cock leaked precum onto my tongue. Then he shocked me, did something he had never done before: he thrust into my mouth. And not like he would if he were thinking of my human body's safety or comfort. It was a jabbing deep thrust that would have choked me if I needed to breathe.
He whimpered piteously and pulled back. His fingers petted the side of my face as if in apology. I looked up at his face, twisted in anguish as he tried to hold himself back. He failed.
Edward's hips thrust forward again. The force of it was such that I felt dazed, but I made the decision to hold firm. In every instance of oral sex I had ever performed on him, it had always been me giving, never him taking. I could see his face contorted with pain and pleasure, hear his cries of ecstatic suffering rattle the supply shelves, and I could deny him nothing. Whatever he needed, he could have.
He thrust and thrust again into my sore mouth, but it didn't last long. Five total, which was unsurprising. He had been on the precipice for so long. His cum gushed in spurts for what seemed like two or three times the length of his normal orgasm, and I swelled with contentment.
I felt sure that I had done it. I had given my Edward the night of his life, pleasure he'd never dare ask for and never be able to forget.
Author's Note: I feel I should apologize to all the fuzzy forest animals, everyone in general, the Pope in specific, the universe at large, and the very concept of decency for quoting Saint Thomas Aquinas and then jumping immediately into a chapter about blow jobs. My bad!