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Chapter 9: Blood That Moves the Body
[glued to a journal page, a printout of these paragraphs from a study summary:]
The present data suggest that an additional category should be considered in future related to caring behaviors. The presence of caring behaviors and acts of intimacy during scenes, in particular, highlight the concern that S&M participants have for the well-being and positive experience of their scene partners and the positive relationship context in which the scenes occur.
Across both studies, bottoms and tops whose scenes went well reported increases in relationship closeness. In Study 1, the bottom and top whose scene went poorly reported decreases in relationship closeness, but this effect did not replicate for the bottom and top whose scene went poorly in Study 2. The increases in relationship closeness observed in scenes that went well align with the possible benefits of S&M activities discussed in the S&M community literature (Baldwin, 1993; Mains, 1984). The divergent results for the two scenes that went poorly suggest that the effects of negative S&M experiences on relationship closeness may be moderated by a variety of factors such as the history of the relationship, the reason the scene went poorly, the experience level of the participants, the willingness to engage in honest communication about what went wrong, etc.
- "Hormonal Changes and Couple Bonding in Consensual Sadomasochistic Activity," by Sagarin et al, 2006
[underlines are Bella's]
—
Wish List
"Can we talk?" Edward said.
I looked up at him amid the mess of art supplies and coloring books Renesmee had left scattered across the kitchen table. My fingers paused in their task of shoving crayons into their box when I noted the piece of paper folded in his hand.
The damnable thing about vampire senses and memory was how infallible they could be. The paper was folded and only partially visible in his grip, but still…I knew. I recognized it: the exact fading of the ink on the printed lines, the precise placement of the folds and the foxing at the corners from a ritual of opening and closing, over and over.
It was my list of fantasies, the one I had written up a million years ago, before I had sent us both on a journey to hell and back.
"Where…?"
"I found it on your desk," Edward said. "Sorry," he added, and to his credit, he did sound contrite.
My throat felt tight as I shook my head. "So you just stumbled…."
"No," he confessed without hesitation, eager to be transparent. "I was actively searching. It was right on top, and I didn't open any of the desk drawers." He pulled back the chair across the table from me, then lowered himself to sit. "But I remembered you mentioning having written up a list, and determined that I would find it."
I allowed the box of crayons to slip from my grasp and drop to the table. "Why?"
His answer was as direct as his gaze. "Because I want to play our games again."
Reflexively, my stomach clenched. "No."
"No?"
"It's a bad idea. It always was and we know that now. That…list," I couldn't think of a descriptor bad enough, so I infused all of my contempt into that one word, "is how I almost cost us everything."
Edward was silent for a moment, but I recognized the body language. He was formulating a careful response, thinking through his words.
I preempted him with an impassioned plea. "We only just got us back!"
His expression grew tender. "I know."
"Can't we just agree to go back to the way it was before?"
He shook his head. "No. Too much has happened—we know too much about each other now."
I slumped.
"And…," he continued, "I don't want to go back. It wouldn't feel right. What we had before…it wasn't a lie. I would never say that. But it was incomplete. We were hiding and denying so much. It would feel like a lie now."
My eyes fell closed as I fought the rising panic.
"Bella," he said, and after a moment I realized he was waiting for me to open my eyes. When I did, he met my gaze with gentle earnestness and spoke softly. "I love you, Bella. I don't want a marriage where we feel like we need to hide things from each other or tiptoe around sensitive subjects. I want to know you, all of you."
I could see the virtue in what he was proposing, even with the hulking pit of dread weighing heavy in my stomach. I was just…scared. Really, really scared. So, I told him so.
"I am too," he admitted.
"So, what do we do? How do we keep from hurting each other again?"
"I think we talk more." He said it as a serious answer, without a hint of sarcasm. "And earlier," he added. "Before, most of the time when we would play a game, or have a serious conversation about sexual desires we feel conflicted about, we would talk about it right before acting. You had the right idea—about the mating bites. That we needed to talk about it, a lot, multiple times, before deciding to go through with anything. I think maybe we should approach all of our games like that."
I could find no fault with his reasoning there.
He gave me a small encouraging smile and began to unfold the paper in his hands. "I liked these games, Bella. A lot. I liked spoiling you, making your fantasies come true. I liked that they gave me insight into how you think and what you want. I liked that they gave me permission to act on things I have wanted for a long time, too. I even like the part where we play pretend. But I…." He paused before confessing, "I'm not as in touch with this part of myself as you are with yours. There were times I didn't know I wanted something until you suggested it, and there were also times that I didn't know something didn't sit right with me until after we had already done it."
"That makes sense," I said softly.
He smoothed out the paper against the table and gave me an encouraging smile. "I may need to go slow."
I nodded.
His finger tapped the paper. "And I may need to tell you no on some of these."
"Of course," I agreed without reservation.
"But I would at least like to hear about all of them. Exploring your fantasies—Bella, it has been the most thrilling experience of my life. The most intimate. I want it back."
The tightness in my muscles loosened as my resistance finally let go. "Okay."
Edward passed the paper across the table to me. I took a deep breath and surveyed the list, noting that he had taken the liberty of crossing off those we had completed.
Human Bella's Fantasies:
First time he brought me to the meadow
Camping with sleeping bag and tent
Romeo and Juliet on the couch
Edward's bed in the big house
Biology classroom [crossed off]
Gazebo at the edge of school grounds
Forest pond by the field of wild daisies
My old bed/bedroom [crossed off]
My truck cab
Edward's Volvo back seat - skipping biology and/or prom night [just "prom night" crossed off]
"Feel up to talking me through each one of these?" he asked.
I chewed my lower lip. "Yes. Except the first one."
His eyebrows rose.
My gaze dropped and I shrugged. "You won't like that one. I'll tell you about it, but…not first."
Silence hung in the air for a moment, but I did not look up.
"All right," he said. "In that case, tell me about camping. I didn't know you had wanted me to take you."
Lips splitting into a nervous smile, I reassured him, "No, this was something very specific. When Victoria was coming after us, and there was that night we spent up the mountain? When Jake had to keep me warm?"
The skin on Edward's face tightened.
"Well afterward, I thought of an alternate scenario—where you were the one in that sleeping bag with me."
"I did, too."
"Really?" I said, leaning forward. "What did you imagine happened?"
"It wasn't so much something I imagined. Just something I wished had been different. That I could have been different." His forehead furrowed and he looked vulnerable. "I wished I would have been able to keep you warm. That I would have been able to hold you that night."
Oh. Of course—I reminded myself that Edward didn't fantasize. "Well, I imagined that we were completely alone and warm on the mountain top. You would try to just kiss me a little and stop as usual, the way we did at home in my bed, but our bodies would be too close in that cramped little sleeping bag. You would rationalize that it couldn't hurt to slip your hand up under my thermal shirt to my breasts, and I'd be able to feel you getting hard against my thigh. We would talk ourselves into me sleeping topless. And then your shirt would come off, too. And really, who needs pants? We'd end up making out in our underwear, and somehow your hips would slide between my thighs. You'd rock against me and lift my leg around your waist, like you did that night in your bed when you came home from hunting early. From there, all bets would be off. Your cock would wind up outside your boxers, my panties would get pushed aside, and then you would press inside me."
Edward shifted in his chair, as though his jeans were becoming tight. "You pictured full sex? I thought you didn't do that much with your fantasies."
"At first I didn't, but at that point? It didn't feel impossible anymore. We had already negotiated sex for our honeymoon. The floodgates were open. Every fantasy I had from that point on included you penetrating me."
The muscle in Edward's jaw worked and he reached down to adjust himself. A thrill snaked through me—I loved turning him on.
"Huh." His gaze grew far off as he pictured the scene I had described.
"You seem to like that one," I murmured.
He grinned, and it had a rakish tilt to it that I adored. "I do."
Exhilarated, I glanced down at the list. "I think you will like this next one, too."
He made a face that I realized, after a beat, was playful. "You sure? Romeo and Juliet doesn't usually foretell fun."
I chuckled. "Remember the day we watched the movie on the couch after school? And you said all of Romeo's lines?"
"Yes."
"Well, I had a blanket over my lap. Afterward, I fantasized that, while you whispered all those lovely things Romeo says, you slipped your hand under the blanket and touched me. Be—ah…between my legs," I finished a little awkwardly. I wasn't sure if I was feeling self-conscious or excited, but my stomach felt jittery and my tongue stumbled.
He grinned, confirming my suspicion that this one did, indeed, appeal to him. "Over or under?"
"Both. First over, then under. You'd slip your hand down into my jeans, under my panties, and finger me. We'd have to be quiet—discreet. Charlie could have arrived home at any moment. I'd cling to your body, claw my nails into your sweater, roll my hips against your hand trying to get your fingers deeper, to rub my clit against your palm. But you'd draw it out. So slow. Until you finally pushed me too far, and I'd fall apart coming on your fingers."
Edward swallowed. "God, Bella."
"I know…. It…. You would be shocked if you knew just how much time I used to spend thinking about your hand down my panties. Half this list is just me fixating on how badly I wanted you to finger me."
His eyes were so intense, so captivating I couldn't look away. But he didn't speak.
Then he stood. Words stuck in my throat as he lifted his chair by the back and carried it with him around the table. He set the chair down beside mine, so close the wooden seats were touching, then lowered himself beside me.
My breath held when his hand slipped into my lap, thumb tracing the button on my jeans.
"May I?" His words were less a question than a declaration of intent.
I nodded, feeling lightheaded. Heat flooded low in my belly when the button gave, then the zipper.
His head dipped, leaned close, and I felt his breath on my ear. "Tell me about my bed."
"The night you proposed?"
His fingers teased the lacy waistband of my underwear. "I know you wanted me to fuck you."
"Yes," I gasped. Edward using that word still made a mess of me. I could count the number of times on one hand, but they were becoming more frequent since the first instance outside Port Angeles. He'd only used it while seducing me, and that didn't bode well for me developing anything but a Pavlovian response. "But actually, I wished we had found a compromise that night. I wanted physical intimacy—you wanted to wait until our wedding night to lose our virginities. I just thought…" his finger dipped down and traced my slit over wet cotton, "…I thought maybe we could have touched ourselves. Together in bed. You touching you, me touching me. Us watching each other. And maybe, at some point, just a little, we could touch each other."
He groaned low and hungry against my neck, his hand dipping lower and cupping me.
"I would have fucked you." He said it gruffly, with an air of confession, as though he was revealing a weakness. "If you had touched yourself in front of me that night, I would have fucked you."
Just like that, Edward's "fucks" could no longer be counted on one hand and I was leaking all over his fingers.
I bit my lip and whined, clutching my chair, trying to brace myself. Of course, I couldn't help but rock my hips into his touch. His fingers…they were so good.
"The gazebo," I gasped.
"Hmm?"
"The next…the next one. On the list." My weight fell into him as I writhed, as I moaned. God, his fucking fingers…
And they weren't even in me yet. Just masterfully torturing my clit through the silk of my underwear.
"Yes?"
Lord help me, he was licking my neck.
"In school, we would skip an assembly. You would lead me out there alone. This…this was during a time when I had been hoping," I swallowed, "hoping you would just take."
His breath hitched. "What would I take, Bella?"
"Me. I wanted so badly for you to take control of my body and just…inflict pleasure on me. But of course, I was too shy and scared to ever…. It was a dream—this gazebo thing. I had a dream. And then I revisited it over and over. I couldn't stop thinking about it. You backed me against a pillar, pinned my hands over my head, and fingered me."
He slipped his hand into my panties and, in one smooth thrust, two of his fingers were sheathed inside me. I bit my lip to keep from crying out, but failed. Our kitchen rang with the desperate, high-pitched noise that ripped from my throat.
"Like this?"
"Yes," I choked. "So deep, and you would make me orgasm over and over. Until I was sore. Until my cunt hurt and my clit was rubbed raw and my juices were running down my thighs. And then, when you finally let me go…I'd blow you."
Edward growled. His fingers plunged deeply, roughly, and I clutched his bicep.
"The pond one and the one in my truck were like that too," I admitted.
"You thought about blowing me that much?" he sounded slightly stunned, despite his haggard breathing.
I felt horrible that I had to clarify. "No. I mean, yes. I mean, God Edward, I'll suck your cock. Always, anytime. We can add it to every scenario on this list if you want. I certainly thought about it enough that it would fit right in." I squirmed against his hand, greedy for the peak of bliss that was approaching. "I meant they are like the gazebo fantasy in…in the sense that…." Jesus, it was hard to focus on talking when he was doing this to me. "Well, they are all about you taking charge of my body and forcing me to-to…endure pleasure. In my truck, I pictured my pants and underwear down around my ankles while you held me there and licked my pussy. For the pond, I pictured skinny dipping with you, and after, you would pin me in the grass and tease my skin with flower petals, before finally allowing me the privilege of humping your palm until orgasm."
He paused his movement, which I absolutely did not want. With a whimper, I writhed closer to him, nearly off my chair and onto his lap. My face nuzzled close and I began kissing his neck while my hips floundered, searching for the friction of his skin against my poor clitoris.
"You thought about me restraining you often, didn't you?" His voice was thoughtful and way too self-possessed for my liking.
"Only with your hands. It was never as interesting to imagine being tied up, or anything like that. It was always the thought of my fragile, vulnerable, human body in your cold, strong hands…."
I shuddered at my own words and my pussy clamped down on his fingers. He inhaled sharply.
"You're so, so dangerous. Yet I'm so, so safe. So cherished and loved. Naked and helpless and yours." Oh God, I was close—damn close. Fuck, I was going to…. "Always yours, only yours—"
My body convulsed and I cried out into the skin of his neck, clinging to him. My cunt rippled with spasms around his fingers as the pleasure shocked through me in pulses. Until it faded, and I was left high.
Floating on bliss, I sighed, "Mmn, Edward."
My afterglow was made perfect when I felt his hand come up to stroke my hair.
"Talking about that seemed do a lot for you. Judging from how tight you clenched."
I nodded, kissing his throat. He was so good to me and I wanted to return the favor. "Take your fingers out, and I'll get on my knees."
He stilled and I felt him swallow against my lips. "Okay."
When his hand slipped free of my jeans, I dropped from his lap to the floor. He brushed my hair from my face as I opened his pants and reached in to free his cock.
But then—"Bella?"
Something in his voice made me freeze as I looked up. He caressed my cheek and there was tenderness there in his expression. Thoughtfulness.
Though certainly aroused, he wasn't in the moment with me. It was sobering.
"What's so bad about the one in the meadow?"
My hands withdrew to his knees without me realizing at first. I sat back on my haunches, unable to hold eye-contact as I pondered how to approach this topic. He waited patiently while I found my words, but I still wasn't sure of them when my mouth finally opened to speak.
"I know it disturbs you how attracted, sexually, I was to you as a vampire. The meadow fantasy is pretty much all of those desires twisted in one big, perverse scenario."
His thumb stroked the skin of my cheek. "You can tell me, Bella. I won't be upset."
Looking up at him, my mouth opened and the words came tumbling out. "You lured me out into the middle of nowhere, where no one would hear me scream, where no one could rescue me. Like a predator. And I went willingly. What does that say about me? I even did all I could to make sure that, if you killed me, you would get away with it."
"I remember," he said darkly.
"I trusted you. I really did. Deep down, I knew you wouldn't. I knew I was safe and nothing would happen."
"You don't have to say that, Bella."
"It's not something I'm just saying. You had already saved me twice at that point. I…I have never felt safer in my life than I did that night in your Volvo. In Port Angeles." I turned my face and kissed his palm. "You were so scary, deadly, and I…. Inside, all my fear faded to nothing, like someone turned the knob all the way down. Because anything in the world that wanted to hurt me was going to have to go through you before it could touch me."
With a shaky sigh, I leaned forward and rested my cheek on Edward's thighs. I was feeling like I wished I could cry again. He cradled my neck, holding me.
"I knew I was safe when you invited me to the meadow," I repeated, adamant, not sure if I was trying to convince him or myself. "I knew you'd never hurt me. I didn't have a death wish." But there, on my knees, my head in my husband's lap, I confessed, "But I was…I think I was…. If you had, I would have forgiven you."
Edward had grown very still.
We remained like that, in silence at the kitchen table, while the seconds ticked and ticked by.
Finally, his voice reached out. "Bella, your fantasy isn't…? You didn't touch yourself to thoughts of me killing you, did you?"
I lifted my head. "No! Of course not!"
"Then what—?"
"Biting me, yes. Drinking me, yes. Killing me, no." I swallowed, feeling ashamed. "I know that in real life, there isn't a distinction. But in my fantasies, there absolutely was. I didn't want to die. I just wanted you to be able to satisfy the hunger I saw in your eyes when you looked at me. I wanted my body to be able to give you what you craved." Then my shoulders lifted and dropped in a half-hearted shrug. "Under all the layers, at the end of the day, it was all really just about sex, Edward. I swear. I could wrap my head around you being a vampire and lusting after my blood. That was new and fantastical and slightly absurd. It was impossible, so it was safe. But sex…the fact that I was starting to want sex with you—badly—that was scary. That was full of implications. So, I took the fact that I wanted you to fuck me and displaced it a little. Turned it into a digestible metaphor."
Edward blinked at me for a moment, before spluttering into shocked, bitter laughter. "A digestible metaphor? Is that what it was?"
I swatted his arm. "Yes. When I dreamed about the meadow, you bit me and we both orgasmed into oblivion. It was violent, sure, but also…simple. And direct. When I was awake and started trying to translate this idea into something I could live with myself masturbating to…it got, well, messy. We were there, in the meadow, and we both knew you would bite me eventually, but we never got that far when I was fantasizing. Instead, it was all the lead up. You'd get me there, alone. I was free to leave if I didn't want to be yours, but we both knew I wouldn't. After I insisted on staying, you'd tear my clothes off, ruin them so that I was naked with nowhere to go, spread out for you in the sunlight. You'd tell me you were going to take my virginity before you fed off me, and you weren't going to be gentle or go slow. This was about your pleasure, not mine."
His lips parted and he looked aghast. It was so antithetical to everything we had ever done in the bedroom together. My pleasure always came first—the idea of a scenario where that dynamic reversed was anathema to him.
"It was a fictional premise, Edward," I explained. "A game, like we've been playing. You weren't going to hurt me or force me. I was willing—eager, actually." I paused, letting that sink in. When it seemed like he still wasn't getting the appeal, I spelled it out further. "Did it never occur to you that, first of all, I might get as much satisfaction from prioritizing your pleasure as you get from prioritizing mine? And second, that pretending—and I am emphasizing that word here—pretending the sex was everything to do with your pleasure and nothing to do with mine, might sweep away some of the anxiety I had over how much pleasure I was certain I would feel? Didn't you say that thinking of sex that way helped you come to terms with your own lusts? Making it all about me?"
He sat and blinked while he digested that.
"I'd be the helpless prey caught in your snare, hopelessly in love, with no course of action except to surrender my body to you. You would use me to satisfy all of your lusts, and I would get the thrill of getting to do that for you without any of the shame or stigma of having wanted it, too."
We remained still, in silence, for several minutes. My skin felt heated and my hands were shaky. The air had turned sober and I felt unclean and repulsive. I had known that voicing my meadow fantasy would be unpleasant, that Edward wouldn't like it, but I hadn't anticipated just how icky it would make me feel to say all of that out loud.
My fingers fumbled with the fastenings of my jeans as I did them back up. When I rose to my feet, Edward caught my wrist before I could step away. He gently pulled me back into my chair beside his.
He held my hand, stroking his thumb back and forth against my skin and I realized he was comforting me. Some of the tightness in my chest loosened.
"Surrendering your body to me," he began softly, "that's a common thread through almost all of your fantasies, isn't it?"
And just like that, he looped a thread through the ugliness of my meadow fantasy and tied it to everything else on the list. My stomach sank. But I met his eyes, and it reassured me that they were kind, understanding.
Timidly, I nodded, admitting the truth to him and myself.
"Just so I am sure I understand: you enjoy being submissive while I take control of your body and your pleasure. Especially, in games where the conceit is that I am losing control of myself because I want you too much. And the idea of me using your body selfishly to sate my appetites is appealing to you, at least in theory."
"Yes." I wished my voice didn't sound so small.
Edward gave me an encouraging smile. He lifted my wrist up to him, and he pressed a soft kiss to my sensitive skin. Then he leaned forward and brushed his lips against mine.
"Thank you, Bella," he murmured. "I know that was hard for you to tell me."
I kissed him back before he could pull away and he smiled against my lips. And just like that, I slipped free of my dread and shame. For that moment, at least.
This kiss deepened. My lips parted and our tongues touched.
Edward groaned. "God Bella, I have been crawling out of my skin missing our games. I can't wait to give you all of these."
That sobered me a bit. I placed my hand on his chest and pushed some distance between our bodies so I could see his expression.
"All?"
"Hmm?" He was still a little swept up. It took a moment for the fog of passion to recede from his eyes.
Skeptical, I pressed for clarification, nodding toward the list on the table. "You're saying you're okay with all of these?"
I could see in his expression that his first impulse was to answer in the affirmative, to promise me the moon. But then he stopped, the words hitching on his tongue, and when he did finally speak, I heard a note of apology creeping in.
"Well, the one in the meadow, the one we haven't done, might be…a lot."
I let go of the breath I had been holding, relieved that he was really and actually being honest. "We'll scratch that one then."
But when I reached for the nearest crayon to cross it off the list, he placed his hand over mine.
"No," he said, "It's not…. The things you want me to do…I want them, too."
My eyebrows shot up.
Shamefaced, he confessed, "Very much. But I may need to work up to them."
Wait…my meadow fantasy…? My disgusting, horrid meadow fantasy—he wanted it, too?
"Really?"
"Yes."
I would have doubted him, doubted my ears and whether they were working properly, except that he looked as conflicted as I felt.
As the intensity of my shock faded, flashes of us doing it, really and truly acting it out, began flitting through my head. Edward playing the monster with me was something I had never dared hope for. The thought was so erotic, it overloaded my senses. My pussy gushed and a moan escaped my throat.
He looked bashful in response and that brought me back some of my control. I needed to rein myself in, to keep my perspective. He was still figuring himself out, and I shouldn't pressure him to go faster than was comfortable. If he wanted a game, we should start small.
Very small—work our way up, like he said.
"So, we should start with something easy," I said with an encouraging smile. I glanced at the list, and with a burst of confidence, I pointed to the final item. "This?"
"What's that one?" he asked.
"That's the one where we ditch Biology to make out in your car and end up having dry sex in the back seat."
The storm clouds in his face cleared. His eager grin salved my apprehension. "Yeah, let's start there."
—
Blood in the Air
After that, Edward carried me off to our bedroom.
"Oh," I said, breathless. "Really?"
"Yes," he grunted between kisses, nudging the door shut and backing me into it. "Bella, I still haven't come." He pressed his erection into me insistently.
I was surprised. I guess I had assumed our conversation digging into all the weirdness underpinning my meadow fantasy would have killed his arousal. The fact that it hadn't gave me a strange little rush, building my confidence that he meant it when he said he wanted it too. The thought staggered me.
"Your fantasies," he roughly unfastened my jeans again and pushed them down my legs, "got me so hard."
Eagerly, I helped him strip my body nude and he fucked me against our bedroom door. Then I removed his clothing, led him to the bed, and fulfilled my earlier promise of a blow job.
His enthusiasm for recommencing our games was contagious, filling me with confidence and optimism. A sense, even, of new beginning. As long as I didn't think about it all too much. When I did, my mind could spiral down all the ways things had gone bad before and could go bad again.
For that reason, I think it was good for both of us that we were going to start off slow. Slow meant that he could take his time to ponder his sensations and feelings as they came. He could keep a close watch on whether or not he was comfortable and actually enjoying himself, and he could then relay those thoughts to me. Slow also meant that my anxieties could be more contained. Checking in with each other often—before, during, and after games—seemed like a promising strategy to me for avoiding the pitfalls of our past.
We scheduled a night to inaugurate our return to games, and as the clock ticked closer to the moment, both Edward and I became restlessly excited. He was shockingly horny, and I was more than eager to give him my body any time he wanted it. His enthusiasm soothed that anxious voice whispering in the back of my head about Edward only having sex with me out of obligation.
The morning of our game day, I was writing in another of my diaries, recounting the early days of our courtship as part of my continued efforts to preserve my human memories. This time, I was documenting my memories of the day we did blood typing in Biology.
(excerpt here included:)
Edward stayed behind at our lunch table, announcing that he intended to skip class. I realized later it was to avoid the exposure, but I had gone unwittingly. The sight and especially smell of blood used to make me faint, so in no time Mike Newton had ended up walking me to the nurse's office.
The details, the exact sequence of events, are that muddy murk my human memories have become. I do remember that Edward materialized from what felt like nowhere at the time. In retrospect, "nowhere" was the parking lot, his car. His first words were frantic concern for me.
"Is she hurt? What's wrong?"—or, something like that.
He swept me away from Mike, literally lifted me into his arms and carried me the rest of the way to the nurse's office.
It was the first time he carried me somewhere. Thinking back now, that seems like a momentous first, because Edward is picking me up constantly.
When I was human, I was sure it was mostly because I was fragile, clumsy, and moved slow. He's an impatient and protective person, who has Opinions about where I should be and what I should be doing, you know, for my safety. It was probably easier and faster to just pick me up and set me where he wanted me. Believing this meant that, while I've always enjoyed being carried by him, there was that little bit of indignation percolating in me under the surface.
But then I changed. I became a vampire—just as fast, strong, and durable as he was. And while he still frets over my safety in the larger sense, it's no longer a concern of our daily lives. Yet, he still picks me up. Carries me here, there. Down stairs, over puddles. Sets me on the counter, in a chair, in his lap. On our bed. That fact paints a clearer picture.
Maybe some of it is still his need for control, his bossy streak, but honestly…I think he just likes holding me. He carries me like I'm precious because that's how he genuinely feels, and he enjoys it.
And that day, to the nurse's office, was the first time.
I demanded that he put me down. Of course, he ignored me.
My head was dizzy from the blood and the overwhelming experience of being engulfed in his scent, but I remember how his arms had felt strong and unnaturally hard against my back and the underside of my knees. He'd held me at a slight distance, away from his chest, and walked a little too fast to pass for human. Just a little nausea and he was in full panic for my well being.
Oh, my sweet, silly husband. God, I love him. I love remembering him this way: a tortured, lost puppy, trailing after me with only hope for scraps of my love because he hadn't yet believed he deserved more. And I had been the confused, lonely girl—unsure of myself and utterly without purpose. There was a time that it had been painful to remember us this way, but that was before I knew how our story would end. Looking back on those scared idiots in a high school parking lot now made me smile, because I knew they would find a home in each other.
"You look awful. I've seen corpses with better color," I think he teased. Also, he found it funny that blood made me sick. That's something I laugh about now, too. Vampire humor.
There hadn't been much for the nurse to do—because I was fine.
Edward insisted I get checked out anyway, and was adamant that it was only out of worry for me, but considering how he had begun the day by asking me out (I don't think either of us were allowing ourselves to think of him driving me to Seattle as a date at that point, but looking back, it most certainly was), and then the way the afternoon played out…. I think maybe he just wanted to spend time with me and didn't know how else to go about it. He had still been in that phase of teasing me about things that scared him and behaving oddly so that I had no choice but to pay attention to him.
After the nurse released me, he lied to get me out of going back to class and then all but herded me into his car. At the time, he had seemed so cool and self-assured to me. But I knew him better now. I saw the awkwardness and insecurities, the failed jokes and the desperation.
Particularly, I remember the moment when, after I asked him out to the weekend La Push trip and he said no, I turned to walk to my truck and he panicked and grabbed a fist full of my jacket to stop me. Like a weirdo.
He said something like, "Where are you going?" and his intensity and volume were both too high for the moment.
It was so silly: he thought he had just arranged an afternoon alone with me, and there I was, wandering off; I thought he had just rejected me and was going off to lick my wounds, maybe eat some ice cream, and there he was, switching from cold back to hot.
"Do you think I'm going to let you drive home in your condition?" he'd said, as though I'd suffered a head injury or downed a line of tequila shots or something.
Even then I had known it was a flimsy premise. I went along with it because, well, I wanted to. The most gorgeous, interesting boy in the world wanted to give me a ride home. Of course I agreed. How was I supposed to know he drives like a maniac?
When he let go of my jacket, I stumbled and fell against his car door. The look on his face…. I didn't know then that the slight widening of his eyes meant "Oops…."
"It's unlocked," was all he said, but I suspect now that he felt like a jackass.
(end of excerpt)
I spent the morning writing out this memory in my diary. It made me laugh, loudly and long enough that Edward came to find me out of curiosity. I showed him the entry and he was unamused.
"This is how you remember it?"
I raised my eyebrows in challenge. "Am I wrong?"
I was only half teasing. After all, it was entirely possible I was—faulty thing that my memory had become. That was the point of writing all this out in the first place.
He looked like he wanted to contradict my version of events, but when he merely grumbled, I knew I was on the right track and he was simply embarrassed.
I lifted the diary from his hand and dropped it on the desk behind me. Taking his wrist, I reeled him into my arms and kissed him. "It's a good memory, Edward, from a good day."
"The whole day?"
I nodded and playfully nibbled his lower lip. "You asked me on a date, sat with me at lunch, and drove me home. And I didn't have to go to Gym."
His hand slipped into my hair, fingering the loose locks. "I think I was too tense to enjoy it," he confessed. "I was trying to get myself used to your scent. The drive to Seattle was going to be a lot for me. I wanted to know if I could even stand being in the same car as you."
Nuzzling his jaw, I said, "That makes sense. I was just full of butterflies about all of it. My first time alone with a boy in his car, and it was you—the guy of my literal dreams."
"Dreaming about me? Really?"
"Almost every night." I trailed my lips up toward his ear and he leaned into the touch. "And it only got worse. At least those early dreams were weird and vague. The more time we spent together, the more they became about wanting to be with you. After riding in your car, I started to dream about us in the back seat. That's where tonight's game comes from, you know?"
He groaned as my tongue traced his ear. "That's about when it started happening for me, too."
Taken aback for a beat, I asked, "What started happening?"
"Sexual attraction. To you. I was thinking about it more and more, though I was certain I would never be able to act on it. The blood typing incident was when I first started to wonder whether you were attracted to me, too."
It seemed ludicrous that he'd ever had to wonder.
Leaning back, I caught and held his eyes. "Edward, that day in your car, did you want to kiss me?"
"I couldn't have."
"I know. That's not what I asked. Did you want to?"
With a sigh, he stroked my hair. "Yes. Very much. But it was too early. Not just considering your blood and the way it called to me. I…I think I wasn't ready emotionally yet."
My lips quirked up. "I wasn't either, if you believe it. I was still getting used to the intensity of my crush on you—how it wreaked havoc on my body and feelings. If you had tried to kiss me, I probably would have pulled away. Maybe even injured myself trying to get out of your car."
Edward seemed to marvel over that, but my thoughts were already moving ahead, sparking with an idea.
"So, neither of us were ready," I said. "But what if we pretended?"
He blinked. "What?"
"Our game tonight. The broad strokes of the fantasy were that we ditched Biology to make out in the back of your car and wound up having dry sex. Well, this was the one time we actually skipped class together. What if we took that premise and applied it to this specific memory?"
"That…" he said haltingly, then paused. I watched his face, noting the little emotions that passed through, and guessed that his reflex was to reject the idea. But then his eyes darkened and his lips pulled into a grin. "That could be fun."
—
Hooky
"You're going to have to guide me through the script on this one," I said as he parked the car in the empty lot, behind the building and invisible from the main road, at 3 a.m. "I don't remember many specifics about our conversation."
He glanced at me as he killed the engine. "That's probably because there wasn't much to it."
I chuckled as I opened the car door. "Humor me."
"Wait. Where are you going?"
"You're coming, too."
"I am?"
I nodded. "Just a little ways away, so that we can approach the car together." Without waiting for a response, I stepped out into the rain and closed the car door behind me.
It was just a light sprinkle, but I lifted my face to it gratefully. My true motive was that I wanted to give myself a little dusting of raindrops, knowing how much Edward liked the way I smelled in the rain.
He walked with me a short distance, and then we stopped and pivoted to face the car. Moonlight reflected over the wide empty surface of the wet pavement, and we were standing in a vast sea of pale light. The night smelled clean and the cool air put a spring in my step. Or maybe it was just anticipation.
"So, what were we talking about as we walked through the parking lot?"
"Just the beach trip you had planned with friends."
"Ah, yes. When I asked you out and you shot me down."
His brows raised. "Bella, that's not—"
"Just teasing," I said. "I know you couldn't come to First Beach because of the treaty. And the sun. But that's how it felt at the time."
Edward reached out and brushed the rain from my cheeks. "I hate that I made you feel unwanted, even for just a moment." He was referring to this one specific incident, but I couldn't help but think his meaning was broader, encapsulating more recent events.
I appreciated the gesture, but I didn't want to get bogged down by the heaviness of those emotions right now. I wanted badly for this game to go well, to be a fresh start for us. So, I brought us back to the moment at hand. By walking away.
He reacted with alarm. "Bella, where—?"
"I'm going home," I said. Then added in a deliberate tone, "Because you got me out of Gym and there's no way I'm going back to Biology. I would stay and talk to you, but you seem moody and you just rejected my invitation. For all I can tell, our conversation is over."
His brow cleared.
"Aren't you going to grab my jacket and stop me?" I taunted playfully.
The corners of his lips lifted. "You're not wearing a jacket."
So I wasn't. I spread my arms and displayed my torso. "Whatever will you grab then?"
His eyes darkened slightly.
My long-sleeved, crew neck t-shirt was by no means revealing, but it was formfitting, and it only clung to my skin more with every raindrop that hit it.
With deliberate, stalking steps toward me, Edward reached out and took a fist of my shirt hem. I inhaled sharply as the action pulled the fabric up and exposed a sliver of my stomach to the rain. He yanked me toward him, toward the car.
"Didn't you hear me promise to take you safely home?" he said, voice velvety and seductive. "Do you think I'm going to let you drive in your condition?"
I opened my mouth to protest that there was nothing wrong with my condition. That was the response that came to mind now, and I was pretty sure I had said something to that effect that day. But God his hot gaze was distracting.
"No protests?" He smirked.
Licking my lips I said, "I should, right? I barely know you."
Edward began steering me backward, holding me by my shirt.
"I'll be safe with you, right?"
A flicker of something else came into his eyes, behind the desire. "I think so. But I don't know for sure."
My back reached the car door and Edward leaned over me, pressing me into it. "It doesn't matter," I said. "I'll get in anyway."
His jaw looked tight as he nodded. "The door's open."
My left hand reached out for the handle of the passenger door, but he reached out and shut it before I had even opened it an inch. "No, Bella. Get in the back."
It was the sexy kind of bossy, and my knees turned to liquid.
I groped out for the other door handle, but he released my shirt and beat me to it. He held the door open for me like a gentleman, all the while his eyes flashing with dark hunger. I could swoon.
It was impossible not to brush against him as I climbed in, and he followed after me. When the door shut, we were cocooned in our private little world. We weren't soaked with rain, merely damp, and loved the way the droplets nestled in his hair.
He reached for me.
"Clair de Lune," I blurted.
Edward blinked.
"Can we have it playing?"
Ever gallant and accommodating, he murmured, "Of course." Leaning between the two front seats to reach the dash, he started the car and switched on the music. It took him a moment to find the song in question.
When he settled back beside me, he said, "This has always been one of my go-to songs for calming my monster."
"Is that why you were listening to it that day?"
"Yes." He confessed, "Sitting with you at lunch got me…worked up."
His words didn't surprise me, but they were thrilling nonetheless. "I was a nervous mess, too."
I could see that Edward was trying not to, but his eyes kept dropping to my chest. I knew my nipples were hard and clearly visible through the layers of my clothing. The heat in my veins pulsed hotter with every glance down.
"What do we talk about now?" I asked. "I don't remember."
"Your parents, mostly."
My nose scrunched up slightly. "I don't want to talk about them right now."
"I don't either."
His words jogged my memory just a little. "Oh—I remember you asked if my mother would approve of you."
He paused. "That's not what I asked."
Lips twitching, I said, "It's what you meant." I lifted his hand, caressing it with mine. Our skin caught just the faintest hint of moonlight in the dark car. The tones of the piano grew louder as the music swelled. "You asked if I thought you could be dangerous."
Edward swallowed, eyes fixed on our entwined fingers. "And you said you thought I could be."
I placed his palm on my chest, over my still heart. "How fast was my heart beating?"
"Fast," he breathed.
"Was I scared or excited, do you think?"
"You tell me."
I shook my head. "I'm curious what you thought at the time. Did you know the effect you were having on me?"
His touch stroked down my sternum and back up again. "I thought fear at first. But this day in particular, I started to wonder. To hope, actually."
Edward was making my nipples strain and tingle with pleasure, even though he hadn't so much as brushed against them yet. "Well, this was the day you declared you were giving up trying to be good."
"Yes."
Arching into his touch, I bit my lower lip. "What was it you said about going to hell at lunch?"
His amber eyes burned in the dark. "That as long as I was going, I may as well do it thoroughly."
"How thorough did you end up being, really?" I provoked him from under my heavy eyelashes. "If you were really trying to earn your place—"
"Bella…."
"—what more could you have done?"
His hand slid up to cradle my jaw and lift it. His face, his parted lips, were startlingly close.
"You got me out of Gym," I reminded him. "Isn't that because you wanted me all to yourself?" My breathing had grown heavy and fast. "So…have me, Edward. All to yourself."
He took my lips with a groan. It was a strong kiss, full of promises and intent and tongue. I felt it between my legs.
"Oh God, Edward," I gasped when it broke too soon. My hands were groping for his clothes, trying to pull him close.
"I shouldn't," he said raggedly. "Not like this. You're a virgin—inexperienced. And I am too. We should go slow. I should be gentle."
His words made me moan. "Yes, I've never done anything like this before. And the way you make my body feel is overwhelming. I shouldn't be here. I'm too responsible to be this reckless."
Our kisses were feverish, despite repeated efforts at restraint for the sake of the game. We failed, over and over, and I'm not sure about Edward, but that just made it hotter for me. There was frenzy boiling beneath the surface between us.
Our hands pulled at each other's wet clothes, briefly slipped under for a brush of skin here and there, but we both held to the rule of not removing anything. Edward seemed particularly preoccupied by my chest, cupping my breasts and tugging my nipples through my shirt and bra. It was sweet torture.
In all of my squirming to get closer to him, I didn't realize that my hips had begun pulsing greedily against his knee. But Edward did. One of his arms snaked around my waist and lifted me so that I was sitting atop him, straddling his thigh.
The immediate increase in pressure against my clit made me cry out. "Mmn, Edward…."
"Yes, Bella." He kissed my jaw. "Find your pleasure." He coaxed my hips with his hands, setting me into a languid, rolling rhythm. "I want to feel it. I want to watch."
I whimpered.
Yes, I wanted him to watch. And, God the friction was so good.
The pressure of my rocking increased—but not the speed. No, the pace Edward had set was slow, in time with the music, as though we were dancing to the sweet piano. Every roll forward and back was torturous in its drawn-out intensity.
I covered his hand with mine and brought them up to cup my breasts.
"Do you want them under?" I breathed. "I do. I want you to slip your hands under my shirt, under my bra."
His chest rumbled as he complied. I loved the way having him reach under lifted my shirt and exposed my skin, all the way up to the underswells of my breasts. I loved the way his eyes lingered over the sight. I loved to watch him watch me.
"Yes, Edward," I groaned. "Keep looking at me like that—like you love me."
"I do love you."
I shivered with bliss. The build to my climax was rising higher and higher. I was going to break apart, fall to pieces. "I know. It makes me so hot that you love me."
His Adam's apple bobbed and he squeezed my breasts.
That was enough for me. My cunt flooded with heat and shudders of ecstasy. I fell forward and kissed Edward as I writhed through my orgasm, moaning into his mouth. The pleasure peaked, pulsed, and receded bit by bit, leaving me a limp mess in my husband's lap.
"Love you," I managed through my panting. "God Edward, I love you."
His response was to jerk me higher into his lap, parting my legs so that I was straddling all of him rather than just his thigh. I gasped as his pelvis surged up into mine, bashing my poor, over-sensitized clit. I might have pulled back in reflex, but he held me in a vice-grip as he thrust up into me, grunting. I was shocked and delighted.
I found myself tugging my wet shirt over my head and tossing it into the front seat. My bra followed.
Edward growled as he watched my breasts bounce with the force of his humping.
He was close—I could tell. I pulled him in, pressing his face into my naked chest.
He grunted, nails digging into my skin as he came.
Holding him as he came down, I listened to the music, letting it wash over me.
We had done it, I realized. We'd marked an item off my list, and it was like before, when the games made me feel close to him. Maybe this would be okay. Maybe I could begin to really trust.
His lips pressed into my bare shoulder. "That was perfect," he said.
I agreed.
Author's Note: I would like to dedicate this chapter to one of my readers: Michelle. She was the first to participate in the poll I conducted and selected the blood typing incident/car ride afterward as the moment she wanted me to revisit from the original series. Thank you, Michelle!
Credit due to Stephenie Meyer - I very much pulled assorted dialogue, events, etc. from chapter 5 of Twilight and chapter 6 of Midnight Sun for this chapter. Also, I have never written smut before to Debussy. So that was interesting and fun ;)