A/N: Thoughts?

Most characters belong to S. Meyer. The rest belong to me. All mistakes are mine.

First update of the day. :)

Chapter 37 – La petite mort


What…do you want?" Edward repeats.

My lips part…but…wordlessly…I grip his hair…guide him…

Confident…he'll remember.

My heart abandons the rhythm of butterfly wings in favor of erratic war-drums. Gasps compete with the swoosh of clothing…with his warmly-murmuring-mouth right...there…

"This?"

"Yes."

"Here?"

"Yesss..."

He chuckles huskily. "I remember how much you…"

Fiery heat rushes like wildfire through buckling legs.

Edward pins my hips, and…gazing upward, my mouth…slackens…hisses.

"Edward…it was never this…it's never been this…"

Jesus, it can't possibly get any…

The French call the bewilderingly-torturous, transcendental moment la petite mort…the little death.

When I can breathe again, I tug him up.

"Your turn."


A/N: Thoughts?

I've always loved that French expression for 'The Big O' – 'la petite mort.' Pretty fitting, actually; like a little bit of you dies and goes to heaven for a few seconds, lol.

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