A/N for 2019-01-17: This is the last regular chapter for this story. There will be an epilogue posted in the next few weeks, which will jump ahead in time and tie everything up with a nice little bow. In the meantime, if you'd like to hear about the collaboration that Elise de Sallier and I are working on, you can follow her author's page on facebook, or find me there (Erin Affleck).

Many, many thanks to Eeyorefan12 for Beta-ing this last chapter. I fiddled with the text after the fact, so all errors are my own.

Thank you to all of you for your wonderful engagement with this tale.

~ Erin Affleck

Edward tested his welcome as he kissed her, sliding further inwards. His shoulders registered the tight clench of her small fingers.

Too much.

Easing back, he tried again, their lips still locked in a singular embrace. She accepted him, an unearthly sound born in her throat.

God, the sensation. Her heat rippled up over him, seducing the better part of his mind. His thrusts became faster, and the sounds she made more frenzied.

Panicked.

It was the crunch of bone that sounded next, under his hands and hips. Then there was simply the hot rush of blood in his mouth—

The grip of his horrific imagining ended with her nervous sigh, bringing him back to the present and Bella still standing beside him. He was aware of every wave that licked Isle Esme's shore.

Bella's eyes swept around the room. In this uneasy passage, her gaze seemed to snag on the bed.

He would not hurt her, he told himself.

Ever.

"Want to go for a swim?" he asked, trying to diffuse his own anxiety. "It's warm. Your kind of water."

She swallowed, still temporarily wordless.

After waiting for her to settle, he tried a different tack.

"There's a chess board too," he grinned. "Two weeks with no one to interrupt us—unlimited chess playing opportunities—"

Her elbow brushed his ribs, and he chuckled, hearing her disbelieving snort.

He slid his arms around her, his hands clasped together as he kissed her neck. Her pulse was a trapped bird, thrumming for escape against his lips.

Nerves, he told himself.

But her hand trembled.

Fear.

He sighed, partly out of contentment at her proximity, but more from a worry he wanted to conceal.

"There's no schedule," he murmured.

The tightening of her muscles answered him first. "Oh yes, there is."

She turned to face him, and caught his lips with hers.

Or tried.

His smile gave them an easy getaway.

"So eager to seduce me, Mrs. Cullen?"

"Been trying for months. Hoping this marriage thing did the trick."

His laugh was silent, but rocked them both.

Pulling away, he brought his fingers to his shirt, undoing the buttons. He savoured the sound of her inhale, drawn in like a quick triplet.

Edward slid off his shirt and dropped it to the floor.

"It certainly has," he said, grin wide. He removed his socks and shoes next. "But you'll have to catch me first. And I," he teased her, "will be in the water, if you want me." Then he turned and walked away, waiting until he reached the wet sand—where she wouldn't hear the sound of his belt being undone.

He exhaled as he stepped into the water, then waited, listening for her.

The sounds that drifted out over the water told their own tale. Slips and snaps of fabric, then the hiss of the shower.

When her feet finally whispered through the sand, he caught her quiet gasp as she spotted his discarded pants, and then her muttered, "Don't be a chicken!"

He almost laughed, but kept it in, facing away from shore. She was so brave and determined. His smile was wide by the time she stepped into the water.

Naked.

The soft and informative thud of towel and clothes against the sand had made his unnecessary breathing hitch.

Yes, he wanted this with her, more than he'd let himself express.

Now he could.

It terrified him.

She put a faith in him he hardly deserved, but he would make himself worthy of it.

It was torture, waiting on her slow steps towards his location.

He counted her excited pulls of air, inhaling deeply when her scent reached him.

"It's so beautiful," she whispered.

Finally, he allowed himself to turn, stunned by the revelation of her body.

"It's nothing compared to you."

Now he knew that the blush in her cheeks began at her torso.

Extending his arm, he reached to draw her close, hands on her exposed hips.

He rushed out the words. "I said we would try. But if I hurt you—"

"You won't."

"You must tell me."

She nodded solemnly.

He closed his eyes, trusting her, but afraid too. Would she tell him at first, or wait until it got worse—?

"Hey," She hushed out. "Where are you going?"

His eyes snapped open. "Nowhere."

"Good. Let's keep it that way." Her smile was luminous in the moonlight, and he wanted very suddenly, and very badly, to possess it. So he did, and she eagerly responded, her body eliminating all but a lick of water between them.

Their journey back to land was a drunken lurch, measured by giggles and then the less light-hearted dispensing of hurried breaths.

The tell-tale tremble in her hand returned by the time they made it to the bedroom, a chair dislodged from its footing in the process.

He'd never been so clumsy and singly-purposed in his immortal existence.

Now his focus was her, and she was making sounds of pleasure under his very careful touch.

While their hands had travelled the latitudes of each other's bodies, it had been over the rough textures of clothing. So, when Edward's fingers strayed into the uncharted waters of bare, southern realms, he was pleased to see her mirror him in exploratory movements.

Her brush by him was tentative.

His growling purr was not.

It emboldened her to return, and he moved his hands away from her body.

"Are you OK?" She asked, voice uncertain.

"Very."

After a moment, he was sure of his control, and returned his hands to her.

This time, he was direct with his destination, and the touch of his cold fingers pulled a small gasp from her.

"Are you alright?" He asked.

There was a garbled, but positive sound from her.

He kissed her, then let his tongue outline the shape of her lips. There were more phonetically incomprehensible sounds.

"Cat got your tongue?" he teased, pausing so she would take a breath.

"No," she moaned, "but you can have it. Oh—"

"I'll just keep doing that then," he murmured, grinning.

Then she moved her hands, and it was his turn to find his tongue twisted around a groan.

"Me-ow," she purred in his ear.

He felt like he needed to breathe.

He didn't need to breathe.

He found himself blowing out all the air his lungs had taken in and then snatching it back again.

Then he rolled her onto her back in a smooth motion.

Her quiet, "I need you to stop," surprised him.

He did, immediately pulling away.

Her hand reached out and grabbed his arm. "It's OK. I just—" She blushed furiously. "I need to talk to you about something."

"OK." His own touch was tentative as he feathered his fingers over her hair.

"I'm nervous."

He smiled in relief. "Me too."

There was a pained sort of smile that flickered over her face. "I know." Her finger stirred over a stray wrinkle in the bedsheet. "I know you said I need to tell you if something hurts, but—"

"There are no but's with that, Bella." His voice sounded stern. Too stern. He watched her eyebrows twitch together nervously.

"Hold on. Let me finish," she said quietly.

It was his turn to twitch a bit. "Sorry," he murmured.

He was rewarded with the brush of her fingers over his. Even with all the physical intimacy they'd already shared, this tiny gesture felt rich with trust. He didn't disguise his speed in capturing her fingers, returning the movement.

"I'm afraid that it will hurt," she said. "Because it did last time. I know that's completely irrational. There's no physical reason for it to."

Edward's heart felt like it had spasmed.

Of course she was nervous. And he'd told her that she had to tell him if he hurt her.

He'd been a total, and complete ass.

An ass.

"I'd be surprised if you weren't nervous about that," he said.

"I know you're not going to hurt me."

The weight of her trust, after her last statement, felt like one of Emmett's body checks. He didn't say anything right away, trying to think of what he could that would walk the line he needed to.

"And I need you to believe that too."

He almost groaned. "I—"

"And before you say you can't, I have to say something else."

Edward made himself be quiet.

"I need you to believe it, because I think that, if you're as nervous as me, you're going to want to give up before we really try."

How true that was.

"You promised me you'd try."

He nodded.

"So if I look uncomfortable, or say I am, please don't freak out on me."

Now he smiled. "Freak out? I strike you as someone who does that?"

"Freak out? Frequently. At least, when it comes to me."

His sigh answered her.

He could believe in himself, if she needed it. But only if she needed it.

"OK. I promise to try, and to believe in myself. And not to 'freak out' . . . too much."

"Thank you," she said, and scooted closer to him, ending the conversation with a kiss.

He was only too happy to accept the proximity of her warmth, and willing flesh. Her arms pulled at him, and the position she wanted him in was very clear.

He held himself over her, bodies just brushing, but touching in delightful ways.

The pertinent part of his anatomy was pressed to her thighs. Her head rose up to bring their lips together.

"I want you," she whispered. "I want this."

He grinned, more because he knew it would put her at ease, than because he felt that way. "Now?"

She nodded.

Then her legs tensed more as he began to move, just slightly, letting these two points of their bodies become acquainted with each other.

He let the soft and regular swish of the waves outside be his guide, gently, gently bringing them closer and closer together.

When her hips angled upwards he resisted, pulling back, and stringing a low moan from her.

Physically, he understood her readiness, and his own too.

But he was terrified.

"Don't be afraid," she whispered. "I trust you."

Her small, delicate hands laced themselves over his cheeks.

"You won't hurt me."

And to think he'd imagined himself coaxing her through her own fears.

"You have so much faith in me," he murmured.

"It isn't misplaced."

Her hands slid to his shoulders, pulling him back towards her. This time he accepted her invitation, and that particular joining, which she had asked for, for so often, and so long, began.

Her entire body became still.

He paused, waiting, trying to keep his logical brain afloat, and to not drown in the sensations flooding his body.

"Are you OK?" He managed to gasp out.

She nodded, but her jaw was tight, and she didn't speak.

Her right hand trembled over his shoulder.

Not OK, then.

Waiting, for what he wasn't quite so certain, he watched a tear slide down her cheek.

He was hurting her.

He wanted to wrench himself away but, terrified of doing more harm, he moved back slowly, only to be met with the tightening of her grip, and a desperate "No!"

"I'm hurting you," he whispered, ashamed to even speak it.

"No, you're not." She wiped at the wetness in her eye.

"You're crying."

"I am, because this is just really . . . wonderful. Don't stop."

She wrapped her legs around his, not moving him but shifting enough of herself to bring them closer together.

This time, he knew the tension in her body was from discomfort.

"But go slowly, OK?" She whispered.

He nodded, trying to convince himself that all was well, straining to understand if this was normal, or if he was straying into a dangerous ignorance. It would be so easy to drop the minute care with which he was moving, to lose himself in her.

Her muscles were easing under him though, and the long moan that she made loosened his inhibitions.

She arched her head back and groaned when he slowed, teasing the skin at her clavicle with his tongue. When he slid lower, mouthing her nipple, she almost shouted and he stopped, immediately.

"No, don't stop!" she gasped. Her hands strained in his hair.

He returned just as quickly to his appointed task and he would've been grinning widely if the action allowed him to.

He was pleasing her.

Giving her pleasure.

His own body relaxed, and he let himself be lost—just momentarily—in the sweetness of her fingers, fluttering over his head.

Hooking his leg under her, he flipped them both over, so that she rested on top of him, in one smooth movement.

Her breathing became more rapid, and her eyes closed, head back, as her body tensed around him. It wasn't long before her breathing became an erratic explosion, a spasm rippling into his own flesh, causing his own, terrifying release.

His hands had flown off of her, shredding the fabric beneath him, as his hips bucked against her, drawing a sharp cry from Bella.

Everything in him screamed in horror. He was transfixed with it. He'd hurt her.

But then she opened her eyes, still panting, and and she brought her hands and lips to his face. "I love you." There were tears, but joyful ones, and her hands curled themselves around his head, trying to pull him even closer.

"I don't want to stop," she whispered. She was moving over him again.

His brain was registering something between awe and panic, while his body was ready to succumb to the pleasure of hers all over again.

"Bella, love, stop," he made himself say. "I love you too, but I need to ask, did I hurt you?—you cried out, was that—?"

"That was a good sound," she said, trying to squirm against an embrace that was almost a restraint. Then she stopped. "Is it a problem, if I—?" She sounded suddenly uncertain. Shy. Insecure.

"No! I just—I wanted to be sure."

"You can be sure." She was moving again, hands sliding downwards, cupping him intimately.

He growled. It was a feral sound that made her bones vibrate.

"Is that a good sound?" She asked, almost smirking.

He answered by reversing their positions. "A very good sound, Mrs. Cullen." He continued the movement she had begun.

By the time Bella's energy had been spent for the evening, Edward had no doubt as to what was, and was not a good sound. His only concern was how he might find new ways to entice her to make them.

- 0 -

She didn't sleep much, and when she woke again, in the middle of the night, it took little to entice her new husband to join her in a sleepless interlude.

As they lay in bed, watching the moonlight make its slow retreat across the water, she finally dared to ask him what she'd wondered through the night.

"Was it what you expected?"

He blinked, and shifted, so he could see her face more easily. "Making love to you?"

"Yes." She blushed.

"It was so much more."

Her smile was wide, and made her eyes crinkle.

"It was perfect."

~ Fin ~

Disclaimer: Twilight belongs to S. Meyer. No copyright infringement intended.