"All this time, I'd thought we were strangers,
and it turned out we knew each other intuitively,
in our bones, in our blood."
- Gillian Flynn, Gone Girl-
Lights and Sparks
I couldn't sleep that night.
My thoughts kept going back to Carlisle. I kept thinking about that constant shadow of sorrow in his eyes, and I wondered what it was that had happened to him, what had made him the person he was now. If he had been honest with me, and if he really liked me, then what was stopping him from starting something real with me?
I'd gotten the impression he had tried to start serious relationships in the past. Whatever stood in the way of that clearly weighed him down. I realized he hadn't answered some – or most – of the questions I'd asked him, like if he had issues with commitment, for instance. The only thing I did know was he sometimes had flings and short relationships that always stayed casual.
I wondered if it was always him who walked out of those. Or did women leave him after realizing he wasn't boyfriend or husband material? And if that was so, what was the reason?
Or maybe...maybe he just hadn't found the right person yet, as simple as that. But then, I remembered Rosalie's suspicions. She had suggested that maybe someone had once broken his heart, and he had simply never gotten over it. Maybe that was the reason why he was the way he was. Maybe he was just traumatized, and that was all.
I was so at a loss when it came to him. It made me wonder if I'd done a stupid thing, suggesting I might be open to a casual relationship with him. Would that screw him up even more? Or would I end up broken-hearted myself?
I hoped not.
This was the one thing I couldn't lie about, even to myself. I really liked him. Something about Carlisle fascinated me, drew me in like the moon pulled the tide, like he had put it. I hadn't felt such attraction for anyone ever before. It frightened me a bit. But mostly, I just felt...thrilled. Overwhelmed. Alive. Like I had awoken after a very long sleep.
Maybe this was just a disaster waiting to happen, but I was sure about one thing. If I didn't at least try to get to know him, I'd regret it for the rest of my life.
I wondered what would happen if I didn't hear from him. I'd told him we could be friends, or something more, and now he had to decide what he wanted. Would he simply take the easy way out and not call, if he chose not to get involved with me? Or would he feel the need to come to me and explain why he felt any type of relationship with him wasn't a good idea?
Then, I remembered the way he had run after me, how he had clung to me like a drowning man to a life raft. I remembered how his hot, demanding lips had caressed mine, how he had pulled me as close to his body as possible. I remembered his hardness against my stomach, how heat had flooded through me, when I'd realized he wanted me as much as I wanted him...
I shouldn't have thought about those things; they didn't exactly help me sleep. I kicked the covers off my body, suddenly feeling way too hot. Removing the covers didn't help, though. The memory of Carlisle's lips assaulting mine kept invading my thoughts, and I realized I hadn't been kissed with such urgency and passion ever before. My skin began to tingle in a pleasant, but very, very frustrating way.
Blowing out a sigh, I tangled my fingers into my hair and pulled – hard – to get rid of the images in my head. But then, I imagined they were his fingers diving into my hair. His hands sliding along my skin, his lips caressing the hollow of my throat as he kissed his way down my body...
Damn it.
It was the first time in my life I'd had to get up in the middle of the night to take a cold shower. But even as I stood under the spray, no matter how cold I turned it, Carlisle kept invading my thoughts. I wondered if he was awake, too. I wondered if he was unable to sleep, and if he was taking a walk, like he had said he sometimes did at nights.
I wondered if he was thinking about me, too.
I desperately needed to talk to Rosalie. She would know if I'd made a mistake. I had a feeling she would be very surprised to hear I'd been the one to suggest to Carlisle that we have a casual relationship.
In the morning, I texted her and asked how the visit to Emmett's parents had been, and I also inquired if she'd have time for a lunch date this week. It turned out she was too busy at the salon, at least at the beginning of the week, but she promised to stop by the café in a few days, as soon as things calmed down. It made me even more jittery, knowing I couldn't obsess about this with her; Rosalie had a unique way of settling my nerves. But I understood she was busy, and therefore, I had no choice but to try to manage this by myself.
Thank goodness it was Monday – Mondays were always crazy. I had a late shift at the café, and that could count as a blessing as well, I'd suppose. I was tired from staying up the previous night, and when I got home late in the evening, I took a quick shower and went straight to bed.
Needless to say, I dreamed of cornflower blue eyes and hot, demanding lips on my skin.
When I woke up the next morning, restless and wired from the dreams, I knew things needed to change. This needed to stop. I couldn't be so hung up on a man who was clearly unwilling to start anything serious with me. This helpless infatuation I felt for him... it wasn't healthy. I tried to tell myself it was just physical attraction and nothing more, the result of being alone for almost a year, but I couldn't bring myself to believe my own reassurances.
He was handsome, yes...and sexy as hell. But there was something else about Carlisle as well, something that pulled me in, something that made me want to learn more about him. I couldn't deny it – I was drawn to his spirit and mind, just as much as I was drawn to his body.
And he liked me, too – he had said so himself. But something...something held him back. What could it be?
"I'm sorry, Bella. I'm not ready to talk about it. I might never be. And that's the problem. That's the biggest mountain in my life, and it always will be."
Sighing, I dragged myself out of bed and prepared for my morning shift. After getting dressed, I tamed my hair and gathered it into a bun at my neck. Taking a peek outside, I noticed the sky was veiled by heavy clouds, but it wasn't raining. I decided to walk to the café in order to vent my pent-up frustration. Grabbing a banana from the basket that sat on my kitchen counter, I quickly peeled it and took bites from it as I gathered my things. A few moments later, I grabbed my umbrella, just in case, and headed out the door.
"...It'd be better if I just got up and left this instant. You're only wasting your time with me..."
I shook my head in a vain attempt to get rid of the memory of his words. I tried to focus on the upcoming day, wondering how to deal with this whole thing if I didn't hear from him soon. I was forced to admit to myself that, if yesterday hadn't been so busy, and if I'd had more time to think, I might have been disappointed he hadn't called yet. I guess I was afraid of that – being disappointed. That was why I began to prepare myself for the possibility that I really might not hear from him ever again.
That maybe he'd already made up his mind.
Something occurred to me suddenly. On Sunday, when I had run into Carlisle, he'd been coming from the cemetery. I'd been so shocked and overwhelmed about seeing him I'd pretty much ignored and forgotten about the whole thing.
What had he been doing in the cemetery? Was it a habit of his to visit someone's grave on Sundays? It also made me wonder if he was religious. I didn't dwell on that for long, though. I suddenly thought about Rosalie's suspicions – she had suggested maybe Carlisle was nursing a broken heart. Maybe that was true...and maybe there was more to it than that.
What was it he had told me, when he had come to the café last week to see me? That he had lost something that couldn't be regained?
Maybe this was the answer. I remembered the tired look in Carlisle's eyes, the shadows on his face, the constant sadness in his smile...and the thought that slowly formed inside my mind made me sorrowful.
Maybe no one had broken his heart – not intentionally, anyway. Maybe he was grieving.
Why couldn't he talk about it, then? Was it still too fresh, too painful to acknowledge he had lost someone he'd loved? And who was this person he had lost? The love of his life? His high school sweetheart? Maybe. It made me think about what I had said to Rosalie. I had said I didn't know if I could live in someone else's shadow. If it was true that Carlisle was mourning some woman he had lost, did it mean I just had to accept the fact that he might never be able to get over her death? And what if I couldn't accept that? Was it selfish and petty of me? Kind of.
At the same time, though, I realized I still felt this indescribable pull towards him. And as cliché and silly as it sounded, there was a part of me that wanted to help him. That wanted to make him feel better, no matter what the cost. Maybe he had shadows in his life, and maybe they'd never go away, but maybe, just maybe, there would be light in his life someday as well. Could I give that to him?
I sighed. Rosalie was right. I was a hopeless romantic.
I was so lost in my thoughts that I nearly walked past the café. I changed into my waitress outfit without focusing on what I was doing, and when I emerged from the changing room, the other waitress – Sammy – who usually worked together with me in the mornings, gave me a weird look and told me my apron was back-to-front.
Rolling my eyes at myself, I forced my thoughts onto something else and began to prepare for the day. The morning was busy, which was good; a lot of people usually came by on their way to work. Some of them stayed at the café to enjoy their coffee – or tea, we also served a variety of teas – but most of the customers liked to have their coffee on the go in the mornings.
As I was serving tea for an elderly woman – every morning, she had her tea with lemon and honey and nothing else – I somehow managed to burn my hand by pouring scalding hot water on it. Sammy saved me and took over, while I rushed to the backroom to run cool water over it.
I cursed inwardly as I held my hand under the running water for a few minutes. It was my right hand, of course. Just when the cuts had healed, this happened. How else.
Luckily, there was a good first-aid kit in the backroom, and a medicine cabinet as well. I'd noticed the cabinet had appeared soon after I'd started working here a couple of years ago; I tried not to think that maybe the owner had gotten it because of me. Vaguely remembering that Renée had always told me not to put cream on burns, I shuffled through the cabinet's contents and found some non-stick gauze pads. The burn wasn't very large; the base of my thumb had suffered the most damage. I bit my lip as I covered the burn with a pad and secured it in place with some gauze, and after that, I somehow managed to ease a rubber glove over my hand.
Sammy told me to go home if I couldn't work, but the café was packed, and we weren't sure if we could find anyone to fill in for me on such a short notice. Therefore, I just ground my teeth and suffered in silence, relying on painkillers to carry me through the next hours.
In the afternoon, I was collecting empty dishes from the tables, trying to mind my hand. I accidentally bumped it against one of the chairs, of course, and I cursed quietly in pain.
"Such foul language," a smooth voice behind me said. I jumped so badly I nearly dropped the tray where I'd gathered the empty cups and plates. My heart flapped in my chest like a caged bird, as I slowly turned around.
"Jesus. Don't scare me like that."
There was an amused glimmer in Carlisle's eyes. "Didn't you hear me come in?"
"No, I obviously didn't." I drew in a deep breath, trying to make my heart calm down. I didn't know if it wanted to race out of my chest because he had startled me or because he was here. A large part of me hadn't expected to see him – I'd done a pretty good job at not thinking about him during the last couple of hours.
For a moment, I just drank in his presence. Not too long, though. If he had come here to offer another apology...to explain why it wasn't a good idea for us to see each other again...
I swallowed, avoiding his deep blue eyes to keep myself intact. "Coffee?" I asked, as I walked past him.
"No, thank you. Some other time."
As I took the tray away, he followed me. I grabbed a cloth, wetting it before beginning to wipe the tables and straightening the chairs. "So, how was your day?" I asked casually. "Are you done with your classes?"
"I am." I saw him glance at the clock. "And you? Are you working a later shift?"
I shook my head. "No, I've been here since morning."
"When do you get off?"
"In a couple of minutes. As soon as I'm done with this." I waved the rag at him and headed for the tables on the other side of the café. For some reason, it surprised me when he trailed behind me. And since I was surprised, it could only mean I'd done a very good job of convincing myself I might not see him again. I felt a little surreal now, to have him watch me as I worked.
"What happened to your hand?" he asked.
I glanced at Carlisle; he was frowning in a worried manner.
"Oh, it's nothing," I brushed it off, giving him a smile. "Bella the klutz just happened to strike again, that's all. I poured hot water over it this morning."
"How bad is it?"
"Not that bad. I ran cool water over it and then I covered the burn with a non-stick dressing."
He nodded, but the frown didn't leave his face. I could see he really wanted to examine my hand more closely, but I suddenly felt as if I couldn't stand to feel his warm skin against mine. I felt like I might self-combust. He looked so good in his blue button-down shirt and tie...too good.
I wiped the last table clean and returned to the counter, putting the cloth away. I told him I'd be back in a minute – I had to change.
I spent more time in the changing room than was necessary – I wasn't even sure myself why facing him seemed suddenly so difficult. I guess I was just expecting bad news, and I still felt a little surreal that he had actually come to see me. Maybe he really did like me.
But did he like me enough to stay? And if he didn't, had he come here to tell me that?
Drawing in a breath, I peeled the glove off my hand, hissing as I did so. Then, I let down my hair, grabbing my coat and the umbrella I'd taken with me this morning, before making my way into the café again. No matter what was coming, I just had to face it. He wasn't the first man I'd had to walk away from, after all.
But he might be the first who wanted to end it before anything had even happened. I wanted to scream at the absurdity of it.
He was sitting down at one of the tables. The waitress who had arrived for her shift was asking him if he wanted a cup of coffee, but again, Carlisle declined politely. I couldn't help but notice how the waitress stared at him – apparently, I wasn't the only one affected by his presence. As soon as Carlisle spotted me, he got up and approached me. He gave a glance at my umbrella.
"Is your truck giving you trouble again?" he asked.
I shook my head. "No. I walked this morning to...well, to blow off some steam. I was feeling a little," I hesitated, "I don't know, wired."
I could see he was wondering what I meant by that. "I see," he murmured, smiling softly. "I was under the impression you'd made the decision to never walk home alone again – at least not without your pepper spray."
I chuckled, for some reason flattered that he'd remembered what I'd said that one night. "Well, I think I may limit that decision to specific circumstances. When it's dark and late, I'll be glad to drive."
He smiled, and then he hurried to open the door for me. I gave him a curious glance as we made our way outside.
"So. What brings you here?" I asked.
He hesitated and just looked at me for a while. When he didn't answer, I lifted my injured hand and gave him a playful smile. "Did your Bella radar go off again? Do you have a sixth sense that warns you whenever I'm trouble?"
He chuckled softly. "Maybe. Would you let me take a look at that?"
"You don't have to – "
My resistance was futile; he had already reached for my hand, and my heart gave a little stutter as his warm fingers wrapped around my wrist. He unwrapped the gauze and lifted the non-stick dressing, his eyes studying the burn with care.
"Well, Dr. Cullen?" I asked in a playful tone. "Will I live?"
He flicked me a smile. "Well, Ms. Swan," he answered formally. "It doesn't look too bad. I'm sure it's painful, though. It might blister in a day or two. Working with that hand while it heals will be difficult." He put the dressing back in place and wrapped the gauze around my hand again.
"Don't worry about it. This is nothing," I assured him. "I've had worse. I'm a trouble magnet, remember?"
He chuckled softly and smiled. I realized he didn't release his hold, and his eyes continued to study my hand; maybe he wondered if he'd ever see it uninjured. It always seemed to be wrapped in something whenever he saw me. His eyes went to the scar on the inside of my arm, then, and he dragged his forefinger along the uneven, pale ridge. There was something utterly tender about the touch. It made me shiver.
"What happened here?" he asked gently and looked at me. I realized he had probably been wondering about the scar that night, when he'd been fixing me up. I avoided his eyes, gently pulling my hand away from his grasp.
"I fell on broken glass," I answered. It wasn't exactly a lie. For some reason, I found it difficult to tell him what had really happened – that I hadn't just fallen, but I'd been pushed.
I saw him narrow his eyes; he clearly noticed I'd left something out, but he didn't ask about it. I was relieved when he changed the subject and inquired if I had any of those non-stick gauze pads at home. I hesitated, realizing I wasn't sure – I had never needed those before.
"There might be some in the first-aid kit I have," I murmured, hesitating. He noticed my uncertainty.
"Would you let me drive you to the pharmacy, just to be sure? You'll have to change the dressing at least once or twice a day, so it's a good thing to have a pack of these on hand."
"I can get them tomorrow. I mean, I'm sure you have other places to be. I don't want to be a bother."
He smiled. "It wouldn't be a bother. And besides, I have nowhere else to be. I came here to see you, because I wanted to talk to you. I can drive you home after we stop by at the pharmacy."
I relented. I didn't want to admit to myself that I wanted to prolong my time with him. I was also anxious to hear what he had to say – anxious, but also kind of worried.
We stopped by the pharmacy on our way, and about ten minutes later, as Carlisle was driving towards my apartment, I realized it wasn't the first time I had felt like this in his company. Practically every time I had been spending time with him, I had thought, even believed, it would be the last time I would see him. It was like I was constantly ready to say goodbye, or at least trying to be ready. But I wasn't ready.
As I turned to look at him, I realized I might never be.
Maybe he sensed my thoughts, or maybe I looked sad, but as he pulled into the parking lot of my building, a worried frown crinkled his brow. "What is it?" he asked.
I shook my head, giving him a smile. Instead of answering, I asked, "Would you like to come in?" If he was going to walk away from me, we might as well do this indoors instead of his car.
He nodded after a short moment of hesitation. I got out, grabbing the small bag I'd gotten from the pharmacy, and at the last moment, I remembered to take my umbrella from the floor of the car, pleased that I hadn't needed it today.
As I led Carlisle to the door of my apartment, I wondered idly what he would think about my place. My dwelling must have looked quite modest compared to his large house. I shrugged inwardly at the thought as I unlocked the door and let us in. I led him into the kitchen, suddenly glad I'd cleaned the apartment yesterday morning.
"How long have you lived here?" he asked, looking around him.
"About a year." I pulled up a chair from the table. "Sit down."
He did as I said – a part of me had expected him to decline and say it wasn't his intention to stay. I took a seat opposite of him, gauging his expression and trying to figure out what was going on in his head.
"Can I get you anything?" I asked. "Coffee, water, juice...?"
He shook his head, and a sudden smile broke onto his face.
"What?" I asked, wondering if I'd said something funny.
"Nothing. It just that...well, that one day, you said I'm a doctor, heart and soul, but you seem to be a waitress, no matter where you are."
I gave a soft laugh. "I bring work home, I guess."
His eyes danced. I realized I'd rarely seen him like this before, without that constant shadow of sorrow that seemed to follow him wherever he went. He dropped his gaze to the table between us, before lifting it again.
Then, something behind me on the counter caught his interest, and his smile fell. I turned to look over my shoulder, wondering if there was a huge spider in my kitchen or something. But there was nothing else on the countertop besides a bottle of vodka – I'd bought it for Rosalie a couple of days ago as a joke.
I turned to look at Carlisle again, gauging his expression. "That's just for cuts and scrapes," I jested, wondering why he was looking at the bottle like it might bite.
He gave a soft, forced laugh and frowned. "Right. Of course."
I studied him, trying to read his expression. It was difficult. "Actually, that's not for me at all. It's for Rosalie and her boyfriend. We had this inside joke about having a bottle of vodka lying around, and how two people who are in a relationship begin to remind each other..." I trailed off, as I realized I was rambling. I still wondered why he had reacted the way he had. "Anyway. It's a silly story. I thought I'd give it to her as a joke."
"So...you don't drink?" he asked, his eyes unreadable.
I shook my head. "Not really. It's not my thing. I got over the party girl phase in high school." Did I only imagine it, or did he seem...relieved? "What about you?"
He shook his head. "No, Bella. I don't drink." There was an odd hardness in his voice I'd never heard before.
I didn't know how to react to that. I just regarded him closely, waiting patiently until he met my gaze again.
"Well, isn't this nice," I said lightly, smiling. "We're learning things about each other. I don't drink, you don't drink...it's like a match made in heaven."
He laughed softly, and he looked oddly relieved again. It was like he had momentarily disappeared into some dark place, and my words had brought him back.
"Who knows," he murmured quietly, smiling softly. "Maybe we have other things in common as well."
"Maybe." I leaned forward, resting my arms on the table. "Does that mean... Well, have you thought about what I said the other day?"
"Almost constantly," he confessed quietly. His eyes...they were so intense. "You, and your words...they've been in my thoughts all the time for these past two days."
"And how do you feel about...everything I said?"
He raked a hand through his hair. "I don't know, to be honest. I..." he blew out a slow breath,"I meant what I told you two days ago. I really like you, Bella. And that's exactly why I feel so uncertain about all this. You're such a sweet girl. What if...what if this doesn't work out?" His eyes were suddenly tormented. "What if we don't know what we're signing up for? What if I end up...hurting you in some way?"
"What makes you so sure it's me who gets hurt here?" I asked, giving a soft, confused laugh. "How can you be so sure I'm not the heartbreaker here? I might be a horrible, nymphomaniac man-eater, and you don't have a clue. Well, not yet, at least."
A smile tugged at Carlisle's lips. "Are you, then? A man-eater? Or a nympho?"
"Well, no."
He chuckled. He stared at the table between us for a moment, before raising his gaze again. "Have you had those types of relationships before? I mean, casual relationships?"
I shrugged. "I dated a few guys in high school more or less casually. You know what high school dating sometimes is, anyway."
"What about your other relationships?"
"You mean if I've ever had a serious, committed relationship?"
He nodded.
"Well, when I was in college, I was with someone for over a year. And, uh..." I hesitated. "My last serious relationship ended about a year ago. I was with him for two years. We even lived together."
He nodded again. "I see."
"What about you?" I asked, studying his expression. It was something like guarded or reserved. "You told me your relationships are usually less serious. And you told me you've tried to change that."
He let out a quiet breath. "That's right."
"Does it mean you'd like to have a long, committed relationship one day? Or do you always want to keep things light?"
A small frown crinkled his brow; there was distress in his eyes. "I just...I usually find myself with women who are not looking for anything serious. I suppose I'd like to be committed, yes. But I feel...I feel it's not for me. Not...not anymore."
I wanted to ask why, but I knew he wouldn't answer. I'd asked something similar two days ago, and he had said he wasn't ready to talk about it. That he might never be. I studied his face, trying to read the expression in his eyes. It wasn't sad like it sometimes was. It was just...bleak. Empty.
"So...it hasn't always been this way?" I asked carefully. "You used to feel differently about this at some point in your life?"
He stared at the table between us, staying silent for a long time before answering. His voice was forcibly calm when he spoke. "No. It hasn't always been this way. And yes, I once used to feel differently about this matter."
"But something changed?"
He looked up, then, meeting my gaze, and he swallowed thickly before answering. "Everything changed," he whispered.
The look in his eyes...it was like watching someone who was about to die or drown or burn alive, or all those three things at once. Without even realizing it, I reached over the table to take his hand. I squeezed his fingers gently in a poor attempt to offer him comfort.
I now knew; the person who had left him, the person he had lost...he had loved her. So much so it kind of frightened me.
"I'm sorry," I said softly, "for whatever happened. And I'm sorry for asking. I mean...maybe I shouldn't have." I thought about the moment in front of the café, when he had asked about my scar, and how I hadn't been able to tell him about James. Therefore, I couldn't really blame him for keeping some things from me.
Sometimes, it was better to leave some scars alone.
He shook his head at my words. "You have the right to ask, of course. There are just some things I find hard, if not impossible, to talk about. I hope you understand."
"I do. Or I try to, at least."
He gave me a familiar-looking sad smile. I realized I was still holding his hand, and I released his fingers, about to pull away. But he caught my fingers, refusing to let go. Since it was my bandaged hand, his hold was gentle, tender. After a while, he brought up his other hand onto the table as well, beginning to draw idle patterns on the skin of my wrist. The touch made me shiver.
"Can I ask you something else?" I asked quietly.
He nodded, continuing to caress my hand. I tried to focus; even those innocent touches made me feel as if there was lava under skin.
"That woman I saw at the restaurant," I began hesitantly, flicking him a gaze. "Kate, was it? What happened with her? I mean, did she leave you, or did you leave her?"
He searched for words for a moment. "Parting ways was a mutual decision, in the end," he murmured. "But to be entirely honest, she brought it up. She wanted to settle down and have a large family, and I...well, I couldn't give her what she wanted."
"So, you don't want to settle down, then? Or is it a family you don't want?"
He hesitated. "In a way, I feel like I have settled down. But maybe it's more about me being set in my ways and knowing I'll never change. As for having a family..." he paused, staring at the table between us again, "Well, most of the time, I feel like...like I've got my hands full with myself. Starting a family with someone...it's something I haven't been able to even consider for years."
I nodded, surprised he was being so open about his answer. His next words, however, surprised me even more.
"What about you, Bella?" he asked, his blue eyes both curious and sorrowful. "Do you dream about those things? Settling down? Family and children?"
I had to think about that for a moment. "I haven't thought about that very much, to be honest. I was an only child myself, so I've never been around kids very much. They've always seemed like foreign creatures to me," I explained, giving a soft laugh. "But I don't know. I'm not absolutely opposed to the thought of having children one day. I'm sure parenthood must be wonderful and incredibly rewarding. I guess I'm open to getting to experience it myself one day. Maybe I will, maybe I won't."
His smile was sad again. "I truly hope you will." I couldn't read the emotion in his eyes. It was like he was happy and sorrowful and hopeful, all at the same time.
"But like I said the other day," I murmured, giving him a soft smile, "I've lately felt like I'm a little lost. A while ago, I gave this big speech to Rosalie about needing to spend some time alone to discover myself again. So, maybe I don't know what, exactly, I want out of life. But it's fine, isn't it? Everyone feels a little lost every now and then."
He nodded, frowning slightly. "That I can agree with."
I gave him a curious look. "Do you ever feel lost, Carlisle?"
He gave a quiet, joyless laugh. "Most of the time."
"And what helps you to feel like you're not so lost anymore?" I asked softly. "Your nightly walks in the rain?"
He smiled, giving a low chuckle. "Perhaps. And..." he hesitated, giving my fingers a gentle squeeze. "Well, I suppose it helps to run into a beautiful brown-haired stranger every now and then."
"Let me guess – you'll have to jump-start this stranger's truck, and the next time you see her, you have to consider taking her to the ER before she bleeds to death."
"Something like that."
"She sounds like a handful." His soft chuckle and the glimmer in his eyes made me smile. "Are you sure you can handle all that drama she might cause?"
"I'm rather...confident." The smile on his lips did funny things to me. As he rose from his seat, releasing my hand and closing the short distance between us with two slow steps, I felt as if I had lost all feeling in my legs. He offered me his hand, and I took it, letting him pull me up from the chair. Maybe he knew how his closeness affected me. Maybe he knew my legs felt all wobbly and weak. Maybe that was the reason why he was pulling me to him, why his hands went to my waist and drew me even closer to his solid, tall frame.
Or maybe he didn't know. Maybe he just wanted me close.
His breath was warm against my face. I just wanted him to kiss me, like he had two days ago. I wanted that same impatience, that same, undisguised passion, that same pure desire. But when he just kept looking at me, his blue eyes taking a darker tone, it was me who got impatient. I reached up and clasped my hands behind his neck, barely noticing the uncomfortable sting of my burned thumb, as my fingers played with the ends of his silky hair. Rising to my tiptoes and diving my fingers into his soft locks, I tipped his head forward and pressed my lips to his. Sweetly, tenderly. My kiss was soft, tentative, just a gentle exploration.
But his response...there was nothing tentative or gentle about his response.
As soon as my lips brushed his, I heard him breathe out hard, like someone had punched him in the stomach, like his lungs could only remember how to breathe out and nothing else. His hands tightened on my waist, and his lips began to assault mine with a surprising force.
And then, it was me sighing and moaning against his mouth, unable to remember how to breathe in, and I was gone, gone, gone, unaware of everything else but Carlisle's soft lips caressing mine and the hard planes of his body pressing against me.
My hands were no longer caressing the hair at his neck; they were everywhere, desperately searching for something, for a way to get him even closer to me. I needed to feel him, needed to know how his bare skin felt against my palms; I felt like I might not survive another second if I didn't, as melodramatic as that sounded.
It was hard to focus, though. As his mouth left mine, and his lips began to attack my throat with intense need, all I could comprehend was the way my body reacted to his lightest of touches. My every muscle was humming with tension, and my heart was beating against my ribcage like a jackhammer.
I suddenly realized I was pressed up against something – maybe it was the wall, the floor, the counter, the table, I didn't know. All I knew was we had moved – had he lifted me? When? – and I felt something cool and hard pressing against my back.
It was a wall, after all – my kitchen wall, to be precise – but I only knew this because I opened my eyes. I couldn't even tell when I had closed them. Carlisle's lips were no longer caressing my skin, and it had obviously caught my attention.
He was still pressing against me, holding me impossibly close. His hands came to frame my face, and the look in his darkened blue eyes was desperate, like he was struggling to control himself. He took a small step back, and I felt instantly empty, as our bodies parted.
"Bella," he whispered, his voice husky and breathless. "Tell me to stop now, and I will. If we're making a mistake – if you don't want this to happen..."
I silenced him with a soft kiss. He moaned quietly against my mouth. "I want this to happen," I whispered as I pulled back. "But only if you want this as badly as I."
He squeezed his eyes closed. "You have no idea how much. But if...if it turns out that we...Bella...if I end up letting you down..."
"Shh." I brought a finger on his lips. "Remember what I said. Those who don't search for anything are harder to disappoint. Stop worrying. I want to be with you. I just...let's just take it one day at a time, okay? We don't have to make this anything complicated if you don't want to. If you're not ready. Let's just...let's just take one moment at a time and see where it goes. No pressure. I promise."
It sounded like he was trying to regulate his breathing. His eyes bored into mine. His desperate, uncertain eyes.
"Are you sure?" he asked. "Bella...I'd hate it if you one day came to regret this..."
I silenced him with another kiss. "I could never regret this. I like you, Carlisle. I want to be with you. I want you."
"This is crazy," he murmured against my mouth. His hands were now back on my waist, sliding down, before beginning to knead my hips nearly painfully. His fingers curled and flexed, like he wasn't in control of their movements. "Bella...this is not wise. I mean it."
"Maybe this is crazy," I granted, diving my fingers into his hair again. "Maybe it's not wise. Maybe we'll get battered and bruised if we do this. But bruises heal, don't they? My point is, as long as this feels right, we're doing nothing wrong. And I know I'd regret it for the rest of my life if I walked away from you now. I'd never find peace with myself."
"God, neither would I," he answered. My eyes rolled back in my head as he dipped his head into my neck, and a loud moan escaped my mouth as he latched his lips onto my pulse point. I wondered if that would leave a mark – I really, really wouldn't mind.
When Carlisle pulled back to see my face again, his eyes were wild with need. "Bella, if you're sure...if you're absolutely sure..."
"I am. Stop worrying. Remember...let's just take it a day at a time. Just stay with me. I want you, Carlisle. Don't you want me?"
He slammed his eyes shut. "Christ... You have no idea how much, Bella. No idea."
"I think I do." Giving him a teasing smile, I pressed closer to him, so our hips were touching. Then, I eased my hand between our bodies to stroke him through his clothes. As my hand palmed his hardness through the fabric, his eyes slammed shut again, and he actually bucked against my touch, letting out a low, guttural groan.
"God Almighty," he moaned, his lips claiming mine again. I felt the rapid rise and fall of his chest against mine as he kept kissing me with even more intensity. My other hand joined the first, and I somehow managed to gather enough focus to undo the buckle of his belt, and then my trembling fingers began to work on the button and zipper of his pants. I just needed to touch him, I literally felt like I might die if I didn't get to feel him against my skin right now.
As I slid my hand under the elastic of his boxers, and as my fingers wrapped around him, he pulled away from my lips to suck in a sharp breath. I explored his length with my fingers, gripping him firmly, before circling the head gently. When I did that, Carlisle hissed loudly, his hips giving another involuntary thrust.
"Bella...Bella, please..." He couldn't seem to get a word out of his mouth. His head dropped to my shoulder, and he groaned quietly.
"What is it, Carlisle?" I whispered in his ear and managed to surprise myself. I wasn't normally very vocal – let alone verbal – in these situations, so I was a little shocked at my own behaviour. I kept talking while I stroked him as firmly as his clothes would allow. "What do you want? Is this for me? Do I make you feel this way?"
"Christ," he breathed, lifting his head from my shoulder. His hand grabbed my wrist, and he tried to put a to stop my intimate caress. I teased him a moment more before withdrawing my hand, and as soon as I did, I suddenly realized the floor had disappeared from under me.
"Where's your bedroom?" I heard him murmur a moment before he claimed my lips again. I had to force myself to focus and think. Where was my bedroom? Where did I live? What was my name?
"There...the door on the right...no, the other one..." I managed to say between kisses. I heard him fumble for the handle, and somehow, he managed to work the door open while he held me in his arms and kept kissing me senseless.
I briefly thanked myself for making the bed this morning, despite the fact that I had been in a hurry to leave for work. Not that an unmade bed would have mattered – a hurricane could have gone through the room, and we wouldn't have noticed. As soon as Carlisle placed me on the bed, his hands were everywhere, tugging at my clothes, ripping open zippers and buttons so urgently, it was a wonder he didn't tear anything. I heard quiet thuds as my shoes dropped to the floor, and after a moment, his followed suit. There was impatience in his every movement, especially when he pulled off my jeans, but as he tugged my sweater off a moment later, he was very careful, remembering my injured hand. It was odd, because I myself couldn't remember the whole thing. The small burn on my hand had nothing on the burn inside me.
When my sweater was finally off, I sat up on the bed and cursed inwardly, because Carlisle's shirt had too many buttons. With trembling fingers, I undid them one by one and anxiously pushed the shirt off his shoulders. As I ran my fingers over his toned stomach, I noticed a slight tremble went through him at my touch. The light sprinkling of hair on his chest tickled my palms, making me now fully realize it wasn't a young boy leaning over me, but a man. The thought made my insides pool with heat.
As he kissed me deeply and reached behind me to unclasp my bra, I felt a small prickle of uncertainty. If I had any insecurities, this was it. But as Carlisle's fingers dragged the straps of my bra off my shoulders and peeled the fabric away from my breasts, and as he pulled away from my lips to look at me, I only felt wanted. He pulled me into a hungry kiss, before gently pushing me down onto the bed.
I moaned against his mouth as I felt his hands caress my breasts. As he began to rub and tweak my nipples, pinching them into hard peaks, my head began to spin deliciously. As his mouth left mine, and his lips joined his hands, everything went black. An incoherent moan left my throat as I felt him suck a nipple into his mouth, his warm tongue swirling around it.
"Oh my – " I tore my eyes open and cried out – loudly – as his hand suddenly traveled down my body and caressed me through my underwear. "Carlisle...Carlisle, please..."
He moaned quietly as a response. His mouth abandoned my breast, and as he pulled away to look at me, sitting back on his heels, I realized I had never seen anything so... hot. There really was no other word for it. He was sensuality personified.
His bare upper body was lean but muscular, and my eyes drank him in as if to memorize the curves and angles of his body. He looked like he had been carved by a sculptor, until every small detail was pure perfection. His blonde hair was no longer neat and swept-back; it was tousled and messy, and I'd suppose I had to take the blame for that.
I realized Carlisle was studying me the same way I was watching him. He was breathing heavily as his eyes roamed my nearly naked form, and then his warm hands went to my hips, his fingers hooking on the waistband on my panties. He leaned forward to kiss the valley between my breasts before pulling back again. Slowly, he began to drag down my underwear, and I actually growled when he stopped and began to caress the outside of my hips with the tips of his fingers.
"Carlisle..."
He chuckled low and deep in a sensual manner. "I must tell you, Bella, that when I came to see you at the café that one day, and when I saw you in those black, tight pants and in that red, tiny apron..." He closed his eyes and shook his head slowly. His dragged down my panties an inch or two before stopping again.
"And what did...what did...what were you thinking?" I stuttered, barely able to pull enough air into my lungs to form a complete sentence. "What did you...want to do?"
He leaned down towards me again, capturing a nipple in his mouth. A wanton moan left my throat as he gently nibbled it with his teeth. My chest was heaving when he finally released the hardened peak, and suddenly, I felt his hot breath in my ear. "To be entirely honest, Bella, I just wanted to bend you over the table and take you right there."
"Oh, my God..." Just hearing him talk like that had me on the edge. What would happen when he was actually touching me?
He dragged my panties down one more inch, and I almost cried when I thought he would keep teasing me. Maybe he noticed my reaction – I heard him chuckle darkly, and then I felt him pull my panties down my legs and off in one smooth movement. He didn't waste any time. His hand was instantly cupping my wet entrance, and his fingers began to explore my excited flesh. His touch made my breath hitch and my toes curl.
My hands went into my hair, because I felt like I needed something to hold onto to keep myself from going crazy. His intimate touch made the ache inside me threaten to explode. But then, his hand was gone, and as I felt him pull back, grabbing my thighs and bending my legs, I was just a heaving, groaning mess. Something between a cry and a moan left my lips as I felt him blow gently against my wet folds. The sensation was so sudden, so intense, and I didn't know how to deal with it. It was just too damn much. Was he trying to kill me?
My thighs began to tremble, and I was torn between wanting to close them and spread them even more open, but I had no time to decide what to do, because the touch was back again. His finger began to circle the sensitive nub at the apex on my thighs, delicately and slowly, and I had to tear my hands from my hair, because there was pain in my scalp. I grabbed the bed covers instead, my back arching off the bed slightly, as he added a finger and began to play with my entrance.
"My God, Bella. Is this for me?" His husky words nearly made me come apart.
"Yes, Carlisle, please. I need...I need you inside me, please..." Forming words seemed an impossible task. He spent a moment more teasing my sensitive flesh, and then, he withdrew his hand. I heard fabric rustling as he got rid of his pants and boxers. My mouth went dry as I finally saw him – all of him – and I was vaguely aware of him taking something from the pocket of his pants, before throwing them on the floor. As he turned to me again, I noticed it was a condom. I almost told him I had a copper coil, but I didn't want to waste time asking if he'd been tested. As he sat back on his heels and quickly tore the wrapping – with his teeth! – his eyes never left mine. My breath caught at the sight. His eyes...there was just bare, raw desire in their dark, blue depths.
I sat up and took the condom from him; I was desperate to explore him like he had explored me. I pressed a hand on his chest, wordlessly urging him to lie down, and he complied, his gaze still holding mine. I leaned over him, and a small grunt escaped his mouth as my hand found him. I gripped his hard length firmly, giving it a slow, sensual stroke, before gathering the drop of fluid leaking from the tip. His hips gave a sharp jerk, and a low groan left his throat – the sound went straight to my center, making my insides clench wonderfully. As I continued to stroke him, the muscles of his lower stomach began to tense, and when his thighs began to tremble, I brought the condom to the tip and rolled it down his length. As soon as I had done that, his hands were gripping my wrists, and he was pushing me down against the bed, covering my body with his.
"You're such a tease, Bella Swan," he whispered into my ear, before sucking at my lobe softly with his mouth. "You make me feel like a green, young boy. Do you know what I mean?" His erection was pressing against my stomach, and his hips gave a small jerk, as if to punctuate his words. All that made my head spin, and I felt like I was no longer in control of my movements; my back arched off the bed again as I craved the friction he refused to give.
"Why don't you show me?" I managed to pant, and then I heard myself whimper deep in my throat as I felt the tip of his hardness slide against my slick folds. "Carlisle! Yes..."
"Is this what you want, Bella?" he whispered in a low, guttural tone. His breath was hot and fast against my neck. My eyes rolled back in my head as he kept sliding himself against my sensitive flesh.
"Yes! I want you inside me...Carlisle...please..." I wrapped my legs around him, trying to force him closer. As he pressed against my entrance, his breath rushed out in a loud moan. He pulled back to look at me, cradling my head with his hand, while the other went to my thigh, sliding down my leg. My eyes slammed shut as he hooked his arm behind my knee and lifted it to his hip almost roughly.
"Open your eyes." It wasn't a request – it was a demand. I did as he said – not that I had a choice – and a violent tremble went through me as he aligned himself, pushing himself inside me with one long, slow stroke. My back arched to meet him, and I grasped the bed covers with my hands, letting out a strangled cry as he filled me.
"Oh my...Carlisle! Yes!" I was panting and trying to move my hips, trying to make him move, but he stayed completely still, his other hand palming my hip to stop my movements. His face dropped to my neck, and he groaned quietly. I felt his chest rising and falling against mine; he was clearly struggling to regulate his breathing.
"Incredible," he sighed against my skin. "Christ, Bella...you're so warm..."
My hands went to tangle in his hair, pulling his soft, blond locks almost roughly, and I barely noticed the pain of my burned thumb as I clung to him. He lifted his head from my neck and kissed me hungrily, and at the same time, his hips gave a hard, quick thrust. I locked my ankles at his waist, urging him on.
I knew this wasn't going to be gentle or sensual or slow. This was going to be an explosion of need and want and desire...and despair. It was in every motion of his hips as he thrust into me, and it was in my every moan and sigh as I felt him fill me time and time again. It was hard and urgent and uncontrolled, and I couldn't get enough.
I dug my fingers into his shoulders as he kept driving into me, and I wondered if my nails left marks on his skin. If I was hurting him, at least he didn't seem to mind. He only groaned into my mouth as he kept slamming his hips into mine, driving me higher and higher, and the desperate coil deep in my stomach grew tighter with each thrust, with each loud moan that left his lips. I was only vaguely aware of the incoherent stream of moans and whimpers coming out of my mouth as that coil eventually snapped, sending sweet, intense spasms through me.
Lights and sparks flared behind my eyes as I fell apart, Carlisle's name leaving my lips in a soft, breathy cry. My ears were ringing, and I felt like every muscle in my body was twitching and trembling. The pleasure rippling through me was intensified by the feeling of Carlisle's lips assaulting my neck. His breathing was suddenly labored and uneven, his moans turning into loud gasps and grunts. His movements became erratic and uncoordinated, before his hips gave one final uneven thrust as he finally reached his peak. His breathing was hard and fast as he fell on top of me, and I noticed his arms were actually trembling as he tried to hold his weight and keep himself from crushing me under him. He rolled us onto our sides, still holding my body to his, like even the thought of parting from me was impossible.
For a while, we just lay there and clung to each other, trying to catch our breath. Trying to come down from somewhere that was so high, that a place like that shouldn't even exist.
"My God, Bella..." he kept murmuring against my neck, his voice shaky and almost frail. "Amazing."
If one could die from pleasure...well, I certainly felt like our bodies were close to reaching their critical point. Our chests were still heaving for air, and my heart kept hammering in my chest, like it might break right through my ribs. If pleasure didn't kill me, that certainly would.
I thought idly that, if I was now living my last moments, being tangled up with Carlisle so intimately certainly was a good way to go.