I apologize for the delay in updating. I'll save you all the drama, but I've been in the middle of a family tragedy and that has made finding the right writing motivation quite difficult. I hope this chapter makes up for the wait. :)

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For at least an hour, I replay my conversation with Edward, thinking about what I could have differently, things I should have said, and the promises we made to each other. I conclude that I'm a foolish girl out of her depth.

It's not like I thought I'd be perfect considering my lack of experience and my age, but the guilt is what keeps me awake more than anything. Why does Edward even bother with me when I so obviously can't control myself?

"Bella?" I hear Edward's voice say softly from the other side of the door accompanied by two short knocks.

"Y-yeah?" I ask, wiping hastily at my face.

He cracks open the door, silhouetted by the hallway light. God, he's only wearing boxers. I've never seen his chest before. "I could hear you crying from my room."

"Thin walls," I mutter stuffily, pretending I'm not entranced by the trail of hair on his abdomen.

"Are you ok?"

Obviously not. "Yeah."

Sighing, he strides to my bed and holds out his hand. "Come on."

"Where?"

"Just come on," he says, wiggling his fingers at me.

I'd follow him anywhere.

"Oh," he says, inhaling sharply when I throw the sheets off of myself. Without pajamas handy, I'm wearing only a black thong and white camisole.

"I didn't have pajamas to –."

"I could have lent you something."

I shrug, though the thought of stealing some of his clothing is alluring.

Defeated, he says, "Come on" again.

Blinking rapidly as my eyes adjust to the light, Edward tugs me forward towards his room, flicking on the bedside lamp to bathe his room in a warm glow. He has a queen sized bed with rumpled, white sheets and cardboard boxes labeled BEDROOM in capital letters at the foot of the frame. A singular black and white photo of a mountain rests above the bed.

I am distracted by the four different bookcases crowded with novels when he murmurs, "Lie down."

God, where is this going? I follow my orders, though I'm staring at him – wide-eyed. Once I'm appropriately nestled in, he shuts off the hallway light, closes the bedroom door, and lifts the blanket to insert himself beside me. To my surprise, he tucks one arm under my head and uses the other to reel me into his embrace, further preventing escape by intertwining our legs.

At odds with the fact that I immediately press my palm flat to his stomach to make as much skin-to-skin contact as possible, I breathe, "You don't have to do this for me. I know I'm upset, but if it's easier to –."

"Shhh," he hushes me. "I want you here, ok? I don't want you to be sad."

"It's working. I'm feeling better already," I joke, lightly patting his abdominal muscles.

He rolls his eyes and stretches his neck to rest his chin upon my head. "You're ridiculous."

"So is your six-pack," I mutter, trailing a single finger down his belly.

He catches my errant finger in a fist under the blanket. "Naughty."

"I don't know why you're surprised. You just let a horny teenage girl in your bed."

"I thought I let an upset teenage girl in my bed," he grumbles.

"I am upset. I'm just making jokes to make myself feel better about my impulses."

He removes his chin from the crown of my head, drawing back to look at my face. "I don't understand why you're so bothered."

I sigh, dropping my sexual bravado. "Because I feel like I should be better about not giving into that kind of behavior. I'm worried I'm being . . . I don't know – disrespectful to you or something because you have so much more to lose in this whole thing than I do and it's inconsiderate of me to not get a hold of myself."

"Oh my god, Bella," he groans, squeezing me tighter. "Don't think for one second I don't enjoy you drooling over me."

I snort, hiding my face against his pectoral muscle.

"No, I'm serious. What guy wouldn't want a gorgeous girl lusting after him and trying to get naked all the time? I mean, really, I'm living the dream," he teases.

I peek at him. "Yeah?"

He touches the tips of our noses together. "I love it. Promise." Ducking his mouth to my ear, he whispers, "And all this waiting is going to make it incredible when I actually get to touch you. I bet you're wet even now."
Who-the-what-now? I jerk my head back to ogle him, trying to absorb this sudden gearshift. "Are you . . . are you talking dirty to me?"

He purses his lips at me, bemused. "Don't look at me like that. Cuddle back up here and enjoy it. This is all we have right now."

Good point, good point. Am I shaking? Yep, hands are definitely trembling. But at least if he's the one initiating, I can't blame myself for fucking this up. "Um, y-you were saying?" I whisper, closing my eyes and nestling back against his neck. My voice wavers just as much as my hands.

"Hmm, something about you being incredibly turned on."

"Is that what I am?"

He touches my face and grazes down my neck and collarbone with his fingertips. "Are you?"

Rasping in a breath, I nod. "Yes." Really, I shouldn't be considering my nose is still stuffed up and my throat hurts from crying, but the unprecedented physical contact is short-circuiting any leftover insecurity.

"Good," he breathes, kissing my cheek. "I had an idea – a compromise."

"Hmm?"

"I want you to come."

I jerk my head up, eyeing him. "How?"

"Touch yourself," he says in that compelling voice of his. His eyes are hooded and serious.

"Here? Now?"

"Here. Now."

I purse my lips and glance down the sheets. "What about you?"

He blinks at me and a dangerous, crooked smile twists his face. "You want to watch me come?"

I nod dumbly, my mouth agape. This is so much more than I bargained for.

"Ok," he agrees softly. "But I want you to come first. Do you think you can do that?"

More nodding. I'm mute now. This man has rendered me mute. Call me naïve, but this isn't what I expected when I got into bed with him.

He grasps the sheets and removes them from our bodies in one swooping motion. "I want to see you."

Ditto. I'm looking at his boxers and the hint of the contents within. In a fit of nervous energy, I sit up, peeling off my tank top to reveal my bare torso, watching Edward's reaction carefully.

He inhales through his nose, nostrils flaring and pupils dilating. "Those are different," he whispers, looking at my chest.

"Oh, yeah, I changed the piercings," I explain, fingering the small, silver rings that replaced the barbells. Letting my hands drop to my sides, I ask, "Do you like them?"

He nods emphatically, though his eyes drift down to my underwear with a raised eyebrow as I hook my thumbs in the band.

"You said you wanted to see me," I say in a breathy, sing-song voice as I remove those, too. I haven't shaved as recently as I would like, but Edward is looking at me with enough passion that I don't feel ashamed.

"You're so beautiful," he breathes, resting his head in his hand and carefully not touching me. Instead, he gazes over my body – head to toe – like I'm an exquisite painting with hidden brushstrokes in every curve.

Taking a deep breath, I let my hand drift down to my thighs, finding myself as wet as he assumed, though my motions feel unsteady. "Keep talking to me," I sigh, settling into my familiar routine – except for the prickling sensitivity of my skin.

"Beautiful Bella," he coos in my ear. "I want you so badly."

"Mmm-hmm," I prompt. I'm trying not to think too hard about what I'm doing or feel any embarrassment over my naked body. I'm safe with him.

"Look," he whispers, his eyes directing me downwards to where he grips himself through the fabric of his boxers, creating a strained outline. "This is what you do to me."

"Yeah?"

"All the time."

For a moment, I wonder how on Earth Edward's rationalizing this to himself as being platonic enough to pass his conscience because he's saying the dirtiest, most wonderful things to me. My breathing pattern has been hijacked by my rampant heart – all because of his delicious words. In any case, it's enough to make me focus on the task at hand, increasing my tempo of rubbing my clit. I'm more sensitive than usual, letting out short breaths, staring downwards where Edward is touching himself.

"Take those off," I grunt at him, nodding at his boxers. I want to see him.

After a moment's hesitation, he lifts his hips, scooting the elastic band down his thighs and chucking them off the side of the bed. His erection is freed, swollen and resting on his belly. I find the sight so incredibly provocative that I have to ball my free hand up in the sheets to keep myself from touching him. Because now we're in his bed together, completely naked, alone in a snowstorm with nowhere to be until morning.

Our eyes meet and I can see he's thinking the same things I am. Nothing to be done for our magnetic attraction. His hand twitches and I think for a moment that he will reach for me and ignore all the rules we've made for ourselves, but instead he grips himself.

"Keep going," he says softly, reminding me of my job.

I exhale and press my finger back over my clit, my eyes locked on his motions. Maybe it's actually seeing him touch himself – and fantasizing that he must do this all the time while thinking of me – that gets me to the point of orgasm, but I'm surprised by how quickly it happens. I find myself tensing and moaning – maybe playing it up a bit because I have an audience, after all – and then relaxing into the flood of hormones that reward my efforts.

"Beautiful," he whispers, his voice coarser as he picks up the pace of his own ministrations. "I could watch you come forever."

"Deal."

He snorts at me and closes his eyes for a moment, his eyebrows furrowing. I think he must be close already. I want so badly to take him in my mouth that I bite my lip, watching in anticipation.

Even though he was steadfast in not touching me while I masturbated, my self-control is far less developed – so I reach out and place my palm flat on his chest, stroking down his abdomen.

He opens his eyes to peek at me, but says nothing, continuing to stroke himself at a faster pace. After a few short minutes, his breathing becomes panting and his mouth parts. Based on his curling toes and groans, he comes far harder than I did, shooting onto his belly.

There's a long silent moment where we breathe, looking at each other, coming down from coming. It's hardly the kind of romance I've imagined for my first time being completely naked with him, but this feels almost more intimate for our careful compliance with not taking things too far. Not that we haven't crossed leaps and bounds, but I feel a sense of relief thinking that maybe we could repeat this little procedure in the future without worrying about breaking the rules. It would probably do wonders for my sexual frustration.

"You ok?" Edward asks me.

What a silly question. "Yes. You?"

"Tired now," he admits a bit sheepishly, getting up from the bed. I'm entranced by the sight of him walking across to the adjoining bathroom to clean up; his dick is still sticking straight out from his body, proud and distracting.

I wonder if I'm supposed to get dressed again or if he expects me to return to the guest bed now that I'm no longer upset, but he answers my question by pulling back the sheets, slipping into the bed beside me, and pulling me into his body. Given we're both still naked, I tense up at first.

"Is this ok?"

"Are we going to sleep like this?"

"That was my plan."

God, who even is this man? I'm supposed to magically relax next to this butt naked man? This is a far cry from the relentless caution we've exercised thus far. "O-ok."

"We don't have to –."

"Nope, I'm staying. It's happening. Good night," I say in a sweet rush, making a show of tucking myself into the sheets and wriggling against his body into a more comfortable snuggling position.

He chuckles at me and kisses the top of my head. "Good night."

My lips impulsively part to tell him I love him, but the words catch in my throat. Maybe it's too soon still. Maybe I'm just trying to say it because of all the endorphins singing in my bloodstream. Maybe I'm a chicken-shit.

I tuck my face against his check and he turns out the light, leaving us in darkness that contrasts sharply with the warm glow in my chest.

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