Let's get it on.
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Thanks to:
Di, my editor,
and Paige and Aileen, my prereaders.

Stupid Little Game
Chapter 21

No second-guessing, I told myself. Let yourself enjoy this.

"This is us," Edward said, gesturing toward the SUV idling at the curb. He opened the back passenger door for me, and I scooted to the opposite side. He followed me inside, then motioned me back over to the hump seat with a playful look of censure.

"I want you close," he said, and pressed his thigh against mine.

Since I wanted that, too, I buckled my seatbelt without comment. He reached over and grabbed my hand, pulling it onto the top of his leg, close to his crotch. My eyes inched higher . . .

Shit, stop it.

He bent close. "You're shaking," he murmured. "Are you cold?"

Far from being cold, I exhaled slowly. "It's nerves. I've never . . . this is all new to me. I'm not used to you this way in person yet."

That was putting it mildly; I was still a bit breathless, and my blood felt as if it was cooking inside my veins. Flashes of our kiss—the sounds he made, the strength of his arms holding me so tight against him, how he tasted—kept playing on a loop inside my head.

"Let's get you acclimated then," he whispered against my ear, and my eyes closed as the sensation caused goosebumps to race up my back. "Truth or dare?"

Caught by surprise, I made a sound of disbelief. "This is your idea?"

"Come on. Play along, Bella."

"Okay, but I'm going first. Truth or dare?"

"Truth," he said. "Always truth."

Do you kiss everyone like that?

As soon as the question popped into my mind, I swallowed hard. But I had to know.

"Is it usually like that . . . for you . . . every time you kiss someone?"

Or is it just me?

Edward sat back and barked out a short laugh, as if embarrassed, then ran the thumb of his free hand against his lower lip.

"Not like that, no. I thought we'd be good together, but not that good."

His answer had my insides curling up in sweet satisfaction. "It took you by surprise, too," I whispered.

"We have some wild chemistry, Tiger Eyes."

Wild. Tongues brushing hard, breaths mingling hotly, wet and—

I shook my head.

"When did you realize you were, er, falling for me?" I asked in a rush, ignoring the fact that it was his turn to ask me a question.

"The night of the karaoke outing," he answered immediately. "When you walked up to the stage with that look of challenge in your eyes; you weren't talking to me, but they were. I knew then you were always going to meet me toe-to-toe. I found that damned attractive."

I remembered the night with a bittersweet bite. He'd seen right through me, but I had been blind, so blind still.

"I was so angry at you then," I said regretfully.

"I know. That's why I was doing all I could to try to show you who I was, how I'd changed. It's why I chose the George Michael song—the song you obviously hated."

"I didn't hate it. That was the problem."

The look on his face was hurting my heart. "But you didn't hear a word I said."

I leaned my head against his shoulder in apology. "I wasn't ready."

Exhaling softly, he rested his head lightly on top of mine, and we sat like that for a few moments, until he spoke again.

"Truth or dare?"

"Truth. Always truth," I teased.

"When did you realize you were falling for me?"

Tensing, I shook my head. "That's cheating. You can't ask me the same thing I asked you."

Edward laughed, sweeping a thumb across my wrist's pulse point. "When have we played by the rules, you and me? Answer the question. I'd really like to know."

"Fine," I said on an exhale, uneasy at having to admit anything since I was a chickenshit. "When you started ignoring me. It confused the hell out of me, because up to that point, ignoring me is what I thought I wanted you to do."

"Poor Tiger Eyes," he said against the side of my head as he pulled my arm up to his chest in a kind of hug. "You sure had some painful truths to face, didn't you? Not only had the bully from your past changed, but you went and fell for him."

How well he summed up all my inner turmoil.

"Yeah. My life kind of sucked there for a while."

"If it makes you feel any better, so did mine. I was between a rock and a hard place trying to get your attention and win your trust, and afraid nothing was going to work. Should I force you to confront me so we could move past everything, or ignore you in the hopes it would finally wake you the hell up?"

"Forcing me to do anything isn't a good bet," I warned, aiming a look up at him.

He was close. Close enough to kiss.

Inclining his head, his eyes closed.

"As I found out when we made it to your apartment that night. You couldn't run, so your fight instinct kicked in," he said, and I felt the words against my lips.

I moved closer. "Um hmmm," I breathed against his mouth, pressing forward, aching to feel that sweet heat again . . .

For a short moment, he pressed his lips softly against mine, giving them a quick peck before he sat up. Although his eyes were hooded, they were filled with laughter and apology.

"You're just too tempting," he said with a shake of his head.

Disappointed, I sat back. If not for the seatbelt, I'd have been in his lap. We were behaving like kids on the verge of making out. Also, moving as quickly as a young relationship.

"It was just a week ago that this all happened," I said slowly, as the realization swept through me once more. Our soul baring seemed like a lifetime ago, but then again, it also seemed like it had just happened last Saturday. "Are you sure we're not moving too fast?"

He gave me a pointed look. "Does it feel like we are?"

"No. But rationally, yes. Don't relationships that move too quickly fizzle out?"

"There's no instruction manual or a timetable for relationships," he said, raising a hand to tuck a piece of hair behind my ear. "People get together when it feels right. But if this doesn't feel right to you, we can slow it down."

"I'm just putting it out there, that's all. This feels so right that it's scary."

He shook my hand lightly. "You're overthinking things again, Bella. We've already had this conversation," he whispered tenderly to take away the sting. "Nothing's in danger of fizzling out for me. What I've felt for you is only growing. Are you afraid that what you feel for me isn't real?"

Was I?

I liked the way Edward addressed my concerns; he was consistently patient and good at drawing me out, even when I'd been acting confrontationally. And I liked the way he made me feel—heard, protected, cared for. I'd never truly doubted that he had only good intentions. He played a starring role in my dreams, and consumed my waking thoughts. Being around him made my soul sing; I felt wonderfully alive.

I'd even felt that way when I thought I still hated him.

You've got it bad, girl.

"No, not at all," I admitted, and his grip around my hand lessened, making me realize he'd been nervous about my answer.

"I'm a worrier," I told him, hoping to ease any fear. "You'll see."

We pulled up alongside a row of buildings and stopped at the curb.

He smiled gently at me. "I'm a pacifier. You'll see."

Gia's was an inconspicuous brown brick building sandwiched in between a tattoo parlor and a body repair shop. From the outside, it looked dingy and almost deserted. The curlicued name of the restaurant was scrawled in dull gold above a door with a weathered red canopy.

"Here?" I asked Edward dubiously.

He held open the door for me with a secretive look on his face.

Once I stepped inside and took in the rustic decor and the heavy wooden ceiling beams hung with amber string lights, I immediately saw why he'd brought me. It was like walking into a den of intimacy. Lining both long walls were booths curtained off from each other with a spectrum of cream fabrics suspended from ceiling rods. Muted wall sconces shone dimly in each booth, which matched the candle sitting on each white tablecloth. There were no tables in the center of the room, but there wasn't really enough space for them.

It was all about lovers, this warm hug of a restaurant with its dark and dusky piped-in music. It also wasn't the kind of place you'd bring a blind date to, or even a first date, but like Edward had said earlier: all the rules seemed to have been thrown out the window. Still, I almost gaped at him.

"Relax," he crooned, his smirk of a smile widening. "They serve the best cacciatore here."

I had to laugh. "And all you want to do is hold my hand, right?"

"And maybe steal a kiss or two," he said, pulling me close to place his mouth briefly on my cheek, which flushed under his lips.

Although only one of the tables was occupied at this early hour, a hostess wearing a decorative white peasant's top and a full skirt showed us to a booth at the back. Shortly thereafter, our waiter—Giorgio—appeared to ask if he could start us out with drinks.

"It's just after three. Too early for Cabernet?" Edward asked.

I couldn't help swooning internally over him; the lighting loved his hair and strong features. He looked like a golden demigod.

"Not for me," I replied.

Edward stretched his arm across the table, and I placed my hand in his. The music swelled, and I sighed, unable to keep my eyes off him.

"You look even more beautiful under this lighting," he said in a low, gritty tone, his face intense, dangerous.

"I was just thinking the same about you. This lighting would probably make anyone look more attractive, though."

In answer, his gaze washed over me like silk, and my breath caught.

And then I was unaccountably curious. "How did you, er, find this place?"

One of his eyebrows rose, and his voice was light when he spoke. "You think I've been here before. That I'd bring you to a place where I brought someone else?"

Dropping my gaze to the little candle on the table, I shrugged. I tried to tell myself that it didn't matter if he'd brought another woman here, that it didn't matter what he'd done before me, but I was lying to myself.

"Bella. A friend from college used to work here," he said, matter-of-fact, squeezing my hand. "It's a classy gem we locals have been hiding from tourists for over fifteen years, I think. And I've always wanted to come, but I was waiting for the right person. You are the first . . . the only woman I plan to bring here."

Everything he said or did, created a ripple effect deep inside of me, and it just kept getting stronger. It was both terrifying and exciting.

"You always know just what to say, don't you?" I whispered.

Our wine came then, and he stared steadily at me, clasping my fingers harder when I went to pull away. While he tried the sip of wine Giorgio poured, he only briefly broke eye contact. And while Giorgio poured wine in our glasses, he continued to hold my gaze, building the tension. I struggled not to look away, because after all, I was the one who'd thrown the gauntlet.

Finally, Giorgio retreated.

Edward pulled my hand up to his mouth and pressed a lingering kiss there.

"I don't think you fully understand my intentions yet," he began quietly. "Maybe it's the worrywart in you, doubting that I feel this way. But I'll say it every day until it sinks in. I like you, Bella. No, I'm crazy about you, and I want to be with you. I'm not playing at anything; I'm being honest. So if you like what you're hearing, I must be doing something right."

I was dying. Dying.

"I do," I whispered. "Like what I'm hearing. And yes, you are doing everything right . . . so very right. It's . . . I can't . . . it doesn't seem real. Are you real?"

His fingers were tracing the veins in my ticklish forearm, sending little shivers of lightning through my body.

"I put my pants on one leg at a time," he said. "I found out the hard way that I need to double-knot my sneakers before I go running. I dislike doing laundry. I make stupid mistakes, like getting too friendly with you at work. I'm afraid of moving too fast for you. Which means I'm afraid of losing you."

I shook my head and, reaching out, took his unfurling hand in both of mine. I curled my fingers around him, stroking my thumbs against his palm. "You won't lose me. If we can keep talking like this, you won't lose me."

Edward nodded once, slowly, definitively.

"Let's toast to that."

So we did, and then we toasted to the day so far. Pretty soon, we were toasting to my eyes, to his jawline, and to the unexpected power of our kiss. By the time we ordered dinner, I was slightly tipsy and fighting the urge to climb onto the bench beside him. That fight lasted halfway through the next glass of wine, until I slid out from my side of the booth and climbed into his. He welcomed me with open arms. And the free-flowing heat and magic took over my senses again as I pressed my wet, open mouth against his, my tongue sliding against his, until someone cleared their throat delicately.

Fuck, Giorgio.

I was shocked to find I was sitting on Edward's lap, my feet on the bench beside us, his hand low on my hip, almost cupping my ass. My hands slid down his chest, slower as I encountered the hard slab of his stomach muscles—God, if only he was bare—and then Edward was clearing his throat. Laughing, I slid off his thighs to the side, putting my feet back onto the floor like the lady I was supposed to be.

But I felt very much like a woman unhinged really. And I was hungry in more ways than one.

We traded heavily loaded glances as Giorgio set our plates in front of us. I loved the fiery look in Edward's dark gaze that he couldn't seem to keep off me, that his mouth was swollen from my kiss, that my chin prickled from his stubble.

"Behave," he mouthed at me.

"You first," I mouthed back.

He shared bites of his beef cacciatore with me, and I shared bites of my mushroom ravioli with him.

And I discovered that holding out forkfuls of food to another was like foreplay. Although it made me hot and uncomfortable, it gave me a great excuse to stare at his mouth as he wrapped his lips around the tines of my fork. I never would have thought watching a man's mouth was so fascinating, but I was hooked. And wanting more, but he wasn't a fan of my dish.

"So let me feed you yours," I cajoled, utterly shameless.

I was thrilled to see it seemed to be the same for him as he watched my mouth, and that he looked dazed and definitely out of sorts after seeing me accept his proffered tidbit.

That was when we decided that maybe, in addition to kissing in public, we probably shouldn't feed each other in public.

"Pretty soon, there's not going to be much of anything we can do," I complained lightly.

"We'll just have to stay home," he growled playfully.

Would this sexual tension be easier to withstand after we finally made love?

For dessert, we shared a slice of tiramisu, and I got lost in the way he licked his lips; it was unconscious and done sparingly, and therefore, fucking sexy. Edward wasn't one to waste a movement, or a word. Or a moment.

"Will you stay with me tonight?" he asked.

Instant heat.

My mouth opened as I was inundated with feelings and images being fed through my fuzzy mind.

"We don't have to do anything," he added, misunderstanding my silence. "I just want you with me . . . and maybe to hold you."

An embarrassing sound came from my throat. "Yes."

Yes, yes, yes.

And maybe he saw that answer in my eyes as well, because his own softened, and went all sexy-hooded, lashes brushing those amazing cheekbones. Then his mouth was slowly widening and curving at my rapt attention . . .

I bit my lip.

He pulled it free, then ran the tip of his thumb across it in a languid way, his eyelids lowering even more, and the look on his face sent my soul crashing through the roof. He was so achingly beautiful. And patient, caring, kind, thoughtful, steady, tender, and just plain good, considering all he'd overcome. It hurt me to think that no one would ever see those traits in him, especially his parents. My protective instincts married my desire, then took it for a dip.

Is he my one, too?

It wasn't terribly cold, so Edward had the Uber driver drop us off at the bike trail on East Randolph Street, and we walked a bit. Hands clasped, he pulled me gently along Lakeshore Drive. Feeling as if I was floating through gossamer veils, I smiled up at him as we shared more about ourselves. He told me about how he'd scored an unexpected soccer goal against Anthony once, and how the two of them had fought and laughed over it. I told him about the time Mom had forgotten to put the lid back on top of the blender, and how tomatoes and peppers had sprayed all across our bodies, making it look like a murder scene in the kitchen.

And then . . . we touched on the painful cafeteria scene when I'd hurt my elbow so badly after Mom's death. How we'd both gone home that night and cried ourselves to sleep, little guessing that either of us could be a relief or an answer for the other, in the future.

Mostly, Edward didn't like revisiting his past. He didn't believe in regrets, and he wanted us to focus on the present. But I still had moments to marvel over, to reflect on, to realize fully how much I'd progressed. Especially when it came to him.

"You're a miracle to me," I told him. "You've come so far. Let me celebrate it."

His hair attractively tousled by the wind, he met my gaze with something that looked like adoration. That look made old emotions of hate and anger feel like a dream, really. Their sting had diminished in the power of the here and now. Every touch, every look from him, told me that in a thousand words. And I could have cried, but I smiled instead as I held his hand tight, so tight.

"Why are you looking at me that way?" he wanted to know.

"Why wouldn't I?" I asked, using his method of answering a question by asking one.

Silly man. Take me to your bed. Please. That was my only thought as we entered his building.

. . . . .

We moved right past the doorman, right past security, our coats slung over our shoulders, so close that our forearms were pressed tightly together. It was a great way, I realized, to feel each other's pulse. It figured Edward would know that. He was so tactile . . . which was odd considering the lack of it in his own life . . . which meant that maybe, maybe it wasn't so odd after all.

I'll touch you so sweetly, I promise.

We toed off our shoes and left our coats hanging on the rack beside his front door. The cherry wood cabinets, the floor to ceiling windows, the plush rugs, were all a blur to me as we walked through his place. He was the only thing I could see: the way his hair was falling across his brow; his heavily lashed, sleepy eyes; the flush from the cold on his cheeks; how I had to crane my neck slightly to meet his gaze.

"Do you want something to drink?" he asked.

"No."

I just want you.

"You don't want any water?" he asked again, throatily this time.

I shook my head at him as I moved in close, taking his hands in mine and raising them to my lips, where I placed open-mouthed kisses along the knuckles. He shivered, his eyes closing before he opened them questioningly.

I let my eyes do the talking, as he let his eyes do the talking sometimes.

He exhaled in a shaken way. Looked at me almost in stunned disbelief, which turned my heart over in my chest. It was as if he couldn't believe I'd really want him. But I did, with everything inside of me. This was going to be a good thing, so good. A baptism. Another one for us.

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure."

He twisted his hands in mine, then pulled me forward. His lingering, explorative touch slid up my arms, my shoulders, to my neck, and under my chin. His forehead was knotted in concentration, his eyes dark with want, and I was breathless with anticipation at his kiss all over again.

When his mouth came against mine, it was slow and soft, but claimed me thoroughly until I was freefalling again, caught up in his scent, heat, and touch. I sighed raggedly, my lips slipping against his wetly, my tongue sliding against his. Raising my hands to his wrists, I held on for dear life as he dragged his mouth back and forth over mine, and sensation coursed through my body like fire. Setting me on fire. Releasing my hold on his wrists, I pushed my hands up his chest, to his broad shoulders. He groaned when my fingers found his hair and tugged, and then I was being hoisted up into his arms.

"Wrap your legs around me," he whispered, his wide palms cupping my ass as my legs slid around his waist.

In his arms, I felt weightless. We were clumsy as we kept kissing, and he had to pause often, but eventually, we made it into his bedroom. The ceiling to floor windows revealed the setting sun, painting us in reddish gold as he stood beside the bed, his hands gliding up my thighs as I cupped his jaw in mine. One arm banded across my back, he held me against his chest as he let me slide down his body, yet not releasing me. For some reason, he seemed to have slowed down, just wanting to hold me there against him as we shared the same air.

"I've wanted this for so long," he murmured against my mouth, his lips traveling across my face, ruffling my eyebrows, then pressing against my cheekbone. "Wanted you for so long."

Not content to let him do all the kissing, I pressed my lips along the slant of his jaw. "You can have me." I panted and bit the lobe of his ear, making him gasp.

He bent slightly, lowering my feet onto the floor. Running the palms of my hands down his chest as I went, I barely had time to feel the dips of his stomach before he brought me in close to him again, his arm curving around my back, fingers digging into my waist. Gently, sweetly, he hugged me at the same time he lifted my chin. The look on his face—dark, desperate eyes, deeply flushed cheeks, open panting mouth—nearly undid me as our hungry mouths met again. My breath was shuddering, and his pants were feeding me as mine fed him.

The hand cupping my chin lowered to my collarbone, his fingers tracing the skin there, leaving a trail of fire. He began undoing the buttons of my sweater, and I ran my hand down his chest to his stomach, pushing my fingers under the hem of his shirt. His smooth, hot skin jumped under my touch, and I was thirsty, so thirsty, for a glimpse. My palm skirting up the hard shelf of his muscles, I lifted the material, feeling my mouth fall open at the sight of his carved stomach.

Cupping his hands around my bare trembling shoulders, he smoothed the sweater off my body, then yanked off his own. Nearly panting in excitement at his beauty, my fingers splayed wide, I moved my hands across the planes of his stomach and up his chest. My lips and tongue followed, adoring each ridge and hollow, and I could have spent all night doing it. He let me explore, but only for a moment until his fingertips ran down my back to my stomach, his knuckles brushing against me as he undid the button of my jeans.

Eyes hooded, lashes sweeping his cheekbones, he ran his palms down my hips to my thighs, watching as I kicked my pants off and aside. I was in simple lingerie, in a bra that did nothing to hide my hardened nipples, but it was as if the sight of me was undoing him. Before he caught me up against him again, I thought I saw his eyes fill with tears.

"It's okay," I whispered to him. "We're really here."

I pulled back, and our eyes met and held. With a ragged inhale, his hands rose to cup my face, his expression impossibly tender. He pressed his forehead against mine, then kissed me, and it felt like a benediction, gradually building, until I could have died at the intensity of it.

As if I was something to be cherished, his hands moved down my neck to my shoulders and back to unclasp my bra, leaving goosebumps in his wake. Inch by inch, his fingers traveled down to my ass before he cupped it, catching me up against him again with a growl. For long moments, he held me that way as we kissed and kissed, my adoration for him overflowing.

Then, the rough material of his jeans skimming my inner thighs as he lifted me, he laid me back against the bed's cover. I was slow to let him go as his head lowered to nose aside my bra. As his mouth covered me there, I arched with a cry, holding him to me as his teeth lightly skimmed my nipple. My thighs lifted, my feet scrabbling against his still clothed hips, wanting him bare and against my naked body.

"Edward, please," I gasped.

He eased his way down my stomach, gently forcing my legs to release him, his breath tickling as he swirled his tongue on my skin. His fingers encircled my calves, almost in a massage.

"I want to kiss you all over," he breathed when he reached the crease at my hip.

"Only if I get to do the same to you," I panted back, but I wasn't sure if he heard me, and then I was beyond caring when he pressed a kiss to the front of my thong. Moving forward, both hands on the inside of my thighs, he ran his nose across the top of my clit. I felt how wet I was there as he inhaled deeply. Barely had I registered that thought when his teeth encircled my clit, biting me softly, and it was like he'd just set a bomb off as I wrenched spasmodically against him.

He was whispering again, words I couldn't hear, before his tongue flattened and lapped at me there. Colors of red and rose exploded in my mind as a heated sensation raced up my spine. My fingers twisted in his hair, my heels digging into the mattress. He began kissing me there, teasing me by withholding his tongue, and only when I cried out his name did his kissing disintegrate into something I really felt. Through the thin material of my thong, I felt the heat of his stroking tongue, and I wanted more.

My fingers left his hair to pull at the straps of my thong, yanking at them until one side tore.

"Please," I implored, and he answered me by pulling the scrap of material to the side.

I saw the look of utter concentration on his face, the look of triumph in his wicked eyes, before he bent his head again. He was still looking at me as he took his first lap, and I shuddered and shivered at the slick feeling of his hot tongue sliding against me. His breath was shuddering too, and I was being wound tighter and tighter as he teased me lightly, then drove me hard. He somehow knew when to lick long, when to pause, when to tease.

I was vibrating, heading toward a shivery release when one of his fingers entered me right below where he was tonguing me. I gasped as he went in deep, then deeper still, and began stroking me hard and high.

And I was fighting against his hold, my body twisting and rising as a pulsing began to throb low in my stomach. A climbing tidal wave was coming, and I was shaking, unable to stop moving, unable to do anything but feel the wave. It coursed through my body, expanding and growing stronger as it built. I tried to pull back, but Edward bore down, forcing the tide, forcing his tongue and his touch against me until the wave crashed up inside me and I screamed.

It diminished slowly in power, receding like a water's ripple . . . bringing me gently back to myself as I shook and panted under Edward's body.

"Easy, easy," he told me as he caressed my cheek.

I sobbed, not understanding his words at first, feeling split apart and reborn. I wanted to tell him, but my mouth was trembling along with my body, and I couldn't talk.

He pressed his lips to mine, and I tasted myself—earthy, musky, slick. I clutched at him, my fingers digging into his strong shoulders, trying to find purchase and reason.

"God. I've never—I've never—what—"

"It's just me making love to you," he said, his lips at my temple, then at my cheek.

My shaking hand rose to smooth across one of his eyebrows, and his eyes closed, but not before I saw how intense and fearless and hungry he looked. It sparked my desire again.

A part of him was already there, but—

"I want you inside of me," I breathed.

His face tense, he uncurled his body from me, and his gaze swept my nakedness in a fiery look that scorched my skin. Our eyes held as his hands made short work of undoing his jeans and shoving them down his hard-cut thighs. The more skin he revealed, the harder I began to breathe.

He was so utterly perfect, standing there in the sun's dying rays, allowing me to look my fill. He was tall, starkly masculine with a broad flaring chest, well-muscled, but not overly so. The cut lines of the V low on his stomach led into his black boxers, which were bent out of shape. He was so long that the tip of him was peeking from behind the band, and I licked my lips, something that made him groan.

"Tiger Eyes," he whispered, and his voice had a shaky, dark edge.

In answer, I let my thighs widen invitingly, and he swallowed hard.

He moved fast after that. Thumbs hooking into his waistband, he yanked down the briefs and his cock sprang free. It was long and straight, slightly curved at the tip, and I was aching all over again.

Clumsily, he staggered to the stand beside the bed, where he wrenched open a drawer.

"I'm clean," I said. "And I have an IUD."

He swallowed visibly. "Are you sure?"

"As long as you're clean, too. Yes."

"I am. I haven't been with anyone in over a year."

"Me, either," I said, as he came to kneel between my legs on the bed.

Grasping the remnants of my thong, he pulled it off me and flung it to the side. As I did with my bra, and then we were both completely exposed to the other, in every way.

His hips were warm on the inside of my thighs as he moved in close, and I was unable to look away from him. From his eyes. From the fearless, raw intensity that told me again and again how much I was adored.

We both cried out at the first touch of his skin sliding carnally against mine, our hands fighting for dominance over each other's body. His fingers curled in, sliding down to cup my ass, holding me in place as he slid himself, oh God, between my wet lips. Flattening my palms against the warm silk of him, I ran them down his sides, to his buttocks, digging my nails into him. Please.

His open mouth was pressed to mine again, our tongues, our breathing, not so polite now. I tried to press closer to him, wanting his full weight on me and inside of me. Suddenly, he was there, the smooth tip of him heavy, warm, lightly pushing.

"Look at me," he murmured.

He took my hands in his, interlacing our fingers, pinning me to the bed. Then, brow furrowed in concentration, he slid into me with a guttural groan. I arched underneath him with my own cry as he filled me.

"Fuck," he whispered raggedly, his eyes closing as if in pain.

When he opened them a moment later, dazed, vulnerable, and on fire, my own were filled with tears. I was scared by how undone I felt. I hadn't known it would be like this with him. Hadn't known it would feel so intimate, so right. The look on his face, in his eyes—he was giving me something I'd never felt before.

Seeing my emotion made him emotional, too, and we kissed again as he began rocking slow and gentle into me. We were a conduit of electricity completing the other, feeding off each other. Incredible warmth was suffusing my body from the inside out, and it was as if I was this uncontrollable inferno growing ever higher as he moved in me.

"You feel so good," he said, as he caught one of my legs behind the knee and raised it, kneeling up high.

My dreams of this moment had been a pale gray. I hadn't expected the connection that was tightening my throat. I hadn't expected the easy, slick movements of his hips, or how right he fit inside. Hadn't expected how he'd look at me, how it would make me feel; everything felt so powerful, almost overwhelming.

The look in his eyes answered me—he was right there with me, and he caught me, then chased me deeper with another hip roll that had me arching against him.

His movements were hitting that spot inside me again. And he knew it, he felt it and saw it on my face, because he began moving the same way over and over. It was beyond anything I'd ever felt with anyone, and I might die this time, though, I might die. Every slide of him inside me was bringing me closer to the brink. It was almost terrifying, this unraveling of myself.

"I can't, I can't, I can't," I began to babble.

"Yes, you can," he breathed heavily against my ear, and I moaned long and hard. "Let go."

He pressed a kiss against my temple, then raised my ankle to his shoulder. I gasped and choked as his strokes hit harder, the force of them causing an untamed reaction inside. The slick heat of him, the impossible rising pleasure, had my free foot scrabbling against the bed, pushing me headlong into the wave. I could tell that he was starting to lose control, too. He was trying to focus all that incredible intensity on me, but losing it at the edges. And Edward losing it was a sight to see—cheeks flushed, eyes dark and growing hazy, his mouth fallen open in passion.

It sent me over the edge, the look on his gorgeous face, and I clenched and twisted under his hold. The pleasure thrummed deep through my body, the force of it bubbling over me, wringing me dry from the inside out. If I was dying, I was dying happily. I screamed his name because it felt so good.

He began shaking along with me, inside of me, his voice a baritone to my alto as we gave in to the ecstasy. Our bodies were quivering against each other, warm and slick with sweat. And then our stiffly held poses dissolved; we curled into each other, our mouths open as we panted against each other's skin. Rolling over, he pulled me close into his chest. Still feeling the vibrations of after-shock, I nuzzled into his neck, pressing my lips against him.

Gradually, we came back from the bliss to ourselves and to each other, to find that we were laughing softly through tears of exertion and release.

And we were broken by and rebuilt by each other all over again.

A/N: I have a Group on Facebook called Powered by 23 Kicks Fanfiction where I've been sharing teasers and other fun stuff. Come join us!