A/N: Just a quick warning about...sexyish times in this chapter. I don't like spoiling, so I don't usually warn, but I told a couple of people I would. This chapter's also a good bit longer than the others, so enjoy. ;)

April 19, 1996

Spring break goes by way too fast. The majority of our waking hours are spent together. We drive into the city for coffee dates and to find good bands playing all-ages shows (which turns out to be pretty damned difficult). We spend time outside if the weather's good, and I try to teach you skateboard tricks. We laze around your house or mine, watching TV…talking…reading…making out. If it were up to me, we'd be at my place all the time. But since your mom's a teacher, she's off this week. Even though you say she's spent the entire break with her nose buried in romance novels, I don't want her getting suspicious. So we spend time with her, too. It doesn't bother me much.

On Friday, though, we take advantage of my empty house one last time and go upstairs with a movie.

Having you in my room is one thing. Seeing you on my bed? Whole other level. It's almost too much to think about without getting extremely worked up. When you saw the massive pile of laundry on my bean bag and desk chair, you didn't even hesitate to make a move for my bed. I'm glad you feel comfortable enough to do that, but Jesus. The sight of it…

You kicked off your shoes as soon as we stepped inside the door, as usual. It's one of your little quirks I've learned in my quest to know everything about you. I think it's cute that you hate shoes. But I'm also a fan of those tall Doc Marten boots you started wearing only recently. It's a good thing you didn't wear them today. Then I'd really be in trouble.

Just after that thought crosses my mind, though, you lie back on the bed with your head on my pillow. I can't wait to sleep on that pillow tonight. I bet it'll smell like you. When you bend your knees, your dress rides up a little and exposes the top of your thigh.

You'll be the death of me.

I flip on the stereo and turn to look at you, stressing over what to do next. I could come sit by you, but I'm not sure I trust myself. I could shove the laundry piles out of the way, but I don't want you to think I don't want to be next to you. Never in my life have I been as neurotic as I am when I'm with you, over-analyzing everything. This is completely new to me, feeling nervous and unsure about every step I make.

You make the decision for me and pat the bed beside you, grinning and looking at me with those sparkling, innocent eyes. I blow out an audible breath and figure what the hell. I'm sure I can keep myself in check if we just…talk. And don't touch. Like…at all. You've got other plans, though. As soon as I lie back, you roll to your side and scoot up against me, laying your head on my chest. At first, I panic. What the fuck do I do with my hands? I know what I'd normally do with my hands, but…

Again, you take the lead and grab my right hand with your left. The relief I feel at this ridiculously small thing relaxes me, and I spread my other hand out over your back. You sigh and inch your fingers up under the hem of my shirt, drawing tiny, invisible patterns just above the waistband of my boxers. I try really hard to keep my dick from tenting my jeans in an embarrassing way, but you're making it really hard on me. Pun not intended, but appropriate nonetheless. I try to think of something—anything—to talk about to keep my mind out of the gutter.

"Alice told me about your thing," I blurt.

You tilt your head so you can see my face. Yours looks confused. "My thing?"

"Yeah. You know…your thing for me? That you'd liked me a long time before you wrote that letter."

"Easy there," you reply, raising one eyebrow and patting my chest. "I didn't even know you."

"That's not what your let-ter said." I sing-song that shit, because it's fun to tease you.

You huff, but I know from experience that you give as good as you get. It's all in good fun. "My letter," you say, pinching my side, "was a…heat of the moment thing."

"Heat of the moment, huh?"

"Well, not literally." You bury your face in my shirt. "I was just feeling especially sullen when I wrote it."

Your…innocence, for lack of a better word, is endearing and new. Refreshing. I squeeze you gently, hoping you'll look at me. "Hey," I say softly. "Don't be shy."

"It's embarrassing. I was crazy for you, and you didn't even know I existed."

"Are you still?"

"Well, yeah." You hide your face again. "Obviously."

"That's good," I murmur into your hair and then tilt your face up so you'll look at me. "I'm pretty crazy for you, too."

The pink tinge that washes over your cheeks makes me smile, and I lean down to kiss your warm skin. You turn your head at the last second and kiss me on the lips, just a soft brush at first. But sweet kisses grow into something much less innocent.

You scrape your teeth across my bottom lip, and I push my tongue into your mouth, kissing you like my life depends on it. Your hand makes its way farther up my shirt, nails scratching lightly over my skin, making me shiver. You hitch your leg up over mine, and this time I know exactly where I want my hands to go. One goes to your waist, holding you right where I want you. The other smooths up your thigh to grip your hip and then moves to your butt, pressing you tightly against me. You moan a little when you feel how hard I am. Then, suddenly, you're on your back as I hover over you. I don't know if you rolled over and brought me with you or if I pushed you there myself, but it seems to be what you want, so I go with it. You wrap your legs around mine, urging me down. I let go, gradually and tentatively letting you feel more of my weight.

My heart's racing and my skin's hot and parts of me are throbbing and I feel like I'm ready to explode, but there's no way I'm rushing you on this. I want so badly to touch you. To make you feel good. I don't even know if that's on the table. We've never moved past the making-out part.

I move my hand up your leg and run my thumb over the soft crease where the top of your thigh meets…the rest of you. You shiver underneath me and bite my neck. God, that feels good. I want to make you feel good.

"Has anyone ever…touched you before?" My question is hesitant, and I'm almost sorry I asked. One, I don't want the image of some other guy with his hands on you floating around in my head, and two, I'm not sure how you'll take it.

But you take it in stride. Your cheeks flush again, and you break eye contact, something you never do. There's my answer. A shake of your head confirms it.

"So have you ever…you know…?"

"I've had an orgasm," you say bluntly, taking me by surprise. "Just never with anybody else."

The thought of you touching yourself—the picture in my mind of you making yourself come under the covers late at night—makes me harder than I ever thought was possible. I want to hear more about that, but I'm afraid that if I do, I'll spontaneously explode and make a mess in my jeans. So instead, I whisper, "Can I?"

You bring your lips to my ear and tilt your hips up against mine. "Please."

I swear you'll kill me one day.

I take it slow, needing you to be comfortable with this but also loving the build-up. You're impatient, wiggling against me, making me chuckle into your neck. I inch my thumb over to graze the fabric between your legs. It's damp. I might lose my mind. I hook one finger beneath the edge of your underwear and brush against slick skin. When you push up against my hand and gasp and grip my arm, it's all the encouragement I need. Together, we drag your panties down your legs, and you kick them away. Then my fingers are moving slowly, gliding over soft, wet heat. I watch your face while I explore. You gasp and squirm. I lean down to kiss your open mouth without losing the rhythm I'm trying to build steadily. I want you to feel good. I want you to feel safe. I want you to know that I love you.

It's clear to me in this moment, and I know it's not just the insane lust I'm feeling for you clouding my judgment. I do.

I love you.

Your eyes are half-open now, but they're focused on your hands as you undo the tiny buttons at the front of your dress and flick open the front clasp of your bra. Jesus Christ. I don't know if I can handle all of this at once. I'm afraid I won't know when to stop, and you won't tell me, and I'll go too far. You push the cups of your bra aside, and you're all but naked now. With your dress open, exposing all of you, I can see what I'm doing to you. I don't know where to look. My gaze jumps from your pink nipples to my hand between your thighs. I swallow hard and breathe out slowly, then meet your eyes. You're looking at me again, but when I lean down to kiss you, you tangle your fingers in my hair and urge me toward your perfect, perfect tits.

I have no problem with that.

Your nipples are hard against my lips, a contrast to the rest of your soft skin, and your chest rises with another gasp when I peek my tongue out and then take one into my mouth.

"Edward," you say so softly that I could have imagined it.

"Mm," I mumble.

"Can…c-can you…" You squirm under my touch again, making my fingers slip against flesh that's even wetter than it was a minute ago. "Inside?"

I raise my eyes to look at you, but yours are closed again. "Are you sure?"

You nod quickly.

"Look at me."

You do. I'm about to fall to pieces. "You're sure."

"I'm sure."

I slide just the tip of my finger inside you and then push in just a fraction of an inch deeper. Your eyebrows pull together, but your knees move farther apart. "Am I hurting you?"

"No. It's just…different."

"Tell me, okay?"

You nod again, and I take it slow, just a little at a time, letting you adjust to the feeling. I haven't touched a virgin before. I don't know what to expect. There's no magical "barrier" like I've heard about. I'm thankful for that. Soon, I'm all the way inside, and you're moving against my hand like you know exactly what to do. So I move slowly in and out while my thumb brushes over your clit, gradually building pressure and speed. Your chest is heaving. I think mine is, too. Somehow, I'm mesmerized by what I'm doing to you.

You don't tell me when you're close, but I can feel it. I feel your body tensing, shaking, winding tighter and tighter. I watch your face grow pinker and your lips part further. I hear your breathing pick up, coming in tiny gasps. You're so beautiful, and I wish you'd open your eyes and look at me, but you're shy again. This is a new kind of intimacy for you. I get it. I take pleasure in being able to ogle you with abandon as I press closer to you. The flush on your cheeks darkens and spreads down your neck, across your chest. And then you're trembling, back arching off the bed slightly, hips pushing against my hand as you squeeze my finger inside you. I cover your mouth with mine and swallow your soft whimper. I made you do that, and because it's you, it turns me on like it never has before. As your body relaxes, I slow my movements and press light kisses to your lips, your jaw, the side of your neck, your cheeks, your eyelids, and finally your forehead, lingering there for just a few seconds while you wind down.

God, you're beautiful.