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Esme ruffled Edward's hair for the third time. She knew he hated it, but couldn't help herself.
"That was a smart thing to do, boysie," she smiled.
Everyone, really, was smiling. The evening was winding down and their party had dwindled to a handful of people lingering over coffee at Gallery Mass, the Saatchie's own restaurant. It was getting late.
Edward was sober, sitting between his mother and girlfriend, one of whom was repeatedly ruffling his hair, while the other had been holding his hand for the past few hours. Or was it him, holding her hand? Anyway, they hadn't even let go during dinner, which made it difficult to eat, but luckily, he was left-handed, so he managed.
He was deliriously happy. For once, he had made the right decision. Rushing home and fetching the painting had been entirely spontaneous, but he'd suddenly understood how excluding her painting must have looked for Bella. Her self-confidence on some levels was as fragile as her body, but he tended to forget about the fact because, to him, she was strong and beautiful and assured.
"Congratulations, Edward," his dad said again. Carlisle was a bit tipsy tonight. Well, better him than Edward.
"Darling," Bella whispered into his ear. "Let's go home soon, okay?"
They had not talked about it, but the way she used to refer to his house as home made Edward's heart want to sing and dance.
"Are you tired, love?" He chuckled.
"No…" Her whisper became a hot breath on his neck. "I'm not at all tired."
Edward swallowed.
.
Forty-seven minutes later, they were undressing each other while making their way up the stairs. Edward's shoes, socks, jacket and tie made a path to the bedroom. His shirt and pants were dropped in the hallway.
The house was silent but for their gasps and murmurs as they stumbled into the bedroom. Impatient hands and lips and tongues melted and teased, tingled and merged.
They landed on the bed, her on top, naked but for her panties. Edward almost growled at the sight of her breasts, cupping them, looking and adoring.
"You're so beautiful, baby… I was such an idiot about the painting…" He brushed his thumb over her nipple and she shuddered. "I wanted to keep you for myself…"
"You have me."
Her eyes were large and luminous and she smiled. She bent forward, rubbing against him, making him groan deep in his throat.
She kissed him, and he responded eagerly, relishing the sensation of her full breasts pressing against his chest. She was like cotton candy and silk, soft and sweet and irresistible.
Kisses became frantic as hands roamed again, and once they were naked, she sank down on him, a small cry escaping her mouth. He would never get his fill in watching her, feeling her, tasting her. She was divine in her pleasure, her eyes fluttering as her tempo sped up, his hands on her hips spurring her on.
They were bathed in sweat when she collapsed on him, his long moan muffled by her hair. She was panting, still trembling from her release, her slight weight delicious on him.
They were silent for a while, trying to regain their breaths and their wits.
"My beautiful Bella," he murmured, holding her as close as possible.
He could feel her smile against his neck.
"I love you," were her sleepy, mumbled words. "So much…"
Moments later, he could tell by her even breathing and relaxed body that she was dead to the world.
Edward closed his eyes.
He hadn't fallen asleep this easily in a long time.
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