I disclaim.
It had been perhaps the most awkward morning of my life. So as soon as my heartbeat had slowed to a normal rhythm and the vampire had let me go, I had put that chair into reverse to make a speedy getaway, with a brief pause to turn off the gas on the stove. (Oddly thoughtful of me, but unnecessary. Rickie had apparently never actually turned it on.)
Then I hightailed it right the hell out to my sanctuary, passing a particularly concerned looking Rickie on the way. It could have been the tear tracks I was scrubbing away with my sleeve. That isn't the most common look for me. It's the worst. I get all blotchy-faced and snotty.
I only hoped Rick didn't decide to confront Marcus about why I was looking that way. There are certain subjects that the kid didn't need to know anything about.
In point of fact, I tried always to keep him sheltered from everything he hadn't already had to go through himself. Also, I reeeeeeeally didn't want Marcus to get frustrated with him. For some weird reason, I trusted him when he said that he meant no harm to Rickie, but the kid can really push buttons when he's feeling stubborn enough, and he wanted to protect me too.
Because he was the sweetest teenager ever. I certainly wasn't that kind of teenager. Pretty sure my therapist thought I was a sociopath. When I fired her, she thanked Jesus on the way out the door. Bitch.
Now, rolling my chair out to the greenhouse is actually a bit of a challenge, because the pavers aren't perfectly even, but I managed to get myself out the door, across the breezeway, and into the muggy, sweet smelling air of my personal paradise. Ignoring the whirring engine of the chair that broke the serenity, I maneuvered myself along the curving path to my bench. Huh. Some of the plants were looking a little droopy. Anne better not have neglected them.
With the experience of a regularly incapacitated woman, I slowly, carefully slid from the powered chair to my bench, first brushing dead petals and leaves from the bright, wildly colored paisley cushions before sinking into them, back against the wrought iron frame. I leaned my head back until it hit the trunk of my favorite tree with a mild thud and stilled myself.
Once the chair stopped making noise and nothing was moving, I could take in the beauty in bits and pieces. First, I recognized the vibrant colors of the place. New things were starting to bloom around me that hadn't been quite there when I left. I looked over to the carefully manicured redbud to glimpse tiny pink buds around the bare branches, looking from a distance like a pink glow. There were little bulbs popping up little blades of green everywhere, and the dark, rich, earth looked damp and heavy with life-giving nutrients.
I closed my eyes as I felt the warmth of filtered light intensify when the sun came out from behind clouds. The air was hot, heavy, and humid. The sounds in there were utterly tranquil. Birds trilled and tittered, chatting amiably from both inside and out, and I could vaguely hear the hum of the venting fans.
The scents, however, we're by far the best to take in. Ozone that was lingering around my home from the night's storm, the smell of recently wetted and mussed soil, and flowers. Gentle, sweet smells, largely hyacinth. It was early in the season, even indoors. But I could, when I focused (and meddled), smell other plants as well. I had a large, raised bed of various mints nearby, and I reached my good arm over to run my hand through it rather roughly, coaxing new odors from the leaves as the oils came out from my rough treatment.
There was lemon thyme growing up around the pathway, and I reached my good foot out to brush against it to release that scent too. I sighed heavily, ignoring the brief spasm of pain.
This was where I belonged. I shouldn't have given in and left it. The thought suddenly hit me of where I would be if I hadn't. If I had let Rickie go to that den of monsters on his own, I would have been here. Here in paradise, completely alone.
I took a shuddering breath and worked back more tears with a frustrated growl. Once you start it's so hard to stop, you know. But I had no desire to really let it all out and be a sobbing, painful mess. The headache, the congestion, the pain to cracked ribs. Crying just never actually did me any good.
I slowed and counted breaths then, and by the time I got to twenty, I was picking up new sounds and scents. Oh. Rickie had graciously turned the coffee on and then brought it out to me. That kid? Made of gold.
"Lu?" he called softly, a few moments before he rounded a corner and came into my sight-line. I smiled as soon as I saw him. He had a tray with a full service on it. I was pretty sure it was one of the nicer silver sets with some of the nicest china to go along. He also really loves nice things. Probably because they're still a novelty.
Nobody had ever taught him how ugly people could be when it came to nice things and money, and what they felt entitled to.
I never wanted him to learn that. It's an awful lesson.
I wanted him to be like this forever, silly, sweet, obsessed with the latest and greatest, and capable of purchasing it. He had seen enough of poverty, and still came out smelling like roses. The Shakespeare type, not the hybrid tea type. Those don't always smell, even if they're pretty, but the type that Shakespeare wrote about? Apparently even the leaves smelled good. Though I can't for the life of me remember where I heard that.
Hm. I should see if I could find out. Or make Anne do the appropriate research. After all, she'd let my plants get all droopy while I was gone, then blamed it on my absence.
Rickie sat down beside me, drawing me from my flower induced bird tracks to the coffee he'd put in my hands.
"He wouldn't tell me anything," he said, "you mind sharing why you were so upset?" His eyes shifted away, and I knew he was lying to me, but I let it go. He obviously hadn't learned anything that I was trying to shelter him from. If he had, he'd be beating the shit out of his punching bag. He certainly wouldn't be asking me to share.
"I didn't learn that in kindergarten," I replied with a bit of a grin. He gave me the side eye. I snorted.
"All he would say was that he brought up something that made you unhappy, and that I might want to give you some time to 'compose yourself.'" Another lie.
Rick made quotation marks with his fingers and then blew a raspberry at the universe.
"I assume you don't wanna talk?"
That was why I love that kid. Well, one of the reasons. There were so many; a few lies about what must have been awkward guy/monster talk were a drop in the bucket.
"Not really, no," I replied, taking a sip of coffee, oh. Oh. Glorious. There's another reason to love him, right there, "He really likes me Rickie," I admitted, "and you know how I feel about people who like me."
He grinned mischievously.
"You think they're nuts?"
I laughed, he laughed, we both laughed, then I tried to form a serious response, because I had made a deal to carry demon vampire spawn and we were going to have bloodsucking guests for a year first. (Well, when you put it like that...)
The worst thing I could do to Rickie at that point was be dishonest about how I was being affected by it. Whatever I was going through, and he was going through, and the monster was going through, Rickie didn't need to be kept in the dark. I didn't wants secrets to break my family of two. As long as I was honest, I was sure we could make it through whatever happened next. Dear God. I hoped so.
"I like him too," I said. Poor kid looked horrified. But he didn't say anything, either out of shock or respect, I wasn't sure which, but it gave me the courage to keep talking.
"I don't understand why or how, but I do like him. And in a year, I'm going to have sex with him. To get pregnant. Don't look at me like that. You know how I feel about child bearing. But,"
I paused a bit, not sure how to say what I was trying to say. I looked to the foliage for fortitude. Rickie took the coffee tray and set it to the side to gather me up in his big, warm arms, digging into my hair with his face. It helped us both, I think, not having to see each other while I said my piece, "It's been, what, two days? I spent most of that unconscious, and I like him already. It took me two years to decide Anne was alright, and I still want to shove her head underwater sometimes. That's not unusual for me. But liking an obvious member of a species that preys on mine? I'm not the type to be that stupidly naive. There's some sort of weird, supernatural shenanigan-ism with Marcus that is making this thing go out of my control ridiculously fast."
I stopped again, and he curled around me like a giant teenage teddy bear. I hooked my good arm up and around to squeeze a bicep lightly and sighed into the heat of him. Teenagers are radiators, man.
"I don't understand any of this," he whispered into the top of my head, "He's a monster, and he's using you. And it's all my fault."
His voice broke at the end, and I squirmed around to face him, ignoring the pain of my ribs at the motion. He was close to tears, but hadn't let any fall yet. And he looked so guilty. It was not a look I liked on him. If there was such thing as a person who was blameless, Rickie was it. He was the single-most decent human being I had ever met, would ever meet. The thought of him accepting fault for being victim to what amounted to a vampire fishing trip made me ache.
"Never, never," I whispered back, brushing away the tears when they finally escaped, "I make my own decisions baby bear, and I chose to make a deal with the devil. Not Marcus, mind you," and fuck me if I wasn't defending him. That was terrifying and wrong, "He tried to come up with something else. But the one who was calling the shots made it clear what my options actually were. Fucker picked up on what motivates me and how to manipulate that. Your safety is paramount to my happiness, and I am a very selfish woman. That certainly isn't through any fault of yours."
He closed his eyes and curled closer still, pressing his face into one of my bony shoulders.
"If it wasn't for me, you wouldn'ta been there to make the deal in the first place," he choked on a sob, then squeezed a little too tightly about my middle, but I ignored that in favor of scratching between his shoulder blades.
"If it wasn't for you, I'd have OD'd on pain pills at some point already." I snorted absently.
Lemme tell you something. That did NOT HELP. At all. I'm so good at hurting the people around me. It's a talent.
He sobbed harder, and squeezed harder, and I wracked my brain for anything I could say to make this better.
"Rickie," I started, perfectly unsure how to fix the issue. Guilt is not an easy fix and I'd just fucked everything up more not two seconds ago, "It's done. We're stuck with what we have. Life gave us lemons on this one, but whatever you think could possibly be your fault, it definitely isn't. There's no way either of us could have anticipated that our vacation plans were going to end in a death chamber in Italy. On the other hand, for some reason, they didn't."
"You didn't even want to go on vacation," he insisted, to my frustration, "If I hadn't a begged you we wouldn't've left the country."
"If I hadn't been such an outright bitch I would have taken you out to travel months ago, and we would have gone somewhere that didn't have a vampire empire's buffet menu as the itinerary. You asked me eight months ago to take you to Paris. I should have taken you to eat some French cuisine and maybe look into beginner level cooking classes. I didn't, because I knew you would stop asking eventually if I kept shutting you down. You asked me six months ago to take you to Hawaii, and I said no because I figured I could get away with it again. And I did. Look where that put us? When I finally decide to go, it's the trip from hell."
He snickered wetly, "Seems like your kinda luck."
"There, see?" I sighed gratefully, "Not your fault. I'm the jinx here."
"Is this worse than that time you signed up for that Jewish dating program by accident?"
"Ugh. I don't even know how that happened! I'm not even Jewish!"
"Or the time you tried to buy me tickets to the aquarium and somehow ended up buying a tank full of baby sand sharks?"
"I can't believe they tried to deliver it here without calling ahead."
"Or the time you hosted all those high society anti-alcohol folks who were asking for donations for a new church, and you accidentally spiked their drinks when you spiked yours?"
"You thought that was an accident?"
He laughed again, which was good. How he could have possibly thought that particular move was anything but malicious, I will never know. They certainly never came back. Which was the point. I'm rich, so I donate all kinds of money (tax deductions), but I decide where and when. When Rickie said that I hosted them, he had exaggerated. Those people had dropped by unannounced in what was considered a rude move in the circles I was part of.
I think they were trying to establish some sort of social dominance over the person who got the old hag's money when they thought it should have gone elsewhere, like, say, donated to her church. I became a social pariah after the events of that day. It was an epic win.
I guess Rickie never really saw that side of the story, and I never explained the things that weren't said out loud that day. He would never guess in his own. Heart of gold.
We sat together quietly for several comfortable minutes, before the heat of teenager and the heat of Georgia and the heat of greenhouse became too much, and I leaned away from him. He looked up, soggy-eyed, and sniffled a bit. He likely left some snot in my hair. I decided not to make a fuss.
It was probably time that I got back to talking about serious shit in any case, though I really didn't want to.
"I think Marcus has given us the chance to make it out of this alive," I included myself in that estimate, despite knowing deep inside that there was no way out of this for me. But I had a full year to make arrangements for Rick, and I'm the paranoid lady that already had contingency plans for five or six different disaster scenarios, not including the natural type.
"It's probably time to call Christopher Masters up here for a social visit," I said with a scowl.
Rickie groaned in response.
We both hated that guy. Me because he's a self-righteous slimy attorney with eyes on my estate. Rickie because he was an ex of mine. Pretty good in the sack, but annoyingly persistent that we could continue after he got back with his wife. No way I was going to insult her that way; even if she had terrible taste in husbands.
I wondered how Marcus was going to handle that.
Marcus waited in silence after Luce had left until the boy came back in. A quick survey of his features showed that he was at least not completely unaware of the end results of the debacle that had occurred moments before.
Or was it actually a small eternity that Marcus had stood motionless in the kitchen, trying to understand how something that had been going so well had turned to ash in a few beats of his love's human heart?
Regardless, the boy walked to the stove top and flipped the switch to turn it on, anger overcoming his fear of Marcus. Surprisingly, he did not at first offer accusation or insult, only a tense silence that Marcus was sure could not last.
Marcus watched the human child as he opened cabinets, retrieving silver service and fine dishes, setting up the tray with cream and sugar, then placing the entire set onto the counter to wait for the coffee he'd made to finish. It was an unfamiliar routine to Marcus, and he counted himself lucky that he could identify it. His idea of a breakfast routine involved more screaming and violence, so the quiet going-ons were a strange sort of peace to him.
The boy, Rickie, eventually sighed in a way that Marcus thought unintentionally loud, then he gathered his courage and broke the silence.
"She was crying."
Marcus frowned.
"She don't do that often. And she don't make friends so quickly."
"It was not my intention to make her cry," Marcus said finally, some of the first words he'd spoken directly to the dark-skinned boy.
"But it is your intention to make friends," Rickie glared at him as he spoke, and Marcus felt shamed by it. It was not as the boy was implying with his tone. Like something dirty. His feelings were not shameful or wicked, or wrong. They were alive, and somewhat painful, but nothing negative. Nothing foul.
If this had gone as Aro wanted, it would be worse than that. But it had not gone at all that way. Perhaps if the boy understood that, then he would not stand in the way? At the very least, Marcus could rehearse explaining things so that the next time he spoke with Luce, it would not end in tears and disappointment.
"My brother wants a bloodline. Aro has only recently learned that such a thing is a possibility for our kind under the right circumstances," he started, watching the expressions on the young man's face carefully before continuing, "He has a wife, and Caius, my other brother, he is also wed. I was once."
Marcus looked away and waited until he could speak again, working through the pain of remembrance. He dared not look over to see what reason his words caused. He was not sure if he could comport himself with any sort of grace no matter what he might have seen.
"I am not human. Humans are so short lived. I do not think you could understand the loss of a woman I had loved for centuries. Too short a time by far. I did not tell my brother in no uncertain terms that I would not commit to his experiments because I did not care. For anything. I have spent the intervening centuries since her death awaiting mine."
He chanced a darting glance at the boy's face. He looked troubled. Confused. Well, that was better than tears, he supposed.
"I do not expect you to believe me, as human emotion is so fickle in comparison, but I am in love with her. With Luce. I have a gift, you see," confusion was turning to anger, though he was unsure as to why, "I see connections between people. You love her as well, though differently than I do. And Luce has very few connections at all, whether shallow or deep. And her love for you is the greatest of them, regardless of the swiftly growing bond she shares with me."
The boy looked very angry now, but Marcus did not think that he could affect that at this point in time. There were only a few strings between them, and they were dark and scentless.
"I want her with me, and I want her happy. Someday I hope that those will be the same," that did not assuage the anger, and the boy's skin darkened with a flush of it that distracted Marcus briefly.
"What did you do to hurt her?"
No. Nothing he could do at all to convince him of his sincerity as of yet. But Marcus thought that he should keep trying regardless. He had time.
"I spoke truths she did not want to hear, and she spoke truths she did not want me to understand. It made her unhappy. She would likely appreciate time to compose herself."
The boy glared wordlessly, grabbed the tray with the coffee, and left. That had not gone any worse than the rest of his day so far.
He left the kitchen himself to stand outside on the front porch.
There he spent his time frozen in place to wait for the return of his missing subordinate. The sun climbed up to its peak and was making its way back down in a riot of burning colors. It was beautiful, what he could see that was not blocked by the trees. He had not been able to find enjoyment in the setting sun in a very long time.
He had felt sometimes one and sometimes both of his human hosts pass near to check that he hadn't moved several times in the length of the day, but kept his silence. Luce was going to have the night to think before he tried speaking his heart again. If he could find the courage in the morning.
When he was beginning to think that he would be awaiting Demetri another day, the younger vampire finally made his appearance from between the trees.
"Are we secure?" Marcus asked. Demetri nodded, then joined him on the porch. He seemed to want to ask questions, but refrained. That was of comfort to Marcus, who had been wondering if Demetri had any respect for Marcus at all. Their bond was artificial. It reeked of the one of The Guard who manipulated bonds.
"What does my brother intend for you to do while you are here Demetri?" Marcus asked, looking over to catch a surprised glance. It was unusual that Marcus would bother to ask. After meeting his gaze for a moment longer, seeming to find something strange, Demetri answered.
"I will spend time guarding the perimeter while you romance your human," he said. Marcus remembered vaguely that Demetri was unattached. It would explain his disdain. Demetri could not understand the difference between bachelor-hood and the connection between two well matched lovers.
Or the pain of its absence after having known it. Any vampire worth the blood it drank was changed irrevocably by it. Even those who didn't have passion to match Marcus. Even Aro and Caius cared deeply for their wives, and Sulpicia and Athenodora-though vapid and dull as far as Marcus had ever observed-were completely devoted to their husbands. Thinking of it caused an ache of envy and homesickness.
He was still irritated that Aro had forced him into his pet project, despite having found a new reason to live as a result, but his coven was further from him than they had been in countless years, and he found some of his new feelings included missing his brothers. Most of The Guard he could do without, despite the clinging bands strung from him and mostly drawn out until they disappeared into the ether-with the exception of his connection to Demetri-all smelling of that one female's manipulation. However, his connections to his brothers were originally based on genuine affection and ancient trust.
They were not the bright, glowing living bonds of the Cullen family, one of the most interesting things he had seen in centuries, truly. But they were solid. Dependable. Enduring.
He wondered briefly about Luce, and their connection. It seemed to have the capacity to be as vibrant as any he had seen. He was beginning to wonder if that was because of her humanity. Her little temporary candle flame of life perhaps burned brighter than the eternal embers of his? If could explain perhaps the brilliance of Edward Cullen and the little human he had found, impregnated, and changed.
However, all of that coven was similarly connected. Dare he think that Carlisle was right? That there was something in abstinence from the consumption of human blood that made it worth the sacrifice? Did it somehow make relationships with those around easier to maintain and improve?
Perhaps it was time that Marcus did some experimenting of his own?
Demetri gave him an incredulous look, and Marcus realized that he'd laughed aloud. Oh, well. Perhaps he truly was going senile.
At the end of my first day home since the whole Italy thing, I brought out the liquor and contributed to the delinquency of a minor.
Rickie and I got so smashed that I'm not sure how I made it to bed, though I vaguely remember tucking Rickie awkwardly into his. Did I crawl? Or did we get my upstairs chair out?
The second morning home I woke up in a great deal of pain. Seriously, I wanted to throw a giant fit and chuck things across the room. Fortunately I'm smarter than I seem with more self control than the average Jane Doe. I settled for reaching for my pain pills and moaning pitifully into the chill air of my room. My joints ached, my bones ached, my brain ached. I wanted to vomit. I may have overdone the alcohol-ing.
Understatement.
Well, I had deserved a little buzz at the time. Of course, now I deserved the hangover. That's how it works, you know. I popped pills into my awaiting maw and swallowed dry. I knew that I wouldn't have been coherent enough to put a glass of water there when I went to bed, but when I opened my eyes, there was one. Briefly wondering how early Rickie had been up to deliver that, I yawned and carefully rolled the fuck back over to claim more sleep.
My hopes were dashed when I heard the door to my room creak open quietly.
"We drank too much Cocoa-butter," I mumbled, "Go back to bed. We can make a lazy day of it."
He said nothing. And nothing. When the silence stretched on an unusual amount, I rolled back towards the door awkwardly. It wasn't Rickie. Fuck. He was standing in the doorway in the same cloaked villain look he'd been wearing since I had met him, and for a split second, I considered screaming bloody murder.
But that would hurt. So, once more restraining my inner child, I sighed instead. Seeing as he was content to stare at a woman in her bed without saying anything in an extremely creepy manner, I figured I'd just let him, and use the opportunity to return the favor. It was extremely disturbing to me that I wasn't actually creeped out.
But, whatever. I do what I want. Besides, from this distance I wasn't distracted by the lovely, sweet scent of his monster body.
I remembered from my very first observations of him being very, very pale. Not just pale, but white. Long black hair framed his face and fell down to his chest, curling at the ends. His features were perfectly symmetrical, aristocratic, but today, they also looked young. Something, I think, that could more or less accurately be attributed to the slightly uncertain expression on his face. His eyes, as I always seemed to notice, we're a brighter, cleaner color than the last time I'd seen him.
He seemed to be un-aging by degrees. Or perhaps I was simply growing accustomed to the sort of ancient aura he carried. Maybe he was making an effort to appear more human to me? There was another thought having to do with feelings that glanced briefly through my mind before I shut it down, terrified. He was not experiencing young love. Then I took another moment to shut down the terror too, but obviously not before Marcus saw it and the flash of pain that ripped across his features made me grit my teeth together. He was truly, unfairly observant.
He still didn't move from where he stood watching me, and thankfully I was mostly covered by my pajamas, a zip up moo-moo like any older southern lady would wear. Not exactly attractive, but easy to get in and out of without extra help. It was my cast-compliant-pj's. I don't remember getting those on either.
I made a moderate effort to sit up in the bed, then looked back up at Marcus. He seemed to be struggling not to help. I sighed and rolled my eyes.
"You may as well come in rather then standing in the doorway all morning," I said, belatedly remembering-Oops-the vampire superstition about having to invite them in. Oh. Well, that was just for houses, right? Done that already. Besides, I was going to invite him into more intimates places eventually, no point in pretending to be proper. Or safe. Yeah. There was gonna be a whole new category of unsafe sex.
He was instantly at my side, gripping under my arms with really freaking cold fingers, and I squeaked as he easily lifted me to swing my legs down over the side of the bed. My hungover stomach protested the movement, and my face must have turned green, because he was instantly a few paces away, looking alarmed. After a moment, the swimming room steadied, and I could afford to laugh at his discomfort.
"Are you ill?" he asked, the first words he'd spoken to me that morning. I snorted.
"Hungover," I replied, and he seemed to recognize the term. He walked back to me, slowly this time, and knelt by my bed. Despite the fact that I've already told you the kind of fairytale rich life I currently lead, I don't have a tall, fluffy, giant bed.
My bed is short, narrow, and fixed with rails for when I'm completely bedridden. Practical. (But, hey, the sheets are great!) So, when he knelt in front if me, we were once again almost equal height. I had a feeling that-
Yep, as I thought, he pulled my head to the side a tiny bit, using my hair as a handle.
His face was one again buried into my throat as he inhaled, first through his nose, then again with an open mouth. I managed to repress whatever sound I had made last time I felt him do this, but it was an effort, and my hand was digging into his hair again.
My brain went a little fuzzy at all the vampire scented air I was breathing, and when I felt his free hand rest itself on the top of my left thigh, I let out a shuddering breath, and squirmed a bit. He moved it, slowly, to my waist, with teasingly soft brushes of knuckles and fingertips, and I could feel him smirking now, into the side of my neck. Bastard. Slowly he drew away from me, running his nose first up behind my ear in a burning line that barely touched me at all. Safe to say, by the time he finally pulled away, I was a panting, wanton mess.
His red eyes ran up and down the length of me, and despite the hideous nightgown, he seemed to enjoy the view. It should be said that his gaze lingered on certain, perkier than usual assets.
On my chest.
My boobs.
He was starting at my boobs. More specifically, he was staring at the way my nipples were pebbled so hard against the cloth on my chest I thought they were going to pierce through it. And his gaze mixed with the heady scent of him wasn't exactly helping me calm down. I took a deep breath, thought of Zen things, and reached a hand in front of me to grab my sling from the bedside table, blocking his eyes from the scenery that had him so fascinated.
After a moment where I swear, he pouted, he helped me put it on. I knew if I wanted to get dressed, I'd have to take it back off, but I figured I'd just spend the day in my jammies. Why not?
He looked at me, calculating, but definitely not cold, and asked, "Do you need help bathing this morning, Luce?"
I went red, which he watched intently, an alien hunger ghosting over his face for a moment before swallowing. I watched that motion with my own, human sort of hunger.
"I'll do that tomorrow," I managed to get out, then, before he assumed, "That's not an invitation," I finished firmly. He looked amused.
"What are your plans for the day," he asked mildly, and my brain stuttered at the open affection in his voice. My mouth followed suit.
"I-i uuuuh...n-nothing. No plans."
He raised an eyebrow. I realized my hand had found its way back into his hair when I wanted to drop my face in it out of pure humiliation. Before it could make its way back to me, he caught it lightly in one of his, pulling it to the side of his face instead. He pressed his hard nose against the pulse in my wrist to breathe again, and this time I got to see the flash of pain and hunger run through his eyes. It was a little nerve-wracking. But then he looked up at me and smiled that mega-watt monster smile that goo-ifies my insides and pressed a chaste kiss to my palm.
Oh. Well, I was glad to be sitting down at least. My knees were butter again. And he was watching all of my reactions still, and dammit, if he didn't just look like the cat with the canary. A little indignation firmed up my spine and I tugged my hand until he released it, reluctantly. But his other hand had been in my hair again too, and he took the opportunity then to caress the side of my jaw with long, cool fingertips down my neck and across my collarbone.
I shuddered at the conflicting cold of his rock skin and the subsequent burn off his touch. Why was it that he could always get the advantage of me?
In a spectacularly stupid move inspired by pure pig-headed stubbornness, I returned the gesture he'd just pulled. I grasped his hand in mine, and he obligingly allowed me to bring it in front of my face where I looked him straight in the eyes before opening my mouth to kiss his palm. It was a rather odd sensation. His hand was shaped normally, and moved more or less naturally, but the scent was supernaturally intoxicating, and my eyes fluttered shut of their own will. It was in a way like kissing a statue, the lack of heat and lack of give, no flesh that molded itself to my lips. But the taste of him was like nothing I'd ever had.
I breathed in again, a little whimper escaping my lips. I swear, I wasn't usually this horny. After a moment I managed to find half a brain and pulled myself back, opening my eyes to what I was sure was going to be embarrassing.
It wasn't embarrassing, so much as hot. He was frozen in place, naked heat on his face. Oh, maaaaaaaan.
I should have left my eyes closed.
Guys. I re-read the twilight series last week. Minus eclipse, because I'm not sure where my copy of that went. It's kind of tweaking my ideas a bit. So, I'm not actually changing any story elements, but I may add another obstacle. Don't worry, it isn't emotional. I'm kind of stunned that this plot bunny hasn't occurred to me before. It makes so much sense. And now you all hate me for being a tease, because it's several chapters away. I'll let you know when I get to it.
Also, sorry. They didn't want to fluff. Lucy was being uncooperative. To much unresolved sexual tension to be floofy. Maybe next chapter.
But anyways, please review if you catch any mistakes or even need a clarification. I'm happy to edit to make things better for the reader, and I'm the only one proof-reading this shit, so obviously I'm not 100% fool-proof.
So, seriously, if you're reading this, let me know what you think. And, yes sharksenpai. The shark story was a shameless plug for you. Thanks for being my first reviewer after getting back on the horse!
