Submission Heading: Pick Your Own Adventure O/S Contest
Title: Confounding Creature
Rating & Any Needed Warnings: M Darker themes and lemons.
Word Count: 9,071
Pairing: Edward/Bella
Words Selected:
Event-Death
Place-Strip Club
Emotion-Lust
Object- Ice Cube
Word- Loquacious
Summary: Years of lingering in the dark recesses of night, and a chance meeting of a strange unsuspecting creature changes everything.
Disclaimer: I do not own anything related to Twilight. All the songs used in the story are property of Portishead. No copyright infringement intended.
The songs used for this story were Strangers, Wandering Star, Numb, and Glory Box all by Portishead. Take a listen it sets the mood for the story.
Confounding Creature
The blackness delivers unlike any other night, yet all nights are one and the same for him; a reservation for one, an eternity to roam the thick blanket of darkness alone. Tonight, however, has something different in store for the self proclaimed monster of the night. Self hatred and loathing aside, this monster's demons lie deep. A year in this city would officially bring a priest to his knees, but he is no priest by any standard; he is so much more and not nearly enough.
The blanket rolls out later and later this time of year, postponing his nightly regime. The monster lingers in the recesses and lounges in solitude, surfacing only when the suffocation of loneliness is palpable or his need for sustenance arrives. The latter not coming easily for him these days, or nights to be accurate. His mastery evident, knowing the exact amount of time he can prolong this necessary evil, and when he must reluctantly surrender himself to it entirely. After a formal hundred years, he finally surrenders to his supplication for redemption but still refuses to favor to the mundane horror of his kind. He acquiesces just the same.
This particular night is a Friday, which holds no distinction for one of his kind; however, this is the night he curses and rejoices in, the one night that reminds him of what his only true purpose is—survival. The irony is thick and wasted on him now. His survival is of very little importance but not easily discarded of. He finds himself here once again. The ride to the club remains his personal confessional of sorts. The passing lights and tinkling sounds of the city, if you can refer to it as such, pierce his acute senses. He chooses the lesser of the presented evils as he sees it.
Affluence is quite easily achieved after a few decades of existence. His additional gift, as it were, is a useful addition. This city is centered on the wealthy and feeds off of the poverty stricken. It's a conundrum in and of itself, perhaps this is why he continues to reside here, or perhaps it is because he can easily go unnoticed. Either way, he is still here and tonight he chooses Club Paradise. Seeing the sign lit in garish neon, a glaring advertisement, causes him a moment of disgust. He lets out a slight snort, yet he perseveres. He knows there is no other choice, none suitable for the monster inside.
Then the dark cliché of the name overwhelms him. Paradise, surely there is no paradise for him and certainly not one for his unsuspecting innocent. At that thought he lets a dark, strained laugh resonate deep in the back of his throat, strictly for his benefit.
His arrival greets him like any other visit, although not frequent, it is enough to be remembered. The huge dark skinned, dark haired, dark eyed bouncer knows instinctively of what is expected and holds the door for him to enter, without muttering a word. At the booth a petite, fair skinned blonde swipes his card for entrance, and he pays, not a passing glance while she zeros in on him. He knows this unwanted attention is yet another burden he has been straddled with for eternity. Females are regularly lured into his metaphorical lair, unbeknownst to them. He rarely finds female humans more than merely attractive, and he almost never gives way to temptation. Almost.
"Enjoy your evening, Mr. Cullen" She thanks him and grants his passage beyond the velvet rope. Another small, easily destructible creature of the female persuasion shows him to his section. Still showing no interest yet displaying and upholding perfect gentlemanly traits, he thanks and tips her to send her on her way.
Now, in his desired section, he feels comfort in the obscurity. He reaches with his large lithe fingers and loosens his silk black tie; knowing the need for formality is irrelevant, yet he is unable to dissect himself entirely from the strip of silk. Even after all these years, he still feels comfortable maintaining the part of a true gentleman. Even if the word gentleman is notably laughable and filled with irony, he reserves the right to use it until the very end.
Next to bother him would be a waitress, he knows the drill, and she certainly did not have anything of interest for him on her printed menu. To keep up the gentleman ruse, he desires, he orders a bottle of the best champagne the club offers—Crystal—requesting a single glass. The liquid aphrodisiac is not for him, although necessary for his intended purpose. It will provide the illusion he wields effortlessly. As the minutiae of appearances are ironed out, he can finally kick back and focus on the matter at innocent life would he take tonight? He asks himself that very question, as he allows the music to wash through him.
One of his main reasons for selecting this club is the atmosphere. Everything about Club Paradise is braided in contradiction but it lures him in all the same. The lush deep jewel tones of the furnishings and the darkened hidden recesses, all meticulously maintained, provide a luxurious, posh vibe. It is conducive to him and his lurking; although not indicative of the word Paradise. Not that he could really remember it had been decades since he had been to any such said paradise. He has long forgotten the smell of the sea and sun on his skin. The dark tones of this formal club provided such juxtaposition to the name that induces visions of sand and surf. The name is what originally made him curious, but the voluptuous interior and darkened recesses are what warrant his return.
Another asset that sets this club apart from the others of its type are the musical tendencies. There is usually a typical genre of music that these types of establishments favor. Music, the monster within him muses; human males must find it arousing, and he only finds it lacking true genius or depth. Yet again, Club Paradise stands out. Some of the musical selections are mildly tolerable. In his private room, he can have the music of his choice piped in or listen to what the entertainer is performing to on the main stage; the decision is left solely to him. He maintains a collection of music that the club keeps for his personal enjoyment in his section. Although he can't frequent this particular club as often as he would like, for fear of drawing suspicion to himself, when the need to hunt arrives it remains his first choice. They always remember him; affluence does that. Clubs of this persuasion are always preferable because the girls come and go all the time with little mind paid to their safety. Club Paradise also maintains a better selection of female entertainment, speaking strictly from the standpoint of perusing a menu as far as he is concerned.
The music in the main club is upbeat and loud now, but is muted in his private room. From where he sits he can see the entire club, a perfect view of the main stage and yet his own private, much smaller version before him. However, no one can openly view him behind the one sided mirrored walls, perfect for his reclusive tendencies. No one is currently occupying the stage in his room, and he prefers it that way. Usually he would only invite them in when he has selected his intended target, and tonight would be no exception.
He focuses his thoughts and uses his acute senses to survey his surroundings. First noting, when he opens his mind in this type of establishment, he hears every type of sniveling, disgusting, sick, twisted, pathetic human emotion. After all this time, he knows how to control his gift and only applies it when necessary in an environment such as this. He also knows it's always iffy, but he is well prepared with what to expect, so it is hardly jarring any more.
"Fuck l'd like to hit that!"
"Damn her ass is so tight, wonder what else is tight on this…."
"One more night this is it and I am done!"
"Pitiful men always lead by their cocks. This one should be good for a hundred he is totally in to me."
"Dude why the fuck, am I getting married again?"
"Why can't my wife move like this?"
As he relaxes into his role, he concentrates on the irony that this Club Paradise is considered, in current day slang, a strip club. Another strangely deep growl resonates in his thoughts and slightly escapes his lips. He wonders if any of these unsuspecting creatures even know what they can be stripped of, what he can strip them of effortlessly. Lost in thought, his brand of dark humor, he doesn't even hear her enter but notices suddenly as she begins to step onto his private stage.
"What do you think you are doing?" He growls at the petite brunette. An improvement, he notices in passing, he prefers brunettes to the many fake blonds that loiter and litter the main floor. He sits, listens, and waits—nothing, until she speaks.
"Well honey, you see this pole is connected to this platform, and I am the entertainment. This is my stage, don't worry I'll go slow." She winks.
What the hell is she saying?
He couldn't focus, and he couldn't hear her mind, only her words and her words made no sense. He did not invite her. His eyes begin to darken of their own accord.
"I know the fundamentals of the club's inner workings. What I don't know is why you are here? I didn't invite you!" He focuses intently on other aspects of this strange creature before him. Her intrepid sense of smugness is hidden beneath the purest complexion and her sweet sense of condescension.
He notes even her heart rate continues its soft comfortable rhythms. She seems to have no natural response to the predator he truly is, not even when he snarled out his first statement to her. Even the bouncer at the door and the additional fragile creatures he has encountered tonight, whether they are attracted to his outward beauty or not, have had an increase in heart rate and rhythm. The normal reaction he is used to—she does not elicit.
She doesn't respond to him verbally as she resumes her mission, taking her place upon the private stage. Enraged that this stupid human has no idea who she is dealing with, he opens his mouth to speak again. When the music cues up and she begins to move, he snaps his jaw shut.
The song is the initial thought to register, so different than what the others always choose, although many thoughts actually coincide at the same time. Her movements are long and intense, her eyes sad and dark like his. Her frame is a sharp contrast, firm yet soft, lean and pale cream white, also similar to him. Her dark locks spill down beyond her shoulders and as she spins and arches her back, the tips slightly tantalize the edge of her derrière. The sudden movement causes a ripple in the thick air and sharply assails his nostrils. He cinches his eyes shut and pinches the bridge of his nose instantly. Refusing to take in any more air, not that it was necessary for his survival, he feels something he hadn't before—arousal.
He by no means is a celibate creature of the night, only his arousal is always linked to the direct release of his preferred sustenance. The warm, salty, thick, red liquid is the only thing to bring about this response initially, always ending in deeply satisfying sexual results that haunt his soul if he has one. Not that he ever takes one against her will, they always beg for more but more is always their demise.
Yet here he sits, a mere minute, and instantly this creature's scent produces a fierce response. It's a need so familiar, so necessary to his kind, however not of usual methods. Humans come here for a response like this, surly, regularly. Their arousal is easily achieved by sight or sound, yet their release so tame in comparison to him and his. His always leads to violent ends that continue to haunt him. Never finding peace with the monster within him; they share the same host but he longs for so much more knowing—Impossible.
He has to implement every sense of control he can muster deep within him now. This kind of arousal only ever happens to him in conjunction with his bloodlust. This lust he feels, like none ever before, is pure, severe, and triggers the venom that begins to course through his veins flooding his system. He swallows back the liquid pooling in his mouth but there is no alleviating his other hardened, venom filled problem at front and center. He swallows and clears his throat best he can as he readjusts his leg placement to accommodate his unexpected predicament. He knows the only way relief can come is by blood loss and death. For now that is not an option.
He shifts his concentration now the music is strangely intriguing and dark. It's a stark contrast to this tiny, almost innocent, creature before him, although he senses more from her. He focuses his mind and deciphers the lyrics:
Ohh...
To set aside your fears of life
With this sole desire
Done it warning
Done it now
And it ain't real
On this side
The singer's voice seductively coos the words, and he returns his focus to the creature before him. Her movements are seamless and continue to be strangely intoxicating to him. He really has no idea what comes over him as he makes his next decision, perhaps his masochistic tendencies. As the song comes to a seductive end he speaks.
"Come, Sit." He forces a snarled demand in her direction.
"See, I told you I'd go easy baby." Her voice only makes the venom pool more, but not her words—the words were all wrong.
"Sit." His eyes are tight and unrelenting.
"Sure sugar." Her eyes are wide, doe like warmth emanating from the brown.
"I have a name, it is Edward, use it. You may dispense with the pet names, we are strangers. You do not know me, and I detest cheep linguistic tactics."
"Okay, Edward. Most men don't frequent an establishment of this type to be wooed by words worthy of literary standards, but I would be happy to accommodate you." Her words, an unsuspected improvement, cause even more confusion and irritation to surface within him. Why could he not hear her mind? She seems so full of contradiction and mystery. He swallows back another mouthful of venom, pours the champagne into the lone glass, and hands it to her as he speaks again.
"Champagne?" His voice is deep, dark, and tight.
"Thank you, no. I don't drink." Her words and voice are soft and buttery, a sharp contrast to his.
"You don't drink?" He continues to swallow venom as his irritation boils. She confounds him; all of his previous victims drank.
"Please go right ahead and feel free to enjoy, I just prefer to keep my mind sharp."
"I… I Don't…" His brow furrows as he sets the drink down on the table. The tiny bubbles continue to fizz and pop as they release their gases into the near silence of the space between them. Back ground noise from the club around them continues, and the music in his private room resumes at a barely audible level.
They sit on the dark blue plush curved sofa, just breathing. She is actually the only one breathing as he tries to avoid any unnecessary intakes of breath.
"Tell me your name." He takes in only the amount of air necessary to speak.
"Wandering Star." She smiles slightly as her teeth toy with the flesh of her lower lip.
His eyes narrow as he realizes the air is easier to ingest without her movements stirring up her arousing scent.
"That is not a name. It is a title."
"Well, Edward, they call me Star around here."
His teeth clench and he thrusts his hand up into his thick chaotic hair, a nervous habit he has yet to master even after a hundred years. "I will not refer to you as an inanimate object."
"Stars are alive. They are celestial bodies of hot gases that radiate energy derived from thermonuclear reactions in the interior, in a constant state of change." Is she trying to educate him? He finds this amusing. Surely, this young creature of about twenty has nothing to teach him.
"You breathe the breath of life, yes? Calling yourself human, no? Those that do, have given names, names that have some sense of relevance. I wish to know yours."
"Edward you are very strange," she states plainly and surprisingly unaffected.
"Are you nervous?" He can't read her.
"No."
"I don't frighten you?" His lack of inside information is irritating.
"No."
"Then why may I not refer to you by name?" he demands a simple answer to this seemingly different creature.
"Bella, my name is Bella." Her voice is soft again. Her name suits her perfectly, and he feels some sense of accomplishment and disgust all tangled inside him now.
"I have to go now. Enjoy your evening, Edward." She stands as a strange graceful gait begins to carry her away.
"Stop! I didn't ask you to leave."
She turns to speak briefly. "Whether you did or not is of little importance to me. I have a performance on the main stage momentarily." She walks off, slipping out of his imagined grasp.
He relishes her absence, currently, clearing his mind of the confusion foreign to him. Replaying the whole encounter over in his head, he seems to only find one conclusion. It has to be her. He will take her; she leaves him no choice, the monster inside him always wins. Always. Death is now to be her destiny.
A fleeting thought enters his mind, and he entertains it. An unfamiliar sense of satisfaction overcomes him and leaves a crooked smile on his lips. Perhaps he can prolong her death for a while longer. Yes, that he can do. The music flows from the speakers and is increasing substantially as he notices her take the main stage.
He leans forward, knees naturally wide apart, from the length of his legs. His elbows rest on his proffered knees and his lengthy fingers entwine with his pointers, forming a tent that he rests against his taught lips. The familiar voice begins to spill through the speakers, and he focuses on only Bella and the voice's ironic words.
Please could you stay awhile to share my grief
For its such a lovely day
To have to always feel this way
And the time that I will suffer less
Is when I never have to wake
Wandering stars, for whom it is reserved
The blackness of darkness forever
Wandering stars, for whom it is reserved
The blackness of darkness forever
Between the heady mix of the music's heartbeat, the vocals, lyrics, and the alluring creature on stage he is lost. If he had a breath it would currently be knocked from him. She begins on a blood red, velvet chaise located on the main stage. Her sensual curves are barely covered by a long black sheer negligee, revealing a black lace bra and garter set beneath. The creamy white skin that blankets her body, in sharp contrast, is peaking out everywhere, teasing and taunting. The black stockings and enticing footwear complete the illusion for the rapt audience.
His imaginary breath is racing, but the very real venom begins to surge and pool again. She lies with her hair spilling out over the deep velvet arm of the chaise as her tiny hands slowly trace her curves. He has only one thought as she moves. Mine.
As she continues her slow ministrations and performance, her sheer cover is now lost. He swallows again. The black straps of the garter stretch and give with every flexible movement she reveals. With her backside to the audience, her tiny hands toy with the clasp of her bra. Her fingers gently slip away and fall to her sides, allowing the scrap of fabric to slowly slide down the path. She tosses it to the side with purpose and turns to reveal her god given assets. The pert creamy skin of her breast and soft pink of her areola are additional unsuspected arousals to him now.
A problem he thought he had previously gained control of, returns instantly as the venom rushes his entire system. He wants to taste not only her thick, red current liquid that serves as a satisfying substance to him, but he wants to taste this delicate creature's creamy skin, curves, and open concealed sex. Perhaps he wants the latter almost as much as her blood. This new idea continues to confound him. Never before has he wanted sex without the aphrodisiac of blood first, well perhaps once when he was still human. It was so long ago though, the memory is very vague and it definitely did not include blood of any sort. This is entirely different, unique and potentially impossible.
The song changes seamlessly, and he knows the familiar sound almost as if he had formed a bond to this heady music that fits her so perfectly. She remains topless, clothed in only a garter, thong, stockings, and dangerously high black heels. Her performance continues as she sits on the chaise and reaches to the prop table, her hand returns with a small metal container that conceals a flame. She begins to drip the hot clear liquid down her décolleté and her body arches in response. Then he smells her—she is aroused by this. His mouth falls, his unhinged jaw hangs lifeless. Fuck. He wants her—needs her—sex, blood. He wants to consume all of her entirely.
As the music continues to heat up the room, her actions mimic the sensations. Now reaching for a small shiny clear object between her tiny fingers, he notices they are painted a deep red. She holds the object tenderly and begins to trace her nipples with the ice cube. Tiny wet droplets reveal the objects name. Then she places it between her red stained lips and the moisture drips down her supple lips.
He's done. He stands and rushes to the exit, ignoring the calls for concern from the clubs employees. He thrusts the door open a bit too hard, causing a slight dent in the door, for that he chastises himself. He can't, under any circumstance, be careless in his pursuits despite the strange new intensity and desires that somehow have surfaced. The slightly cool fresh night air hits him instantly and provides some semblance of relief, as both his hands rush his bronze hair. He grasps his strands taught as he bends forward. What the fuck is she? His thoughts are racing and his head cloudy when the bouncer interrupts his reverie.
"Hey man you alright?" The booming depth of his voice captures Edward's attention.
Taking in one last necessary gulp of fresh air he speaks, "Yes thank you, I am fine."
Righting himself, he returns to the confines of the Paradise's entanglements. Upon the return to his section, his eyes lock with hers.
"Hello there Edward, did you miss me?" Her red plush lips taunt.
Once again he clears his throat and suppresses the overactive production of venom, before speaking. His eyes form a tight black focus and a throaty snarl forms in the back of his voice.
"Bella…You are a very interesting creature."
"Wow, thanks for the loquacious complement, Edward." Her intended sarcasm is not lost on him.
A slight dark chuckle leaves his mouth along with a crooked smile.
"What is a seemingly educated, distractingly attractive woman like you doing in a place like this?" He wastes no time, knowing he needs more.
"Last time I checked it was referred to as working; engaging in a job and receiving money in return for said job well done." Her eyes hint at the humor although he finds none.
"Oh yes of course…here." He reaches in his breast pocket and retrieves a hundred dollar bill.
"I don't want your money Edward."
"What?" That surprises him. Nothing surprises him anymore, well current company excluded, because everything about Bella seemingly has begun to surprise him.
"I wasn't asking for your money. I do fine of my own accord and have no need to ask for it. It is offered to me freely for my performances." With that simple statement of fact, she surprises him once again. "I could ask you the same question Edward? What would a man like you be hoping to find in a strip club?"
Her sudden directness causes him to pause before answering. He concentrates his onyx stare on her directly, coming up empty handed again. Nothing—her mind is sealed to him. He has no advantage here. He has to tread carefully.
"Not what others are here for, that I can guarantee," he states, cold, distant and flatly.
"I wouldn't be so sure about that." Her sad dark eyes hold a small fragment of light.
"Really how so?" She piques his interest further.
"In my experience all men that come in here are seeking the same thing. Men are simple really."
"Do tell, what is the simple element all men are seeking?" His eyes bore into her further.
"They want to feel…" She speaks in a breathy voice as she trails off.
"Feel what?" he demands.
"It's different for each individual, but if you break it down to the raw elements, something they are missing… Can often times be found here." She holds his stare hard.
"So these said men are seeking your loquacious talents?" He returns her sarcasm from earlier.
"Hmm… Let me see how did you put it, oh yes, some men find my 'cheep linguistic tactics' very satisfying. As a matter of fact, some even like their phraseology laced with vulgar expletives." The spark in her eye catches him again, and she pulls her lip into the vice of her teeth.
He is mesmerized and imagines her breaking the skin to release her very own velvety red liquid to spill freely for him. He forces the heady thought from his mind and responds.
"Really, exactly what kind of vulgar expletives work most frequently?"
"Fuck, cock, tits, pussy, hard, tight, those are almost always erotically satisfying. The last two inclusions only work in tandem with one of the prior mentioned." Her utterly sterile usage of those words, combined with the allure that swims around her, causes his mouth to drop slightly as he speaks out of lust and irritation.
"What if I am not a man?" He forces out in a gravelly manner.
Her eyes dart down to his apparent arousal as she moves closer to him on the blue velvet seat, dressed only in the black bra, thong, and garter set from the performance earlier. She inches closer, their eyes lock and no breaths exchange between them. Even if it was necessary for him, one would not be possible. She palms his hard cock in her small hand through the fabric of his suit.
"You feel like a man to me Edward." This is not typical behavior for her, but she can't explain what comes over her suddenly. There is a surge of power within her.
At the severe sensation of her hand, he pulls away and stands quickly.
"You have no idea what you are doing Bella." His voice is austere, cold, and distant.
She just remains still and watches as he thrusts his fingers roughly through his own hair. She notes that he has done this several times since they began speaking earlier. Bella wonders what has come over her suddenly. What would possess her to act so out of character? Talk is one thing; she never—never—mixes business with pleasure though. Something about him is mysterious and intriguing, beyond his classic raw sex appeal. She needs to know why.
"Dance for me!" he demands as he grasps her tiny wrist, pulling her to stand and moving her gently, so he can return to sit.
His cold touch registers in the recesses of her mind as a proverbial red flag, but she dismisses it instantly in favor of more contact. As she moves in closer to him with ease; she has done this a thousand times as the most requested lap dancer. Confusion sets in as his expression changes instantly to that of tortuous pain.
"No! On the stage and please keep your clothes on." His tone is fierce and adamant. The last part however, sounding more like a plea.
She backs away and maintains tight contact of their eyes as she takes to the stage. Her thoughts in that moment are strangely curious and foreign to her. The same sad, sensual, austere music begins to fill the space as she dances for him at his request.
He is relieved by the distance between them, yet longs to close the gap. Knowing that it would all come to an end after that, he is determined to prolong this. He needs to solve the mystery of this strangely curious creature. Watching her intently; as she moves fluidly with the music, mimicking the emotions of the lyrics like she has lived them intimately.
I can't hold this day
Anymore
Understand me
Anymore
To tread this fantasy, openly
What have I done
Ooh this uncertainty, is taking me over
I can't mould this stage
Anymore
Recognize me
Anymore
Her long legs wrap around the cold chrome poll and the strength in her thighs grip it tightly as she arches her back, locking eyes with him; eyes that never leave her. She traces the entire outline of her sensual form with small red painted nails, touching her body for his pleasure. Her hands finger the straps of her garter and trace the lines of her stockings delicately. Every sinuous movement, of her gentle curves, is on heightened display purely for him.
His raging venom mimics blood pumping for a live heart, of which he has none. His nostrils flare again with her movements against the chrome. As she spins down to the platform, her long chestnut locks stir her scent and deliver a fresh hit directly to him. Lavender, citrus, and vanilla waft in the air and mingle with her distinctive feminine scent of arousal.
She moves effortlessly to the music so close to her soul. It takes her over and conveys the many depths buried within her. This is not out of character for Bella this is what she knows. What she doesn't know is what he is or how he holds such an intense, invisible, and dominating restraint over her. She knows he is different, but how? That is her determined mission to uncover and explore.
He is finally relieved for the end of the song but a mixed sense of melancholy washes over him. Oh, how he never wants her to end but he knows that to be impossible. So, he settles for an undetermined amount of prolonged time. Even though he has never experienced another as potent and alluring to his every sense and desire, he knows restraint and will implement it accordingly.
She saunters back to the blue plush love seat, taking purchase beside him. He is given no opportunity to invite her, once again, disrupting his mental musings. He continues to grow more curious by her confidence and blatant disregard for her own safety. Did she not have any thoughts or sense of self preservation?
"So, Edward, you don't drink and according to you... You are not a man. So, what are you
exactly?"
His perplexities are evident on his brow as he speaks, "How do I make you feel?"
"Do you always avoid a question with a question?" she inquires plainly. Her appearance is so innocent on the exterior, but he sees more. He learns to pick out the subtleties.
"You didn't answer mine," he snaps.
"Edward I'm not here to feel, you are."
"Ah, but you do none the less, no? I can sense your arousal, to what I can only assume are personal feelings." He takes in a sharp quick breath of her alluring musky scent, letting it taunt and fill him tortuously.
"And I can see your hardened evidence before me. It's contradicting to your statement of human denial."
"Are humans the only species with male form?" He is curious how far he can actually go with this line of thought before she responds with some sense of fear.
"Of course not. Are you trying to imply you are an animal of sorts?" She is quick and misses nothing.
He raises a single brow in question and brings his hand to rest across his chin; a long finger runs a straight line against his lips. "Bella is a beautiful name and it suits you, so all encompassing."
"Is that an attempt at a complement Edward?"
"Are you searching for one?"
"No, I already told you. I don't seek out anything here. I am here because I am paid to be, but you have never divulged why you are here exactly. What is it you want Edward? What can I do for you?"
He is shocked by her sudden sacrificial offering. He knows she may not entirely understand the significance of the implication, yet he also senses she wouldn't be rendered speechless either if he could reveal more to her.
"What would you like to do for me?" He continues to toy with her.
"Edward you are an exceptionally sexy man and seem to be intelligent, albeit odd. I find it humorous you would need to fish for such validation. So are we going to continue the cryptic, lustful innuendoes? Or are you gonna cut to the chase?" She holds her deep chocolate stare with his icy onyx reply.
He thinks perhaps verbal talents are overrated in certain situations and decides instead to experiment with his lustful desire. He places an icy cold hand on the side of her fair firm thigh and leans into her determinedly slowly.
"What if I am the one you should avoid? The monster?" he whispers in her ear, taking in her essence entirely. He flirts with the raw lust and dances with the temptation as he masks a strained growl.
"You're not. I've known monsters, lived with them even. You are something different." She stills and speaks the last part with eyes wide shut.
He pulls away suddenly, shocked once again by her calm, sensual audacity. "You have no idea, Bella, how wrong you are."
"You wouldn't caution me if you wanted to hurt me—they never do. If they want to hurt you, they tell you that they never will. I am not naïve Edward, and though you seem tortured, I know you won't hurt me. You want to feel me." She slides across the velvet beneath them, closing the gap once again. She hovers near him, the soft peaks of her breast rise and fall in tandem with her breaths.
The venom inside him now responds to her last sentiment. He can't do this, not to her. He has a very perplexed sense of lust and preservation for this fragile human. He very much desires her blood, her sex, her mind, and her soul. He wants—needs—to feel her, all of her. He is frozen in silence and internal abatement of his desires, when she suddenly stands.
"Look Edward, I don't ever do this, but I think I have something you need, and you—I. Here's my number. I'm off at two and if you are interested, call me. Just to be clear, I am not a whore, and I don't want your money." She hands him a cocktail napkin with her number and begins to walk away.
"Do you have some kind of death wish? Didn't your parents ever teach you not invite strangers home?" He growls at her, incensed with her non-existent sense of self preservation.
"My parents are dead Edward." She counters leaving him to swim in her wake.
She is definitely making this easier for the monster and increasingly difficult for the sliver of lingering humanity he unknowingly has summoned for her. He fingers the crisp white napkin bringing it closer to his nose and mouth and inhales, causing his eyes to roll back in his head. He has never felt, in a century of roaming the vastness of the earth, even a smidgen of what this curious beautiful creature has awoken in him. He feels desire—for existence.
He finds himself oddly pacing the floor in his foyer, watching the second hand of the oversized grandfather clock inching closer to two a.m. He hasn't let the crisp napkin out of his grasp since his departure from the club hours ago. Her scent clings to it and he keeps taking secret hits from the flat paper joint. Everything about this night has been a dark comedy of errors. He never paces or watches the clock. He never does any of the things this night has been fraught with. The only exception of the evening is his initial quest for an innocent.
It's time. He has gone as long as possible, and now he needs to drink the blood of life. Blood sustains his own existence; an existence that seems so ironically empty and never ending until he met her. The continuum of the dialogue plays over and over in his mind as he hears the dismal chimes that begin to break the silence around him. With each low resonating vibration, he dismisses his better judgment and decides to phone her. She answers on the second ring.
"Edward?" Her voice is softer than he remembers.
"Bella."
"So, Edward, what is it I have that you want?" she asks with eerie calm frankness.
He shouldn't be surprised by this, but he is stunned silent.
"Edward, you called me. What is it you need to feel?"
"Bella, are you seriously seeking trouble?"
"We already covered this line of questioning at the club. Look Edward, do you want to fuck or not?"
He feels the venom pool, his cock twitch, and a deep feral growl grow in the back of his throat. Yes, he wants that, buthe also wants to taste her blood and to drain her dry. He wants many things, new and conflicting things, he hasn't considered before ever.
"Okay, Bella, you've made your point. I assume then you have no aversion to coming to my place?"
"I've been waiting for you to graciously invite me Edward, and I need directions."
He snaps his eyes shut and shakes his head as he gives her the information she needs. He knows that this is a mistake, but her temptation is far too great to ignore. He continues the subtle motions and paces the foyer until she finally arrives. Hearing the sound of the taxi idling at the gate, he buzzes her in before she has a chance to ring.
She stands at his front entrance with her pale skin, long chestnut locks, and petite curved figure. She is truly breathtakingly beautiful to him. He is overcome by her exquisite plain beauty, every sharp rich detail of her.
"Hello again, Edward"
"Bella." He holds the door as she brushes past him.
"So, Edward, your place is hauntingly dark and intimate," she says as she enters, taking in her surroundings. She is even more outspoken and less inhibited than her actions in the club lead him to believe.
He just watches as she seems to take it all in. His home is rather out of character compared to the many others that populate the desert. The façade is sleek, not too terribly different, but the interior is a sharp contrast. His retreat is dark, warm, rich, thick, and luxurious. Supple dark worn leather chairs, heavy, deep chocolate silk drapes, and rich antiques fill the room she first enters.
"Now that you have me here aren't you going to show me around?" she inquires, not really caring one way or another. She isn't here for a tour. Although his domicile serves to relay what she already senses in him, it is not the money or the image she is after; all things so temporary, fleeting, and meaningless to her. She needs something else entirely, something from him she could only speculate. She needs the cold—the death.
He is still trying to process the fact that she indeed is in his home without implementation of his charming coercion. The monster inside him has many useful skills to woo its prey, but he has seemingly used none on her. Nothing seems to affect her or make her waver, one way or another.
"Would you care for some form of refreshment?" He remembers she doesn't drink, but certainly she consumes something. After all she was only human, he reminds himself.
"Ice water would be great, if you have it, Edward?" Her sad dark eyes are sharp as they penetrate him.
"Ice…you like cold things?" He remembers her act on the stage.
"Cold, hot… anything that evokes a stimulating response."
He thinks better of responding to that. Her tiny, fragile hand sweeps the hair from her shoulder, and her scent assaults him again as their eyes now align in some strange connection. He barely controls his speed to fulfill her request for water.
Swallowing the pooling venom back he speaks, "Ice water." He hands her the glass. Her fingers brush the back of his hand and once again he feels the urge. The monster is at bay momentarily but the man is unleashed. Suddenly, he toils with the thought of satiating the man and not the monster within him. He is unaware of the possibility of succeeding but feels an increased desire to attempt it no matter the outcome.
"So Edward where is your room?" She feels the unspoken shift in energy ignite in the space between them.
"My… You want to see my room?" He continues to be bewildered by this fragile creature wanting inside her head desperately. What could she really want from him? What could he give her that would be worth what he so easily could take? Her mind remains locked to him and he grows ever more curious.
"Yeah, I do."
He doesn't answer her. He just starts walking towards the room that houses his most private of artifacts and collections, and she follows. He stands just inside the frame of the door as he watches her take it all in.
"Strange, just like you. Where is your bed?" She notices the one thing so obviously omitted, while everything else contained inside the room complements the man perfectly; the omission only confirms her theories of him.
"I don't sleep."
Her eyes narrow at him.
"Where do you fuck Edward?" She has no idea what comes over her. This whole night is atypical, he is, she is…but she feels a new found high; the spark of danger that nips at her heels, the electricity that shakes her core with his presence. She learned long ago that things are never as they seem, and yet all the signs are there if you just know enough to look for them. She is being driven by a force deep within her that longs to feel…
He is shocked by her frankness once again and troubled by her lack of self preservation. So he decides to up the ante. Not bothering to slow his reaction time or speed, he backs her into the door against the wall. His stone hard body pins her to the door, and his icy breath near her face as she returns his onyx, cold stare.
"Bella is that what you are after? You just want some fucking monster to fuck you?" He isn't sure what he wants to hear from her or what response he would receive for that matter. She brings out the monster and the man. She complicates things. The need to fuck, to be inside her… it is more than the monster. He has lived as such for so long, with the self disgust burning inside, but she taunts him. He also wants to taste her, feel her blood pumping inside, giving him humanity—if only for a moment.
Her heart begins to race slightly now, and he finally feels the slightest sense of relief he is seeking. She responds with the first normal reaction since he had met her hours ago. He backs away slowly.
"No, don't. I don't know who or what you think you are Edward, but I have never wanted to feel a man like I want to feel you." Her eyes never leave his as she reaches to grasp him back towards her.
He allows her to move him, pull him towards her. He finds it strangely erotic. She flips the roles and is now pressing his body into the door with hers. Her small fingers reach slowly and grace the crisp, white cotton of his shirt front as she feels every hard chiseled line that lies beneath. Her hands are steady as she fingers and loosens his black silk tie further, tugging and pulling it out from under the collared shirt. He is a master at control but this is trying his resolve. She lets the silk glide through her tiny, red painted, finger tips, and he can't take his eyes off of her. Every seductive movement is identical to how he responded at the club. Her sweet innocent breath washes over him, lavender and citrus decidedly. Her small frame rises up on toes as her hands bring his silk tie to conceal his eyes. She slides her arms behind him to secure it in place.
Unable to object he is so confounded by this oblivious creature, her strange sense of control in such a situation. A situation she seems unconscious of. How easily he could have her and be done, yet nothing… No indication of fear comesfrom this beautiful, pure white, seductress. So for now he acquiesces to her game, intrigued by her lack of internal survival mechanisms.
"Edward if you're a monster, why would you let me continue?" she whispers into his ear. She is persistent, taunting him. He simply allows it for now.
Her warm breath on his cold marble skin continues to illicit the basic male responses deep within him. He feels the throbbing and pulsing inside and swallows back the venom as the anger washes through him slowly. His anger is for the monster; the monster that won't allow this to continue. The slightest segment of humanity inside him begs silently for more time with her. Her fingers return to his torso and begin to remove his jacket. He holds the venom and destruction at bay as she exposes his body further tortuously slow.
He hears every crinkle and swish of the fabric and buttons as she removes his shirt. Even the sound of it dropping to the floor reverberates in his head. Each moment begins to speed but becomes infinitesimally slow and plays out in his thoughts. Every sleight of hand, every breath, and every blood pumping heartbeat of her is, to him, painstakingly slow. He allows himself only a moment's satisfaction before her soft flesh snaps him back to what is taking place between them now.
Her tiny warm hand releases his pants to join the floor. Her lithe, little fingers dance near the band of his boxer briefs before she slides them down and palms his cock. He shudders and releases a low feral growl deep from within himself. Then he snaps. No more slow, no more resolve, no more control… Gone, dead is the man.
No concern left for discovery, he moves at inhuman speed, whipping her around. With his tie that she had carefully concealed his eyes, he binds her hands. He has her splayed out on his cognac leather chaise; naked, arms above her head, bound, and legs spread. Once again no natural response other than the heady arousal, that makes his desire more prominent, comes from the alluring, glowing creature before him. His icy hard hands cover every surface of her body as he explores her responsiveness. She continues to only present signs of raw arousal and excitement. He hovers over her body for the briefest of a second as he leans into her ear.
"Is this what you need—want? Fuck. Why do you trust me?" He snarls at her. His breath is slightly heavier than hers. He didn't even need to breathe, yet her lack of fear causes an innate response to rise in him. He needs to understand her, but he is running out of time. Now the man and monster are at war within, and he has to have answers from his prey.
"Bella answer me!" He just hovers.
"You're honest." She doesn't move.
"You are so fragile." He longs to understand more, any fraction of more.
"You won't break me." She is adamant.
"I could."
"What do you need Edward—take it—whatever it is… I know I want it too."
Her utterly fucking insane statement causes his next decision. His lips assault her own. He has to shut her up. Her words are perverse to him. She couldn't know what she was truly asking. His firm, cold, skilled mouth mingles with her soft warmth, every stark opposite provides even more heightened desire for the both of them now. Lips and tongues tango as her teeth toy with him. The harder she assails him, the harder he struggles. He holds his teeth at bay and allows her to attack his mouth and neck. Her strength for a female human is surprisingly stimulating. He wants to feel her teeth all over his body; hard… Piercing. However, he still has her bound and pinned beneath him into the chaise. Small moans escape her lips now, and he responds.
"Bella, I'm going to fuck you now."
"God…Yes!" Her only response, as her hairs begin standing on end.
He has no idea if this is possible without harm coming to her, but he has lost to the monster and the temptress both. He flips her around and bends her over the arm of the chaise, releasing her arms. She needs to hold on for this. His fingers lace through her chestnut locks and he tugs gently, so he can say one last thing.
"You want this?"
"Fuck yes."
That's it. His hand falls from her hair and both move to grip her hips. His throbbing cock, moist with venom, slides between her lips and into the indescribable warmth she possesses. He is soft and gentle in contrast to his instinctual standards, but to her it's hard, fast, deep, and indescribably out of this world... Mind blowing. His strength behind every thrust shakes her and she begins to instantly lose control over her linguistic abilities as her screams of pleasure fill the air. His groans, grunts and animalistic sounds also provide a paradox to her higher pitched moans. Everything about Bella and Edward dances in duality; Yin and Yang, light and dark, female and male, prey and predator.
"Oh fuck Edward, god don't stop." She has never before felt so alive. Nothing has ever been so real, tangible. Hanging on a string, knowing things could go one of two ways. She didn't care. Teetering on the precipice of rapture and death, both laced in ecstasy, either way.
His control begins to cloud with the final moments of his rising orgasm and her words propel him further.
"Harder, fuck. Bite me Edward, I know you want to." She knows he is something more, something to possibly be feared—but she doesn't fear him. She longs for… More.
Her words try to register reason within him but it's too late, and all he can do is obey. As he begins to clench with the rise of his release, his razor sharp teeth sink deep in her neck, pulling and sucking the thick liquid life from her as his venom releases and fills her entirely. She stills slightly, then begins to shudder and writhe into her own release until she completely stops moving. When he realizes she is static, he thrusts himself from her. Shock takes over, and he responds how he never has before.
He clinches his hair and feels the instant sense of disgust wash over him, no sense of being sated; for the man or the monster. He moves slowly back to her lifeless body and begins to panic. He truly hadn't wanted to harm her; he only wanted to give her what she had asked. The man she had awoken in him only wanted her happiness. Filled with anger and self hate, the urge to run overtakes him. At an inhuman speed he licks her wound to seal her up and dresses her. Then placing her gently on the chaise he brushes the hair from her face before he leaves...without looking back.
If the night had begun in darkness, now it is choking blackness. All of his self loathing and hatred is palpable. He had lost count so long ago of all the innocent lives that were lost at his hand, but none feel as empty and final as this. She had somehow sparked the humanity within him, in a single chance encounter, and he devoutly sucked hers from her. As he takes his leave into the night, where he is cursed for all eternity, the lyrics of the song she had danced to for him take up residence inside his head.
Please could you stay awhile to share my grief
For its such a lovely day
To have to always feel this way
And the time that I will suffer less
Is when I never have to wake
Wandering stars, for whom it is reserved
The blackness of darkness forever
Wandering stars, for whom it is reserved
The blackness of darkness forever…