Disclaimer: I don't own Twilight or any of its characters, and I don't intend to publish my work of fantasy in a changed format just to gain some $$$$. :-P
A/N: I initially wrote it as one huge ass chapter, but that was taking a lot of time to form. So, instead I posted a part of it now. The rest will follow in a about a week.
Thanks for all those enquiring PMs and reviews. If I was unable to reply to any of them, then I'll reply here - I'm not quitting. Yes, life has me in a tough spot right now, but that doesn't mean that I'll flounce. I must tell you guys that I try to write as much as I can with whatever free time I can squeeze in between my studies and other shit happening in RL. So you guys can breathe easy on that account. I'll complete this fic, and others as well. Stay with me, and trust me please. Kay?
Now, finally yet importantly, if you're under 18 years old, just refrain from reading this story. It's not meant for minors. Thanks.
Day gave way to dusk, light to darkness, but still, Edward was not home. An annoyed sigh escaped Isabella's lips as she stood by the window, gazing at the vast expanse of greenery and the approaching shadows.
She was not pleased. If she was feeling rueful in the morn regarding her want for disclosure of Henry's death, she was now growing impatient with her husband's fits of unsolicited rage.
She understood his ire, even feeling the same when she remembered the incident of Henry's untoward behaviour. Alas, it was a waste of breath on a dead man.
Isabella felt for the Webbers, for they didn't know the truth. Guilt plagued her for keeping it from them. She wished to relieve herself of the burden, but she knew Edward wouldn't be in agreement.
Henry was dead, and what he attempted with her was never concluded. His death wasn't the result of his misdemeanours toward her; it was in no manner related to her or to his sinister designs.
He died of an animal attack, from what the Sherriff had mentioned. Why it still bothered Edward enough to keep it a secret, she did not know.
A faint rustling from behind caught her attention, and she turned around to find Edward staring back at her, impassive and mystifying.
"Oh, you've returned." She regarded him coolly, wondering why she couldn't hear his approach at all. "To what do I owe the good fortune of having your company?"
Her sardonic words caused him to flinch and avert his eyes. Isabella turned around and gingerly placed her palms on the ledge, wishing to disregard Edward's presence.
However, it was one thing to ignore him from a distance and completely another to try the same when his hands were creeping along her waist.
"Your ire is not misplaced," he murmured against her shoulder, pulling her flush against him. "It was very uncouth of me to leave your side this morning. And I apologise for being so crass."
"You've been apologising a lot lately. I wonder why…" she commented, attempting her mighty best to appear impassive towards his loving gestures and regretful words.
"Bella, I feel terrible, utterly contrite for what I did," he said, resting his chin on her shoulder. "I'm not above begging for your forgiveness. Forgive me?"
He turned his face towards her and repeated his apology once again. His whispering lips and batting eyelashes tickled her skin while his penitent voice tugged at her heart.
He could disarm her so easily; it was terrifying in its own way.
"I feel awful for lying to the Webbers. They deserve to know…" she argued after he finished with his litany of apologies. Her voice was losing its earlier conviction and indignation.
"You haven't lied to them," he responded good-humouredly, pressing a light peck on her neck.
She closed her eyes, feeling her entire self respond to the slightest of his movements.
"I'm keeping the truth from them, and that is as bad as lying. Mr.—" she spoke hesitantly, "—Crawford is not coming back to harass me. Why should I be bothered then?"
He stiffened behind her, giving the impression that he was again in the grips of his volatile temper.
Isabella let out a frustrated breath, narrowing her eyes at the ancient forest as though it had offended her. "Before you storm off again, may I know when you will return? I prefer to not be kept on tenterhooks regarding your shifting moods."
Her chest felt lighter after she finished voicing her disapproval.
She waited for a response, convinced that he would be upset, though she wasn't terrified of him… not anymore.
Instead, she felt his cool lips on her neck again, tender in their approach.
"I'm sorry, the morning incident won't ever be repeated. I'll behave," he promised as his hands began a slow ascent from her waist. It was a pleasant surprise to not see him being surly on this matter.
Isabella was glad that he wasn't trying to assert himself for once.
"How can I be assured of your… repentance?" she mumbled disjointedly, her mind giving into the carnal instincts he was evoking.
"Well, I think I know a way." His hands rose up to her bosom, mirroring the blush that rose up her cheeks.
All the apprehension of their first night returned, and Isabella tensed as he deftly unbuttoned her nightdress.
"Bella… " he uttered her name as a plea, "may I?"
Did she want intimacy so soon again?
He had given her an option, a choice to reject his advances. It was up to her to decide.
"Are you in pain?" he asked softly, his voice tinged with apprehension and concern. He hands were immediately withdrawn. "I—I won't, I'm—"
"Edward," she spoke loudly, successfully halting his fumbling words. "I'm not. I just… I just want assurance. I must tell you that I was very upset with you. Don't think me frivolous about my stance."
She wanted to turn around and see his face, but she was convinced that it would only serve to dissuade her from confronting him.
"Bella, I promise," he said, hugging her close. "I regret my actions thoroughly. Am I forgiven?"
"For now." She nodded, and soon enough, his enthusiastic hands returned.
The cool night breeze caressed her through her camisole as her nightgown slipped to the floor. Her body couldn't help but respond, tightening against the thin fabric, summoning her husband's attention.
"So beautiful, Bella," he sighed, trapping her slight frame in his arms, "so enchanting."
She giggled in anticipation as he dragged her backward, towards her bed.
Her shaky hands snaked around his neck as he kissed her, pulling her over him as he lay on his back.
She squirmed against him, feeling his desire press between her legs as he unabashedly removed her remaining clothes.
Edward moved from underneath her in order to undress himself. This time, she gathered the courage to truly look at him while he did so.
Her cheeks felt feverishly hot as she gazed at him, committing his glorious form to memory. It was the first time she was regarding him in such an intimate way, very unlike their first night together.
She was afraid and unsure then, of the unknown that loomed ahead. It was somehow easier to assimilate it now.
As he mounted the bed again, an urge to touch and feel him grew within her. She wanted to explore him, just the way a voyager wanted to explore paradise. Explorers had so far been unsuccessful in finding a real paradise, but Isabella had evidently found hers.
Her tentative hands reached to caress his broad shoulders as he neared her. He smiled as she did so, making him even more attractive than he already was.
"I'm all yours," he affirmed as her hands roamed his chest and below, as if he could understand her hesitancy.
She was in awe of his physical perfection, but she still didn't feel bold enough to state it openly.
He kissed her neck again and moved down to explore more of her skin, more at leisure this time, letting his tongue wander along her curves in nameless patterns.
Words weren't spoken again, for they weren't required. They let their bodies speak for themselves.
Isabella reclined on her back to admit Edward above her. She revelled in his attentive touches, slowly loosening her hold on her reserve and modesty.
She was shocked at her resultant cries of pleasure, for she never expected her well-mannered self to utter such brazen sounds of pure abandon. Edward seemed to enjoy disarming her; she could hear his accompanying chuckles and sighs.
Often, her hands brushed against him, and she heard him groan. She surmised her hands to have the same affect as his had between her legs.
Edward's rough sounds of pleasure mingled with hers as their aching bodies slowly came together.
Edward shuddered the same as before, sending sweet sensations from her head to toe. Her sweltering body warmed his cold one as they attuned to each other, much better than their first night together.
Isabella drowned in the ensuing carnal ecstasy, surrendering to the baser instincts that her husband summoned from within her.
Shivering against the night breeze, Isabella awoke in her bed and pulled the duvet up to her neck. Her hands perused the rest of her bed, searching for her husband, but he wasn't there.
She curled into herself to keep warm, her eyes trying to peer into the pitch-black darkness of her room. For a brief moment, she wondered if Edward had gone back to his room to sleep properly.
The thought left a bad taste in her mouth.
A few more minutes passed, and Isabella became restless. When all the tossing and turning served no good, she decided to go look for Edward.
The darkness made it difficult for her to find her clothes. She didn't know where Edward had deposited them under the spell of frantic carnal desires.
A blush painted her cheeks as she rethought his loving caresses and kisses. Her need to be close to Edward again grew stronger with each passing moment.
Staggering towards the wide-open window, she came across her nightgown, strewn carelessly on the floor. Without another thought, she picked it up and pulled it on herself.
She fumbled out of her bedroom and down the hallway, without any lamp or taper stick to show her the way. The corridor was etched in her memory now, so it wasn't very difficult to trudge along.
The door to Edward's bedroom squeaked as she pushed it open. Stepping in, she made for the mammoth sized bed, in hopes that she would find him there.
Albeit, he wasn't.
At first, Isabella felt disappointed, but then she grew worried. Where was Edward at this ungodly hour?
She called him softly, gripping the bedpost anxiously. When she didn't hear any replies, she became restive.
"Edward? Edward?" Her calls became more and more frantic, but still… they earned no response.
She repeated his name like a prayer as she stepped back into the hallway, but he was nowhere to be found.
Being alone in an enormous mansion was not the most appealing thought. Isabella's voice grew panicked as she padded back and forth in the passage.
Suddenly, she heard a low thump from her bedroom and froze in her tracks. The sound was so minute that she would have missed it had it not been so quiet in the night.
Fear took its hold on her as she tried to decipher the noise. It sounded much the same as a cat landing from a high jump, feline and quiet.
Hence, she feared that it might be some kind of wild animal; even though it seemed very unlikely that any creature could jump so high up to her room or anywhere near it. Yet, she vied to be careful.
Creeping up to her bedroom door, she tried to peer inside cautiously through a sliver of an opening. It was dark, and she was unable to make any shape or form that appeared removed from her usual surroundings inside the room.
For a long moment, nothing happened; none of the shadows moved. Isabella refused to budge, and same as her, the bedroom remained deathly silent, with no sign of anything lurking inside.
Her heart was thumping loudly in her chest, so frantically that she thought it might break free.
When her anxiety became unbearable, she pushed the door further open and waited, for a beast, or a monster, or anything, to show.
Nothing…
The room was empty, that she much could gauge as her eyes adjusted to the dark.
She made for the window and immediately closed it shut, fearing something might leap into her room from the dark forest that lay ahead.
Just as she put the latch in place, strong arms grabbed her from behind.
Her fear-ridden shriek turned into shaky laughter the moment Edward nuzzled into her neck and murmured her name.
"Ah, there you are," he whispered hoarsely. "Did I scare you?"
"That would be a modest description of my state," she replied with a shudder, "I thought I would die of the fright you've given me! Don't do that again, ever!"
"I quite enjoyed seeing you so flustered," he confessed as his hands unabashedly slipped over her bosom.
"E-Edward," she reproached him playfully, attempting to bat his wicked hands away. He didn't budge, striving to play with her as he desired.
Giving up, she placed her palms against the closed window, her half-closed, lust filled eyes trained on the dark forest ahead. "Where were you? And why did you leave my side?"
"I was in the lavatory, but you didn't look there, did you?"
"No… I didn't see any candles lit inside."
"Why are you wearing this again?" he asked in between his indulgent kisses on her neck and shoulder.
"Hmm?" She wasn't sure she heard him correctly, as addled as her head felt under his spell.
"If it were up to me, I'd never let you wear any clothes, love," he elaborated audaciously, scandalizing her and tantalizing her all the same.
"Oh!" she exhaled heavily as he pulled her nightgown up, his cold hands brazenly claiming her uncovered flesh.
She nearly collapsed against him, but he steadied her and pushed her further to lean onto the window frame. When she tried to remove her hands from the glass pane, he stopped her.
Isabella was left confused, but then she hardly cared, for her body was singing to his every stroke, yearning for more. His touch set her skin ablaze, making her feel giddy with pleasure.
"Were you terrified when you awoke alone?" he asked, pulling her lower half back against his chest. "Were you afraid in the dark?"
As her flesh connected with his, she discovered that he was unclothed.
"I… I think I still am," she stuttered, her eyes wide with uncertainty and anticipation. She wondered what he was thinking, pinning her against this window and doing unmentionable things to her.
One of his hands snaked around her hips and dipped between her legs, making her whole self tremble.
"Yes," he hissed into her ear as his fingers explored her, "it seems like you're eager for me even when you're afraid."
"Ed… ward," she groaned and shook her head to collect her thoughts amid the haze of lust. "Wha-What are you doing?"
"Is that not obvious?" He appeared to have no intention to move her away from the window, and that was enough to fluster Isabella even more.
As much as she wanted to put forth a protest at being pinned against a window, her body seemed to ignore her rationale entirely. It swayed and moved in cadence to Edward's fingers, pliant to his every whim.
She knew what was to come then, if he continued to torment her the same.
All of this was unfamiliar, and she didn't know what would happen if she came apart standing on her two very unsteady feet.
And then Edward removed his hands off her, leaving her feeling relieved and discontented, at odds with her head and her body.
She attempted to remove her trembling hands from the window, and Edward actually helped her in doing so. But then his hands worked to remove her nightgown, pulling it off her in swift moves.
Isabella just stood there, gawping in utter surprise as his true intent was revealed.
Edward pressed her gently towards the window again, aligning his body to hers.
"Legs apart, please," he rasped, an earnest demand from a hungry man.
She acquiesced, despite feeling appalled at being taken against her bedroom window.
"But… the window, Edward," she moaned softly as he slipped into her, slow and tentative. "How can we… Oh! The window?"
His reply never came; instead, he set out to explore her bare back as they moved together, seeking harmony and rhythm.
Isabella's legs nearly gave under the assault of sensations, but Edward kept her stable within his powerful hold.
Her breath became obscenely loud as he unleashed his carnal force on her, overwhelming in its intensity. Her shaking hands clawed at the glass pane as his body pushed her to the brink of mounting pleasure.
In a flurry of raw sensations, Isabella came apart, moaning wantonly into the night, helpless to stop the intense waves.
Her legs wobbled, but Edward's enclosing arms kept her from slipping. He wasn't finished with her yet, his movements inside her never ceasing for even a breath.
Unexpectedly, another wave of extreme pleasure coursed through her, making her utter his name between her loud gasps. He answered her with his own rumbling moans.
Soon, Isabella stopped caring to be mannerly. She cried out in careless abandon as Edward claimed her relentlessly, again and again through the lightening night.
Sitting on a plush settee by her bed, Isabella was fiddling with her needlework when Edward entered her room. He skulked to the big bedroom window and leaned against it, his intent eyes fixed on her while she remained oblivious to his presence.
He appraised her while she worked, loving each of her face contortions as she struggled with the heavy embroidery pattern.
When her thread unexpectedly tangled into another, she closed her eyes and rubbed them in frustration. She wasn't good at needlework, and Edward couldn't fathom why she still bothered herself with the tedious task.
When she finally opened her eyes and spotted Edward, her face broke into a brilliant smile, complemented by a rosy blush. Edward's dead heart almost leapt to life.
"I didn't hear you come in," she said, and then added an afterthought, "I usually never do."
"Why embroidery?" he asked, changing the subject away from his deathly quiet movements.
"Oh, well… my sewing skills are lousy," she replied, hunching her shoulders and looking down at her handiwork. "I want to better it."
"Where in the world will you need this skill, my dear?" He shook his head at her stubborn attempts to change her muddled embroidery.
She tilted her head slightly as she watched him, her eyes narrowing. He smirked and brushed his fingertips on the windowsill, tapping the wood lightly.
Him and the windowsill; a fair reminder of their passionate nightly encounter. He had just returned from a hasty hunt, only to find her searching for him in the dark.
That was four days ago, and they had returned to his enormous bed since then. Yet, a reminder was all it took for him to set her heart aflutter.
A furious red blush washed over her face, and she pried her eyes away from him.
Edward swallowed hard, a mixture of lust and venom, as he kept a tight rein on his thirst. It had become much easier with time. He was determined to never let his monstrous side come out in front of her, never let the predator take over the affection he had for her.
"I cannot imagine why I'm not doing it right," she sighed, pulling him away from his silent cogitations. Once again, she was struggling to get her needle through the cloth. "My mother was brilliant at it."
"But you're not your mother; you're you, Bella, someone different from her, a separate entity," he muttered, unable to comprehend her need to compare herself to her mother.
She considered his words in silence as she chewed her lower lip, observing the hand-marked pattern on the cloth with a strange longing.
He crossed his arms and ruminated about her motivation to keep attempting a skill that she knew she wouldn't excel in. Yes, she might get better with time and practice, but alas, some talents were God-gifted.
Isabella raised her eyes to him, and to his astonishment, they were on the verge of tears.
Without thinking, he bolted across the room as fast as a human could and took hold of her face. "Bella? Did I say something harsh?" he asked fretfully, fearing the worst. "Please don't cry."
Unstoppable tears streamed down her eyes then, and she tried to look away. He held her face and didn't let her, repeating his requests to tell him the reason behind her watery eyes.
"I'm fine," she blubbered, closing her eyes. The motion only caused more tears to roll down her cheeks.
"I'm sorry. I take my words back, but please don't cry." Edward didn't know what else to say or how to make her feel better. Tears were so foreign to him, and he was at a loss on how to comfort a crying human.
"Bella, I'm apologising again here, please don't cry. Please just forget what I said."
And as suddenly as she had started crying, she began laughing, with strange hiccups and sniffs. Edward stared at her in bewilderment. He didn't know what to say, for his next words might make her react even more shockingly.
Finally, when the hiccups lessened, she smiled at him sheepishly. "You don't have to apologise, Edward, you weren't responsible for my nostalgic reflections."
He remained motionless with worry, holding her in his arms, waiting for her to say more.
"I just… I was remembering my time with my mother and father, before…" she trailed off, looking away again.
Edward had never really given a thought about her loss, which was inadvertently so similar to his own. How he wished he could have his parents with him again. How proud they would have been when he would have taken Isabella to meet them. He wasn't certain if Isabella wished the same for him, though.
"My mother was brilliant at embroidery," Isabella continued, breaking Edward's own nostalgic stupor. "She would have had no trouble in completing this pattern in just an hour. Time and again, she wished I would also learn to do the same, but I was always a lousy learner.
"But I did draw her the patterns. Yes, at least I was good at drawing these intricate patterns for her, which she would bring to life with her immaculate needlework." She rested her head against Edward's chest and sighed wistfully. He briefly worried that she might notice his missing heartbeat, but the urge to comfort her thwarted it.
"You love to draw," he said, and he wasn't asking her. "Did your mother also draw that well?"
She sniffled into his shirt and shook her head. "No, she wasn't inclined towards art. That was my obsession."
He smiled into her hair, picturing her as a little girl with her mother, making her intricate patterns to embroider on. It struck him as an immensely pleasant picture. He felt her loss then, at having that life scenario snatched away cruelly.
"See, you were different," he told her, stroking her back in an attempt to soothe her. "You were meant to draw those patterns. Otherwise, who would have helped your mother? That's your talent, art."
She remained quiet then, and he held her the same.
After a moment of silence, she spoke again. "I even attended some art classes when I was young. My teacher wanted me to attend a prestigious art school in France, but I didn't want to go. I wanted to stay with my parents. Perhaps, I could sense that my time with them was limited."
Once again, her words reminded Edward of his parents' demise. It would have been his demise as well, if not for Carlisle.
"I'm sorry," she spoke timidly, as if gaining a new perspective, "I never acknowledged it. You had lost your parents at a young age as well…"
He didn't speak, pondering on whether to tell her about his parents or not. Would she ask more about his human life? Would he be able to provide the appropriate details and leave the essential ones out?
"I never got to hear to about your parents," she said, hesitance colouring her voice. "But I'd understand if you're not comfortable talking about them. I usually never do it of my own volition."
"You did share some of your past with me," he stated solemnly, feeling all the more guilty of hiding his past from her.
"I did." She sat back and scoured her fingers through his unmanageable hair. "Because now, you're also a part of my family."
Edward leaned forward and kissed her gently, wiping the last remnants of her tears away with his fingers.
"If it's not too much to ask, would you tell me about your past? About your father and mother?" she asked, her lips still brushing his.
"Hmm?" He had nearly forgotten about their topic of conversation, too overwhelmed by her maddening scent.
"I do want to know more about you," she murmured as her soft lips whispered on his jaw, utterly enticing and hypnotizing. "Won't I ever get an opportunity… to know my husband better?"
"Of course." He swallowed the venom as he inhaled her breaths. "My parents, they were very affectionate…"
Her hand stroked his arm repeatedly as her coaxing eyes settled on him. She would be patient, for she genuinely cared to know. Unfortunately, Edward hadn't much to tell. He didn't remember his human life in detail, but only in the form of indiscriminate faded memories.
Oh my, I never thought I'd post such a lemon-filled chapter. ;)
A word of thanks to my PTB betas, Bailey and Mistyfate. They keep my comma explosion under check. Phew!
Notes -
Changed facts from canon-Edward wasn't born in Chicago, neither were his parents. They are English.
And yeah, I tried to give more depth to Renée, a more Victorian house wife persona, if I may say.
Oh, and one last thing, please just forget whatever you've read about the wolfpack in canon. Especially Jacob. I need you guys to read him with a fresh mindset. That way you'd not get irritated by the mere mention of his name in this story. Yes, he does have a role here.
And yeah, do come to adifferentforest[dot]com and hang out with the bunch of awesome ladies over there. It's filled with fic discussions, fic recs, Robporn (and others' eye candy as well), and anything and everything that's Twilight. :)