The Devil's Creation
Chapter Three
"Is there something that I'm supposed to be doing?" Isabella asks finally, her anxiety finally getting the best of her. He has yet to give her any kind direction as to what he expects of her.
"Have I told you to do anything?"
She's confused by the question. He did not speak with annoyance, but in her memory of that phrase . . . it is most often said with irritation or sarcasm. "No," she answers honestly, "It's just -"
"It's just, what?" Edward interrupts her, his voice as steady and emotionless as it had been before. "What did you expect?"
"Well . . ." she begins, "When you said, 'lets begin,' I assumed that meant that you we were starting a training session."
"You are in a session right now," he assures her. "I just haven't directed you to do anything, yet." He studies her from across the room, his eyes wandering over her supple curves as he maps out the session today. He knows that he wants her, and he knows how he wants her, but it needs to fit into today's lesson. "You are going to learn how to do as I say, today," he informs her.
"I will always do as you say."
This is something so basic to her that it is more or less set in her DNA.
Isabella must always do as Edward says.
Isabella must always do what Edward wants.
Isabella must always be perfect for Edward.
It's the way her body is built; it's the way her thoughts process; it's the way his being calls to her. How could she not submit to his every will? She belongs to him.
"Come to me," he orders her, but puts his hand out to stop her when she takes a step forward. "Crawl."
Her brows furrow.
'Crawl?'
Why would he want her to crawl when she could get to him much faster by walking on two legs? What's the point?
She holds back her questions, though, instead doing as he'd ordered - doing as she'd said she would - and sinks down to her hands and knees, and begins to crawl over to him.
"Slower," he demands.
She slows her pace.
When she is nearly to him, he begins to walk in the other direction.
This confuses her. She stops.
"Why did you stop?" He asks her.
"Because you walked away from me; I assumed that meant that you did not actually want me to come to you."
"Did I tell you that I didn't want you to come to me?"
"No."
"Did I tell you to stop?"
"No."
"Then why did you stop?"
She doesn't have an answer.
"Are you going to stay there, Isabella, or are you going to come to me?" Edward asks, his voice only now showing impatience.
Isabella's face flushes scarlet, and she immediately resumes, going back to her hands and knees.
They do this for a while.
Every time she gets close to him, though, he walks to the opposite side of the room, forcing her to turn and follow him once again.
"Are you growing tired?" he inquires.
"No."
"Are you irritated?"
"A bit."
"Why?"
Is she allowed to speak her mind? Figuring that it is always better to tell the truth, she says, "Because I don't see the point of this."
"The point of what?" He asks, his brows furrowing as he finally allows her to come to him.
"Of crawling."
"Of doing as I say?" Edward clarifies.
"No, of crawling."
"The point is that I want you to do it."
"But what if I don't want to do it?" She asks, looking up at him with a scowl.
"You do, though," he assures her.
"Why would I want to crawl to you, just for you to walk away?"
"So it's not the physical act of crawling that is irritating to you, but that fact that you can never seem to make it to me?" He asks.
She thinks about it and she realizes that, no, she really doesn't mind crawling to him.
It's the fact that, in walking away, he's rejecting her.
She nods her head in response, looking back down at the floor with slumped shoulders.
"Good."
Her head snaps back up. "Good?" She asks.
Edward does not give an explanation. Instead he says, "Would you prefer to be close to me?"
She nods her head eagerly.
"What if I don't want you to be near me?"
"But you do."
"How do you know?"
She presses her hands to her chest, "Because I can feel it."
"You can feel what?"
"The pull."
"Isabella," Edward draws from his place on his master sized bed, "do you plan on joining me anytime soon?"
She laughs at his tone but doesn't move from her place in the entryway of the undeniably magnificent room. In every memory that she has, which is many, she can't remember anything that looks quite like this. There is a mirror covering the entire south wall of the room, and through it she can see that there is a large television hanging on the wall she stands against. On the west wall there is an extraordinarily large dresser made entirely of black diamond, and directly across from it is the matching bed where her Edward lays. The thick comforter adorning said bed is a dull gold, and so are the curtains draped across the bed frame. The single source of light in the room is the fire-lit chandelier hanging from the ceiling in the center of the room.
"I'm growing impatient, Isabella. I suggest that you change into your sleep attire quickly and join me," Edward says, warning etched into his tone.
She moves towards the dresser and pulls open one of the drawers as she replies, "I plan on doing exactly that. I was simply admiring your sense of design. This room is extravagant."
"There is plenty of time for that after you are finished feeding."
She ignores his words, instead focusing on the various clothing options before her. She settles on a thick, white, fluffy sweater. She turns towards the mirrored wall, pulling her shirt off as she does, her pants following shortly afterwards.
An intake of breath behind her catches her attention, and her eyes connect with Edward's in the mirror.
"Is this inappropriate?" She asks, "I know that it's uncommon for people who are not romantically involved to see each other bare, but I am under the impression that we are more than mere friends." Her gaze on him is intense as his eyes wander down the reflection of her body.
Unable to resist the temptation of her, he pushes himself off of the bed and moves so that he is standing behind her, his chest tight against her back. He rests his hands on her waist as he responds. "You should never hide your body from me, Isabella. We are most certainly more than simply friends."
She nods her head in understanding but does not move to pull the sweater on.
Edward moves his arms so that they wrap more firmly around her waist, and he presses his nose into her silky hair. "You are so beautiful to me, Isabella." He breathes in deeply and his thumbs moves back and forth across a single patch of skin on her flat stomach, heightening her awareness of his presence.
"Edward?"
He hums as he continues breathing in her essence.
"Does that mean that I can see you, as well?"
His body stiffens at his words.
This does not escape her attention. "I'm sorry," she apologizes, looking down at her feet in embarrassment. The sting of rejection shocks her system, causing her cheeks to flush and her heart to beat faster.
Edward frowns at her slim figure in the mirror. "There is no reason to apologize, you have not done anything wrong. I just think that you should feed before that. You must be hungry."
She looks up at him, no longer hurt.
He steps away from her so that she can slip her sweater over her frame. When she turns back towards the bed she finds that he's already lying down, and that his cloak is parted slightly, unveiling a small portion of his defined chest. He beckons her towards him with open arms and she moves quickly to straddle his lap. His arms come around her as she settles in his lap.
"Will this hurt you?" Isabella asks worriedly as she trails her lips softly along his neck.
"Drink, Isabella." His words are final, and she has no choice but to obey him.
Not only because it is a direct order, but because she really is thirsty. Her throat is as dry as her mouth, and the blood moving in the veins of his neck is nearly impossible to ignore.
Three things happen the moment her teeth sink into his neck, cutting through his skin to allow his blood to rush freely into her mouth. First, she is overwhelmed by her thirst for him. His blood quenches her like nothing else ever could. Second, she marvels at the very taste of him. Surely, not even the sweetest wine could amount to the smooth, sweet liquid that is his blood.
Thirdly, Edward is filled with such arousal at the rapid pulls of her soft mouth that his member awakens below her, pushing shamelessly against her bare crotch through his cloak. His hands move down knead the globes of ass, pulling her down against his member while encouraging her to continue her guzzling.
Her hips begin to rock against him instinctively, and it feels so good that a loud groan rips from his throat.
It is so loud that it reaches the ears of the guards standing outside of the diamond plated door. It's so guttural, so low, so incredibly deep that it alarms them, and they instantly question his safety. They hadn't been sure of their master's creation to begin with, and now there was a chance that she was hurting him.
They make quick work of pushing through the door and take in the scene before them: Isabella on top of their master, her teeth sunken into his neck, draining him.
One of them take a step forward to attack.
Isabella catches the movement from the corner of her eye. Her reaction is as immediate as it is inescapable. She pulls her teeth from their place in her Edward's neck, turns her body so that she's crouched over him defensively, facing the intruders. The snarls that rips from her throat is so powerful, so deafening that the guards have to crouch down to the floor, covering their ears, and every piece of furniture in the room vibrates.
She's about to pounce when Edward speaks, "Get out. Now."
They're out of the room in the next moment. The door slams behind them.
It isn't until Isabella turns back to face him that Edward can truly revel in the power, and beauty, that his creation holds. With his blood streaming down her chin, with wide, ferocious eyes, and with a scowl set on her lips, he sees how truly feral she is. And he loves it.
And when she bends down to seal his wound with a swipe of her tongue he realizes that he loves her. That he's in love with her.
He doesn't know how he's existed for so long without her next to him. Where she belongs. Where they belong together.
Her voice pulls him from his thoughts. "If you hadn't sent them away . . . I would have killed them," she tells him seriously.
"I know."
"Would you have been upset with me?"
He doesn't answer her question. Instead, he pulls her back against him so that she rests with her cheek against his shoulder, her nose against his neck. "I want you, Isabella."
She pulls back from him a bit so that she can look into his eyes, trying to decipher what he's asking for.
She doesn't have to for long, so, because in the next moment he's pulling her sweater over her head. He presses his palm to her breasts, cupping them gently in his hands. He rolls her peaks beneath his thumbs, closing his eyes, listening intently to her breathing, to her heartbeat. Listening to the life he holds in his hands, on top of him.
Edward moves her so that he back rests against the mattress. Sitting up for a moment, he lets his cloak slip from his shoulders.
Isabella's eyes take him in. Her mouth waters as her eyes trail over the firm muscles of his chest and abdomen, the patch of hair leading down from his bellybutton, and finally, finally, the straining member stemming from his groin.
She follows the trail back up to his captivating eyes only to realize that he'd been watching her observe him. And he is clearly pleased by her reaction.
"Open your legs for me, my love," he instructs her. Once she does, he positions himself between them.
A moan opens Isabella's mouth when he slides his member through her slit, and he is quick to take advantage of it. His slides his tongue along hers, reveling at her taste, at how soft every single part of her is. After a few moments, he moves down her chin, runs his tongue down her neck, sucking softly at the skin there, marking her more evidently as his.
Once he is pleased with his mark on her, he moves further down, stopping only to lick both of her peaks. The pebbles caress his tongue as he does so.
His eyes roll back into his head as her fingers entwine in his hair, holding him more firmly against her left breast, against her beating heart.
He sucks hard, and when she moans again he sucks harder on her flesh, actually pulling her yearns body up to his mouth so that he rested on his knees and she fitted against him now, all of her body weight upon him.
"Please," she whispers, and he knows what he has to do.
He releases her flesh, instead choosing to look into her her eyes as he lifts her up, press the head of his member to her opening, and pulls her back down again.
Sighs of relief come from both of them at the feeling of it.
The fire between her legs burns him more beautifully than any flames ever have, and as he pulls out of her, all he can think about is re-entering her scalding warmth.
She's never felt so incredibly full, in fact she doesn't recall anybody ever feeling this full in every memory that she has. Her hands claw against his back in an attempt to get closer, and she moves forward so that, once again, her mouth is level with his neck. And the straining muscles in his neck make her think about what lives below his skin, and before she even realizes that she's doing it, her teeth are sinking into his neck, and she begins to pull against his neck in time with his thrusts below.
The overwhelming feeling of her at his neck, her around his member - her absolutely everywhere, is ecstasy, and it's not long before he explodes within her. She follows shortly after, and she retracts her teeth from his neck to rest soundly against him.
Fatigue leaves her limp against him, and carefully, gently, he lays her back against the covers, not bothering to dress her.
He prefers her this way.
He snaps his fingers so that the light goes out in the room and lays down beside her already sleeping form. Even in sleep, though, she is aware of him, and turns into his heat, always needing to be as close as their skin allows.
A/N: So, I guess Edward just got a real taste of what the pits of hell feels like, and he seemed to like it quite a bit, huh?
Sorry, I just thought I'd break the ice with a tasteless joke.
There really isn't a good reason for why this chapter is so late, other then the plain fact that it just wasn't coming out right. I'm pleased with the end result.
Hopefully you are, too. Let me know either way.
:)
~ Harlow & Sage ~