Edward is exhilarated. The muscles in his arms and thighs are quivering from exertion. He's caught his breath, but feels he's able to breathe deeper than he has since he ran track in college. His skin is hyper-aware of everything it comes into contact with, like it had forgotten to register the everyday feeling of cotton, leather, and the cool afternoon breeze. Other sensations are just as real to him as the steering wheel he is currently gripping: lace, silk, the smooth tickle of long hair, the warmth of a toned thigh.
Edward tries to soberly concentrate on clinical facts as he makes his way back home, but fails miserably.
"Same deal next Thursday, Mr. Cullen," Mr. Black said as he handed Edward a discrete appointment card and returned his wallet, suit jacket and leather case. "Four p.m."
Edward hadn't necessarily been intent on making a deal, at least that's what he tells himself. Pushed to the point of desperation, he simply wanted to clarify the terms Isabella Swan was offering. He hadn't intended any of… that.
That.
Edward chastises himself. He is an adult. He can admit what he's done. He hadn't intended to have sex with another woman. He hadn't planned on being assaulted or manipulated. Yes, that's exactly what it had been.
Assault.
Manipulation.
Anger and lust.
Images from the afternoon resurface in a tangled menagerie in Edward's conscious mind. How warm she'd been as he pressed against her, the dare in her eyes, the wet heat of her vagina... how he'd surprised her when he grabbed her face and forced her to see him. He'd actually shocked them both with his actions. Yet, while his instinctual response to his brutish behavior borders on embarrassment, in reflection, he is certain that what he noticed in Bella Swan's expression in that small moment was more than shock and fear. He'd brought her unexpected pleasure. This realization, in turn, greatly pleases Edward Cullen as well, although he is less than willing to admit it.
Assuring himself that his analysis is driven by a need to fully understand what transpired, not that he is emboldened by his unexpected conquest, Edward carefully plays through the events of the evening: from first contact to the point where he stood and watched Bella Swan's topless silhouette by the window as she stepped out of her heels and attended to her stockings. He enjoys that moment at the end almost more than penetration or ejaculation. In that moment she was simply a small, pretty woman that he'd just had sex with.
He regrets that he hadn't the presence of mind to go to her while she'd gazed out the window - to run his hands over her hips and unzip her skirt and get her completely naked. He regrets not getting his hands or his mouth on her bare breasts. He can't help but wonder if those desires might be on the list of things Bella Swan wants from him. This trifling thought, in turn, sets Edward's mind loose and all manner of scenarios burst forth from some base region deep within his brain. Dark images he would have never formerly considered mix with laughter and make-out sessions, leading toward something illicit and undeniably enticing.
Edward's heart begins pounding and he quite suddenly finds it unusually difficult to breathe. He rolls down the car window and warm wind whips into the Volvo's interior, bringing him back to the present. He holds tight to the steering wheel. He pounds the dashboard with his fist. He pulls into his subdivision, driving toward the home he shares with his critically ill wife.
Edward has never cheated on his wife before. He's loved Angela and has dedicated himself heart and soul to the life he tried to build with her. Edward planned a future that would involve children and birthday parties, senior proms and college funds, and it would have eventually involved old age, grandchildren, and the satisfaction of a life well lived.
He's quite consciously modeled himself in his father's image: from his father's willingness to always work hard, to the way his father doted on his mother, to the way the two of them found satisfaction in the simple pleasure of one another's presence. His father married his mother right out of high school. He'll tell any man that will listen that Esme is the only woman he's ever loved, and that his wife and his children were what made his life worth living.
Edward recalls how, nearly ten years ago, everything miraculously seemed to fall into place in his own life when he'd presented Angela with a ring. It was the beginning of his dream with his dream girl. It was his turn to fall madly in love and make a life. It was the fix that put everything in the right place: it would keep Angela in Southern California, in his heart and in his bed.
Edward was known for doing everything right, and he made certain the ring, the proposal and the wedding were all on point. Emmett wanted to make certain the bachelor party was also up to code, but Edward was of a more low key ilk. The night before the big day was spent at a local bar with his best man, his father, and a few sundry friends that he now only speaks with via Facebook posts. As the first of his circle to tie the knot, everyone regarded him with uneasy awe – all except his father. Carlisle Cullen was drunk with pride, and with Guinness. He was intent on bestowing wisdom, and pleased to appear the sage on the matter.
xXxXx
"Take it from me, Ed; it's not all roses," his dad said after he polished off his umpteenth beer. "Being a husband means more than giving it to her."
Edward coughed on his drink. He did not want to think about his father giving it to his mom. In fact, he was secretly pleased that he and his siblings had been adopted – there was no conclusive evidence his parents had ever engaged in that particular activity.
"Being a husband, a good one, that's the sign of a real man, Edward. Being a good husband and a real man means doing stuff you might not want to do, just for the sake of your family. It means doing the tough jobs and always putting your family first. It means committing to this vow you're gonna make even when there's nothing going on between the sheets. Sex comes and goes." Carlisle smirked. "Sex… comes, and…comes..." Edward's father lost the trail of his wisdom in a drunken chuckle. Emmett joined in as well, enjoying Carlisle's mirth just as much as Edward's embarrassment.
"I got it, Dad," Edward tried to assure his father. He stood, planning to get some air and recover his composure, but Carlisle clamped his hand on his shoulder, holding him in place.
"You don't get it, though, Son. You can't. Not until you're in it. But I raised you right and I know you mean well. I know you'll do the right thing by this girl."
xXxXx
Edward feels sick to his stomach as he turns into his driveway. It is a familiar feeling these days, however it is seldom accompanied by a damp crotch – the result of his attempt to wash away any evidence of his recent indiscretion.
"Angela?" he calls as he walks in the front door.
He's met, instead, by his mother-in-law, Donna Webber, a stout woman with a tight perm who perpetually gives everyone she encounters the air that she is magnanimously trying her best to approve of them.
"Angela's sleeping," Mrs. Webber hisses. She shakes her head and purses her lips in silent reproach of the volume of Edward's voice.
"How is she?" he asks in a whisper.
Mrs. Webber's eyes become glassy. "The same as this morning and the same as last night, and…" Mrs. Webber bites her lip and turns her back on Edward. She sorts through the day's mail and hands Edward a stack of bills: the electric, the gas and a slim envelope reading "URGENT" in red ink from the oncologist's office.
Edward stashes the missives in his back pocket, intent on focusing on his wife. "Good then. Not worse."
"And not better!" Mrs. Webber slams her fist on the table. Her exclamation is much louder than Edward's voice had been, but he does not point out this fact. "We want her to get better, Edward. We don't want to her to stay sick like this forever."
"Of course," Edward stammers. "Of course." He contemplates placing a reassuring hand on his mother-in-law's shoulder, but thinks better of it.
"I think you've both forgotten that," Mrs. Webber continues in a quieter voice. "I think everyone's forgotten that. My daughter isn't supposed to be sick. Don't you want your wife to get better?"
"Of course," Edward repeats. This question cuts to the quick, though. Edward cannot recall the last time he considered the possibility that Angela might recover. He thinks about keeping her from suffering. He thinks about keeping her mind free from worry. He thinks about her death.
"Then we need to do something. We need to find someone that will help her to live. She can't go on this way."
When Donna Webber finally turns to Edward with tears in her eyes, Edward doesn't hesitate to fold her plump body into his arms.
Dinner is a quiet affair. Mrs. Webber tries to smile. Angela tries to eat. Edward tries desperately to maintain a sense of outward composure. He is keenly aware, however, that he is incapable of helping his wife. He's come face to face with yet another way in which he's failed the woman seated across from him. How he's earned his mother-in-law's disdain in the most egregious of ways.
At his first opportunity he escapes the suffocating anxiety of the dining room, ducks into the bathroom and opens the letter from the oncologist's office. He's received an itemized bill for several thousand dollars and notification that this claim has been denied by his (former) insurance company. Attached is a friendly note from one of the women in the finance office. They assume he's simply forgotten to update his insurance information and suggests that he drop off an updated card upon his wife's next office visit.
This time around when Edward's stomach roils uncomfortably the toilet is a convenient distance from his mouth. He hears footsteps linger outside the door as he is retching, but the hall is empty when he emerges from the bathroom. Angela and her mother greet Edward with an identical tight-lipped smile upon his return to the dining room. Mrs. Webber offers a cup of tea. Angela goes back to one of her more recent reliable pastimes and gazes wanly at her reflection in the sliding glass door. Edward feels as if he is physically being torn in two. He has never simultaneously wanted to escape and to give his wife everything humanly possible as he does in that moment. Instead, he excuses himself, slides the back door open (obstructing Angela's vacant view) and mumbles an excuse before wandering off into the empty night.
xXxXx
"What's it about this one?" Jacob asks Bella Swan from the opposite side of the backseat of a chauffeured Town Car.
"He tries too hard."
Jacob chuckles nervously. "Like a certain executive I know."
"I don't try, Jacob. I get what I want. Some men though, they try and try and try…" Bella's voice trails off. She dreams that she sees reflections of him in the flickering lights of the car window - as he would anxiously work himself into a sweat in front of his monitor at work, as he anxiously worked himself into a sweat inside of her. Taking another breath, Bella's vision of Edward becomes a reflection of Jacob Black fidgeting next to her in the car.
"Not like you," Bella says quietly, her eyes still on the scenery outside of her window. "You get me everything I want. You simply aim too low when it comes to your own sense of self."
"I beg to differ," Jacob mumbles. His voice has a sandpaper edge to it and he goes for a bottle of water. He is not surprised by this turn in the conversation. Bella has a habit of effortlessly guessing his thoughts. "Is this one on his way up, or on his way out?" Jacob asks by way of recovery.
"His life as he knows it is over."
"Out then."
Bella is surprised that Jacob's assessment, although obvious, does not leave her pleased. She would like to think that Edward Cullen's case is not as cut and dry as all the others. Bella is not, and has never been a champion of the underdog, though. Somewhat dismayed in herself, she chalks this unwarranted feeling up to oxytocin and resolves to play the game by the rules. The rules dictate that Edward Cullen will cross all of the lines while she holds all of the cards. The rules are there for a reason.
She overlooks the one blatant example of her rules broken, though. He travels with her back from the office and assists with her every conquest.
Jacob Black is quietly relieved to know that Edward Cullen is on his way out.
A/N: I know, I know... no angry sex in this one. Sorry about that. I told you I was a bad fanfic author. SereneInNC and Obsmama are both awesome, though, and I couldn't do this without them. Thanks guys!
Next chapter won't be so sad, but it will probably be just as wrong.
Until next time, ~BDC