Alright, my friends. Here it is. One chapter left after this. I know. I KNOW. Are you all feeling the weight of that like I am? Damn.
I've been editing the shit out of this, and loladude finally said "Put down the brush." He's right. 'Tis what it 'tis.
I have much love to leave, but I'm going to do most of that in the last chapter endnote. For now? My betas are tits. LouderthanSirens and MommaBear, thank you thank you.
My prereader, and the yang to my yin, stephk0525 is…just the effin' best girl around. I couldn't have done it without her.
BelleDean is a stone-cold fox, and Skateward is going to be taking up allll my time after SoS is done. I think you'll looooove him.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Bella
Emmett Cullen, Sr. has an edge that comes through even in photos.
I probably shouldn't have Googled him, but I guess I wanted to have an idea of what to expect tonight. I've been up since 5am, sleep evading me, and I was going through my morning routine when I got the urge to type in his name.
He's undeniably handsome; he's smiling in every picture, but his eyes aren't kind. The resemblance between he and Edward is uncanny, and he's got Emmett's build. Edward is going to age well, if these images are any indication, but I really hope that the similarities end there.
I know he's a doctor, but I didn't realize exactly how high up on the social ladder he really is. He's pictured with a whole legion of political figures and some celebrities that I recognize. I doubt he's a household name, but he holds clout in some circles, obviously. The list of organizations that he serves with is extensive, and surprisingly altruistic. I read about his schooling and accomplishments, and try to figure out how this person on the screen coincides with the pain I see in Edward's eyes when he says his name.
Emmett and Edward will be here later today. We decided to get the dinner out of the way the first night so we don't have it hanging over our heads. I've been jumpy and irritable for days.
I have three suitable outfits picked out, down to the shoes and jewelry. Rose just rolled her eyes when I asked her what she was wearing, so I'm going to get Edward's opinion when he gets here.
I really hate these kinds of situations. When we were young, if Rose, Jasper and I had to dress up for a wedding or family event, our parents would inevitably find the three of us halfway up a tree, or in a pond, or eating chocolate cake with a gusto that left it all over our dress clothes. Our parents would pretend to be disapproving, but I saw the twinkle in my mother's eyes while she looked over my scraped knees and grass-stained dresses.
Edward has never been in my room, and I've spent the last week cleaning, considering what each part of it will say about me. I wonder if he did the same when I went to see him the first time. Rose and I flew out to Texas again in September, but it's been almost a month since we've seen them.
I should be obsessing about the moment that his skin is on mine, but the stress is killing my libido. I hope after tonight it will return full force, because he and I only have a few days together and I want to spend most of it naked, wrapped around him.
The boys rent a car, and show up in the late afternoon. My libido doesn't seem to care about dinner after that, and we reunite passionately on my bedroom floor. I'm afraid my knees are going to be bruised, so I opt for nice black pants instead of a skirt.
Edward watches me get dressed, sitting on the edge of my bed clad in only his jeans. When I turn around to get his approval, he makes a face.
"What?" I snap, my nerves returning full force.
"It's just…I thought you were wearing a dress," he says cautiously, probably sensing that I'm feeling a little sensitive right now.
I don't respond, but unbutton the pants angrily and push them down my hips, kicking them off. Stalking back to my closet, I pull off my top and grab a very expensive, conservative, navy blue dress, holding it up on its hanger. "Does this pass approval?" I snipe, glaring at him.
He glances at it and nods, swallowing hard.
He looks unsure and sad. My anger subsides quickly. I'm being awful. I slip on the dress. He stands up to zip it for me and then wraps his arms around me from behind.
"I'm sorry," I say softly. He just gives me a small smile in the mirror and releases me, turning around to unzip the garment bag he hung from my closet door.
It's a suit.
I stare at it for a second, starting to understand, before meeting his eyes. The expression I find there makes me want to burst into tears. He is both a child, desperate to please his father, and the cynical adult that resulted from the denial of that affection. I love each of these parts of him, but feel a hot wave of hatred for the man who put them at war in Edward.
He clears his throat, looking down, and shoves his hands in his pockets. "He likes us to dress 'appropriately'."
I'm about a thousand times more anxious after that.
I slip into Rose's bathroom under the guise of borrowing her flat iron, and find her bottle of Xanax. I hold it in my hand, craving the sweet, floating haze of the pill, but I can't do it. It's not fair, especially to Rose, who will have to endure this completely sober. I quietly replace it and fix my hair. My face is pale and I'm shaky. I swipe on some of Rose's blush and do my hair, all the while willing myself to be strong for all three of them. My nervousness isn't going to help the situation, but neither will popping a pill. I make a decision to only have one glass of wine tonight, so I'm not drifting off for another reason.
We take my Audi. Rose sits up front with Emmett, who drives, and I sit in the back with Edward.
I get a rush of adrenaline as the gates open, and for a second I think I'm going to be sick. Rose turns around just then, meets my eyes and silently assures me that this is going to be okay. I can see that she's a little ruffled, but only because I know her so well. To anyone else, she's the picture of cool confidence.
We get out of the car, adjusting our ensembles, and I suppress a giggle. We look like we're going to a fucking wedding. Rose is getting a small bump on her abdomen, but she chose a dress that hides it completely. The only thing that has really changed about her appearance is that her boobs are bigger. Of course.
The house is huge and I am initially impressed, but I'm not really taken in by material things. This guy is obviously on a whole other level of wealth than we are, but in the end, it's just stuff. Having money doesn't make you happy and it definitely doesn't make you a good person. Emmett Cullen, Sr. seems to be proof of that.
The door swings open as we walk up, and a very young, very beautiful woman is waiting for us with a beatific smile on her face. Irina.
I notice that she doesn't hug the boys, but touches each of their shoulders lightly and briefly. She shakes hands politely with me and then Rose, admiring our dresses and shoes. Total Stepford wife. When she turns to show us in, I can smell alcohol on her breath. How typical, and sad.
Edward puts his hand on the small of my back as we follow her in. I focus on that warm sensation and look up at him. His jaw is clenched, but relaxes when he sees me watching. He exhales a breath he seemed to be holding and whispers in my ear as we enter the living room. "I love you." I mouth the words back to him, and I want to reach up and touch his face, but I don't. I wish we weren't here in this stuffy house in these stuffy clothes.
The view is stunning from our seats in the living room, and for a minute I imagine flinging open the French doors and running out, leaving my shoes discarded on their pristine lawn. I want to pick their flowers and stick them in my hair and quietly undo the stiff tie around Edward's neck. I'll dance my fingers down his shirt, undoing buttons as I go…
"Miss?" I come to, surprised to find that everyone in the room is looking at me expectantly. I must have been daydreaming for longer than I thought. "What can I get you to drink, miss?" The girl asking is wearing a full-on maid costume complete with a little foofy hair band. I feel like I'm in a bad movie.
"White wine, please. Sorry," I apologize quickly. She just nods, her face serious, and leaves the room to get our drinks.
Rose meets my eyes and gives me a private smile. She was probably having the same childish inclination to just grab Emmett's hand and run out of this house.
I try to stay in the conversation after that. I don't want to miss anything.
I quickly abandon the idea that I'm going to have only one cocktail, because the first glass of wine is gone before Mr. Cullen even makes an appearance. For someone who is so obviously concerned with the way things look, I'm surprised by his rudeness. We make small talk about Emmett and Edward's football careers and school and other trivial details of our lives. Irina doesn't ask any questions that would make any of us uncomfortable, and we don't offer up anything of importance, but there's a sense of foreboding in the room.
She guzzles three martinis in the time it takes me to drink two glasses of wine, but doesn't show it at all. She's definitely a woman who can hold her liquor. In most situations I respect that in a fellow female, but not her, and not here.
I know he's coming when, out of the corner of my eye, I see Edward and Emmett stiffen infinitesimally.
His form is large and imposing in the entryway. The boys stand up immediately, pulling Rose and I with them. He doesn't make a move, waiting for us to cross the room to him. His eyes move critically over all four of us, but by the time we reach him he's smiling smugly. He's got the presence of a predator; a shark who smells blood in the water. That said, his picture didn't do him justice.
I glance at Rose. Her face mirrors his and she demurely offers her hand to him, standing just out of his reach.
He's forced to take a small step forward to greet her.
I stifle another nervous laugh, watching his brow furrow as he takes her in, before the complacent mask returns.
"Pleased to meet you, Mr. Cullen. I'm Rosalie Hale," she says, smiling sweetly, her eyes not leaving his. He smiles back, but there's an undercurrent of challenge running between them. He reluctantly breaks her gaze after a few beats, and says hello to his sons stiffly.
I compose myself and shake his hand, introducing myself and complimenting his home. My voice trembles, despite my best efforts, and his smile widens.
Definitely a shark.
"Welcome." He pauses, and his eyes flick to Rose, and then to Emmett. "Let's sit." He turns and walks smoothly into the dining room, not once acknowledging his wife. I turn back to get my wine glass, but Edward shakes his head, guiding me to follow Rose and Emmett. Irina trails behind, and I look back to see her gulping down the last of her martini before setting the glass down and joining us.
A different woman takes our drink orders, and she's wearing the same costume that the first one was. I try not to stare, and ask for another glass of wine. Edward and Emmett want scotch, and Rose asks for sparkling water.
Emmett Sr.'s head snaps to Rose, and he glares coldly at her for a split second while she's obliviously arranging her napkin in her lap. I think I'm the only one who sees it.
The drinks are set in front of each of us and Emmett Sr. takes half of his down in two swallows. He takes a deep breath, settling into his chair and turning his attention to Edward.
"So, son." Edward flinches. "Your stats are looking good, but then you haven't played the 'teasips' yet. It's a Heisman shootout, so you'd better be ready." Edward nods stiffly, but doesn't look at him. I truly have no clue what the hell they're talking about. Emmett Sr. points at him, his finger jabbing the air to punctuate his point. "I'm not kidding, Edward. The more I hear The Eyes of Texas, the more comes out of your inheritance." He glances at me. "I hope that you aren't distracted from your goals, spending so much time with this…young lady." He gestures towards me with his drink, his voice icy.
I get the distinct feeling that he would have used some more explicit terminology were I not present.
"I'm not entering the combine or the draft, sir." Emmett Sr.'s nostrils flare and his cruel smile returns. "I'm looking at some other options," Edward finishes, quickly bringing his scotch to his lips after the statement. I turn to look disbelievingly at him before reigning in my expression. This is the first I'm hearing of this, and even though I'm not sure what a combine is, I'm aware of the basic concept of the draft. I look at Emmett and Rose. Neither of them seems surprised. We're definitely going to have a conversation about what the hell is going on when we get out of here. I assumed that his intention was to go pro. I try to hide the fact that I'm annoyed.
"And what would these alternative careers be, Edward? Are you harboring some latent talent that I'm not aware of?" he bites out, the maid setting down another glass of scotch in front of him.
She notices Edward and Emmett's empty glasses and goes to bring them another as well. The three of them seem to be drinking really quickly. I've still got a full glass of wine.
"I'm interested in coaching, actually, but thanks for the vote of confidence." He mumbles the last part under his breath.
His father's laugh booms through the room, loud and mean and abrupt.
"Interesting." He leans in, stage-whispering to Edward. "Is that because you can't cut it as a quarterback, or is it really your life's dream to coach people that are better than you?" He sits back in his chair, chuckling. He is seriously one mean motherfucker. In my head, Rose holds his arms back while I knee him in the balls.
Edward doesn't answer. He doesn't do anything.
"Stick to what you're good at, kid," I bristle. My dad calls me kid, but it's never sounded so acerbic coming out of his mouth. He's taken what should be a term of endearment and made it sound like an insult. "You know you don't have the grades to warrant getting into any good schools, and I'm not donating a fucking wing to get you into Harvard."
Rose and I share a look. Her calm has finally been disrupted.
Emmett is visibly distressed. His glass of scotch is already almost empty again. I look at Irina for the first time since we sat down. She's probably gone through five martinis since we've been here, but I can't blame her. It's entirely necessary to get drunk to even begin to deal with this asshole. Girl has got to be in it for the money.
"I never wanted to be a doctor," Edward says, staring intensely into his drink.
"No need to draw attention to your lack of ambition, Edward. I've been aware of it since you were a child. In fact, neither of you have ever utilized the resources that our family name could have provided." He looks between Emmett and Edward, his gaze is hard. "Emmett, I hope that you, at least, aren't planning to waste the time you've put into your football career."
Emmett shakes his head, clearing his throat before speaking. "No, sir."
Emmett Sr. doesn't respond to that, turning to Rose instead. "Are you sure you don't want a drink? We had the wine imported from France. Irina only drinks gin, so it would be a shame if it went to waste, since the bottle is already open," he says, indicating my full glass. He tilts his head, and looks very handsome and very demonic in that moment, daring her to say no.
"No, thank you, Mr. Cullen," she replies politely.
"Is there a reason you don't drink? Does alcoholism run in your family?" He asks rudely.
Rose bristles. "No. It doesn't, but I'm fine with water, thank you."
Emmett and Rose agreed that he would be the one to break the news, and apparently she's holding to that, giving Emmett a pointed look. He opens his mouth and closes it. I can see him trying to find the courage to say it. I want to put him out of his misery and scream "She's pregnant!" at the top of my lungs, but I freeze like everything else in the room, waiting. The door to the kitchen swings open a few inches, and then closes slowly and quietly.
"Is there something you'd like to tell me, Emmett?" Emmett Sr. taunts.
"Rose is pregnant," Emmett finally says, chancing a glance at his father and then gulping his drink.
"Congratulations, Rosalie. Who's the father?" he spits.
Emmett just stares at him. Rose looks like she's going to leap across the table and wrap her hands around Emmett Sr.'s neck. "I am," Emmett says firmly, after a minute.
His glass whips past Irina's head and into a cabinet holding what looks like crystal stemware. Glass shatters behind her, and she looks over her shoulder at it, as if she's seen this before, and doesn't give a shit. She turns back to us and picks up her glass, bringing it to her lips. I decide she's not just drunk; she's on some heavy narcotics, too. I'll take one of those, please and thank you.
Emmett Sr.'s fist hits the table hard, rattling the silverware and knocking over a candlestick. Wax runs across the white tablecloth and the flame goes out, leaving the wick smoking, the line of white rising toward the ceiling the only movement in the room. He pounds his fist down again, this time knocking over my wine glass and sloshing amber liquid out of Emmett and Edward's glasses.
"What the fuck did I tell you, Emmett? What the fuck did I tell you?" he yells, his face different now. Red and bitter; full of rage. I can't see Edward in it any more. It occurs to me that this face matches his true nature, not the one that he wears to pose in photos that people post on the internet.
Emmett stands up abruptly, his chair scraping on the floor loudly. He helps Rose up and gives Edward and me a questioning look, like "Are you with me"? I look at Edward, and he gives me the slightest of nods. I pull my napkin off of my lap, but Emmett Sr.'s voice stops me before I can rise.
"Sit the fuck down," he commands.
"Fuck you," Rose counters, smiling brightly and sarcastically at him. I knew she couldn't help herself. Emmett's eyes widen at her, and then he looks back to me and Edward. We stand.
Emmett turns to face his father, who is breathing heavily, glaring up at him. Rose moves beside Emmett. "You know what I think, sir?" he chokes out, "I think Edward and I are going to be fine, with or without you and our inheritance. And I feel bad for you," he says this sadly, and quietly, "because you don't know us," he shakes his head, "and you won't know your grandchildren."
I can tell he's got a response brewing, but Emmett doesn't give him a chance. "Goodbye," he says, and his face is red like he might cry or hit him…I can't tell, "and when I say goodbye, I mean I don't want to have anything to do with you from now on." The words rush out of his mouth, and as soon as he's done he walks quickly towards the door, clasping Rose's hand tightly. He stops just before exiting, though, not turning around. "Oh, and it's a boy," he adds. I can hear the emotion that he's suppressing. They leave quietly.
I look at Edward. I look at the broken glass behind Irina, and the spilled wine and wax and whiskey. There's nothing good here, but that doesn't mean this will be any easier for either of his sons. I can't even imagine.
When I turn back to Edward Sr. the anger has evaporated, and he's staring at the empty space in front of him. In a practiced movement, he raises his arm and snaps his fingers loudly. The girl appears with another scotch, stepping carefully around the glass. She doesn't give any indication that she notices.
He doesn't look up, but reaches for the drink. His hand shakes minutely, and it's like seeing the soft, fragile underbelly of a serpent. He suddenly looks like an old man, like every harsh word and action is etched into the lines on his face.
I reach over and grab Edward's hand, squeezing it tightly in my own. He watches the man that is his father sit and drink, still staring ahead like we aren't there. "Bye…dad," he whispers, and when his father doesn't respond, he uses his free hand to wipe away a tear and gently guides me out of this hell into the cool dusk. Rose is sitting in the driver's seat leaning over Emmett, who has his face in his hands. His shoulders shake, and my eyes blur over. I hold Edward's hand the whole way home, rubbing my thumb in slow circles. I don't try to talk to him. He doesn't make a sound, staring out the window, but the one time that he looks at his big brother, whose position hasn't changed, he turns his head away quickly. I have to fight against the choking feeling in my throat.
Alice and Jasper are just hanging out. They weren't expecting us for hours. The four of us walk in slowly and they take us in, the boys' red eyes and the uncharacteristic slump in Emmett's posture. Jasper goes and gets a bottle of Patron and pours five shots, making Rose's a pineapple juice.
We raise them in the air, and Emmett looks at each of us, his voice cracking, "To my family."
The rest of the night is quiet. We order in, as we didn't actually get to eat dinner, but we scatter shortly after eating; none of us are in the mood to talk. Edward and I lay facing each other in my bed. I don't ask him questions or make him talk about how he's feeling. Instead, I read to him from a story I've been writing for the last few months. It's about boats and water and sunshine.
Years later I'll realize that this was the last time I'd ever see Emmett or Edward drink scotch until the day of their father's funeral. Even then it's just one glass, and it's not done with any enjoyment, it's like their own form of a eulogy. Emmett Sr. does meet his grandchildren once before his passing, in the private hospital suite where he lays dying from stomach cancer. Even then, he doesn't tell them that he loves them, even after the words leave each of their mouths.
The next few months pass slowly, but are really good.
Rose's belly is getting big, and she spends most of her time in Texas. Edward bought a house for the two of us, and Rose and Emmett are getting the baby's room ready in the loft. They intend to buy a house when they settle down, but aren't sure what team Emmett will end up playing for yet.
The closer the wedding gets, the more I'm embroiled in the details. Normally it would be Rose who would take care of the major decisions, but with her gone, it's me, and I'm surprised at my enthusiasm for the event planning.
Mike and I reconnect, and he comes with Alice and me to fittings for her dress and to the printers who are doing the invitations. This all serves to reinforce the bond between us. I don't know if this will make it any easier to leave, but I want to spend every second with one of them. Alice and I get especially close. We spend a lot of time pulling pranks on each other. I think in some ways it's a response to the stress of moving on and becoming actual adults. The rest is just the pure joy of seeing one of your best friends almost piss her pants because you put a hairy rubber spider in her left slipper.
Sometimes I catch her and Jasper in an embrace that makes my eyes water with its sweetness, and I try not to think about the fact I'll be separated from the two of them in a short time. I also try not to think about how much that makes me miss Edward.
When I finally figure out how to use Skype, some parts of our separation get a little easier. I can see his face when we talk; watch his fingers rub his forehead in frustration, or run across his jaw line when he's thinking. Most importantly, I can see him smile.
It's December, and the longing to just touch him is almost unbearable. It's a very real, physical craving. There are nights when I almost don't want to see him because I know I'm going to have to get myself off multiple times to keep from letting the ache overtake me. We haven't seen each other in two weeks, and by the time we get to the lake it will have been three more. I'm going to be a shaking, quivering mess by the time I finally feel his hands on me.
I'm packing the few things I have in the kitchen, and Alice is helping me. Jasper is sitting at the counter drinking a beer and watching football, chiming in occasionally. I seem to have an Edward-specific football interest, but I've been trying to expand my knowledge of the game. Of course, most of the time the questions I ask send Jasper and Mike into hysterics. Fuckers.
Alice can tell I'm suffering, and she's spent the last few days taunting me. She stands in front of me holding a mixing bowl, looking at me expectantly.
"Where do you want this? Do you want me to just put it in your box?" She says the last part slowly and suggestively, nodding to the cardboard square in front of me.
"You know, not everything is an opportunity for sexual innuendo," I respond, glaring at her while I wrap newspaper around dishes I will never use. I'm a little testy today.
"We both know that's not true, Bella," Alice smiles, and then continues with her teasing, looking down at the bowl again. "I just don't know if it'll fit. Your box is getting really full," she continues, looking into it and shaking her head, "I don't know if your box can handle any more-"
"Alice," Jasper whines, probably grossed out by the numerous references to my vagina. Alice just rolls her eyes.
"Seriously, woman. It's already torture without you making every moment of my day into soft-core porn," I complain.
She laughs, grinning at me. "Jasper's going to make an honest woman out of me soon, so I've got to get my kicks while I can." It's my turn to do the eye-rolling. "So I assume you're taking matters into your own hands…if you know what I'm saying," she raises her eyebrows at me.
"Dude. Alice. Gross." Jasper groans, while Alice and I giggle.
"I mean, I get why you're all…tense like you are, but I know you guys are online all the time, so I refuse to believe that you aren't getting some sort of action."
Jasper gets up. "That, ladies, would be my cue," he smiles, shaking his head and goes to watch the rest of the game in the living room. Alice and I keep our voices down after we stop laughing.
"We video chat, but I don't see how that would alleviate my problem," I say, starting to pack dishes again.
She's silent, and I look up. She's just looking at me like she's waiting for something to dawn on me.
"Oh. Ohhhhh," I say as I get it. "Yeah I'm so not into that. I doubt Edward is either." Even as the words come out of my mouth I know they're not true.
She studies me for a moment. "You are too. I can tell. You're blushing!"
I open my mouth and close it. If I speak, I will blush harder.
"I suggest a striptease to break the ice. Don't warn him or anything. Just turn on music and start taking it all off." She mimes taking off a pair of long gloves and blows me a kiss.
"If you start actually stripping I'm telling Jasper."
"Don't be such a fucking prude, B! For the love of god, get naked for your hot boyfriend!"
"I'm not a prude, you whore! I'll just feel stupid." I shrug. I want to do it so bad, but I'm not sure if I can pull it off. I'm confident, but it's a whole lot different to have the ability to touch someone. Without that sensation, it's all aural and visual, and while I like being able to have the connection with him for conversation, for this I'm afraid it would get awkward. The fact that I'm being this euphemistic in my head only underlines my anxiety.
"Rose probably has something you could borrow…" she starts.
"I am so not putting on some crazy lingerie. I'll never be able to get it off, and it will really be a mood killer if you need to come get me out of a garter belt in the middle of it." We crack up.
"But you're gonna do it?" she asks. She can tell I'm wavering.
I shrug. She smiles knowingly. Such a bitch. Love her.
After a minute she holds up a rolling pin and cocks her head to the side, considering it. She opens her mouth to speak but I cut her off.
"Yes, Alice. I think that will fit in my box."
Two nights later I get the cajones to do it. I'm nervous, but it's far outweighed by my need.
I'm wearing lacy blue boy shorts and a black camisole. I decide that simple is probably best. I have a song picked out. I'm ready, and I mean I'm ready. My skin is flushed, my heartbeat fast and my breathing shallow. I think if he doesn't like it I won't care, because one way or another, I'm getting off, and he's watching.
He's running a little late, so I write while I'm waiting. I've become quite the erotic poet. I can't seem to get enough of the adjectives taut, hard, pink and supple.
When the little box pops up on the laptop screen and starts ringing, I jump up and sit in front of the computer, answering the call.
"Hey, baby," he says slowly, with a smile. He looks sleepy, and fresh out of the shower. He's got a bottle of beer in one hand, and he's leaning back in his chair. He's shirtless. I touch my neck, wishing it was his skin under my fingertips.
"I want to crawl through the screen and climb on top of you so bad right now," I breathe out, squirming in my chair. The slightest pressure feels good. He's taking a sip of beer while I say this, and the bottle stills at his lips. His eyes widen, and he swallows, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
"Yeah?" he hedges cautiously, still smiling.
We don't really talk like this. I mean, we do, but it's in the heat of passion. I feel a little dirty, but I think I like it. At least I like his reaction.
"I don't want to talk about how my day was. I don't want to talk about school or the move or the wedding. I want you to watch me." He sits up a little, his mouth hanging open a little, eyes glazed.
"Okay," he whispers reverently. I think I've got his attention.
I have to stand up to turn on the music, and I hear him suck in a breath.
"You like?" I ask as the song starts, looking down and pulling at the lace at the hem of the boy shorts.
"Fuck," he whispers, the word clipped. His chest rises and falls rapidly and he licks his lips.
I adjust the screen so he can see me, and the bed, and just…dance. I dance like I would if I were listening to this song alone in my room; eyes closed and hair everywhere. I tease the shirt up my stomach, peeking up occasionally to watch him grip the bottle of beer, his forearm straining.
I lift the cami over my head when I'm faced away from him, dropping it from my fingers and taking my time turning around. When I do, I like what I find. He's standing up, shaky hands fumbling with his belt, finally getting it off and kicking off his jeans. His boxer briefs are barely containing him, and I instinctively move closer. He palms himself once, groaning, and then sits down and I can see his face again. He's got bright spots of color on his cheeks and his still-damp hair is standing up in parts.
I put the tips of my fingers under the waistband of the boy shorts, pulling them down an inch. He moans. I go slower.
I have a brief moment of panic when I'm totally naked, but I go with it, sitting on the edge of the bed and running my hands over my skin, gasping when I graze over my tits and rubbing my hands up and down my thighs.
The song changes, but I made a mix so it doesn't upset the vibe. It makes it better. I know what I have to do next, and take a minute to steel myself. I spread my legs very slowly. A "Fuuuuuck," escapes from his lips. I have to bite my lip to keep from saying something really embarrassing. I alternate between his lustful stare and watching myself on screen. I'm not going to last long at this rate.
He stands up again, this time carefully pulling his boxer briefs over his swollen dick and off. He grabs it for me, running his thumb over the tip and exhaling loudly. Every muscle in his stomach is tight and straining.
He sits down. "I want to see," I pout, and he nods quickly, moving his laptop and sitting back so I can watch him stroke up and down, muscles tensing and releasing rhythmically.
I prop one leg up, leaning back on one arm. I spread my legs wider. At this point, I'm so close that if I tense the wrong muscle I'm going to come. I adjust the pressure of my fingers so I can hold off.
I imagine the smooth, hot, solid heat of his cock in my mouth, and the look he gets on his face while he looks down at me. The tension of his jaw, and his big, rough hands on my hips, his thumbs digging into the flesh under my hipbones while he fucks me. I watch him now, and want him everywhere on my body, and I want to be everywhere on his.
"I want to watch you come," I moan out before I can stop myself, and he does.
"Oh, fuck, B." I watch his mouth drop open and he comes all over his chest and stomach. I'm right there with him, thinking of his mouth. It's better than any jilling off I've done in the last few months. I fall back on the bed after, and I can hear him breathing. When I look up, he's still sitting in the same position, his head thrown back. He's still catching his breath. I get the giggles.
His head flies up. "What?" he looks down. "Oh. Yeah." He chuckles and sits up, grabbing a towel and cleaning himself up. I get up and sit in the chair at my desk but don't get dressed. We talk for a long time after that, about why we haven't done this before and how we're going to do it every night. He stares at my tits. I start planning outfits and positions and playlists.
It gets me through the last few weeks, and even though it's really hard to be away from him, I think this makes our sex life even better. I learn to say things that I haven't been able to say before, and I learn to say them without blushing. I learn to tell him what I want. I don't rely on my mouth and my hands; I rely on my creativity and my words.
Alice smiles smugly when she figures out that we did it. I don't even mind, because she was right, and the ache has abated a just a little bit.
I'm so busy the week before we leave that I don't have much time to talk, and the time flies by. I box up everything I own and send it to our house in Texas, where I'll arrive with Edward after the holidays.
Jasper, Rose, Alice, Mike and I have one final dinner all together in the house before we go. We watch Half Baked, smoke weed and have Abba-Zabba for dessert.
I'm going to miss this place, but I'm so ready for everything that's coming that there aren't tears when I walk out the door for the last time. I want it all, and it looks like I might finally get it.
Next chapter is the last. I will cry.
Thank you all so much for reading. Holy shit. If you read, review or talk shit to me on twitter, you already know that I would be happy to know every single one of you. Come find me (at)sweetlolapop I talk shit all day long. Ask anyone.
xoxo