Birthday Gift #3. More on the way.

(What birthday would be complete without hearing from Carlisle?)

Late January, 2001

My not-so drunken confession regarding my feelings for Izzy hasn't affected our relationship at all. Considering how awkward things could be under the circumstances, I should be relieved—and sometimes I am. Mostly, I think about the letter she slid under my door and how, thanks to her douche of an ex-boyfriend, she feels dead inside. It makes me crazy. I know I could help her, but I also know she'll never let me.

When Monday comes around, she's noticeably jumpy. At first, I pretend not to notice—I've overstepped enough boundaries in the past week where she's concerned. I start dinner the way I always do, but when I look up from the cheese I'm cutting, she's staring at me. We make eye contact for about a second before she blushes and looks away.

"Sorry."

"Why?" I ask, putting the knife in the sink. "You didn't do anything."

"I know. I think maybe that makes it worse."

I'm not sure what she's talking about—let alone what to say to her—so I offer her a piece of cheese. I expect her to pluck it out of my grasp, but she doesn't. Instead, she lowers her mouth to my hand and eats the cheese from between my fingers.

Her lips are soft against my skin. Forget dinner—I need her on my tongue. I want to spread her on the counter in front of me and taste her.

But I don't. I can't handle being rejected by her twice in one week.

"Do you like it?" I ask.

"Yes. In fact, I'd like to try some more, if that's okay with you."

I reach for another piece of cheese.

She shakes her head. "I'm not talking about that."

With her eyes are on mine, she takes my hand and closes her lips around my index finger. It's not the first time it's been in her mouth—when we cook together, she's always licking sauces from my fingers. Not once have I ever entertained the idea it was about anything other than food. What she's doing now is different, and not just because of the way she's using her tongue. There's a hunger in her eyes I've never seen—one that goes right to my balls.

"You have no idea what this is doing to me."

She releases my finger from her mouth but doesn't let go of my hand. "Then tell me."

I don't care if she thinks of me as her savior—she needs to realize I'm not a saint. Before I can think better of it, I press the palm of her hand against the front of my pants.

I expect her to hit me—given what I just did, I deserve it—but she doesn't. She doesn't even move her hand away.

Instead, she stares at my crotch then slowly raises her eyes to meet mine. "You want me?"

"Yes."

"Even after the way I flipped out last week?"

I nod.

"Seriously? I thought I'd ruined any chance I had with you. Most guys–"

"Good thing I'm a man."

Before she can say anything else, I pull her into my arms and kiss her. The mechanics aren't much different than they were last week, except this time, I'm not hesitant, nor am I gentle. Despite the fact she's stroking my dick through my pants, I know there's a good chance she's going to change her mind about this. I want to go as far with her as possible before she does. If this makes me an asshole, so be it.

"Carlisle..." she says, moving her lips away from my mouth.

"Do you want me to stop?"

"No. It's just...Shit, I don't even know how to say this."

As much as I don't want to do it, I move her hand away from my cock and rest it on the counter. Right away, I cover it with my own—who knows the next time I'll be able to touch her.

"I think it would be easier for us to talk if we weren't so distracted."

She lets out a small giggle. "Oh, I'm still plenty distracted. Carlisle..." She pauses, taking a deep breath. "If we do this...I'm just worried things will change between us."

"Izzy, last week I told you I was in love with you. I think it's safe to say they already have."

"I don't want to use you for sex."

I try not to laugh, but I can't help it. "I'll let you in on a little secret—it isn't possible to use a man for sex."

Her cheeks are red as she stares at the floor. "You know what I mean..."

Oh, I know exactly what she means. It's because of Edward, who despite destroying Izzy's self-esteem, somehow made her feel incapable of enjoying life without him—never mind the fact that by all accounts, he also made her incapable of enjoying life with him.

"...I just don't want..." She throws her head back, sighing. "I don't even know how to say this."

"Okay. Then tell me what you do want."

She looks me in the eye, and though her face is red, her voice is steady.

"I want you to take off my clothes."

Thanks for celebrating with me. More on the way.