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And Yet They Shine
Chapter 11: Rapacious
"Come with me?" he asked, lacing his fingers through hers. They were so solid, and yet she knew that if she pulled, he would easily let her go.
Instead, she nodded, and Edward held her close to his chest. In a moment – it could not have been more than a moment, she thought, they were on the banks of a river, moonlight, or…something…casting silvery shadows around them.
Edward led her below a tree, and Isabella listened to the song of the nightjars, clustered on a branch above her. It was a beautiful, lilting song, but something in the tune made her sad. It made her think of home, of things she'd miss if she chose to stay with Edward, to be his queen.
His grace still startled her, though she admired it, as he lowered himself to the ground, and then pulled her gently onto his lap. She placed her arms around his neck, and he reveled in her touch: warm and soft, tentative fingers tracing over his smooth skin.
"Isabella." It was a whisper, joy and desperation mingled, and she felt his emotions like a body between them. He captured her face in his hands, and his eyes burned, glowed, teeming with emotions that she could barely decipher. "I have waited all of existence for you."
She closed her eyes. It was more responsibility than she could bear. His love, his need for her, how could she fulfill a desire than had been epochs in the making?
Before she could answer him, his mouth touched hers again and she shivered at the warmth of it. His lips were soft, warm velvet against her mouth, and when she opened it to sigh, he made free to taste her.
She was sweetness and light on his tongue, sugary warm, fresh strawberries maybe, and he had to stay his godly strength, lest he harm her in his need – Gods, it was consuming him – to taste her, more and more. She brought her hands to his face, and the kiss that began tender deepened. She shifted on his lap, turning to face him, and as her fingers stroked his hair, he felt it: her need.
It was not a curiosity, but something fierce and panting inside of her. Something that made her press herself against him, made her want to be inside of him, as much as he longed to be inside of her.
And then he realized it – he was inside of her. He was inside of her mind, and every feathery thought of want and need and more was not his own chanting, but hers. It made him want her more, his need redoubled, fierce and feral and tearing at him because he could not shed his skin to let her inside, he could not hold her, physically, inside of his heart, where he knew she would always be warm, and safe.
Isabella felt his need, his want, and it was…intoxicating and paralyzing and energizing at once. She didn't understand it – the connection between them that let him inside of her mind, that let her sense his feelings. She only knew that here, now, it was creating a storm between then. No, a storm of them, and if she'd had a rational thought, she would fear for the safety of them both, lest their need for one another consume them, but she did not.
Instead, she found herself mired in his taste – caramel and smoky sweet, and she pressed herself against him, her breasts aching for his hands, her body hot with need. He felt him stiffen, then press himself against her, so that he was holding her tightly, one hand in her hair, the other pressed against the center of her back.
She gasped, hot, into his mouth, and edward felt her need. He disentangled his hand from her hair and brought it, with slow deliberation, to her chest. He'd heard her desire, saw the image in her mind, and yet he felt uncertainty for the first time in his life. As he brushed his hand across the top of her dress, the top of her breast, he felt her suck in air and he probed her, wondering if he was doing it right.
She strained against his hand and then placed her own hand upon his, pushing him to touch her needy flesh.
"Yes," she whispered, and like that, he was lost. It was heavy and firm, and with each pulse of his fingers, her heart quickened its pace, until it he feared it would tear through her chest. He saw then, the images that ran through her mind – the two of them joined, her slender thighs brought up around his waist, as he rocked into her and she rocked back.
It shook him – the idea that she would allow him to have her this way – that she would give herself to him. That she would let him inside.
"Oh, Isabella. My Bella." He whispered the words against her cheek, and tasted the skin of her neck, her ear, before tracing the curl of her collar bones with his tongue.
"You shine like the moonlight, here in my world. You are…exquisite."
And then his world came tumbling apart, because the girl in his arms, who was pliant and grasping, became stiff and pushing, until she'd separated herself from him, and sat, panting, on the river banks.
His mind sought hers, sought to know what he'd done so wrong, and how to remedy it. What he found instead only raised his ire, until he found himself pushing away from the bank, away from the girl, to pace his fury out in the stand of trees behind them.
"Like moonlight," he said, his fingers brushing against her skin.
The memory of it tugged at her heart, and he'd felt it, felt her sorrow for that other God, that whelp, who was no more worthy of her than was Zeus himself.
He should have know, he thought. He should have known. No woman, no creature as dazzling as Isabella would ever want to be with the likes of him. He lived in the world of the dead. He was surrounded by nothing beautiful, he could give her nothing pure, nothing clean. He was a monster.
He prepared to banish her from him. He thought, for a moment, of sending her back to her sun-god, to see how she'd like him, away from their moonlit beach, away from a single week of tryst that couldn't possibly reveal to her his tempestuous nature.
If she wants the whelp, he thought, let her have him.
But the moment he thought of it, of her leaving him, the sadness sank into him, leaving him tugging at his hair, half-bent and needing to scream.
It was then that he remembered the pomegranate – the three bright berries she'd eaten that sealed her fate.
When he approached her, she sat drawn up into herself, her chin on her knees, and her arms around them.
He held his hand out to her and she took it, but the hesitancy in the move left him reeling with rejection.
"Understand that you belong to me now, Isabella. Think of him if you must, but it makes no matter. You are mine now, and you will never leave."
.
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