Disclaimer: Stephanie Meyer owns all.
Rated M for several reasons.
Chapter 40 Full
BPOV
I honestly don't understand my Mother. Last time we spoke she was giving me chapter and verse on why I should avoid 'that Cullen boy' like the plague and now she wants to know when the wedding will be and if I will be 'bothering' to spring her from her 'prison' for the day.
My visit with Charlie was much better though his Doctors weren't sure how, or if, he'd cope with being relocated to Kentucky.
As a result I was in sombre and reflective mood as Demetri and I waited to board our flight back to Louisville.
That'll play well in the media, not that I care . . . .
…..
Even though the sight of Edward's barn in the Panamera's lights briefly lifts my spirits I'm still exhausted and more than a little dispirited as I say goodbye to Demetri and trudge up the stairs, bumping my carry-on carelessly behind me.
The quality of light in the loft is different, the fire roaring, the couch incredibly enticing and the Edward a vision in his low slung lounge pants and v neck cashmere sweater . . . .
"Hey love." He whispers, tugging away my carry-on so he can wrap me in a hug. "How was your day?"
"It sucked?" I mumble into the cashmere as I suck in the scent of fabric softener, wood smoke and Edward Anthony Cullen.
He laughs gently but doesn't let me go, which is good because I've wrapped my arms around his waist and am resting all my weight on him via my head.
"Oh dear. Dinner is on, there's Pinot Grigio in the refrigerator and the water's hot so I can draw you a bath. What do you want to do first?"
You. If I had the energy right now. Which sadly I don't.
"A glass of wine and a soak in the tub, maybe?" I suggest instead.
"Your wish is my command."
God he smells, and feels, so good . . . .
"Um, Bella? You'll have to let me go."
"In a minute."
"Okay. No problem."
…..
Wine, expensively scented steam, fragrant wafts of Bangladeshi curry and the intermittent clump of Edward's cast as he treks backward and forward to talk to me while he cooks, all combine to pull me out of my funk.
I know I shouldn't compare, but if this were Jake he'd have dialled a pizza and be watching SportsCenter while he yelled for me to 'refill my own damn glass'.
Which is why, if he wasn't in a plaster of paris cast, Edward would be in this tub with me already, willing or not . . . .
"Are you about done?" Edward asks on his latest visit. "Not that you have to be, I just need to call Mom if I have to extend the cooking time."
I can't help it, I laugh.
"Fuck off Bella." He chuckles, rubbing the side of his nose with his middle finger. "This a new recipe for me and at least I can cook."
"You've got me there." I acknowledge as he takes my wine glass and thumps off to refill it.
Are you allowed to sexually molest a man in a cast? Enquiring minds want to know . . . .
…..
"This is delicious." I moan, immediately taking another mouthful.
"Thank you." He says sincerely, watching me with amusement.
"What?" I ask when I've chewed and swallowed.
He shakes his head, green eyes shining.
"Edward." I warn, diving in for another mouthful since my love of food is hardly going to surprise him after all these years.
"This." He indicates the two of us sprawled out on the rug in front of the fire eating off the coffee table. "The two of us, me in my pjs, you in a bathrobe with one of those girly gravity defying towel jobs over your hair. It's a bit surreal."
"Its dinner." I point out. "We've had dinner together before, lots of times, and I believe casual attire, and you doing the cooking, have figured more than once."
"They have. More than once." He admits softly and a little distractedly, reaching up to caress my cheek. "But never like this."
I swallow, but not food this time.
His lips are still curled into a smile and his eyes are still shining, but with what I can't name. Though all of a sudden I'm not so interested in the food as I am the resurfacing of my earlier horny feelings. And that teary full one that's been bothering me on and off for a while . . . .
The firelight is glinting on his unruly bronze bed hair and his eyes are pools of deep dark green. His fingers on my face are sending tingles rampaging through my entire nervous system. His collar bones are sharp as he leans toward me in his cashmere sweater. His lips are full and, for some reason, moist, like he's just applied lip gloss. He's so beautiful I should probably cry if I straddle him right here on the rug . . . . its like the best and worst of a trashy romance novel . . . . or Mommy porn, there are definitely some pornographic elements to what I'm experiencing . . . .
"At the risk of sounding mushy. This." He murmurs. "Is so outside anything I imagined? Until recently that is. You. Here. With Me. Together. Home. Its . . . ."
"Surreal?" I whisper as his thumb ghosts to and fro under my lip.
"Surreal will do." He allows, eyes following his thumb. "Wonderful? Perfect? Nice? Right? Much better late than never?"
"Nice?" I query before snagging his thumb lightly with my teeth.
"Nice Bella." He breathes, eyes darkening as they focus on his trapped thumb. "It means giving pleasure or satisfaction. You can Google it if you don't believe me."
I release him from between my teeth and lick my lips. "I believe you Edward . . . . oomph!"
"Good." He growls, having tackled me down onto the rug so he can slant his mouth over mine and wrench the towel off my hair, burying his hands in it.
Holy shit . . . . that's . . . . his tongue . . . . his body covering mine, rolling with it . . . . his hands tugging my hair . . . . all of him undulating against all of me . . . . hard . . . . and I want, so badly . . . . but we break apart at the same time, laughing, our eyes locked, our smiles huge.
"Houston. We have a problem." He chuckles.
"A big one." I agree, releasing his hair with one hand so I can trace the curve of his smiling cheek with my finger.
"I love you." He sighs, suddenly becoming serious, his face leaning into my touch.
And its time I think, to tell him what I've wanted to tell him.
My gaze and touch become just as serious.
I've told him I love him already, though not in a particularly loving way, and I'm not ready to say it again yet, despite the fact that its filling me to overflowing. But I am ready to tell him what I know he's been waiting to hear.
"I feel loved." I whisper, watching his reaction.
"You do?" He asks, smile widening, eyes glowing.
"Yeah. I do." I confirm, stretching up to brush his lips with mine.
"Don't take this the wrong way." He chuckles as I subside, rubbing my nose with his. "But I really, really, want to ravish you right now."
"How?" I snicker, nudging his unwieldy cast with my knee.
"I was kind of hoping you'd take pity on me and help me out." He confesses, favouring me with his crooked, confident, smile.
"You were huh? And just what sort of pity were you hoping for exactly?"
Laughing he rolls us over so I'm sprawled haphazardly on top of him.
"You want me to take charge?" I ask as he rolls his body up into mine.
"You're the CEO." He groans, rolling up again to make sure he's got his point across.
Which he so has . . . .
"Hmm." I murmur, sitting up from him as his hands flash to my hips, gripping hard. "A good CEO understands her territory and her options before committing to anything."
"Understand away . . . ." He offers generously, rolling up and pressing firmly between my thighs with his erection.
"Hmm." I muse, grinding back and letting my hands rove over his rumpled cashmere, fingers digging lightly into the firm muscles beneath. "Sometimes a good CEO takes her time to analyse all the angles."
I trace the outline of the muscles on his chest, working my way down to the dents of his six pack, revelling in the lusty look he's giving me and the jump of his muscles as I play them.
Watching his face I trace my fingers down further, across a strip of exposed skin where his sweater has ridden up until I can brush his tip where it peeks out from between us, covered only by the thin, now damp, cotton of his lounge pants.
"And sometimes." I grind down on him again, fingers still brushing. "She gets the basics down pretty quickly and just wants to get the job done."
"Ah now love." He chides softly, untying the front of my robe and sliding his warm hands inside to circle my waist. "This isn't New York, we do things way slower down here."
"We do huh?" I murmur, all trace of playfulness chased away by good old fashioned lust.
"We do." He nods, equally as serious as he devours my exposed skin with his dark green eyes.
Its so quiet. The crackling of the fire, the low hum of the electrical appliances, our breathing. He sets a slow pace, rubbing our bodies together lazily, a rhythm I match unconsciously, content to let him lead and just feel . . . . and its so good I let my eyes close and my head fall back, my fingers curled around his forearms.
His long fingers splay as his hands slide down to knead my hips and the curve of my ass.
"So beautiful." He murmurs, voice velvet and thick. "Always so beautiful. Soft, like silk."
My whole body suffuses with heat that has nothing to do with the fire as our bodies still, somehow, move languidly together, his hands beginning to ghost upwards over the fluttering muscles my abdomen, until his thumbs are brushing the underside of my breasts.
"Edward." I moan, desperate for him to touch them.
"Mine." He growls, cupping them, reminding me of his regret that it wasn't always so.
"Yours." I gasp as he squeezes them almost roughly leaving me fighting the urge to lean down and crash my lips into his. Not that I can help grinding down on him hard, seeking friction.
"Slow." He admonishes, releasing my breasts from his hands to circle my nipples with his thumbs. "Slow love."
"Edward." I moan again as they tingle and harden.
"Christ." He groans, hands thudding onto the rug as he lifts himself up, closing his hot wet mouth over one, tugging on it with his teeth.
"Fuck." I gasp, my hips grinding down over his now still ones, my hands fisting in his hair to hold him to me.
His mouth transfers to my other breast leaving the first aching and hard and without thinking I bring my own hand down to rub it which sends a string of hot, wet, curses into my skin.
"Fuck. Bella . . . ." He sags back, mouth falling away from me and I chase him back down to the rug, our bodies moving again, harder and faster, as our mouths crash together, tongues forcefully invading . . . . his hands, my hands . . . . everywhere they can reach . . . . teasing . . . . tugging and pulling . . . . teeth and lips on skin . . . . hisses, moans and groans . . . .
When I can no longer breathe I sit up again, dragging air into my lungs as I l gaze down at him through hooded eyes.
Fuck!
He's gorgeous laid out beneath me. Skin glistening with sweat. Lips red and swollen from our kisses, parted slightly to show his teeth. Bronze hair in glorious disarray. Eyes almost black with want. Love bites blooming on the taut skin of his neck.
Slowly, deliberately, I peel my bathrobe away and discard it. My hands resting on his as they settle on my hips.
I don't care that his lounge pants are bunched somewhere behind me, caught on his cast. Or that his sweater is hanging off his shoulder, still covering one arm. I can feel every inch of him moving between my legs as he reprises the slow, lazy rhythm of our bodies and that's all I can care about in this moment . . . .
He doesn't stop me as I rise up on my knees, using one hand to pump his hard length and then guide him into me.
"Bella." He hisses as I pause with just the tip of him inside me.
I lower myself a little and then rise, my muscles gripping hard to keep him inside. His hips lift and his hands tighten urging me down on him but I resist, trembling with need as I wait . . . .
"Fuck." He groans, still straining gently. "Bella please, you're torturing me, I need to be inside you."
I pause, savouring the sight of him, cords in his neck standing proud, abdomen flexing, the muscles of his forearms bunched. All of him clenched with his own need.
And when his tongue flicks out to wet his lips I can't stand it anymore and I sink down, as slowly as I can, until he fills me and we both sigh, relaxed and still.
"God you feel so good." He murmurs after a moment, closing his eyes and beginning to roll his hips again.
I match his slow movement, flexing my own hips so he grinds inside me, against me, leaning down so our mouths and tongues can match the cadence of our bodies. His arms close around my back and I'm so full of him, and this feeling, that there aren't thoughts let alone words . . . . sensations . . . . heat . . . . moisture . . . . sucking . . . . tasting . . . . sliding skin . . . . rolling muscles . . . . scents . . . . a dragging in my belly . . . . aching . . . . building . . . . need . . . .
We break apart at the same time, desperately pushing and pulling me upright until our hands meet between us, fingers threading together. Still for a beat, eyes locking. And then I push against his hands, using them as leverage, rising and falling over him in earnest. Harder, deeper, faster. His hips thrusting up to meet me flawlessly every time.
"I love you, I love you, I love you . . . ." He's chanting over and over, his voice tinged with something akin to desperation. "Love . . . only you . . . . only ever you . . . . love you . . . . want you . . . . forever . . . . Bella . . . . want you to know . . . . please . . . . love you . . . . love you . . . ."
God how I love him . . . . have always loved him . . . . have wanted him to love me . . . .
I want to see us joined, our bodies moving together, his muscles working . . . . but I can't look away from his deep, intent, honest eyes as he chants . . . .
"Fuck!" I growl, gripping his hands tighter . . . . riding him harder . . . . muscles burning . . . . vision darkening . . . . breathing ragged . . . . so close to . . . . pressure . . . . in my head . . . . in my body . . . . coiling, tensing, priming . . . .
I feel him harden and swell inside me . . . . watch his face morph in ecstasy . . . . watch and hear him roar my name as he throbs, caught between my pulsing muscles . . . . milk him as I ride out my own consciousness obliterating orgasm . . . .
So quiet. Fire crackling, electrical humming, deep even breathing. Bodies wrapped around each other. Sealed together with love fuelled sweat.
Right. Perfect.
But, growing cold . . . .
Of course. Snow outside.
Somehow I manage to help him use my discarded bathrobe to cocoon us before I collapse on his chest in all my boneless glory.
"Happy?" He asks, pressing his lips to my scalp.
"You have no idea."
"We should probably think about going to bed." He murmurs, breath ruffling my hair.
"We're good here." I yawn, snuggling into him, too tired and satisfied to think about moving, even if my cheek is going to adhere painfully to his pec.
And we are.
All is right with the world.
I'm right where I should be.
And working for what I should be.
The rest is just details.
And a good CEO should never sweat the details . . . .