Chapter 16
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Edward pulls his hand from me and returns it to the steering wheel so he can guide the car off the main road. He drives for a few minutes through a residential neighborhood and, although it's dark and hard to see, I notice the looming silhouette of an old, abandoned bank nearby. He pulls to a stop and cuts the engine; the lights turning off when the car does, leaving us cloaked in complete darkness. I can't get to him fast enough, and he must feel the same rush, because the engine is still clink-clink-clinking and we're already unbuckled and half way over the console in a rush to find each other's lips. His kiss isn't soft this time, but I don't need it to be. I'm too worked up and too needy for gentle. His hands on my face tilt my head where he wants it, his kisses turning frantic as licks his way from my mouth, to my chin, to my throat.
"Get in the back," he whispers, his lips tugging and biting at my ear. I scramble into the backseat as quickly as I'm able, slipping on the smooth leather in my attempt. Once I'm settled, I reach for Edward and he climbs up and over to me. He attacks my lips again, sliding the thin straps of my tank top off my shoulders with quick and nimble fingers. Yanking, he exposes my chest, but leaves the fabric bunched up around my belly. His lips follow his hand's path; his mouth pausing to bite softly at the top of each breast. "God, your tits," he moans, palming them roughly. "They're so fucking perfect."
My hands push his hat off and toss it blindly into the front seat. Leaning back against the door, I run my fingers through his hair, grabbing him and holding him to me while he sucks one stiff nipple, then the other. He pulls my knees apart and presses down on me, the heat and hardness behind his zipper probing firmly against my hip. Grabbing his t-shirt from behind his head, he pulls it up and over, throwing it into the front seat alongside his discarded hat. His skin burns, and the ache in my belly grows stronger at the feel of his warm chest pressed against mine. He's smooth and hard and all boy. My hands can't get enough.
My confidence stalls as my hands roam lower over his sides and belly. I've never touched him like he touches me, and the reminder mismatched experience levels is a sobering one. I don't know what to do or how to do it, and I can't fake this part.
Edward notices my discomfort and pulls back to search for my eyes through the darkness. "What's wrong?" he whispers, kissing my mouth softly. The darkness hides my blush, but—embarrassed—I bury my heated face in his neck anyway. "I've...uh...I've never..." I gesture to where he's resting against my hip, the fabric of his jeans doing little to hide the bulge that presses through from beneath.
"Don't worry," he breathes, kissing me gently once more. "I've got you."
He takes my hand softly in his and slowly moves it down so that it's cupping his erection. I'm scared to move; unsure of what to do. The weight of him intimidates me, but there's power in holding his firm length, and when I squeeze my hand gently and he hisses, a thrill of excitement shoots straight to the center of my core. Lifting up, he reaches between us and pops the button on his pants, pulling them open far enough for me to fit my hand inside. He's warm, even through the soft fabric of his boxers, and I can feel every solid inch of him this way. Edward bends forward until our swollen lips meet. His, warm and full, tug at my own, coaxing them open. When his tongue tangles with mine I moan at the goodness of it and bite down on his lower lip.
I cling to him tightly when he pulls away after a few moments to move his lips down to my chest and, once again, my nipple. He sucks lightly at first, then harder, forcing a desperate whimper from my lips and a needy squeeze from the hand wrapped around the hardest part of him. "God," he breathes, pausing to rest his forehead against my chest. "That feels so fucking good."
Encouraged by his words and my own curiosity, I slip a finger underneath the band of his boxers, running it lightly back and forth until he lifts his head. The darkness in the car makes it hard for me to fully see his heavy-lidded eyes and swollen lips, but it doesn't matter. He's the most achingly beautiful thing I've ever seen. I raise my eyebrows slightly in question and dip my finger lower under his elastic band, his harsh pants spurring me on. He's silky smooth and pulsing hard when I finally wrap my fingers around him. Despite my inexperience, I know without a doubt that this hidden part of Edward is just as perfect as the rest of him.
His hips follow the movement of my hand, and before I know it I'm tightly fisting him while he bucks up into me. He meets each thrust with a nip or suck to the hollow spot beneath my ear, painting me in goosebumps and shivers.
"I can't," he whispers, when the pace picks up. "I'll come." This, too, sends a rush of power through me. Suddenly, I want nothing more than to make this beautiful boy feel as good as I do.
"That's okay," I say. "I want you to."
He groans as if he's in pain and wraps his arms around and under me, removing my hand from his boxers in the process. Face buried in my neck, he hugs me to him tightly.
"Don't say stuff like that." His words are a gentle reprimand, but his voice is low and hoarse, making my heart swell further. "You're killing me. It's so hard to stop with you."
I pull his head up and run my fingernails over his scalp, tugging gently at the too-long hair around his ears. Kissing his still-swollen lips, I whisper against his mouth, "Then don't stop."
Breaking our kiss, his eyes jump back and forth between mine, his eyebrows drawn up as though he's confused. He's still for a few moments, chest heaving, at war with his own thoughts. "Please..." I breathe, pulling him to me again. "Edward, please."
My plea has the intended effect, breaking him from his concentrated thoughts and drawing his attention back to where I want it: on me. He lunges for my lips, no longer slow and thorough, his kisses are full of bites and tugs, his tongue swirling hotly with mine. One hand banded around my back, he uses the other to work the button loose on my jean shorts, lowering the zipper and splaying them open. Drawing my knees up, I wrap my legs around his waist, pulling him near me until I can feel his hardness against my hip again. Our warm bellies press together and retreat as he grinds and swirls against me. He's hard and warm and deliciously heavy, but he's still too far away, and this still isn't enough.
I reach to pull him from his boxers at the same time that he slides his hand over the top of my thigh and down to the wet patch of cotton between my legs, our arms tangling briefly as we battle in our rush to touch each other. Pausing to help me lower his underwear, his hand stills at my center, its heavy weight and heat making me hiss with need for him. For more.
He watches my face as his erection springs free, closing his eyes tightly when I reach my hand up to rub him. "Please," I beg, again, so desperate to touch and be touched that I can't even really be sure what I'm pleading for.
Edward's breathing speeds up at my words, his breath kissing my face in soft puffs of sweet air. His large hand squeezes my thigh when I rub his length from top to bottom once more. Recognizing the unasked question in his gesture, I lift my hips so he can slide my underwear down my thighs. The damp, twisted cloth catches at my knees and, no longer holding Edward's attention, he leaves them there to run his palms up my thighs, his firm grip making me part my knees as far as the binding of my underwear will allow.
He runs an inquisitive finger through my newly exposed wetness, and I moan, gripping him tighter with my legs. When he spreads my own moisture over the most swollen part of me, my hips jerk, pushing me harder against his hand. I whimper when his fingers begin rubbing me in slow, firm circles and use my free hand to grip the back of his head, feeling his soft hair and bringing his face closer to mine.
My head is cloudy with the scent and touch and feel of him. I can't think straight. My inexperience makes me pause, unsure of what to do next. "Take these off," he whispers, giving me no time to comply before he hooks his fingers into the cloth at my knees and pulls my underwear all the way down my legs.
He kisses my lips while he rubs me, and I don't even realize my hand has fallen away from him in my lust-filled haze until I open my eyes to find him completely bare, his pants and boxers having joined my clothes in a crumpled heap on the floorboard at our feet. I'm surprised by how fast we ended up here, both of us naked and in the backseat of his car. It feels too good for me to question its rightness.
Edward's thighs and belly press against mine as he centers himself over me, one hand pushed against my thigh, spreading me open before him, the other gripping the door panel beside my head. "So fucking perfect," he mumbles, almost to himself, pulling my legs wider.
I feel liquid trickle down the curve of my ass, tickling, and Edward seems to like this, because he growls quietly and grips himself in the space between us, tugging harshly.
He bends to kiss me deeply, biting at my lips, and rubs himself through my wetness. It quells the ache inside me for a moment, but as soon as he pulls away, I'm empty. I can't tear my eyes away from his face—all sharp angles and hard lines in the darkness of the car—to see what our bodies look like pressed and tangled together, but I know it's good. We're made to fit like this; a perfect match. I want more. More of him, more of this. More of everything.
"Edward," I pant. "God…"
This seems to be all the permission he needs, because he dips his head to my neck and moans softly while his hips push him up and inside of me. It doesn't hurt, not really; the new feeling of fullness is delicious and unique. I ache for him deep inside.
Kissing my neck, he gives a gentle, exploratory thrust, and I tense, waiting for pain that doesn't come. He pushes inside me and slides out, inch by inch, each small thrust met with groan from him and a gasp from me. Pulling back to watch my face, he smiles softly. "Okay?"
I'm great, but I can't seem to find the words to tell him, lost as I am in the feeling of his weight on top of me and his hardness inside. Moving a little faster, he pushes himself back up on his hands, looking down to watch the spot where we're joined. "Fuck," he hisses, face tight with concentration.
The feeling of fullness fades as my body adjusts to his, only to be replaced by a wonderfully sharp pang as he hits something deep inside. I gasp, clinging to him when his pace quickens. His hands on my hips and ass pull me to him, then push me back as he sinks in and lifts out of me.
I watch his face, because he's beautiful. His mouth turns down in a concentrated pout, his jaw tensing and releasing in time with his thrusts. My thighs start to shake, and the feeling low in my belly spreads out all over my body until it falls out of my mouth in a guttural groan. Digging my fingers into Edward's back grounds me and helps me regain my focus on him—on what we're doing. My thighs clamp shut around Edward's hips just as he slams into me once, twice, three times with a painful sounding moan, stilling as he comes. Bending to bury his head in the space between my shoulder and neck, he pants harshly and squeezes me to him.
"Jesus," he breathes. "Are you okay? I'm sorry. That was…intense." He nuzzles the side of my neck with his nose and brushes the matted hair from my sweaty forehead.
"I'm fine," I shush him, softly. I'm great, really. My body is humming and vibrating, and my heart feels like it's going to take flight. I scratch my fingernails up and down his bare back, drawing goosebumps to its surface.
He's softer inside me now, the feeling of fullness having abated, but he still feels thick and long when he pulls his hips back and slides gently out of me. Reaching into the front seat, he grabs a fistful of napkins from the glove compartment and leans back over me, kissing me soft and slow before helping me sit up. Liquid runs down my leg—a mixture of him and me— and our eyes lock briefly when he hands me the wad of napkins. I clean myself, then focus my attention on the seat while he pulls his clothes on. The distance between us suddenly feels huge in this tiny space. I want to be back under him, wrapped around him, where everything felt right.
Edward's face remains carefully blank as he gathers my clothes from the floor and turns them right-side-out for me. He helps me pull my sweaty hair from the collar of my shirt, then gently slides my underwear back up my legs and over my knees, a gesture that left me panting earlier, but makes my heart ache now.
"I should get you home," he says, kissing me softly. "You sure you're okay?"
The tale-tell burn of tears pricks my eyes and closes my throat, so I nod instead, terrified that anything more will send them running down my cheeks. I don't want to go home, and I don't want him to regret this.
Edward pats my thigh and opens the car door, unfolding his long body and climbing out, then leaning back in to offer me his hand. The night air, although warm, cools my flushed face and feels good against my sweaty body. Not letting go of my hand, Edward tugs me against his chest, wrapping his arms around me in a tight hug.
We stand that way for several moments, his lips pressed against the top of my head, my hands fisted tightly against his back.
I'm not stupid. I know that it's good-bye.
Emmett and Rosalie come into the diner for dinner on occasion, so it shouldn't surprise me to see them walk through the door tonight—a Thursday—especially since Ava went to my parents' after school today, leaving Emmett free from baby-sitting while I'm at work.
I'm happy to have them here. Adult time is hard to come by these days, and I'm grateful for any opportunity to catch a moment with them. Grabbing two menus, I lead them back to my section and seat them in the corner, away from the noise in the main section of the restaurant.
"What're you guys up to?" I ask, perching on the edge of the booth next to Rose. The diner is slow on Thursdays, and all of my tables are caught up on drink refills.
My brother sighs dramatically and stretches his long arms across the back of the plastic seat behind him. "Nothing much," he says, pausing to yawn into his elbow. "Work's killing us right now. We didn't feel like cooking."
"Nothing a bag of Cheetos and a six-pack hasn't fixed before, Em," I say with a snort. Emmett helps me out tremendously around our house, but cooking has never been his forte. His idea of a well-rounded meal includes putting a piece of ham on his grilled cheese sandwich to "balance it out."
"You want a drink?" I ask, turning to Rose. She does look tired, Emmett's right. As usual, a pang of guilt hits me when I think about how much added effort their relationship must be because of the time and effort my brother—both of them, really—spend on Ava and me.
Rosalie smiles sweetly at me and tugs at the frilly ruffle on the side of my apron, a fashion faux pas she wouldn't be caught dead in, work mandated or not. "Tea, please."
My brother orders a Coke, and I leave them and head behind the counter to grab their drinks, along with the basket of complimentary rolls we serve with each meal. I'm headed back to their table, balancing their cups in one hand and the basket of warm bread in the other, when I see a tall, well-dressed man approaching their table.
Edward.
It's Thursday. Meatloaf night; his favorite. I completely forgot.
We reach their booth at the same time, and Edward gives me a bright smile and a warm hug before turning to greet my brother and Rose.
"Long time, no see, man," he says, clapping Emmett's shoulder. If Emmett's anything but thrilled to see Edward after all this time, he doesn't show it. "Well, I'll be," he says, standing and offering his hand to Edward. "How've you been, Cullen?" They grin at each other like fools before engaging in some type of bro-code handshake-backslap-fake-wrestle thing. I catch Rose's eye, her perfectly manicured eyebrow raising in silent question. She's heard plenty about Edward—even met him briefly—but by the way she's sitting in her seat, shoulders stiff and lips pursed, I can tell this formal introduction will be an…interesting one.
"Eddie, this is my Rosie," Emmett says, grabbing Edward's shoulder and directing him towards where Rosalie sits. "Rosie, this is my partner-in-crime from when I was younger. Cullen and I got into all kinds of shi—"
"So I've heard," Rose rolls her eyes at the two of them, but then surprises me by rising to her feet and and leaning outside the booth to kiss Edward's cheek. "My very favorite little girl looks just like you," she tells him, pausing to scan his features. "It's nice to finally meet you."
Edward's cheeks turn pink at her words, but he smiles kindly and nods his head in agreement. "It's nice to meet you, too," he says. "I've heard a lot of great things about you."
My brother claps Edward's back again, making me wonder if he'll have a bruise there later. "Join us, Cullen!" he booms.
Edward looks at me hesitantly, as though he's unsure about whether or not I want him spending time with my family. At one time, Edward and Emmett were inseparable, and Edward spent as much time in my home as I did. I'm momentarily saddened that he needs to ask, although touched that he thought he should.
"Go on," I say, touching his arm lightly. "I'll grab you something to drink. Tea?"
"Please." The smile he gives me makes me blush, and when I turn away I see Rose smirk as she looks at her menu with overly enthusiastic interest.
When I return with Edward's drink, he's taken his suit jacket off and draped it over the back of the chair that he's pulled up to the end of Emmett and Rose's booth. Placing his tea and a straw in front of him, I slide in next to Rose again, hoping to steal a minute or two of downtime before another table needs me.
I'm just in time to hear Rose ask Edward where he works, and he pauses to thank me for his tea before answering her. I don't miss the raised eyebrow she offers in approval of his impeccable manners.
"I'm a lawyer," Edward answers her, shifting in his seat. "I work with my dad." Just like every other time he talks about his job, Edward sounds pained. I wonder, and not for the first time, if he even likes what he does for a living.
With Rose pressed up against my left side and Edward's knee pressed against mine on my right, I feel both literally and figuratively caught between them.
Rosalie hums noncommittally. "A lawyer," she replies. "How interesting." To his benefit, Edward doesn't squirm under her scrutiny. He nods politely and takes a sip of his tea, his long fingers holding the straw steady between his lips. I realize I'm staring and look away. "Well that must be nice," she says, haughtily.
Edward appears to genuinely consider her assessment of his career choice. He clears his throat once before answering her unasked question. "It's nice enough, I guess," he says, twisting his straw wrapper into tight knots. "I'm joining the bankruptcy department at my dad's firm. It's not exactly what I'd hoped to practice, but—"
"Bella's still in school, you know."
"Rose," I admonish. "Edward knows I'm in school. He helps me with my statistics homework on occasion." I smile at Edward, trying to make light of the uncomfortable situation Rose has steered us directly into.
"It's just that you've…obviously, spent all this time in school, and Bella, well, she's lucky if she can fit in a class or two each semester. When she's not working, she's at school, and when she's not at school she's at ho—"
"Rosie, please," I place my hand on her thigh and turn my eyes to hers, pleading. "Please, stop," I whisper. A silent debate passes between us; me begging her to stop, and her considering how much further she wants to go. Rose is like a big sister to me, and my best friend, to boot. She's been my supporter and my defender for years, and I admire her for her strength and for the way she steadfastly encourages me, but I need to stand on my own now.
My brother looks uncomfortable from his seat across the table, and when I finally work up the courage to face Edward, he's fixated on the now mutilated straw wrapper in his hands. This feels like a setback. We'd come so far—Edward and I—and it seemed as though we'd finally figured out how to exist as friends working toward the same goal: doing what's best for Ava. I can't help but be frustrated with Rosalie for popping the bubble that we'd encased ourselves in. Was I naive to think that everyone in my family,—in my life—would welcome Edward with open arms? There's so much painful history between us.
"You're absolutely right, Rose." Clearing his throat, Edward looks boldly at my best friend. The straw wrapper's remains sit in a neat pile of fuzz near his tea, but his hands are folded calmly in front of him now. "I turned my back on what's important so that I could go to school and impress my father." He smiles at me sadly.
He's apologized to me so many times, and while words don't ever really change the past, they go a long way towards laying the foundation for a future. I'm not angry at him anymore; I'm not even resentful. It's bittersweet sadness that fills me now.
"Hey, man," Emmett slaps his palms against the table jovially, making us jump and dispelling the somber moment. "That's between you and Bella. If she's good, we're good." My brother rubs his stomach and stretches his arms back across the seat again, reminding me that I'm at work and I'd better get back to it.
Standing, I stretch my stiff back and gesture towards the kitchen. "Meatloaf, then?" The three of them nod their heads, and I retreat to put their orders in. After refilling my other customer's drinks and wiping down a table or two, I'm behind the diner's counter plating a piece of cobbler when Edward walks slowly toward me with his hands in his pockets.
"Hi." I say, smiling.
His smile matches mine, and he leans against the counter on his elbows. "Busy?"
"Not really. Did Rose run you off?"
He shakes his head. "She's pretty harmless." He laughs when I snort in disbelief. "I actually came over to make sure you're okay."
"I'm fine," I reply, confused. "What do you mean?"
"What she said…" He starts and stops, rubbing a hand over his jaw wearily. "I'm sorry, Bella. She's right. It's so unfair."
Leaning forward, I grip his clasped hands in mine and brace my elbows on the counter, mirroring his pose. "Edward." I wait for him to meet my eyes. "It is unfair. But it's in the past, and there's nothing we can do to change it. Don't apologize anymore, okay?"
"No more apologies," he repeats. "Got it."
"Good." I free my hands, reaching under the counter to grab a plate. "Pie?"
He grins, nodding eagerly. I set the slice in front of him and make him a new glass of tea.
"Thank you." He pauses, fork suspended mid-air. "For being so understanding. And for the pie."
I smile widely. "Anytime."
Thanks for reading.