those who sparkle

by dayzeco

I never looked at Edward Cullen the way he looked at me. His eyes rolled past while mine danced. I never felt for Edward Cullen the way I should have. He pretended I wasn't there while I just pretended.

11. Chapter 11

I hate the weekends. I love them all the same. All I think about are his eyes. His fingers, the way he curls them. I draw them. Their indefinable lines. My pencil shows me the way my brain can't fathom. I'm deep in their touch, their curves, their euphoria when mom calls me down for dinner.

I can't stop. I tell her I'm tired. I don't want anything. To exaggerate I take a shower, but I can't escape Edward no matter how I try. I don't want to. He's there with me under that cascade of warmth. Touching me slowly, fully, flushing me against the cold tile and singing the life into me. I rock and sway. I give. Give. Give. He sweeps the cold away. Skin is hot. Aching. Eyes closed. Mouth open. It builds. I give. Water is on my tongue, in my throat. I swallow and want to sink.

I exhaust against the tile. The smallest satisfaction takes my face. I am tired, dirty.

I crave more. His breath is in my ear, all in due time. A promise to myself.

I dress. A shirt and panties. Intimate affair to finish my work on his fingers. Tomorrow I will paint them. I lay in bed to stare at my work. My fingers flutter over skin under cover. I close my eyes and begin again.