Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended. Edited by Sjdavis84 and StillDreaming85.
WARNING: This story contains mature themes and is intended for mature readers.
ISABELLA SWAN
"You lied to me," I said.
"I did. I'm sorry."
We laid in bed facing each other. He brought me back here last night, back to this underground world they had. The place made my skin crawl, but, it was the lesser of two evils. I wondered if I would ever see Victoria again? Like me, she was trapped in this world, although she was dealt a better hand.
I sighed, closing my eyes, I turned on my back, staring up at the ceiling not wanting to face him anymore. He was a liar of the worst kind. He hid behind a smile and sweet words, but underneath it all, he was a far greater monster than his brother.
"Gattina, please look at me," he said, brushing the back of his fingers along the side of my face.
"Stop it, stop it with the damn nicknames," I said, shooting up out of bed. He sat up, adjusting the covers around his waist. He didn't have a shirt on and I wondered when he had removed it the night before.
"I like the nicknames," he smiled.
"I don't. I don't understand what you're calling me and it's not fair."
"Gattina means kitten," he said.
"Do I look like a cat to you?" I spat. I didn't know what was fueling my anger right now, but I couldn't reign it in, I couldn't control it, and no matter the monster Edward was, I knew he wouldn't put his hands on me.
"Actually, you do. You look like a very feisty gattina right now."
I left him in the bedroom and stormed off into the adjoined bathroom, I even made a point to slam the door with as much force as I could muster up.
I rested my hands against the sink and looked at myself in the mirror. I didn't realize what was staring back at me anymore.
It would be easy to break down right now. The thought of shutting myself off from everything, from them, from the world around me was sounding more and more appealing. But if I did that, if I shut off and didn't care what happened to me, didn't care about anything, what then, what would happen?
I closed my eyes when I heard the soft knock on the door. How long have I been lost in my thoughts?
"Dolcezza, come out, please," Edward said, he didn't sound mad. I opened the tap and splashed some cold water on my face before going back into the bedroom and facing the music.
"We need to talk," he said.
"What is there to talk about?" I asked.
"I owe you an apology, bambolina." Again with the nicknames, it was making my head spin.
"I need to know what happened in that house," he said.
"What?" His words caught me off guard. What did it matter to him what happened to me there? He didn't do anything to stop his brother from putting me there, so what does it matter to him now?
I don't know why, but he looked almost pained as he waited for my response.
"Nothing happened. No one touched me, if that's what you mean. Garrett and Victoria wouldn't allow it for some reason," I said.
"You don't seem too happy about that," he said.
"I am very happy about that, believe me. But it didn't make any sense. That was the reason your brother put me in there, he said he would turn me into a whore. Them protecting me, it didn't make any sense," I said, slumping down on the bed. I wanted to close my eyes, but I couldn't. I didn't want to see the faces of those girls, those women there, the filthy men and the way that they treated them, while I stayed safe and hidden behind Garrett's back. Their faces, the things I saw there, would haunt me forever.
"Anthony should never have put you in that situation, and I don't know what to do to make it up to you. No apology can ever make up for what you must have seen there," he said, sitting beside me. He grabbed my hand in his and threaded his fingers through mine, bringing our joint hands to his lips and kissing my fingers.
"You're right," I said, freeing my hand from his. "There is nothing you can say that would make up for what I witnessed there."
"Then what can I do?" He asked, the sincerity in his voice tugged at me and it made me want to believe that under his exterior, was a good and caring person, but I would only be fooling myself if I believed that lie.
"Let me go home, please, I want to go home," I said. That was the only thing he could do to make me forget all this, to make all this better, make it go away.
"You know I can't do that," he said, pained. His eyes softened as he stared back at me.
"I know," I said. I knew that unless some miracle happened, I will never be free from here, from them.
"I'm sorry," he said. "You shouldn't have ever been involved in this. This is your father's doing. He should be dead and you shouldn't be here."
He spoke of my father's death so easily. My father, the reason I was here, the reason this was happening. I didn't want to be bitter, I didn't want to say that I hated my own father, but, he had done this to himself, to his family, to me. He had involved himself with these people, and then he had stabbed them in the back.
"You should be living your life," he said. He got off of the bed and kneeled in front of me, grabbing my hands again in his. "I can promise you one thing, this won't last forever. You won't be trapped here forever."
"How can you promise me that?" I asked.
"I need a little time. You have to stay down here for a little while until everything is said and done," he said, although none of what he was saying made any sense to me at all.
"What are you talking about?"
"I know that there is a possibility you will hate me more so than you do right now."
"Why would I hate you? What are you going to do?" I asked, almost panicking at his words.
"Nothing is going to happen to you, no one is going to hurt you. I made you that promise before, and failed, but this time, this time it's different. No one, not even my brother would dare to touch you," he said.
"Why is that." That was a wild promise to make. He's right, he had made that promise before and he failed to keep it. What's different now?
"Because, bambolina, you will be my wife," he said. The words left his mouth so effortlessly, as if what he had just said was no big deal. His wife? He wanted me to be his wife?
"Is this another sick joke?" I asked, looking at him in utter disbelief.
"No, it is not. This is the only option that you have, it is the only option we both have. Do you think being my wife would be so bad?" He asked.
"Are you out of your mind? I can't marry you. I don't want to marry you, or anyone for that matter. Get away from me, leave me alone," I said, tugging my hands out of his, I crawled on the bed and away from him.
He stood to his feet and ran his hands through his hair, letting out a deep sigh. At this moment, he looked so stressed, not in control, he looked almost, normal.
"I don't want to play the bad guy, Isabella. You were never meant to be a part of the plan. I am trying to make the best out of this situation. I am trying to keep you safe and this is the best way that I know how," he said.
"Why are you doing this? Why does it matter to you what happens to me? Why don't you or Anthony just kill me already?"
He was on the bed and hovering over me before I even had time to release a breath. My God, he moved fast. There was nothing threatening about him right now, in fact his eyes were soft, gentle even.
"I shouldn't care about you, but I do. I shouldn't want you, but I do and I am far too selfish to let you go. I thought...If I were to act indifferent, as if whatever happened to you, didn't affect me, that it would be for the best, but it wasn't, it drove me crazy, all those weeks, the not knowing, the wondering. I kept trying to convince myself that I had no reason to care. I still do not know why I care what happens to you. I don't understand why your life matters so much to me, because you are right, you should be dead." He sighed.
"Then kill me already," I whispered.
"Did you not hear a word I just said? I can't kill you. The thought of you dead, it makes me physically sick. I feel very few emotions, fiorellina, but you have made me feel something I thought myself incapable of ever feeling," he confessed, and by the look on his face it was a hard confession for him to make. He looked as if he didn't quite believe he had managed to get those words out.
"What is it that you feel?" I asked, biting my lip to stop myself from asking anymore questions. I didn't want to push him, I wanted him to talk, I wanted him to tell me everything, I wanted to understand. But he gave no verbal answer. He lowered his mouth to mine and kissed me, gently, with too much care it made my head spin.
I kissed him back unable to stop myself from responding. I should push him away and tell him to stop. This wasn't right, he was my captor and according to him, my soon to be husband. None of this was right, but my head was somewhere else, somewhere where there was no pain, no thought, just the feeling of the sweet moment.
His hand journeyed down my body, grabbing me around the knee and wrapping it around his waist. I felt the hardness of his length rubbing up against my core, making me moan into his mouth.
He was making me feel things I have never felt, making me want things I shouldn't want. I felt hot and alive. I wanted this with him, yet I didn't. I should tell him to stop this, yet I couldn't.
Maybe it was finally happening, maybe after everything I had seen and been through these past months has finally caught up with me and I have lost my mind. Or maybe, just maybe, I had developed Stockholm syndrome. Whatever the reason, I couldn't deny that I liked what he was doing to me right now. His hands that had slipped under my shirt and molded my breasts, his mouth trailing hot kisses down my neck and the friction he was creating between my thighs. I was at a point of no return, because if he dared stop now, I was sure I would explode.
"Gattina, I shouldn't do this, not now," he said, his voice pained.
"Please don't stop," I begged. He was torn between giving in and letting go. "Please."
"Non riuscivo nemmeno a se volevo," he whispered hoarsely. I have no idea what he said, but his words affected me in a way like nothing has before. When he spoke in Italian, when he used that accent, there were no words to describe what it felt like.
He pulled my shirt up over my head, exposing my breast to him. Latching his mouth onto one and then the other, swirling his tongue around my nipples, I almost came undone from that torture alone.
He kissed his way down my stomach, swirling his tongue around my navel. His fingers played with the waistband of my underwear. With one hand, he gripped them tearing the material from my body.
I gasp at his harsh action. He shrugged, not at all apologetic that he had destroyed my underwear.
With his head in between my legs and no underwear to hide me from him, I tried to cover myself with my hands, but he pushed them away.
"Don't do that," he said.
"What are you doing?" I asked.
Then it happened, he buried his face in between my thighs, his tongue licking a path from the bottom to the top. My head fell back on the pillow from the sudden sensation that he was creating within me.
His tongue was hot on my already overheated core. I was soaked when he attacked, sucking onto my clit as he pushed a finger in me, making me squirm at the invasion, it wasn't uncomfortable or painful in any way, just strange.
He had turned me into a panting, moaning mess. I briefly wondered if these walls were sound proof, but forgot about everything and everyone around me when an odd sensation hit me. My stomach tightened and my thighs did too. Whatever it was, I couldn't fight it and I couldn't stop it from happening.
A second later, a wave of absolute ecstasy washed over me, the force of which turned my body into jello.
Edward kissed his way back up my body with a smirk plastered on his face like he had just won some big prize.
"Good?" He asked. I simply nodded, because talking would be a big effort right now and I couldn't muster up that strength for the life of me.
Edward leaned up off of me and moved to his knees, lowering his sweatpants and kicking them off. I kept my eyes on his face, I didn't want to look any further down. I don't know how I could feel embarrassed, the man had his face in between my legs only moments ago.
"Relax, don't tense," he said, settling himself in between my thighs once again.
This was really happening, I was about to let this happen, I thought. "Are you okay?" He asked, kissing me with too much tenderness. He shouldn't be this gentle. The man was making me dizzy in all senses. But I knew I had reached the point of no return. There was no going back, no backing down.
"I'm fine," I assured him and my voice held no doubt.
He didn't take his eyes off of me. I felt him sink into me, every single inch of him. My breath caught in my throat, damn it, this hurt more than I thought.
I gritted my teeth together and gripped his shoulders to the point I knew I would mark him, he didn't seem to notice or mind.
At this moment I didn't know what was worse, the sting, the pain, the feeling of being so completely full, or the fact that he wasn't doing anything?
"Breathe gattina, the pain doesn't last," he whispered in my ear. He began to move, slowly at first, probably for my benefit, giving me time to adjust to the new sensation. His movements still made me hurt, but it was bearable.
"Fuck," he groaned, picking up pace. This was all so overwhelming, the new sensation, the feeling.
This was nothing like I had seen in movies or read in books. It hurt, and it hurt a lot and he was being gentle. There was no explosive oragasm like all those books promised. But it wasn't bad either, and the way he held onto me, for a brief moment it made me believe that what he confessed earlier could be real.
It was over now. He pulled out making me wince. I felt the warm fluid seep out of me. He got up and went to the bathroom, I heard him turn the water on. I laid there, not knowing what to do or if I was capable of getting up.
I heard him come back into the room, but I continued to stare up at the ceiling.
I felt the bed dip beside me and felt him pushing my knees apart.
I looked at him, wondering what he was doing. He had a warm, wet towel in his hand. He cleaned me up, the warmth easing some of the pain. It was such a simple act, but there was too much thought put into that act. It was too loving, too caring, too gentle and I didn't know what to say about it or how to handle it.
We didn't talk after that. He laid next to me, taking me in his arms, his fingers roaming through my hair until I fell into a deep dreamless sleep.