Naturally, my first phone call when packing time arrives is to Alice. She informs me that she's coming over, and when I tell her that it's completely unnecessary, she dimisses me, telling me that she needs to lay phase two of Operation Jasper anyway.
She arrives shortly later looking absolutely stunning. Alice is by no means an unattractive girl, but she's managed to pull of a look that's both casual and somehow mildly erotic. Despite her tiny stature, her legs look amazingly long and her hair almost makes me want to touch it and I don't even want her like that.
He doesn't stand a chance.
"God, Alice," I breathe when she walks in the door, a large tote bag in her arms.
"I know, right?" she winks at me. "Is Emmett around?" she asks loudly, and he comes bounding out a moment later.
"Ali!" he cries, "did you miss me or something?"
"Always," she laughs and he goes to take her bag from her without seeming to think about it. Esme raised gentlemen. Jasper saunters into the room and pretends that he didn't know Alice was here.
"Hey guys - oh, Alice, hey."
His attempt at being casual is completely transparent. She smiles and winks at him then turns back to me, linking her arm with mine.
"Come on, let's get you packed. Emmett, can you help me with that?" She nods towards the bag and he begins to follow us. Jasper steps over and pulls it easily from his gangly brother's hands.
"I was headed up to my room anyway," he offers as an explanation.
"Really?" I ask, my voice taunting. "What for?"
"Oh... my phone."
Emmett pulls his own phone from his pocket and quickly dials. Jasper's pocket lights up and music sings out.
"Dude, your phone's in your pocket," Emmett states as if this isn't glaringly obvious.
"Oh well," Jasper fumbles, "this bag will probably break Emmett's back. What's in this thing, bricks?"
He laughs nervously as he tries to redirect the conversation. Alice rolls her eyes and continues up the stairs, me chuckling quietly beside her and Jasper a few steps behind. I notice her swinging her hips, and I'm sure he does too.
Jasper places the bag down on my bed and backs out of the room awkwardly, leaving us both almost crying with laughter the moment the door is closed.
"You're completely out of your mind," I gasp out.
"Whatever - Phase Two is almost complete," Alice manages to get out once our laughter slows. "Now let's work on your wardrobe for the next few days."
The following hour is a blur of 'this top and these bottoms' and 'wear this when you have beach hair' and 'they're great because they're slutty but not really.' When she does things like this for me, I really realise how well she knows me, and I hug her perhaps a little overzealously when we're done. She laughs and pats my back.
"Are you ok, B?"
"Yeah," I murmur, "you're just great."
"Tell me something I don't know," she snorts, and I smack her arm as I release her. She rubs it, pouting at me as if it actually hurt. I roll my eyes and zip up the suitcase. She picks up her now substantially lighter bag and heads for my door.
"Well, I'm going to head off," she sighs.
"I'll walk you," I offer, but she holds up a hand to stop me.
"I'll find my own way."
I laugh at the glint in her eyes and the smirk on her face.
"I'm pretty sure Jasper's in the living room," I tell her, and her smirk widens.
"Thanks. By the way, catch."
I open my hands just in time to see a box land in them. A box of condoms.
"Alice!"
"Don't be a fool, wrap your tool, baby girl," she chides. "Or his, whatever."
With that, she's gone, and I'm left, giggling in my room at her insanity. Edward walks in a few moments later to find me still laughing as I stash the box in the bottom of my suitcase. He wraps his arms around my shoulders from behind and inhales deeply.
"What are you laughing at, miss?" he asks and the sound of his low voice in my ear makes me shudder a little with happiness.
"Alice," I offer by way of explanation and he just nods because he gets it. He always does.
The next morning Edward carries my bag and his own down the stairs, only to be summoned by his mother into the kitchen.
"Edward, Bella!" she calls and he ditches the bags at the door before we make our way in. She's putting fresh muffins that would need to be held in two hands on plates.
"Come have some breakfast before you go," she says, gesturing to the plates.
"Oh, we're not hungry yet," Edward explains, "we'll eat on the road if we feel like it."
"I didn't ask if you were hungry," she states, her gaze even and a little bit terrifying. We seat ourselves at the kitchen table and she sets the plates down in front of us, taking her own seat on the other side of the table.
"Go ahead you two, before they get cold," she says pleasantly and takes a sip of her tea. I eat as much as I can force down, because they are ridiculously huge. After I'm done Esme dismisses us, reminding us to be careful, lock the doors - and window, babies - at night, and to always, always use sunscreen, even if it's cloudy out, alright now?
Edward rolls his eyes but my heart swells a little at her motherly ways. The grimace on his face when she kisses his cheek makes me giggle, until she turns it on me, then it develops into fullblown laughter.
"Now get out of my house, I'm lookin' forward to getting some peace and quiet around here," she teases, swatting at Edward playfully. He pouts at her but picks up the bags and walks out to the car, me following behind with a quick wave over my shoulder at his smiling mother. There's a nervousness in her eyes that she's trying to hide for our sakes, but I see it.
"Make sure you lock all the doors and windows at night!" she calls as we climb in the car, slight desperation in her voice. "Don't forget the rooftop balcony!" She's worried about us, and it warms my heart and makes me sad at the same time. I hope she knows that I won't let anything happen to her son, just as he won't let anything happen to me.
The car trip is long, and for the most part, boring. I take control of the music, having earned his trust with my prior displays of taste, and he drives. The conversation is easy but disjointed, comfortable silence filling the gaps. Sometimes he holds my hand, sometimes he reaches out to push my hair back over my shoulder while I'm speaking, sometimes he keeps his hands to himself - those are my least favourite times.
When Edward told me he had a beach house, I'd envisioned a cute little cabin by the sea, all wind-blown boards and shades of blue. I should have known I was wrong. When we pull up at the house, I'm blown away by it's magnificence. It's low key, and seems to fit in the landscape perfectly, but there's no denying the decadence and taste inherent in any building Esme Cullen gets her hands on.
"Wow," I murmur as I climb out the car. Edward grabs the bag and playfully scowls at me when I reach for my own. I roll my eyes at his adorable ways and make my way to the house, waiting behind him as he unlocks it. We walk through the foyer and into the main room, which holds the living room, dining and kitchen in one open area. The back wall is made up of large windows, doors meeting in the middle. Edward opens them and the windows slide back, opening the entire wall so that the back porch becomes a part of the room. Beyond the porch is a staircase leading down to the sand, and I inhale the salty smell of the ocean as it fills the room.
"This is unbelievable," I mutter and he turns.
"This is my favourite place in the world," he informs me, his tone full of unspoken happy memories, and I can't help but smile back at him.
"I can see why."
He crosses the room and wraps his arms around my waist. Contentment fills me to an extent that I struggle to comprehend, and I slide my hands around his shoulders, clutching onto him.
"I've got to get the food out of the car before it goes bad," he breathes and I reluctantly release him. He brings in the exorbitant about of food Esme packed for us to bring here and we unpack it together. Doing these stupid, mundane things with him brings me a ridiculous amount of happiness.
After everything is unloaded, I wander upstairs, eager to explore the rest of the house. The master bedroom Edward and I will be sharing is filled with light, and has the same sliding doors and windows as downstairs that open onto a balcony. The bed is covered in white sheets, gloriously soft to the touch and loaded with pillows. Esme's touches can be seen in every detail of the room, and that makes me smile.
I sit down on the end of the bed, kicking off my flipflops and running my fingertips along the small beads on the bottom on the comforter. I look up when I hear Edward's footfalls. He's standing in the doorway, so I wave him over, patting the space beside me. He smiles slightly and crosses the room at once.
This is my opening. I can feel it.
"I..."
I'm having so much trouble framing the words as I try to fend off embarrassment. I know I want this, more than anything, but the risk of rejection puts a dampener on things.
"You..." he mimicks, a teasing smile on his face. I don't laugh, I'm too focused.
"I want to try something."
"Try what?" he asks, his eyebrows raising a little.
"Do you trust me?"
I need to ask, to get the reassurance I crave, before I do anything.
"Of course," he responds resolutely.
"Then... can you let me do something?"
"... Sure."
I gaze at him for a moment, trying to pysche myself up. He's so pretty, and despite having seen him in situations most people can't even begin to imagine, I'm almost paralyzed with nerves about trying to do one of the most natural things in the world.
I lift my hand and brush it across his cheek. Down his jaw. Around his neck. Slowly, so slowly, I draw my body up, pulling his face down so that when we meet, it's halfway. I can almost feel his confusion as I kiss him, so I run my tongue across his lips, hoping to distract him and lift some of the weirdness from the situation. He responds immediately and I push him backwards, a hint that he mercifully picks up.
He slides back across the bed until his head hits the pillow, pulling me up with him as our mouths remain attached. I incline myself so that I'm by his side but still above him.
Move at my pace - keep control.
I pull myself on top of him, my thighs straddling his hips, and kiss him harder, trying to get my point across. His hands rest innocently on my thighs, blissfully unaware of my sordid intentions, so I gather my resolve and try to be a little more forward.
"Bella?" he questions as I start tugging at the hem of his v-necked shirt. His words are mumbled, almost unrecognizable as he squeezes them out between our joined lips. I pull back a little, lowering my face to his neck because I can't bear the thought of seeing rejection in his eyes. He strokes his hands up and down my thighs, an unwitting gesture of comfort.
"I just... I want to try." I kiss the skin there and feel his heavy exhale against my ear, his hands stilling.
"I'm... I don't know, Bella..."
He sounds so hesitant, and I'm not sure if it's because he's trying to protect me, or if he doesn't want to do this. I lean back, trying to figure it out by looking at his face.
"If... if you don't want to -"
"Believe me," he cuts me off with a wry laugh, "that has nothing to do with it. I just... are you sure?"
His fingers tighten slightly on me and all my insecurity evaporates. He wants me too, I can sense it, and that makes all of this feel a bit less terrifying.
"I want to try," I assure him, trying to inject confidence into my voice. "But... can we do it my way?"
I struggle to communicate my desire to take things at my pace, but he nods and smirks, seemingly oblivious to my embarrassment and discomfort. He pulls his hands off my legs and knots them behind his head, spread out below me.
"Absolutely, have your way with me," he states with a playful arrogance and I roll my eyes at him, trying not to laugh at the view before me... or under me, as it were. Contrary to what I thought he'd do - panic and deny me - he seems thrilled at the idea of me exploring my attraction to him. Even without realising, his every action seems to be intended to make me feel better, to contradict my weirdness.
The thought makes me lean down quickly and press my mouth to his, desperate to let him know in some tangible way just what he does for me. My fingertips trail down his chest and I lift his shirt, pulling it up his torso and over his head.
He removes his arms from their self-imposed bondage and helps me get the shirt off, placing his hands on my hips once he's done. I melt into him, revelling in his touch as I explore his body with my hands. I take it slowly, getting accustomed to the lines of him, memorising every detail in the hope that familiarity will ward off my panic. It seems to be working, as no hint of the discomfort of the past rises up.
My shirt comes off next. His shorts, then mine. All that separates us now is our underwear, and still, there's no fear. It's perfect.
Perfect, but somehow, not enough.
I'm kissing him everywhere, wanting to reach every part of him I possibly can. I want to consume him as he consumes me. I should be troubled by how much I need this, need him, but it feels so completely natural and I can't stop or slow down enough to question it.
His hands are on my waist still, flexing when my mouth touches any particularly sensitive place. I can sense his desire to move, to involve himself more aggressively in what we're doing, but he won't. He knows how important this is for me. For us.
I take my hands off him and sit back, still on top of him. He looks at me, understanding painted on his slightly flushed face. He thinks I've reached my limit. I reach back and unhook my bra, fighting back nerves. Not scary, traumatised-person nerves - normal, anticipatory nerves.
Normal.
I smile as the thought runs through my head, and he smiles back at me, his eyes trained to mine despite my increased level of nudity. He's perfect, almost frighteningly so, and I can't get enough of him.
I lean down and kiss him again, pressing our chests together. As our tongues twist together and our breathing becomes labored, his hands trail up my sides, grazing my bottom ribs them moving back down. There's no pressure from him despite his desire, which I can feel pressed between our bodies.
My hands move from either side of him into his hair, tugging him minutely closer and closing every gap. The more he gives, the more I want, a gnawing ache building in me that's driving my every move. As if he can sense my need, he presses a hand to the centre of my back and rolls us over.
Perfect.
I barely notice as my head hits the pillow underneath me, but I notice when he pulls his mouth away from mine, taking in my face for signs of discomfort. I nod, a little too frantically, and wind my fingers deeper into his hair, drawing his face back to mine. One of my feet slides up his calf and I wrap my leg around his thigh. Pulling him closer, always closer.
But never close enough.
His hand follows, resting on the newly situated thigh, his other one supporting his body so his weight isn't entirely on me. The unmistakable sound of lips meeting and ragged breaths is all that can be heard until his hips shift slightly against me and a low moan leaves my throat. He matches it with a quiet groan of his own and I fight back my smile before it causes our mouths to break apart.
My fingers wrap hastily around the top of my underwear, trying to pry them off myself without him having to move from his place above me. I honestly don't think I could bear it if he was even an inch further away from me than he is now. He lifts his hips from me slightly and I whimper into his mouth, a desperate sound that would mortify me otherwise but I'm too preoccupied to care.
His fingers wrap around the other side of the waistband and together, we slide the garment down my legs. I love that he doesn't stop me, that he's letting me take this at my pace without questioning my every move. He trusts me, as much as I do him, and there's no need for doubt. No space for it between us.
The offending garment slides off my foot and I kick it away, distracted by the feeling of his fingers trailing back up my leg, retracing the steps he took only seconds before. He's soft, and so gentle, but there's a definite direction to his movements. He knows what he wants.
What I want.
One and the same.
There's no fear, no doubt. No nagging voice in my head telling me this is too much, that I can't handle this. His hand wraps back around my hip, so close to where I want him touching me, but nowhere near close enough. I flex my hips upward, telling him without words what I want from him.
His lips leave mine, trailing downwards. Over my jaw, along my throat, to my collar bone, the swell of my breast, then back. I suck in air greedily, struggling due to the sensations flooding my brain that make me feel as though breathing is a triviality. My focus is completely centred on every location that he is touching me. My fingertips dig into his shoulderblades, drawing him nearer still, and I choke out his name.
"Edward."
At the sound he looks up to my eyes, half-lidded and slightly glazed over. I place my hands on either side of his face, tracing over his cheekbones and wrapping my small hands around his jaw softly. He nods - just once - a question in his eyes. I nod back. Just once. An answer radiating from every fibre of my being.
Yes.
A hand trails inwards from it's position on my hip, and I feel as though it's on fire with how much of my attention it garners. It traces my slightly protruding hip bone, across where thigh meets pelvis, then pauses over bare skin.
His lips meet mine and I'm momentarily distracted, until fingers graze the place I'm desperate for, reaching wet heat and desperate want. My entire lower body shifts, trying to get closer. Whatever he'll give me and then some, I'm desperate for it.
Complete and total abandon.
Finally, finally, the pressure increases, although his movements are tentative. He strokes over all the best places, making a slow but insistent circle, and I gasp into his mouth. I feel his lips twitch, a small smile, but there are so many other things drawing my attention. His mouth on mine, his hands on me.
One of my hands is around his neck, holding his face to mine, the other is pulling at the pretty white comforter, and I don't care if I tear it in half. Speed increases, and my hips mirror the tempo he sets, a dance of sorts moving to no conventional rhythm. My heart beats so loudly it seems to fill the room, his uneven breaths the only sound I can hear other than my own responses to his touch.
Gasp.
Moan. Mewl. Exhale.
A choked attempt at his name.
Edward Edward Edward.
I can barely speak it, but it's the only thought that can permeate the thick haze of euphoria that is descending. I climb higher and higher as he moves faster and faster. Too much, not enough. I can't think about anything other than him, and how I need more.
Kissing is abandoned, sapping too much of my focus, and his mouth trails my upper body, mine returning the favor as I kiss wherever I can reach. I'm consumed, all my senses clouded by him. I need more.
One finger inside, then two. His thumb picks up the track his fingers had been taking, circling around and around. The two fingers curve slightly, getting to a place I'm not sure I knew existed prior to now, but it will never be forgotten.
My legs fall to the mattress, quivering slightly as pinnacles are reached that I didn't know existed. Up and up, and I think that I can't get higher but somehow I can and I can't imagine how it could be better than this because it's certainly never been anywhere near before. I make an attempt to speak.
"Oh my - I can't - please! Ed - Edwa- Ah!"
My teeth sink into the skin of his shoulder as my entire body curls around him. I'm shaking, panting, clinging as I drown in sensation, feeling it in every cell of my body. Toes and fingers curl, my back arches, and the world is starting and ending all at once.
I sink back down to earth slowly, feeling my body relax and fall limp beneath him. His fingers leave me, and I'm sad, but so so happy and euphoric and nothing matters - not in this moment. His lips find mine again and I can barely open my eyes but I kiss him back.
Relief, happiness and contentment settle over me, because I did it.
We did it.
I want to laugh, cry, cheer for myself and for us because nothing, not even my own insanity and ridiculous insecurities, can stop us from being together. Instead, I just kiss him again.
"Are you ok?" he murmurs, and I force back my heavy lids to smile weakly at him.
"Yep."
He smirks and I pull myself up to press my smiling mouth to his.
Perfect.