epilogue
the breaking dawn
And so we remained till the red of the dawn began to fall through the snow gloom. I was desolate and afraid, and full of woe and terror. But when that beautiful sun began to climb the horizon life was to me again.
- Bram Stoker
o.o.o
The occasion of their wedding is observed in late November, in the precise location where their first kiss was shared a year earlier. The meadow is populated by scores of autumnal blooms and fallen leaves - burnt orange to gamboge to gentle saffron - raked to the edges of the tree line. In the middle stands a canopy alter of rich cherry wood and swathes of champagne and tea-rose organza, cloistered with bundles of sunflowers that are also weaved into the bouquet Bella carries down the aisle, her arm hooked into the crook of Charlie's elbow.
Edward's keen vision sights her beyond the veil and he seems to be overwhelmed by the moment, his breath visibly catching as he stands - tall and proud and unspeakably gorgeous - at the altar. Bella hopes he notices the vintage inspiration found in the lace and cut of her bridal gown, a tea-length ivory silk dress with pearlescent appliques clustered around the modest boat-neck. She certainly notices the timeless quality of his suit, the deepest shade of bistre accented with a faintly metallic tie that compliments the coppery tones in his bronze hair perfectly.
For a moment, she cannot breathe. Her lungs won't work and her skin feels too tight. She continues in her path, though, cantering down the aisle with a driven sort of focus. She needs to touch Edward - she needs to know what he's thinking. They need to be connected.
By the emotion swimming in his butterscotch gaze, she's almost certain that he shares the same desire.
Charlie hands her off, pressing a kiss to the apple of her cheek, and Bella barely notices. She and Edward see only each other, surrounded by allies and loved-ones alike, all loosely arranged in a semi-circle with the wedding party lined on either side. Aro officiates, a solemn responsibility that he takes great care to perform perfectly.
And when they share their first kiss as husband and wife, matching platinum bands on their left ring fingers - hers nestled beneath the face of her engagement ring - she is again reminded that together they are incendiary.
o.o.o
o.o.o
"Where are we?"
"Well, Mrs. Masen," Edward begins lightly as he stands behind her on the front porch of a quaint cottage stuck up the northern ridge of Hadley Bay on Victoria Island. It is essentially the Middle of Nowhere Canada, the island as large as a small country with all of its inhabitants living on a southern bay town a hundred miles away, a place that they'd passed through for just long enough to park the Volvo and take their bags; they'd run the rest of the way, hands clasped, chilly wind breaking against smiling cheeks until coming across this little home. Her mate - her husband - goes on to explain that the cottage is his, a place that he'd used as a retreat from the constant noise of minds over the last sixty-or-so years. He'd had it built in the 40's, which explained the faint traces of art deco still lingering in the geometric cut of some of the architecture and in the thin sill of the windows. It was far enough away from everything that she can only hear the chirp of birds. She imagines it must be a haven for Edward.
Her tour of their cottage is perfunctory at best. He stows their miniscule luggage, shows her the book-lined fireplace in the living room, the little standing baby grand in what should have been the dining area, the kitchen that he would stock for her when she was sleeping - whenever that would be - and finally the bedroom which, interestingly, does have a bed. Rather sheepishly, he explains that he'd hired humans to come out and clean the cottage up, as well as set up the bedroom, once he had decided on a honeymoon destination.
Bella smiles, wrapping her arms around his torso, her chin settled just under his collarbones, which peek through the opened button of his Oxford shirt. "It's lovely," she says - of the Hadley Bay cottage and of the finely-carved rosewood bed awaiting them not two feet away, a queen mattress covered in malachite bedding and a veritable mountain of pillows.
Edward leans down, capturing her lips. You are lovely.
o.o.o
o.o.o
He makes a point to always be touching her skin - either with his hands or his lips, but most often with both as he ghosts touch over her entire body, swaddling her in the brilliant, lustful cadence of his mind. As he lowers the strap of her isabelline-white dress, his mouth follows, working against the contours of her collarbone and shoulder blade, then nipping down the curve of her spine as he lowers the zipper at an unhurried pace, palms pressed between fabric and skin as he peels the dress down to her hips until it pools at her feet. Her lingerie, lacey and the same shade of his eyes, soon follows as he fondles and teases, hips occasionally bucking against her rear when she lets out a particularly loud moan.
She aches for him, her heart thudding heavily - faster, it seems, even though such a thing isn't possible. She places her hands over his as he straightens behind her, chest pressed against her back, a faint rumbling purr resonating as he inhales deeply. He groans at her scent, at the musky sweetness of her arousal. He wants to taste.
And so he does, guiding her to lay back on the bed, then wedging his shoulders between her knees, tongue flicking against her exposed sex - drawing her to the edge and then backing off over and over again until she clenches down on his fingers, grabs two fistfuls of his hair, and holds his mouth against her in demand. Only then, after she has pleaded for release, does he wiggle his tongue against her swollen nub. Edward holds her hips down when she comes, relentlessly moving against her until another orgasm pings off the first and then the second.
She whines, trying to push him away. He concedes after a last lingering lick, and then another suckle before he turns his face into the crook of her thigh, heavy-lidded dark eyes finding hers.
Bella catches her breath as he stands to shed the remainder of his clothes. His is a perfect form of masculine beauty, forever frozen at the peak of lithe musculature, lanky limbs, and chiseled joints; strong shoulders and narrow hips, long fingers and wide palms, lush lips that still shine with her essence. He is almost too beautiful to look at, but she can't take her eyes off of him, her muscles clenching on air as she spies the tumescent length between his sharp hips. She lays naked before him, comfortable and spread open to his gaze - for his pleasure, should he wish to look. He does, eyes flicking between her own, to her breasts, down to where she is hot and ready for him.
She holds her hands out, an invitation, and he answers by prowling slowly up her body, hands firmly tracing the arch of her foot, the jut of her ankle, the line of her legs, and then her hips, thumbs pressing deep into the hollows above her hipbones. He kisses her center once, dragging his lips over her quivering stomach to pay his respects to her breasts, all while his mind roves over a series of indistinct desires. He is nearly beset by lust, hanging on by a thread of restraint that baffles her.
Edward wants to take his time.
Bella growls, cupping his jaw to bite and suck at his lips, their kiss wild with ardor. We have eternity to take our time, she tells him, spreading her legs wider in response to the nestle of his hips between the cradle of hers. They both gasp as he rubs against her, his glans pressing deliciously over her clit - and then lower. He enters her slowly, carefully, inch by inch with his forehead against the side of her throat, mouthing at the crook of her neck.
She drags her nails down his back when he has entered her fully, digging her fingers into the divots near his spine, arcing beneath the weight of his body, fluttering around him. Edward snarls, hips surging just that much deeper, starting the ancient dance that they know so instinctively. He hitches one leg higher on his hip, adjusting the angle as his lips fall open, brushing against hers as they share ragged breaths.
"Oh…oh-" Bella's gasping retaliations to his every thrust break off in place of a long-sustained moan as she clenches around him, breasts tight against his chest, fangs lengthening - so far beyond her control as she spirals into the thrashing heat of orgasm again. She's still coming when she turns her head to bite at the top of his shoulder, teeth sinking in deep, eyes rolling upward in ecstasy -
Edward roars, thrusting hard and deep as he releases, hands ripping at the pillows near her head.
Bella licks at the bite she has just given him, dizzy and breathless as she gathers herself for a moment - and then, using her speed and strength against him while he is still reeling, she flips them until she is straddled over his lip, his length even deeper than before and just as hard. She tosses her hair over her shoulder, rolling her hips slowly, finding a rhythm that makes his mouth slacken. And then she curves her hands around the nape of his neck, guiding those lush lips to the base of her throat.
"Your turn," she murmurs, shivering as his palms glide down her back to settle low on her bottom, guiding her movements even as he laves at her skin, teeth scraping against the pulse of her throat -
And so goes the honeymoon.
A/N: So, regarding why I chose Masen as the married surname instead of Cullen - it just made sense, to me, that she would take his human name. I could argue the merits, but I won't because I just don't really feel like it. *shrugs* We're lucky that I didn't make him take Swan as a surname, honestly, because I personally don't believe in changing your name after marriage. Hyphenate that thing and get on with your day; no way would I just give up part of my identity. Is that, like, super aggressively millennial of me?
Note on the honeymoon spot: to my knowledge there aren't any vacation homes, for vampires or otherwise, anywhere near Hadley Bay on Victoria Island. But it's fiction, so fuck it!
There's another epilogue next and then the outtakes.
As always, be brutally honest. I can take it.
~cupcakeriot