A/N: I'm late again. With all the fires raging through my state my allergies have been off the scale, and presently I'm fighting off a sinus infection. That's why when I finish a chapter I upload it unbeta'd. I feel bad, and I hate going longer than a week between updates.
Anywho, this morning I realised I have 1000 reviews. I'm grinning like a lunatic over it. I love you all, and especially Kim who insists on pimping each update despite my threats of death XD. And to StarryEyedWriter8 for her support and sweetness.
Hoodwinked
Chapter 24
By the time we're done with dessert, Edward slumps in his chair, leans his head back and groans loudly.
"God, I feel sick..." he mutters, turning to gaze at me pitifully, his palm flat to his stomach.
"You shouldn't have eaten so much," I reply, rolling my eyes and feeling absolutely no sympathy for him.
Roast beef was served for dinner, and as well as eating his own, Edward polished off half of mine. I barely realized; he's a master of distraction. For dessert, I had baked cheese cake; I ate barely a third, and again Edward finished the rest as well as the Tiramisu he ordered. On top of which he drank another three cans of soft drink.
It's not hard to explain away the sudden sallow tinge to his complexion.
"I need to walk it off," he suddenly decides, rising to his feet and pulling me after him.
With his hand firmly entwined around mine, the other remaining splayed over his midsection, he leads me toward the elevators.
While the Shangri-la hosts various functions, it's also a hotel, and on our way down to the city street below, we somehow find ourselves wandering aimlessly on the ninth floor. It wasn't by design. Edward turned sheet white in the elevator and promptly broke out into a sweat, and I knew I had to get him off and fast. Several people directed the lift up, and his stomach couldn't wait for it to go back down. I pulled him—a pasty, wet noodle, his palms clammy—out with the half-dozen or so guests and we went in search of a bathroom.
"It's already starting to pass," he reassures me, slowing the pace at which I'm anxiously dragging him behind me.
I'm not convinced; his stomach has been making alarming noises and I really don't want it all over me. We round several corners and then back-track, until we realise we're lost. Neither of us can remember the direction the lifts are in.
Several feet before us, in the softly-lit hall we've found ourselves in, a maid noisily exits one of the rooms, pulling a metal cleaning cart behind her.
"Excuse me," I call out; she looks up and smiles in question. "Can you tell us where the bathrooms are?"
"Third floor," she answers in a thick, South-East Asian accent.
"Thank you," I say politely, turning Edward back in the direction of where I think the elevators are situated, when he stops me. "What?"
He only tilts his head forward, emphasising the door of the room the maid just left. It's open ajar, and as I slowly discern his meaning, a cagey grin tugs at his lips.
"No," I whisper, but my objection is purely for pretences.
Gripping his hand tighter around mine, he pulls me ahead hastily, and just as the door's about to latch closed he uses his Converse sneaker as a stopper.
"Play along," he murmurs, and leaning forward, he presses his palm to the wall beside it and groans pointedly.
As expected, the maid turns back to us, her eyes widening in concern. "Oh dear, is he okay?"
"He had too much to eat," I explain as her smile this time pulls in sympathy. "He just needs a moment."
Nodding her head, she turns and continues on her way.
Placing his index finger to his lips, his eyes glinting devilishly, Edward and I watch as she pushes the rattling cart around a corner and out of sight. When we're satisfied we're alone, Edward slips into the room and tugs me behind him.
It's easily five stars, the furnishings are high quality and it has a humongous, plush king-size bed to the left side of the room. Its views are better than the ballroom where our formal's taking place, too, and walking over to the window's ledge, I peer out over the harbour.
"Oi," Edward speaks up from behind me, and when I turn to face him, he sinks his hand into his pants pocket and pulls out a condom.
My mouth immediately falls open, but I can't prevent the smile from pulling simultaneously. "Did you plan this?" I ask suspiciously.
"Serendipity, snotface." His grin is sly; mine quickly follows.
"Serendipity?" I echo unconvinced. "You're a scoundrel."
"I like to be prepared. So... how about it?" He waggles his brows, his smile this time cheesy.
"What if we get caught?" I point out, making my way over to him regardless as a fire immediately kindles in my belly.
"Who says this room is even booked?" he ventures, his grin rapidly expanding when he realises I'm more than on board.
"What if it is?" I ask, reaching out and tugging on his black tie, drawing him to me.
"If it is, it's Saturday. Whoever reserved it won't be back for hours," he assures me, a rustic edge beginning to alter the timbre of his voice.
"You sure?" I'm being deliberately coy, but beneath my skin a war is being waged between my default setting of rational, too-much-like-my-father Bella, and the newly sexually emancipated Bella who's snagged herself the crazy-hot guy next door. I continue inching backward, little by little, pulling Edward with me, and he takes it as confirmation.
"This is all your fault," he all but growls as he snakes both arms around my waist, and drops his lips to the base of my neck. They're burning, and his face against mine is a lot warmer than I was expecting.
"How so?" I ask, tilting my head to the side and closing my eyes as my breath gushes from me.
Continuing to walk me backward toward the bed, he plants those firm lips of his up and down my throat, igniting me inch by painful inch, before placing them to my ear. "Who was it who stuck her tongue in my mouth in front of everyone?" he reminds me, dropping his face to the curve of my neck and shoulder, a hand gingerly slipping beneath the chiffon bodice of my dress. "And who was it who wore this knowing exactly how much it would fuck with me?" His voice is low, a grit to it already, and with a sultry hot hand fully covering my breast, I practically swoon in his arms.
It still surprises me how my body reacts to him. Like a light switch, it can turn off and on in a heartbeat and at will by just that ridiculously appealing smile of his. I'm overrun with an onslaught of both nervousness and red, hot desire, and it makes for an intense combination.
"Hurry," I whisper out the double-edged meaning.
I've backed up against the bed with nowhere else to go, and in a single motion, Edward lays me back on the edge of it and rests his long, lean body over me.
We kiss, and kiss more, while clumsily and blindly undoing Edward's belt and pants, and shoving clothes and underwear out of the way. It amazes me how your body can function entirely on impulse, almost subconsciously, while your mind completely surrenders to your senses.
And then he's inside me, hot and implacably hard, while my breath, my voice and every thought rushing inside my head, stops.
We talked a lot the first time. Too much, but I've since learned that it's so much better without words. A thousand emotions can be expressed through the eyes and behind them, and even more through touch; through lips and fingers, and skin connecting.
I feel him now like I felt him last night, but it's different this time. His feet are braced on the floor, his weight against me secondary, while the pressure behind each movement he makes goes deeper than I was prepared for. It's pain, a definite tenderness, but a strange, dull pleasure, and everything in between, amalgamating as something different altogether. Something more. Behind it, a flame is flickering within me, spreading and expanding like a river, a current, through my veins until every square inch of my skin is awash with it.
Edward's entire body is both tense and malleable over and within me, his breath is becoming forced, the few words he speaks are restricted, and then swallowed by the energy rapidly consuming us both.
My arms slip from around him and flop against the thick covering of the bed we're completely unmaking, but they're restless—I'm restless—and I need something to grab onto. My fists enclose around the bedding, and almost on impulse, they tense, my back arches, and I rise and push us both semi-upright.
"Hey," he utters out in a hopelessly gravelly voice as a drunken, askew smile pulls on his lips.
"Hey," I echo over my shortening breath. My grin is as impulsive and subconscious as his, as I hook my arm around his neck and secure myself further against him.
His mouth, open and heated, connects clumsily and repeatedly against mine, until his dampening face slides forward, his chin thudding to his chest as a guttural moan spills almost silently from his lips. "Bella..."
I barely hear him, but the arm I'm leaning against is beginning to strain. I can't maintain his body weight as well as mine for much longer, and in the next moment I fall backward, with Edward landing flush on top of me.
Bracing his hands on either side of me, he eases his chest off mine as he continuously moves himself into me. He's being a lot rougher than he was the previous two times, but at the same time, I understand that he's completely surrendered himself to the sensation of my body as much as I have with his.
The peak I was climbing is beginning to plateau behind the realised ache of my still-healing body, but Edward keeps climbing; higher and higher. His entire frame begins to tremor, the exertive, breathless sounds coming from deep in his throat, get louder, and seemingly unable to contain it, he buries his face into the crook of my neck.
"Bella, I-I-I-I-I..." he utters, pulling himself back again, his forehead contorted as he obviously fights to hold onto the energy multiplying within him.
I understand that feeling now; wanting to draw something out and surrender to it simultaneously. But I know, I understand, what he's trying to say, and nodding my head, feeling suddenly anxious for him, I cup my hand to his cheek. "I know. It's okay. You don't have to say it."
He nods in return, but I'm not sure he's even aware to what context anymore.
"I know..." he repeats in barely a whisper, and uttering out a barely-muffled groan, his elbows buckle beneath him and his chest crashes back to mine.
That's when I realise it's over, and I'm left slightly lost for words. It was no more than ninety mind-numbingly intense seconds, leaving us both quivering and gasping against each other in its wake.
"Fucking hell..." Edward attempts to articulate it, in disbelief as much as awe, as his voice clogs in the back of his throat. Then, pulling his head up from me, he grins disjointedly, and I laugh—my voice hopelessly hoarse—at his flushed, sweaty face, and almost bloodshot eyes.
That's when I feel him slide limply from my body and get snagged in the elastic leg of my underwear.
A reflexive, pain-filled sounds bursts from him as he jerks himself free, and covering his afflicted anatomy in both his hands he flops to his back and half groans, half laughs. "Oh, Jesus..."
I roll against him, my still-heaving chest meeting his. "You okay?" I ask, unsure whether I should be concerned or laugh along with him.
"Yeah, I'm fine," he assures me, albeit in a restricted voice, and releasing a hand he cups it to the side of my neck. "You're a hot mess, brown eyes." His smile is tender; a side of him I suspect dominates when he comes down.
"Am I?" I ask, biting my lower lip. "Do I look... obvious?"
"Very obvious." He chuckles, sounding just as exhausted as he does satisfied.
"Crap!" I sit up, both hands flying to my hair. It's a disaster; something I confirm after I race to the bathroom and stare at my reflection in the mirror. I look as ravished as I feel. Along with the mayhem that's my hair, my face is flushed, my eyes a little too bright, and my lipstick smudged.
While Edward pulls himself somewhat back together, I do what I can to un-just-had-sex myself. Grabbing my small clutch from the hotel floor where I'd abandoned it, I reapply my make-up, but my hair is a definite lost cause. I decide to pull it free and let it hang loosely around my shoulders. My up-do made it curlier than usual, and I almost talk myself into believing that I could have arrived tonight with it deliberately styled like this.
"Come on..." Edward hurries me along, grabbing my hand and yanking me toward the door.
"Sure I look okay?" I ask him one last time before we leave.
"You look hot," he drawls with a smirk, clamping my nose with his finger.
I roll my eyes and swat his hand away. "How you feeling, faker?"
"Pretty good." He gazes down at me and winks.
Alice and Jas immediately zero in on us. So does Emmett and Rose, and let's face it, more than likely the whole table.
"You got a room?" Emmett asks Edward with obvious interest and not nearly as in confidence as I would have liked.
"Nah," Edward answers simply as I full-body cringe and attempt to hide myself beneath his arm.
We sit back at the table, and grabbing my chair, Edward drags it closer to his. Then curling his arm around my shoulders, he presses his lips to the side of my head and against my hair. "Thanks, Bella," he murmurs, and sometimes it really is nice sans snotface.
Turning my head, I meet his lips with my own. "Welcome."
"Wanna dance?" he proposes after my eyes inadvertently meet the hard glare of his ex-girlfriend. This time I smirk blatantly, openly, and scoff. "What?" Edward quizzes curiously, following my gaze. "Oh... someone's bent out of shape." He snorts, clearly amused by it.
I hum in return, elbowing him in the ribs in emphasis. "Well, who was it who implied on my Facebook—at the start of all this—that we'd been screwing around since June?" When they were still technically together.
"Erm..." He mumbles, sounding almost sheepish if he didn't start snickering.
"Did you use me to get back at her?" I ask, turning to meet his eyes and raising a very pointed brow.
"Sorta," he admits, shrugging a shoulder as his grin twitches broader. "Thought I'd kill two birds with one stone." He winks again, as I sigh heavily.
"Oh my god."
"Stop bitching—let's dance!" Grabbing my hand, he yanks me a little too roughly to my feet and leads me onto the dancefloor.
After dinner, the DJ began playing slow songs and it seems to have become the status quo. Half the room is dancing it appears, and after finding a place on the outskirts of the six-by-six metre hardwood floor, Edward draws me to him.
He curves his arms around my waist, and with my elbows against his I rest my hands to his shoulders. He's too tall to wrap them around his neck, and I do need to see what I'm doing. He moves me side to side, back and forth, slowly—and clumsily, considering I keep colliding with his feet.
He smirks, and shakes his head before he bends his head to speak against my ear. "You overthink everything, don't you, you pain in the neck?"
"Shut up," I retort, just as he's shoved from behind and into me.
He struggles to keep me on my feet, and after righting me, he whips around, grabbing the offending dancer in one motion and shoving him forcefully away from us. "You got a fucking problem!?" he snaps angrily, his expression suddenly very hard and unforgiving.
Given the amount of people dancing, at first, I assumed it was an accident, until I saw who it was; Mike Newton's brother. And by the look on his face, it was as deliberate as Edward suspects it was.
Edward had pushed him a good six feet back and into several people who all turn to stare. And Newton's brother—whatever the hell his name is—pulls himself back to his feet, and stands his ground, deliberately goading him. I almost pity him; intelligence obviously doesn't run in the Newton gene pool. I know the kind of damage Edward will cause if he pushes him. I've witnessed him in more fights than I care to recall growing up; as recently as only a couple of years ago. The last one ended in two seconds—if that. It was at school, and some asshole in his P.E class grabbed him by the shoulder and yanked him around. Edward reacted almost as if it was instinct. One punch is all it took, and he walked away without looking back; the idiot lying barely conscious and flat on his back against the concrete.
He might not stand up to his father, but he sure as hell makes up for it. It's where all his anger gets diverted.
"Come on," I coax him back, and turning to me, huffing his breath stiffly, he allows me to pull him to the other side of dancefloor. "Don't worry about them," I attempt to placate him, but for the next several minutes his expression remains dark and stormy. "Hey..." He's starting to worry me.
"What...?" he mutters, his eyes focused over my shoulder, his frown etching deeper.
"We can have a lot of fun with it," I tease him, echoing his earlier sentiments after stretching on my toes to close the height difference between us.
He smiles and almost fully succumbs to it. "We have to make it convincing, because if you go all virgin on me and make it obvious, I'll be really pissed off." And just like that shithead is back. It was something he said to me in the days when we were still pretending, and for whatever strange reason I love him more for it.
"You are such an asshole," I reply, my voice overrun with affection for him, and rising on my toes again, I kiss him.
We fool around, getting a little too heated with each other, but beneath it all, it's light-hearted. I forgot how much fun I have in his company, even when he's completely groping me in public.
"Why are people staring at you, snotface?" he mumbles against my ear after practically sucking hickies along my throat.
"You know why," I say ruefully, nudging him.
"They can't believe good little Bella is going out with such a bad boy like me?" he angles his head back and arches a teasing brow.
"Something to that effect."
"And you call me a faker..." he alludes.
"What's that mean?"
"I got you in the sack in a week," he leans in and murmurs against my earlobe again. "You didn't even attempt to fight me off."
I scoff and partially shake my head. "Maybe I wanted you to get me in the sack."
"Did you?"
"Yeah," I reply simply.
"I'm pretty irresistible, aren't I?"
I roll my eyes. "God, you're up yourself."
He chuckles softly, and draws me closer to him. "See, your body knew you were selling yourself short with that pencil dick, so it went into hibernation until I woke it up again."
"Got it all worked out, haven't you?"
"I've had you worked out since you were five, booger." Removing an arm from around my waist he clamps my nose again.
"Will you stop doing that!" I shove his hand away.
"Just shut up and kiss me." He grins, and I do, until a low-sounding groan vibrates against my lips. "Shit..." he pulls back.
"What?"
"My stomach..." He splays his hand over it, lower down this time.
"Self-inflicted," I joke, but he's turning pasty again.
"I'll be back in a moment," he says, his voice beginning to restrict. "Go sit with midget."
"You okay?" I put to him, my voice softening. All jokes aside, he looks terrible all of a sudden.
"I will be," he mutters before turning both of us in the direction of the exit.
I walk with him as far as our table and watch him leave the room; slightly hunched over.
"Apparently we're having a class photo soon," Alice leans toward me and says after I take my seat beside her.
"Yeah?"
"What?" she prompts, her forehead creasing curiously.
"Nothing." I half shake my head. "I mean, Edward ate too much and now he doesn't feel very well."
Alice immediately snorts, not in the least bit concerned for him. "That will teach him for being such a pig. Hey?"
"Yeah?"
She moves closer and drops her voice covertly. "Did Edward really get a room?"
I break into an almost impulsive smile. "No. It was... serendipity."
"Huh?" she asks blankly.
"We got lost and sort of wandered into one by accident," I explain simply.
"Nothing with Edward is ever by accident," she replies cynically, and I laugh.
"Leave him alone. Where's Jas?"
"He and Emmett went to the bar."
"Ah..."
"You guys had photos together, yet?" She tilts her head behind us where the display is set up.
"Not yet."
"Want to get some done? —just us?" she ventures.
"Sure."
There's a lot of props—thought bubbles, hats, masks, and signs—and Alice and I have too much fun with various silly poses that we quickly get lost in the moment. At least forty minutes has passed when Alice links arms with me and turns in the direction of our table.
"Come on, we have to get the boys in on these, too." She giggles.
I glance over at the near empty seating arrangement. Edward isn't back yet, and neither are Jas and Emmett.
"He's probably joined them down at the bar," Alice answers the question formulating in my mind.
"Yeah," I mumble. "I hope he's feeling okay."
"He'll be fine," she insists. "Let's go drag their asses back up here."
We don't make it out of the room before Rose catches up with us. Moving herself between me and Alice she drapes an arm around us both. "You'd better come outside. The boys have been thrown out and Edward's about to get arrested."
"What?"! I burst in unison with Alice as my heart practically stalls. "What for?"
"Just come on," Rose mutters, ushering us toward the elevators in the foyer.
It's a long thirty seconds to the ground floor, and while I'm locked in silence, Alice pesters Rose for information.
"I'm not sure what happened, but it's not good," is all she gives away.
The moment the doors open to the lobby it's obvious there's some kind of commotion happening. Large groups of people are gathering, all headed in the same direction, their chatter animated.
Alice breaks into a run despite the length of her heels, and attempting to keep up with her, I follow her out of the building to the street.
To the right side off the entrance a crowd has formed, obscuring what's obviously a fight taking place. The sound is unmistakable; the sickening thuds of fists connecting with flesh and bone, repeatedly. I cringe almost instinctively, knowing what I'm about to happen upon and wanting to shy away from it. But I don't. Almost as if I'm on auto-pilot, I shove through to the front of the crowd and for several agonising seconds I cannot make sense of what I'm seeing.
Edward, his face bloodied and battered, is beating the life out of Mike Newton.
For one horrifying moment I feel like my knees are going to buckle beneath me. I shake my head, my hands clamping down over my ears. It doesn't make sense; there is no way Mike could have caused this amount of damage to Edward, especially when Edward is currently beating the crap out him.
"Edward!" I yell, my voice practically breaking, but he makes no indication of whether he heard me or not.
I whip my head around, looking for someone who can stop it. My eyes fall to Emmett. He's preventing Mike's brother from intervening and from the looks of him he's as angry as Edward is, and that's when I notice his hands; his knuckles are bleeding.
"Alice!" I call out, glancing around hastily and in panic as my eyes search the crowds for her.
"Bella!" She grabs me and turns me to her roughly. "They jumped him when he was coming back from the bathroom!" She's practically in tears and that's when I notice Jas beside her, almost as bloodied as Edward is. "Four of them against him!"
I shake my head, more forcefully this time but I'm beginning to feel physically sick. "What? —no! Jas, please stop it."
He only shakes his head in reply; there's a helplessness ingrained in his expression but a resolve at the same time.
"Alice!" I plead with her, but I'm not sure what she can do.
"Someone came and got Jas and Emmett—or they could have killed him!" She bursts into tears, and pulling her into his arms, Jas turns to me.
"Bella, take Ally and go back inside, okay?"
"No!" I demand. I'm not going anywhere, despite my flight instincts kicking in and overrunning my senses.
That's when someone forcibly grabs my arms and shakes me. "Get your crazy fucking boyfriend off him!" It's Jessica and she looks as panicked and overwrought as I feel.
"Get off me!" I holler back, and pushing her away from me, I turn back to Edward. He has Mike up against the concrete of the adjoining building by the scruff of his shirt, and Mike looks seconds from unconsciousness.
That's when Emmett intervenes. "He's had enough, mate," he speaks quietly to him.
For several moments Edward doesn't respond, but I watch as his body slowly unlocks and he turns and shoves Mike to the ground. "Piece of fucking shit!"
Mike only rolls sluggishly to his side and curls himself into a ball, covering his face with his arms pitifully.
"C'mon," Emmett directs him, and wrapping an arm around Edward's shoulder, he turns him, stumbling over his feet, in my direction.
His gaze meets mine then, and he pauses just as something in his expression fractures. Blood is pouring from his nose, as well as from a cut above his eyebrow. It's smeared all over his face and into his hair and has spilled onto his stark white shirt. He looks so terrible my heart immediately clenches in fear, and fighting back tears, I hold my hand out to him.
"I'm sorry..." he mouths, shaking his head slowly back and forth as his expression begins to mirror mine.
A/N: Kim has been hassling me to do an EPOV. So far I'm not sold. What do you reckon? Yeah? No?