AN: Hi, sort of a later post. I was in a slump for five days and wrote this in one. Thanks for reading, and I hope everyone is still enjoying the story.
Thanks to Brina (PurpleBrina17) for being amazing and always willing to pre-read my stories. I swear, you're such a masochist. Love you!
And another shout-out to May T (Maplestyle) - Thank you for throwing your hat into the arena and pre-reading it. You're awesome.
Chapter Thirteen
-An Expression of Strong Feelings-
"Dinner went well, I think," Edward tells me, but I can only hum.
My head lies on his chest, and our fingers are intertwined. Troy's speakers are playing a soothing mix of classical music. Debussy's Clair De 'Lune is one of my favorites. It's a beautiful piece, and somehow, it accomplishes two things: it eases my nausea and puts me to sleep.
This evening had been such a rollercoaster of emotions, and the highs and lows took such a toll on me, I can barely keep my eyes open.
Don't get me wrong. I had a wonderful time. The food was yummy, and I had my favorite drink, an alcohol-free Amaretto Sour - and the taste was the same, minus the buzz. I liked getting to know some of Edward's teammates in a one-to-one, chill-like atmosphere, and they were all so nice, even Garrett. Who seemed more aloof than having hatred towards me. Seth was just Seth. He was good-natured, fun-loving, and the life of the party. However, since he and Garrett were the only single guys on the team now, they split after the main course.
Seth boasted, "We have to hit the club before our 2 a.m. curfew."
Which had me quirking an eyebrow. "Curfew?" I asked.
Garrett responded flatly, never looking away from his phone, "Coach rules."
Still, it was clear as mud to me.
"Coach Biers is less strict," according to Edward, "on the nights during the week when we're just practicing and preparing for a game, but tomorrow night is a different story."
"There are no exceptions," Laurent added. "Everyone has to be in their room by 10 p.m."
I searched Irina's face, looking at her for the truth. These guys had to be pulling my leg, but she confirmed with a forced smile. "Rules are rules," she said.
Tyler, the polite Kansas lad, left shortly after nine, leaving the two couples alone for the rest of the evening, making it feel more intimate. We laughed, exchanged additional tales, and viewed photographs of their adorable children on Irina's phone. She gave me tips on how to endure the hectic life of a WAG, where to find the best maternity attire, and ways to survive these next seven months with my sanity intact.
The best part was that Laurent and Irina lived in a Seattle suburb called Capitol Hill, close to Edward's high-rise condo. They invited us to come over for a barbeque once the season was over, but Irina insisted that I come hang out with her next week.
"We can go shopping and set up your baby shower registry," she said with an infectious smile.
I replied, "Definitely," without hesitation.
It was around ten-thirty when we all left. Laurent and Irina volunteered to drive us to our hotel in their rental car, but Edward reassured them he had a driver on the way. Things seemed calm at first, but as soon as we exited the restaurant, Edward was recognized by some fans who flew from Seattle to watch the Tampa game.
"EC!" They yelled and swarmed him.
I watched with pride from a distance where no one could see me. Edward was fantastic, breathtakingly handsome, and exceedingly kind. In addition to signing everything they gave him, he also snapped a ton of photos with them. I could watch him interact with his fans all night, but our little nugget decided to throw a fit, and the sickness came on fast, overwhelming me. Thank heavens, I could sneak away and get to a bathroom before anything embarrassing happened.
There was good news and bad news with this 'morning sickness.' The good news is that it was becoming less frequent. When I first started experiencing it, I couldn't go five minutes without throwing up, and it felt like I was dying.
It's why I thought it was cancer.
However, the bad news is that now it came on without warning. There was no rhyme or reason. Just one minute, I was feeling fine, able to enjoy life and food, and the next minute, I was hunched over a toilet, hating everything and everyone. These spells only last long enough for me to get rid of what I have eaten, and once I'm done, I feel better.
Unfortunately, in my hasty escape, I left without telling Edward, and when I came out of the bathroom, he was pushing through the crowded restaurant towards me in a panic. When he realized what happened, he relaxed, but the sheer anxiety was still etched on his face.
Troy was parked outside waiting for us, and Edward placed his hands on my waist and gently ushered me out to the SUV. Once inside, I was handed an emesis bag, just in case, and the gentle sounds of a piano wafting effortlessly throughout the cabin soothed my nerves. When Troy dropped me off at the hotel earlier that day, he figured out I was pregnant and then proceeded to Google things to ease 'morning sickness.' That led him down a rabbit hole of home remedies.
So, not only has he provided me with peppermints, which helped with the sour taste and breath, and saltine crackers to soak up the acids, but Troy also read in some obscure article or study that music is a therapy to help relieve nausea.
Debussy was helpful thus far, and I did get some sleep. I might occasionally be startled awake by a pothole in the road, but I wouldn't open my eyes or show that it had bothered me. No, I would remain motionless while focusing on Edward.
He wrapped his arm around my shoulders and stroked my arm as he hugged me tight to his side. His warmth, the touching, and his heart's rhythmic thud, thump, thump, along with the eerie D-Flat Major, were hypnotic and fascinating.
I drift off again when Troy clears his throat and says, "Do you mind if I ask you something personal, sir?"
Since my ear is closely pushed against Edward's chest, his timber is louder and more baritone. "Depends. Are you going to sell it to the tabloids?"
"They couldn't pay me enough," Troy says quietly — probably to not further wake me, and I feel the lure of sleep tugging me down.
"What's on your mind?" Edward asks.
"How did you and Miss Bella meet?" Troy asks.
Now, hearing my name, I am wide awake and strain my ears to listen to the conversation.
"I'm sorry," Troy says after a stretch of silence. I'm not sure what he saw, but on my end, Edward never twitched a muscle. "I promise, this is for my curiosity, nothing more."
"I'm curious," Edward replies, and there's nothing aggressive in his tone, more perplexed than anything, "why are you asking?"
"Well, I've been your driver here in Tampa for a few years now, and the only girl you've ever mentioned in my presence was somebody you referred to as 'Bruiser.'"
This time, Edward flinches, but it's to draw me in. "I said that in front of you?"
"A few times," Troy says and pauses, probably making sure I'm still sound asleep or maybe gauging Edward's reaction through the rearview mirror.
"Was I drunk?"
Troy shifts uncomfortably in his seat, and the leather makes a squeaky noise under his weight. "Not always," he says.
Edward sighs, disappointed. "I can't believe I would slip up like that."
Troy sounds confused. "I'm sorry?"
I feel Edward's gaze on me, and he's probably watching my eyelids fluttering. No doubt, suspecting that I'm fully aware, but I don't move or let on that he's right.
Edward finally speaks after what feels like an eternity. "When I left for college, I told myself that name would remain in Forks. I didn't say it or even dare think it."
"Why? Were you two together then broke up?" Troy asks.
"No," Edward says. "We just started dating this week, but I've been into her for a long time."
"See, I knew it!" Troy sounds pleased with himself. "I could tell she was something special to you. That's how I knew Miss Bella was your 'Bruiser.'"
Edward stiffens, and his tone is harsher now. "Troy, I appreciate you connecting the dots, but I'm going to need you to stop saying, 'Bruiser.'"
"Oh, I'm sorry, Mr. Cullen. I didn't mean anything by it," Troy says.
There's not a mean bone in my guy's body, and, of course, he feels terrible for being so 'rude.'
"No, look, I'm sorry. You're right. Bella is that girl, but that name isn't something you need to refer to her by - that is our thing. It's been ours for a long time. I don't allow anyone to call her that. I'm pretty protective of it." He gently strokes my cheek with his knuckles. "I try to make a conscious effort not to call her that in front of people, but sometimes I fuck it up. The point is, it's only for her."
"Understood, Mr. Cullen," Troy says, ending the conversation.
Edward keeps me in his arms and places his free hand on my belly, and I instinctively cover his with mine. I don't realize my mistake until it's too late.
He leans close to me and murmurs, "I knew you weren't asleep, you big faker."
Since I took a ten-minute nap on the drive back to the hotel, I am wide awake and buzzing with energy. Edward takes my hand as we walk through the lobby, and that simple, chaste touch is like lighting a bomb's fuse.
The wick gets shorter and shorter as the people disperse around us and as we get closer to the privacy of the penthouse elevator. I'm bound tight. Edward and I hadn't kissed since earlier this evening, but even then, it was a lousy peck.
The desire inside me continued to build for hours and was difficult to control once released. The elevator doors close, and we barely move up two floors when I launch my body at Edward. My weight throws him off, and he stumbles back against the wall. Grunting in response to my aggression, he doesn't fight back, and his fingers grip my dress tightly. My arms are drapped around his neck, and I press our mouths together. Our tongues clash violently, each determined to outdo the other. I'm standing on my tiptoes and trying to climb this tree of a man, but I'm too short, and he's so big. My lips keep slipping away, and I whimper whenever there's a disconnect.
"Fuck," Edward hisses and bends low, grabbing me under the butt and lifting me high.
Wrapping my legs around his hips, I seize fistfuls of that soft hair and yank his head back. From this advantage, I can keep our mouths together, deepening our kiss. I can't seem to satisfy my gluttonous craving for this man, so I become overzealous and start biting his lips. He growls in response to me, squeezing my butt. It's painful, and I moan, half-pleading for him to take me right then and there.
The elevator gets to the penthouse floor, 'dinging' when it comes to a stop, and the doors open. Edward kicks off the back wall and walks us ahead while continuing to kiss me. I have no idea where he's taking me, but soon, he gently lays me back on the sofa in the main room. We continued to make out for a few minutes, our hands blindly touching each other. My hands go up his shirt, and I feel every curve and hardness of him under my fingertips. His skin is smooth, with only a few patches of hair, mainly the trail that leads downward and below his waistband. I want to lick him there. That notion causes my body to become more intense and wet, with an excruciating ache.
Edward pulls the straps of my dress over my shoulders, and his mouth leaves mine, kissing the skin of my neck and chest. I spread my legs to give him more room to fall into me. His hardness pressed against me as his hips propelled forward. My panties are ruined by my desire for him. He presses his lips to mine while lowering my garment even further. Sitting up and back on his heels, he takes the fabric in his hand as I raise my hips. He drags it past my ankles while clutching it in his fists till it ultimately falls off and is tossed behind him. My bra and panties are soon added to the pile. Under him, I am exposed, and his green eyes narrow as my skin puckers with goosebumps.
Edward gasps, "You're so gorgeous."
I playfully poke him with my foot. "Now you."
He nods, reaching behind his neck and pulling his shirt over his head. The way he looks in this light, I can see the clear-cut definition of his muscles. This man is a work of art, and I'd never seen anyone as beautiful as him. My attraction for Edward has strengthened over the years and is impossible to duplicate. The magnet pull has me sitting up, unbuckling his belt and slacks, and I am trembling and shaking. I eagerly pull his pants down over his hips and butt. Edward's thickness is still tightly confined to his boxer briefs, but I reach through the slit to grip his length, but he's large, and I struggle to meet thumb to fingertip.
He grunts, "Damn, Bruiser," as his hand cups my breast and his mouth finds mine again.
Every time I kiss Edward, it's a brand-new experience. My imagination of how it might feel over the years pales in contrast to the actuality of his tender lips or the bittersweet taste of him on my tongue. Despite the cum that drips from his head, I keep stroking him beneath his underwear, but it's too dry.
My body shifts under him, begging to be touched, and as if he can read my mind, Edward pulls away. He doesn't go far and stands beside the couch, kicking off his shoes and removing his clothes. I'm staring at him hungrily from head to toe. There's nothing that I can see that I don't like, so before he can react, I'm on my feet and shoving him onto the couch. Edward gently sags against the plush cushions, and I crouch before him. He adjusts his feet to give me room between his thighs. I softly hold him at the base as I lean down and place the tip of my tongue at the slit in his head.
He groans, "Jesus," and tilts his head back.
I continue to stare at him while I lick him from base to tip. His pure, ecstatic expression, which marries his lovely face, only inspires me. Taking him into my mouth, I rise slightly to get a better angle, and somehow, I get him down my throat, my lips flush to his pubes. Edward swears and puts his hand on my head, his hips twitching to push upward. I stay completely on him until it becomes uncomfortable, at which point I withdraw away, my spit having combined with his pre-cum to provide just the right amount of lubricant.
I sometimes deep-throat him till he's on the verge of bursting, sucking, and then following that with my hand. He emerges from my mouth with a "popping" sound as I pull back. His body is stiff from the pleasure, and he is panting and has wild eyes.
I smile at him. Oh, yeah, I think this man is primed.
Rising from my knees, I swing my legs over his and straddle him on the couch.
Knowing my goals and worried that he won't last long, he calls out, "Honey," sending his hands racing to my hips.
I reach between us and hold the shaft, lining him up and easing him back down while giving him a gentle kiss. I groan, "Oh, my God," as his thickness fills me.
Edward grips me and slows me, allowing each inch of him to conform and adjust to the tightness of the walls surrounding him. "Fuck," he whispers.
I pause halfway along his length and ease back up while supporting myself on his shoulders. There's nowhere for him to go, and the pressure against my stomach is painful. I have to draw up and sink into him a few times before I find a comfortable speed. I bobbed on top of him after shifting my hips and butt back and placing my elbows on the couch. He sinks into the cushions and gives me complete control. He holds my tits as they hang in front of his face while kissing and biting at my nipples. My entire body reacts by clenching and tightening as that feeling gradually intensifies and overpowers my composure.
Edward grabs my face and urges, "Come here," pulling our lips together.
The kisses now are rougher and more disorderly. I'm going up and down on his length while rolling my hips, but I slow down since his mouth and tongue are distracting. Edward refuses this by shoving himself inside me. I whimper and groan in agony. He squeezes my butt to silence me. Now, I can sense him everywhere. My body shifts up as he reclines on the couch. He does all the work, forcing himself repeatedly deep inside of me.
I sob as he kisses me, "Oh, Edward, oh."
He moans, "Fuck."
I'm bracing the couch as he dictates the movement of my hips to coincide with the rise of his pelvis. We constantly bump into each other, the friction activating and jolting several nerve endings. As we approach our climax, our grunts and moans become more mingled. Nothing else comes to mind besides how it feels to be encircled by him. My flesh is warm and soft. I'm squeezing him tightly from the inside, begging him to make love to me so hard. Those curse words are aching to come out. I can feel the harsh sound at the tip of my tongue.
"Say it," I pant, grabbing his chin and redirecting his gaze to mine.
His brows furrow. "Say what?"
"Curse at me," I close my eyes as the throbbing ache worsens, "please. Tell me how much you want to fuu..." A moan rips through me as Edward pushes me even harder, and I gasp at his frantic effort as our bodies meet.
His eyes darken and narrow. "Is that what you want?"
"Oh, God, yes!" I prop my hands on his chest and move with him. "Tell me how I'm a bad girl and how you want to fuu..."
"Fuck!" Edward now loses control, quickly flipping me over and on my back. He shoves my knees to my chest. I hold them up as he rolls his hips into me. Each thrust is more profound than the last. I can see that word dancing in his eyes. He knows what I want to hear, but he doesn't say it. No, that beautiful jerk is toying with me. "Is that going to make you come?"
I nod and bite my lip painfully. "Yes, tell me."
Edward grabs at my right breast and squeezes. "You like when this cock fucks you?"
Goodness me, that word in his mouth is dirty and so hot. I like the way it sounds. "Yes," I whimper, and for some reason, I want to shout it to him. Never, ever have I had the urge to speak profanities, but now, as he pounds into me, tickles my core, and takes me closer to the edge, it's all I want to do. "Please, keep saying it. I'm so close."
"I'm going to fuck you so hard," Edward tells me and follows it up with actions, thrust after thrust. He's getting faster and harder.
I moan, "Oh, baby. Yes."
"You liked being fucked, Bruiser, don't you?" He licks the first two knuckles on his right hand and then puts my nub between them. "That pussy is so fucking tight. You feel so good."
The cursing, the hardness inside me, and the knuckles working me into a frenzy— all of it sent me plummeting over the edge. "Oh, God, oh, God," I pant, the air in my lungs vanishing, and I'm struggling, quickly succumbing. "I'm coming." All my muscles tense, and my back arches. "Oooh, crap!" The climax hits me hard. It feels so amazing. I stop thinking for three seconds, just merely shaking and whimpering.
"Oh, fuck," Edward moans. He holds my hips and leans into me. His pelvis rocked back and forth, fast and then slow. He closes his eyes and jerks, coming deep inside me. When done, he loses all his strength and lays beside me. "Fuck," he says once more. "So good."
"So good," I echo, a shiver suddenly ripping me. Aftershocks of a fantastic orgasm, I would say.
He props himself up and looks at me, a coy smile on his lips. "You like dirty talk."
"Kind of," I say, a hot flush gracing my cheeks. "Do you?"
"I like it with you." His eyes are a light green again, but there's a smug sparkle behind them. "You know, I am this close to getting you to say 'fuck.'"
I laugh and avert my eyes. "We'll see."
It's six in the morning when I wake up. Edward went to bed with me last night but must have snuck out before two in the morning. His side of the mattress is cold, but on the nightstand is a bottle of water, some Preggo Drops, a croissant, and his black card. There's also a note from him on the hotel stationary and it is propped up against the lamp. The sadness I felt a few seconds ago is lifted as I take the handwritten letter and read it out loud to our nugget.
"Listen to how sweet your daddy is," I say, touching my belly. "Morning, Beautiful. I hate not being there when you wake up, but I will see you later today. Hopefully, it's a short day. We've just got to play a mock game, and unfortunately, it's closed to the public, including WAGS. Call up Irina and go shopping. I left you my card. I love you more than anything. Eat something, okay? Edward." My fingers go over his penmanship, marveling how perfect it has always been. I groan and throw myself back against the pillows. "I miss your daddy so much, nugget."
My phone vibrates, but it's hidden in the blanket, and I'm frantically searching for it. Finally, after I hop out of bed and toss the comforter off the mattress, the iPhone goes flying and hits the wall. I run over and scoop it up, barely glancing at the FaceTime caller and answering before I miss it.
"Hello? Hello? I'm here!" I pant and lean against a dresser.
Edward's beautiful face pops on my screen. He's wearing a Seahawks cap and has a bit of scrub on his jaw. My heart freaking aches for him.
"Hey, Bella. I didn't wake you, did I?"
"No, you didn't—" I pause, getting a glimpse of my appearance in the little box at the bottom of the screen. My hair is a mess, and I still got crusty in my eyes. "Hold on," I say, holding the phone toward the ceiling as I jog to the bathroom and freshen up.
Edward laughs. "Honey, you're gorgeous and look great. Let me see you, please. I don't have much time."
Picking up my phone and angling back towards me, I smile. "In the future, it's okay to wake me up, okay? No more sneaking out in the middle of the night," I say.
Although, the notes would be hard to give up.
"In all fairness, honey, I did wake you up, but you sleep like the dead," he says with a chuckle. "However, in the future, I'll do my best to ensure you're fully awake before I leave."
"Good deal," I say, jumping back into the bed, propping the phone on my thigh, and reaching over for the croissant on the nightstand. "So, what's up, babe? How's work?"
"Not bad. I just got here. The coach is late, so I decided to call you before I get my phone taken away. I fucking miss you," Edward says, and I hear his teammates in the background making fun of him. He turns to someone behind him. "Fuck off, all of you. I'm in love." I hear several men say, 'Awwww.' He laughs. "Man, these guys are assholes. Let me get us some privacy." There's a distortion of him walking and metal doors closing. After a few seconds, he sighs. "All right, alone at last."
"Where did you take me?" I ask.
"I'm in the bleachers," he says.
"Show me."
"Okay." Edward reverts the screen to the outward camera and pans down at the large field. The stadium top is open, and the morning sun is creeping in. "Great view, huh?"
"I like looking at you more," I say.
The screen switches over to Edward again. "Better?"
"Much," I say, my fingers touching his lips. Of course, he can't feel it. "So, is it looking like a short day?" I ask, pulling off a buttery layer of crispy goodness and popping it into my mouth.
Edward sighs and glances away briefly. "No, it's looking like an all-day thing."
There's a knot in my stomach, and I stop chewing. "All day? Like, I might see you still, just later tonight?"
His gaze returns but doesn't stay long as he keeps looking down. "It's practice all day, then this evening, the coach is having a team dinner, then our curfew is at nine."
"I thought it was ten," I say, not that it would make a difference. Scratch that: an hour is better than nothing.
"Yeah, it was, but since you're here," he says, a small smile curving on his lip.
"Irina is too," I argue.
Edward laughs. "No offense against Laurent and Irina, but they are used to this separation. You and I are not."
"Oh, so, this ruling is made to keep you in line?" I toss the croissant on the nightstand as my appetite vanishes.
"Basically," Edward says, easily reading the sourness on my face. "Look, this is my fault. I didn't listen to Laurent when he told me not to bring you up around the coach yesterday. I just got excited about you meeting the guys. I wasn't thinking."
"Why couldn't you bring me around the coach? Does Coach Biers not like me?"
"What?" Edward's eyes widened. "No, no! He loved you. They all loved you. Even Garrett loved you. It's just, I'm the quarterback of this team, and Coach Biers' main guy. A lot of our team's success rides on me." The guilt overtakes him, and he's pinching the bridge of his nose. "It's not the time to lose focus."
"I don't understand."
Edward drops his hand and looks back at me. "You're a distraction, honey."
My voice cracks. "I don't mean to be."
"I know, and Coach Biers isn't blaming you. He just sees how, for the first time since he's known me, I'm not living and breathing football." Edward takes off his cap and anxiously runs his hands through his hair. He puts it back on and lets out a heavy, resigned sigh. "I missed curfew last night."
"What? You did? When did you leave my room?"
Edward avoids looking at me again. "I fell asleep with you in bed and woke up around two-thirty."
"And the coach knows?"
"Yeah, he called my hotel room's phone three times. I got a text from him around two-fifteen saying he wanted to talk to me first thing." Edward squeezes his eyes shut and groans. "I shouldn't be out here right now. If he catches me, there will be hell to pay, but I don't care. I just needed to fucking see you."
"Oh, babe, I don't want you to get in trouble. That's not why I came out here," I say, and it's killing me that I am causing so much strife between him and Coach Biers.
"Honey, I know, and it's not your fault — it's mine. I love this game, but," he laughs to himself, his gorgeous greens somehow not dulled by the two-dimensional screen, "all I want to do is make you say 'fuck' while I'm fucking your pretty little brains out."
I glare at him and apply pressure on my readily roused nub. "You say things like that but aren't here to deliver. Now I have to do it all by myself."
Edward's jaw slacks a little. "Are you serious?"
"Are you alone?" I ask, gently biting my lip.
He nods as he scans the area. "Show me."
I open my legs in bed and sit up straighter, angling the phone down. When Edward looks at my pajama shorts from this perspective, I manipulate the fabric to show him how his words impact me.
He mutters, "Jesus Christ," his eyes glued to the display. "Your lips are so fucking plump."
"Yeah, no kidding. That's how fast you can turn me on," I remark as I lightly touch my nub with the tip of my finger. "It aches so bad for you."
He growls a strained "Fuck," and then the line goes dead.
The abrupt disconnect deflates my engorged lips like a balloon. I cross my legs and fix my frantic gaze on my phone. Did we lose a signal? Or did he hang up on me? What if I disgusted him by being so bold? No, I shake my head. Edward wanted me to show him. The real panic sinks in. What if Coach Biers caught us? Oh, how embarrassing, and just my luck. I continue to think about whether or not I'll be able to face Coach Biers again.
How fun.
"Hey, remember me?" I say out loud. "Or will seeing my labia be better to spark your memory?"
My face goes deep into the pillow, and I scream for a minute.
That's until my phone rings. It's Edward, but he's not on FaceTime.
"Hey," I answer. "Is everything okay?"
"I'm sorry I hung up on you, but I was going to fucking bus — I swear to God, woman." He chuckles.
I exhale in relief. "I thought you got disgusted."
"By that beautiful pussy?" he scoffs, and yep, I am swollen again. "Not a fucking chance."
This time, I don't tell him when I touch myself, but that's because I'm trying to calm the harlot down. "You drive me crazy. You know that?"
"Yeah, the feeling is mutual," he huffs, and I hear his frustration. "How the fuck am I supposed to focus now? I'm going to be hard all day—God damn it."
I open my legs wider and decide not to suppress her any longer. "You got time to bang one out with me?"
There's a long pause.
"Hold on, let me call you back." Edward hangs up.
My fingers are still perched on my nub, languidly enticing her but not sufficiently to satisfy; they are merely putting an end to the pain.
Four minutes later, Edward calls back, and it's Facetime. I grin and answer the phone. "So?"
Edward echoes, "So," before continuing, and I have no idea where he is because his face fills up most of the frame, "Coach isn't here yet, but I asked Laurent to cover for me."
"Oh!" I respond in awe. "How?"
"I'm in the bathroom." Edward gives me a mischievous look. "He won't come looking for me here. And also," he holds up a pair of AirPods and inserts them into his ears, "you can be as loud as you want, honey."
My heart races, and I get a pang of nervousness. "I want to see you."
Edward places the phone on the sink and locks the door. I can see all of him because it is at a respectable level. He's dressed in a black sweatshirt and gray sweatpants, and man, oh, man, do they fit snugly. On the plus side, he's hard, so that helps.
"All right," he says as he licks his lips and moves closer, "show me again."
I tuck a throw pillow between my knees and lean my phone against it. Edward can see everything up close from this vantage point. The pajama bottoms are soaked, and I have to peel them away.
Edward groans, "Fuck me," as my swollen lips hit the screen. He shoves his hand down his sweatpants. "That pussy is fucking dripping for me."
That makes me throb like crazy. Even my finger's additional pressure makes no difference. I mutter, "Edward," incoherently, "I want you to taste me."
He grunts, "I would lick the shit out of that pussy," and blocks my vision by touching himself under his pants.
I say, gently putting a finger inside, "Take off your pants."
Edward complies, lowering his boxers and sweatpants to his knees. That stunning penis emerges, fully firm, along with that head of pre-cum. With his thumb, he rubs it along his shaft. I become more drenched as I try to picture how it would feel to be there with him.
I moan, plunging my knuckles deep, "Oh, God."
"Christ." Edward leans against the sink and fixes his eyes on me as I move. He gets a firm hold of his length and licks his han—which makes me want to scream all the profanities. "Yeah, that's right, Bruiser. You make that pussy feel good."
I massage my nub between my fingers with my other hand, just like Edward did to me last night. The two together are wonderful, and witnessing Edward jerking himself off completes the pleasure trifecta.
I groan and add, "If I was there, baby," as Edward strokes his penis, making my mouth water. I start to say, "I would get on my knees," but before I can finish, he cums all over his fist. That sets me off, and I come as well. "Oh, my...Oooh."
As he rubs his head and hisses, "Fuck, fuck," he milks out more cum. It's lovely, and I enjoy the last of my high while caressing my nub till the tingling stops. His green eyes flit past me on the screen. "Let me see your face."
I pick up my phone and bring it up. "Hi."
"Just as I thought," he smirks, "you're fucking blushing." He laughs at that, which makes me flush more, but his expression quickly turns disgusted. "Hang on." He walks out of frame, and I hear a faucet spouting water. He is pulling up his pants when he returns. "Honey, I have to go in a moment." His tone has a hint of sadness to it. "You feel better?"
I grin and tuck myself into the blanket. "Hmm, I think a nap would be nice. How are you doing?"
"I won't be in pain all day." He closes his eyes tight and groans. "Fuck! Coach is here." He rubs his forehead and sighs. "If I don't call you, don't take it as I don't want to, 'cause I do, honey. I love you."
"I love you." My fingers touch his face on the screen. Edward smiles as he can feel it. "We both do."
"All right, my beautiful girl, keep yourself and our baby Bruiser well-fed, and I'll talk to you soon."
I say, "Talk to you soon," and we end FaceTime.
Edward didn't call me back the rest of the day, and I didn't leave the room. I barely got out of bed. It seemed my nausea was good if I laid on my back watching Netflix and ordered room service. The little nugget behaved, not giving me any issues, and it was nice to feel normal again. I did wonder from time to time what Edward was doing, and I would text to let him know I was thinking him and that I loved him—even if he couldn't respond back.
On the bright side, I had Irina's number and texted her throughout the day. She gave me a rundown of activities, and typically, if they were back home in Seattle, Coach Biers would release the team around six in the evening. Not this time, and that surprised her. I told her what Edward had said, and Irina replied, "Oh, okay. That makes sense now." When I pressed her more, she said, "Let's talk about this tomorrow."
After that, I took another long nap, only waking up around seven in the evening. I checked my phone, and there was still zero contact from Edward. I missed him like crazy, and I didn't know how to cope. This rule of Coach Biers seemed like cruel and unusual punishment. Why did it matter where the player slept? Is it a sex thing? Were the guys able to perform better if they had a ball sack full of cum? My brain was trying to reconcile the two, but it still didn't make sense to me.
Eventually, my sloth-like ways made me feel icky, and I got up and showered. That felt good, but being clean and refreshed had me restless. It's around eight in the evening when I decide to wander the hotel. I'm not sure where Edward's new room was, and I don't think he intentionally kept it from me, but I hoped I would somehow stumble upon it.
Taking the elevator to the first floor, I was surprised to see Garrett sitting in one of the lavish chairs in the hotel lobb. He was by himself and on his phon—no surprise there. A small part of me wanted to pass him up, but a more significant, insane part of me just couldn't let the self-doubt go. So, throwing my shoulders back, I walk right up to him.
"Hi!" I say.
There's a sly smile on his face, probably thinking I'm some girl who was D.T.F., and of course, when I came into view, his face went blank. "Hey," he said. "It's Bella, right?"
I say, "That's right," and point to the seat next to him. "Do you mind if I join you?"
There's a flash of uncertainty behind his eyes, and he glances behind me. I follow his movement and look but see no one.
"Um, it's fine if you don't want me to," I say awkwardly.
Garrett sighs, feeling compelled and entrapped. He waves toward the empty chair. "No, it's not a problem."
"Thanks," I say and take a seat.
To my shock, he pockets his phone and turns his body toward me. "It's late, Bella. What are you doing roaming around?"
"I got tired of being in my room."
Garrett adds, "And you were hoping to run into Edward."
My bashful smile gives me away. "Have you seen him?"
"Let's see, Coach told us to be in our room by nine, and it's," he pulls up his shirt sleeve and looks at his pricey Rolex watch, "close to eight-thirty. So, Boy Scout is probably in his room waiting on Coach's call."
"Really?" I say, half-surprised but primarily disappointed.
Garrett bobs his head. "Yep, EC always does the right thing."
"Well, a lot depends on him," I say. Garrett doesn't argue. We sit there in silence for a minute. "So..."
"So...what?"
"We didn't get a chance to talk last night," I say, and it's an olive branch of sorts. "I feel like we've gotten on the wrong foot."
"Have we?" Garrett condescendingly tilts his head.
It makes me uncomfortable, so I fidget and stammer, "You just seemed distant and uninterested at dinner."
Garrett creates a whistling sound while sucking air through his teeth. "Yeah, it wasn't my crowd."
My eyes briefly avert from him as I answer, "Oh, okay," but he continues to fixate on me. He smirks when I turn around to face him, but there's something peculiar about it. "You don't like me, do you?"
He arches an uncertain brow. "Do I have to?"
I respond, "No," and I'm telling the truth, "but how can you not like me if you don't even know me?"
He chuckles. "I know everything I need to know about you."
"You do, huh?" I say, narrowing my eyes into thin slits. The way he can dismiss me boils my blood, and I am through being pleasant. "Tell me, what do you know about me, Garrett?"
His elbows rest on his knees as he bends forward and brushes the greasy strands from his face. "I know you broke up Edward and Gigi."
AN: Whaaaat did he saaaaay?
