Hope everyone had a relaxing day yesterday, whether you celebrate Thanksgiving or not! See you next Friday.


.
twenty-eight
speak now
.

Edward

"I don't want to end this. And I'm not sad or scared," Bella murmurs, her gaze dropping.

I don't know what she's about to say. I just gave her an out to leave and walk away from this, but she doesn't want one.

Her words don't match her body language, though.

She seems weighed down, and I feel like shit for dumping my past on her. I wasn't planning on doing that tonight, but once I started, I couldn't fucking stop. I didn't open up to her so she'd pity me. I just wanted her to hear all this from me and not the sensationalized version from the podcast.

"I'm…" She pauses, her words held hostage.

I want them.

All of them.

But she doesn't speak. So I shift closer and finish her sentence because I can give her some of my words if she has none.

"You're perfect," I whisper against her lips before kissing her.

Our mouths move together. Slow, and then too fast. Like we're both desperate for each other. Even if it feels so right and she tastes so good, I know something's off.

She's here, but she's not.

I pull back because I want all of her. And I'm not talking sex. Although, I've thought about it a lot. Or maybe an average amount for someone who's finally found something he didn't know he was missing.

"What's up?" I ask, searching her face.

She slumps forward, her forehead pressing against mine.

"Maybe don't say stuff like that," she murmurs.

"Like what?"

She sits up. "That I'm perfect."

I cup her face with one hand, my thumb brushing her cheekbone. "I mean… you are."

"I'm not. There's no such thing."

"Okay, I get that, but… you're perfect for me. That's a thing. Right?"

I know it is. Because she's here. Because of how I fucking feel.

She groans, but her face softens before she covers my mouth with one of her hands, physically shutting me up. It's cute, though. I kiss her palm, and she smiles a little before pulling her hand away and tracing my lips with her fingertips.

"What's the problem? Would you rather I be a dick? Try to sleep with you and then cut ties? Because that's not me," I say seriously. "I'm not trying to overwhelm you. But if this doesn't work out, it's not going to be because I didn't let you know how I feel, okay? I—"

She cuts me off with a hard, desperate kiss. One that's she's fully present for now.

With our chests flush, I deepen our kiss. I coax her mouth open with mine, our tongues brushing. She tastes like whiskey and wine. I go for another taste because once isn't enough.

She moans—just a soft, sensual vibration.

Fuck, I feel that sound in my groin. Straight to my dick.

It finally feels like she's giving us the okay to act on our attraction and I get too excited.

I kiss her too fast.

I grab her face too hard because all of this pent-up desperation for her has been building.

But I tell myself to wait. I don't push for more.

I let her decide where this is going because I don't trust myself to take this slow.

While straddling me, her dress is up around her waist, but she's still covered. It's tempting to slide my hands up her stockings. To dig my fingers into the flesh of her thighs.

But I don't.

We make out for a while. I don't know how long. Until we're both breathing hard. Until I'm straining in my slacks. Until my mouth feels numb, and I forget what it's ever been used for other than kissing her.

She slowly rocks against me, her hips rolling and testing it out like she doesn't trust herself either.

"Baby," I exhale against her mouth.

"Feels good," she sighs.

I don't tell her I could make her feel so much more.

Instead, I show her.

When she grinds, I push upward to press against her, the silk of her dress a barrier between us. I do it again, meeting her each time, and it elicits a moan from her pretty lips and a low guttural groan from me.

I don't want her to stop. I want more. I want everything she's willing to give me.

"Can I touch you?" I ask between kisses, and she nods.

I slide one of my hands under her dress, skimming along her thigh.

"Fuck," I hiss when I feel a garter attached to her stocking. My fingers curl around the strap, then carefully let it go. I drop my head back against the couch and stare at the ceiling. "You want me dead, huh?"

She kisses my throat and looks apologetic when I lift my head.

"I wore it to feel sexy," she admits. "Not because I thought anything would happen. And certainly not because I want you dead."

"You are sexy. So fucking sexy. I know I can't call you perfect, but can I at least say that, or will you fight me on that one, too?"

She just laughs, but the sound is off. "I give up. You win."

"Good."

Swallowing, I lean in to kiss her again. I touch her again. This time, both hands follow the dangerous trail of the straps until it reaches the lace edge of the garter belt.

I hesitate. I'm torn.

I want her dress off.

I want to stare at her in just lingerie.

I want to rip lace from her body.

No, I want to take my time, peeling it off.

I want to fall at the altar of her and worship her curves.

Shit.

I want too fucking much.

I need to slow down.

But it's never been like this. And now that I've confided in her and she didn't run, I want her even more.

"What?" she whispers, searching my face. "Are you mad at me?"

"What?" I kiss my way from her lips to her neck, sucking on the soft skin of her throat. "Because of the garter? Fuck no."

"Not because of that."

"Do I seem mad?" I whisper in her ear, biting lightly at her lobe.

The only answer is no. I don't seem mad. I seem like a man possessed. A man starved from the one thing he's been obsessed with for weeks. And it's here now. She's here. Sitting on my lap, making me feel good, letting us get closer, and taunting me with her mouth and her lingerie and her soft, sexy moans.

She buries her face in my neck.

It feels off. It's not like she's trying to get closer, but she's trying to hide.

I wait, giving her whatever space she needs.

"No, you don't seem mad, but…" Her lips kiss my neck this time. It's soft. Apologetic. Sexy.

I'm getting mixed signals from her.

With a green light, my eyes fall shut, and I grab her hips, moving her on me again, needing that pressure.

She kisses her way from my neck to my jaw to my mouth.

And then she breaks contact and sits up so I can look at her.

Her eyes are glazed, her lips are swollen, and I'm pretty sure I look the same. Just fucking gone.

"But what?" I ask, trying to focus because it seems like she wants to talk.

Her lower lip gets trapped between her teeth. "I didn't tell you I'd heard the podcast."

"I know, but I get why. And honestly, if you came to me about it first and wanted answers, I'm not sure I would've appreciated that," I admit. "I think I needed to tell you in my own time."

Something flashes over her face—determination, maybe, and a mixture of guilt. But I don't know why.

"You're being too nice about it," she mumbles.

"You expected me to be mad?"

"I knew who you were, Edward," she says cautiously. "And I didn't tell you."

"I understand why. You wanted to get to know me on your terms, right? Without the speculation of the podcast."

She nods. "Technically, yes."

"You didn't do anything wrong," I reassure her, but she doesn't look any more relieved.

The mood is gone. If she started kissing me again and asked me to touch her, I would without a second thought. But I don't think anything more will happen tonight, and that's fine.

"Why don't we just watch a movie?" I suggest, hoping it takes away whatever worries are stuck in her mind.

She moves off my lap and fixes her dress. "I could go, too."

My brows pull together because that's the last thing I want. "Home?"

"Yeah."

"Do you want to leave?" I ask.

"No. I feel bad for getting us all worked up and then pulling back."

"Don't feel bad. I get it. It's been a long night." I reach for the remote. "And you're allowed to change your mind."

"So are you," she offers.

I smile and lean over for a quick kiss. "I'd never change my mind about you."

When I turn on the TV, and Netflix opens, "How To Lose A Guy In Ten Days" is on the screen.

Bella laughs a little, the moment lightening.

"Be honest," she prompts. "You watched the entire movie and didn't just skip to the end, huh?"

There's no use lying now. "Guilty."

Her mouth falls open, and she laughs. "I can't believe you lied."

"Hey, you lied first. Saying there wasn't a happy ending."

Her smile fades. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be." I kiss her again. "I don't care. In my defense, it was a good movie, and I'll watch anything with Matthew McConaughey. I don't watch much TV, but True Detective season one is one of my favorite shows."

I return to the main screen and scroll through different movies and shows.

"I'm gonna go get some water," she says. "Do you want anything?"

"I'll get it for you." I hand her the remote and then stand, adjusting the bulge in my slacks. "Pick something to watch."

I move into the kitchen and fill two glasses of water. When I'm back, Bella's staring blankly at the TV, and the screen hasn't changed.

"Is there anything you've been dying to watch?" I ask, handing her the glass.

She drinks, then sets it on the coffee table. "Not really."

I sit back down, stumped. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"Yeah."

I'm trying not to get in my head, but there's been a shift between us after I told her everything.

"Did I fuck this up? I know I dumped a lot on you, but—"

"Edward, no." She leans over for a hug, her arms around my shoulders. "Nothing you said was too much or scared me, okay? I don't want to talk about it anymore, I promise. Can we just lie here and watch something? Zone out and just chill?"

"Okay." I hug her back, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to the side of her neck. "If that's what you want."

"I've never seen True Detective, so maybe we can watch that," she suggests when we break apart.

"It's kind of dark," I warn.

"That's fine. I can handle dark."

It feels like a double meaning; she must be talking about me. She can handle my past and all the shit that comes with it, which makes her even more amazing than she already is because she doesn't have to. She could walk away. She owes me nothing—zero understanding or empathy—yet she's making me feel at ease.

I get comfortable and lie on the couch, pressed against the cushions to make room for her. With her back to my front, I drape an arm around her waist and hold her.

"Do you want something more comfortable to wear?" I offer as I start episode one.

"Maybe later." She covers my hand with hers, threading our fingers together. "I'm good now."

Not even ten minutes into the show, she falls asleep. Her breath turns heavy, and her body relaxes.

"Bella," I whisper, my lips grazing her shoulder. "You can sleep in my bed. I'll take the couch."

"No." She groans. "I'm not sleeping. I'm watching."

She's a little liar, but I let her pretend to watch, giving her time to rest.

With the TV on low and Bella in my arms, I don't fight sleep.

I wake up later with the show still playing, but Bella's no longer beside me.

She's at the end of the couch, crying.

Sitting up, I scrub a hand over my mouth.

"What's wrong?" I ask, voice groggy with sleep.

She wipes her cheeks and looks at me with the saddest eyes.

Her expression sits like lead in my stomach because something feels fucking wrong.

"Bella, what?" I scoot further down the couch until I'm beside her, gently squeezing the back of her neck to comfort her.

"I lied." She sniffles. "I lied to you and I'm so, so sorry. It makes me sick, and I can't do it anymore. I like you so much and have real feelings for you, but I can't take this further because you deserve more, Edward."

I frown, sliding a hand through my hair. Part of me is irritated because she scared me for a second. I thought she was about to end things with us, but she's still hung up on not telling me she knew about the podcast.

"Bell, we talked about it. It's fine and—"

"No," she stresses, shaking her head. "You deserve the full truth. Rosalie was my cousin. I'm… I'm Isa Hale."