Songs Mentioned: Let's Get It On, Marvin Gaye

Chapter 33: The Mission

JPOV

Feb 2006, Catskills, NY

We spent the rest of the day lazing in bed, reading quietly. Anya nestled against me, her warmth a constant reassurance, the rhythm of her emotions—steady and content—keeping me grounded. At one point Anya painted her toes, a sparkly midnight blue that contrasted so nicely against her pale skin. In the evening, we headed downstairs, and I made her a quick dinner: a toasted BLT sandwich served with those bizarre All Dressed potato chips she loved so much.

When Esme had picked up Anya's Valentine's gift for me across the border, she had also grabbed some Canadian snacks, including these ridiculous chips. They smelled absolutely revolting, and I couldn't say I enjoyed kissing Anya after she ate them. But her emotional cocktail? She was so happy, so content, and dare I say, almost giddy. I could overlook the awful taste for that kind of joy.

We settled in to watch a movie, her laughter bubbling up occasionally at the film's humour, though she quieted as the plot grew heavier. It wasn't long before her eyelids began to droop, and by the second act, she'd fallen asleep against my shoulder, her breathing soft and even. I carefully carried her upstairs to bed, cradling her as though she might break, and tucked her in, brushing a strand of hair from her face as I lingered a moment longer.

Then I headed out for a quick hunt. I needed to clear my head.

The truth was, during the movie, I hadn't been able to concentrate. Not really. My mind had been elsewhere—on tomorrow morning, when the 24 hours would be up. When I could finally be intimate with Anya again. The thought should have brought excitement, anticipation. And it did. But it also brought something else: fear.

It was ridiculous, I knew. The position Anya wanted—to laze in bed and be ravished—was simple. Missionary. It's called that because it's considered vanilla, plain. The most common, uncomplicated way to connect. Yet for me, it was anything but.

Neither of my previous partners had ever wanted it. Maria, for all her control, viewed intimacy as a calculated exchange of power, never allowing vulnerability to creep in. And Alice… well, she'd always shied away from anything that left me exposed. With all my scars and bite marks, the history etched into my skin, she couldn't see past the predator. She'd never said it outright, but it had been clear enough in the way she avoided them, the way she preferred positions that kept her focus elsewhere. Like not staring intensely in my eyes.

But Anya? She was asking for the exact opposite. She didn't just want me close; she wanted me open, vulnerable, with nothing to hide. She didn't flinch at the thought or sight of my scars—she wanted them against her skin. That thought alone stirred something deep within me, something I hadn't dared to name.

And yet, it also terrified me. It wasn't as if Anya hadn't run her hands over my scars before, tracing them with a tenderness that never failed to disarm me. In other positions, ones where she had more control, she'd caressed them without hesitation, as if they were part of some masterpiece she couldn't stop admiring. And afterwards, when she would lay in my arms, she would lazily trace them. But this? To lay on top of her, fully exposed, with nothing to shield me from her gaze? That was different. That was… vulnerable.

I knew I could maintain the position with ease. Hell, I could stay poised like that for hours if I wanted to. The physicality wasn't the issue. It was what it represented—being completely open, completely hers, with nothing to hide. She would see everything. Everything. And she would take it in as she always did: unflinching, unapologetically loving, and utterly Anya.

And as if that wasn't enough, the weather tomorrow promised sunny skies. All day. My sparkling ass would be on full display, catching the light with every movement. I could already imagine the look on her face, the way her emotions would shift into a heady cocktail of awe and desire. Anya was never subtle about how much she loved my genetic defect as she called it, and while her adoration often left me flattered—and a little amused—it also left me feeling exposed. Vulnerable.

And there was that word again. Vulnerable.

The worst part? And this is so ridiculously embarrassing to admit—even to myself—but I had never done this as a human. And since it was never wanted as a vampire, how the hell do you even start?

It wasn't that I didn't know how to initiate intimacy with Anya. I mean, I've got moves. She's made that abundantly clear on more than one occasion. I'm also a damn empath and I can get her off with barely touching her – as evident from earlier today when she passed out from the intensity. But this? This felt different. It wasn't just about physicality or chemistry—it was about stepping into uncharted territory, both emotionally and physically.

How do you ease into something so intimate, so unguarded? Did I just… lay there on top of her and hope for the best? Was there some kind of romantic prelude expected? Should I ask her first? Would that ruin the mood?

Fuck, I could practically hear Emmett's booming laughter if he ever found out I was overthinking this.

But then, this wasn't just about the mechanics. It's not like Anya and I weren't in sync in bed, we were practically from the get-go. But again, it was always positions with her taking the lead, her in control – speed, penetration, rhythm. I followed her lead. Eventually over the months I learned to be with her in other ways, our default setting wasn't always seated, her cradled in my lap between my thighs and chest. We had expanded to spooning, reverse cowgirl, plough. From behind against the windows. Hell, even up against the walls and yes on New Years Day I was more domineering in how I took her, in how I pushed our mate bond to the limit. But my point is it wasn't always skin on skin, let alone face to face.

Anya was asking for me to touch her at every conceivable point and yes while she didn't say it in so many words, I knew my mate well enough to know she would want to do it during the daytime with my genetic defect on full display. There would be no hiding in the shadows. She'd made it clear it wasn't just about being "lazy in bed and ravished." Although I suspected what she was saying is she was hoping for cunnilingus – no shit sherlock, she asked you to give her a full Brazilian. She was absolutely expecting me to take full advantage of that and trust me. I wanted to. Hell, I had wanted to the moment I had removed the last strip of wax.

I digress.

Missionary to Anya was about connection. About trust. About letting go of the barriers that had kept me guarded for so long. Of letting her see all of me, unfiltered and unhidden.

Oh, fuck—I'm overthinking this like Eddie Boy. Me! Jasper Whitlock! Overthinking how to be intimate with my partner—no, my mate. This was exactly the kind of thing Edward would agonize over, except his version would involve debating the mechanics of giving Bella a chaste kiss, as if it were a diplomatic negotiation, not how best to approach having vanilla sex with her.

The thought made me groan aloud. God, I'm so glad my idiot brother is in South America. If he knew about this, I'd never hear the end of it. Ever. He'd take some philosophical angle about how the burden of immortality makes every decision heavy with consequence, or some sanctimonious bullshit like that. Meanwhile, Emmett would probably be rolling on the floor laughing, offering me completely useless advice in between flexing his biceps. And Carlisle? Fuck, he would find some pamphlet doctors handed out to teens about safe sex practices.

Fuck me.

I stood there, against the trees, half-laughing at myself now. Pull it together, Whitlock. You've fought wars. You've led armies. You've survived Maria and decades of carnage. You can handle this.

But could I? Maybe Anya initiates this? Or is she expecting me to take the lead? I could practically feel the bond humming between us even now, the quiet anticipation of what tomorrow would bring. Is she waking up first thing in the morning and expecting this? Or do we wait until after breakfast?

And why was I planning this like a damn battle strategy? Did I need to schedule it in? Maybe pencil it between coffee and her second helping of oatmeal and berries?

Get it together, Whitlock. I'd faced worse—faced much worse, in fact. This wasn't life or death. This wasn't a battlefield. It was Anya. My mate. And she wants missionary! She's not asking you to rob a bank for fucks sakes. Although I totally would if she asked. She was my mate. I would do whatever it took to regain her trust after the whole Alice fiasco.

Okay, I told myself. Tomorrow, when the moment comes, you'll stop thinking and just let it happen. She trusts you. You trust her. The bond will guide you.

And honestly, how hard could it be?

I truly did overthink it. By the time I came home, the tension in my chest hadn't entirely lifted, so I slipped into bed with a book and watched Anya sleep. Her breathing was soft and steady, her emotions calm even in slumber, and it helped settle me.

In the morning, she woke up sleepily, rubbing her eyes and mumbling something incoherent before shuffling off to the bathroom, taking her glasses with her. I listened to her go about her morning routine, brushing her teeth, washing her face—completely oblivious to the storm of nerves I'd been riding for hours. And then, she wandered back into the bedroom, still quiet, her hair slightly mussed and her expression serene.

She didn't look at me at first, and I stayed where I was, propped up on the bed, watching her curiously. Without a word, she walked to the small sound system we kept in the room, hooked up her iPod, and hit play. The opening notes of Marvin Gaye's Let's Get It On filled the space, and I froze.

She was setting the mood. Clearly.

Her eyes finally flicked to mine, a playful smile tugging at the corners of her lips as she swayed slightly to the music. And slowly unbuttoned my dress shirt, painfully slowly as she swiveled her hips to the beat and softly sang to me.

My body responded. Oh, hell did it ever. I found myself shuffling off my boxers and t-shirt by the time she reached her last button, and she teased me by dropping down to her heels then raised herself up turning around, looking over her shoulder before she dropped the dress shirt. There she stood in the early morning light, completely naked and she pirouetted back around and crawled up the bed over top of me, slowly kissing her way up my body, her hips continuing to undulate softly as she hummed along to Marvin Gaye. When she reached my groin, she looked up and winked at me before lightly running her tongue along my member.

"Anya!" I groaned. She rarely gave head, I wasn't comfortable at the thought of her ingesting my venom-laced seminal fluid, but licking and kissing me there? I found myself gripping the bed sheets and growling before she eventually stopped her relentless attack and continued her journey up my body, her own grazing my skin. By the time she had reached my face I was practically panting, I had opened my senses to her and all I felt was love, desire and lust. And given the way the sun was streaming through the windows and my genetic defect was on full display I was not surprised. She peppered my face with kisses, tracing her fingers around my ears and then murmured, "I'm ready to be ravished Tex." Then playfully tried to roll me over.

Not that she could, but I relented and rolled us over, careful to maintain the full body contact she wanted, and I was rewarded with her legs moving up mine and entwining slightly below my knees and then she raised her arms above her head and sighed.

I rested in my elbows and began my torturous descent down her body, nipping and sucking along my path, or at times lazily dragging my tongue against her warm skin. I swirled it over her nipple before lightly rolling it around my tongue and pulled lightly with my lips, loving how it puckered erect, my mouth trailing kisses to the other and attacking it in the same delicious manner. I continued to slide myself down her body, always maintaining contact, my tongue dragging down her landing strip until it rested at the apex of her thighs, "Darlin'" I murmured, "I believe it is time."

"Damn straight Tex" Anya moaned back, shifting slightly so she was on her elbows and watching me through hooded lids, "care to inspect it thoroughly?" she teased as she slowly dropped her knees apart and exposed her newly waxed beaver. I carefully placed each leg over my shoulders.

Really Anya is that a Canadian thing? Beaver? I shoved that errant thought aside as I inhaled deeply, her arousal flooding my system and I growled slightly. "Oh Darlin' I do believe this is perfection." I drawled as I rubbed my nose along down her smooth lips, down one side and up the other and then lightly blew on her now exposed clit. "Yes perfection." I proceeded to plant kisses along the skin and my god, so smooth, so warm, so…. Anya.

I felt Anya's thighs against my ears and her hips rising slightly from the bed, seeking friction, contact. I licked along her trench, lapping at her before settling in on her clit.

"Look at me Tex" I heard Anya moan, and I readjusted myself slightly so that I could look at her while thoroughly inspecting and ministering to her needs. She held my gaze, and I saw her cheeks flushing, heard her heartbeat pick up speed as my tongue did.

I did not break contact until she was cresting over her climax, her sex mashing against my face, her release coming out in torrents. When she settled, I placed her legs back onto the bed and kissed my way back up her body, her juices trailing in my wake, by the time I reached her face my member was throbbing with ache. I needed her, needed to be ensconced in her wet folds.

This was it. This was the moment. Anya's legs were wrapped around mine as if trying to pin me in place, her arms around my neck, her gaze never leaving mine. Resting on my left elbow I awkwardly shifted myself to line up against her until I remembered what she said yesterday, "If there's a pillow under my hips, then it can have a deep intense penetration that hits all the best spots." So, I quickly grabbed the nearest pillow, Anya watching me, smiling broadly and raising her hips in anticipation.

"Impatient aren't we darlin'?" I drawled.

"Excited," she responded as she wriggled herself comfortably onto the pillow and I soon found myself well positioned to slide right into her. And when I did, we both groaned loudly. I continued to rest on my elbows, my hands near her face so that I could run my fingers against her hair, her ears and my hips undulated slowly, languorously. Anya shifted her legs against the movements, and I lowered myself slightly closer to her, until my chest hairs were grazing against her breasts, and she smiled widely.

"Enjoying being ravished?" I asked her between kisses.

"Ummmmm" she moaned in response, "yes, like that!" she gasped as I tilted my pelvis slightly, penetrating her just so, my pubic bone rubbing against her clit.

I kept the pace torturous, edging her closer to release, only to back off. Never breaking contact from her skin. Soon she was covered in a thin sheen of sweat, glistening, her skin flushed from the exertion, her back arching off the bed not wanting to break contact.

Anya was not lying. It truly is full body bliss. Soon she was begging, "Tabarnak! Tex! Please, just, please, please!"

"Please what darlin" I teased her as I flexed myself inside her, her core gripping me tightly in response.

"More, more, faster" she panted, her head tossing from side to side her legs squeezing round mine her hips bucking up at me. I picked up my speed, slowly at first and then ever so slightly faster and faster, her own movements mimicking the increased pace. Just as we were about to fall off the precipice together, she whipped her eyes open and looked at me, intently, deeply, my own instinctively dilated and I growled, and lowered myself 'til I was a hairsbreadth from her face, I took one hand and weaved into between our bodies, how I don't know, given there was hardly room between us, but my fingers sought out what I was seeking – her clit. With one final drive to the finish, I pinched her hard and slammed her with lust and she was gasping my name her back arched off the bed, her neck exposed, and my own head dropped towards it, and I found myself sucking hard, my lips over my teeth, in the hollow of her clavicle as I shudder inside of her.

I found my elbow giving way until I was indeed lying completely on Anya, my entire frame, her heart beating rapidly against my chest, my face still nuzzled in her neck. I wiggled my hand free between us and wrapped it under her neck, pulling her closer into me until we were on our side, my member still sheathed inside her.

Had I been human I would have passed out. No doubt about it.

"Ta-ba-nak!" She eventually moaned as her heart rate returned to normal.

"That good?" I asked her, squeezing her lightly, unwilling to let go of her, or let go of how good her skin felt next to mine.

"The absolute best Jasper." She smiled into me.