Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Debasement

Edward's POV

Bella’s pen scratched against the page, the sound uneven and impatient. She lay sprawled on her stomach, hair spilling over one shoulder, muttering under her breath. 

Her expression at this moment was a mystery to me. Not incomprehensible—obscured. Although she lounged just to the left of me, propped on two delicate elbows, she faced the foot of her bed with half-finished college applications strewn before her in disarray.

I lay parallel to her, reclining lazily with my back resting partially against her headboard. From my vantage point, I could both bask in the heat radiating off her slight frame and study its soft curves, wholly untethered by manners or self-restraint. It was indulgent, almost inappropriate. But I could not see the small crease in her brow, nor watch her worry her lip, which felt enough of a sacrifice to justify my voyeurism.

To pass the time, I pretended to read—a book open in my hands, a prop, but my attention drifted constantly to the cadence of her heartbeat. My role was to keep her on task, yet all I could think about was how easy it would be to lean over and distract her from every obligation she loathed.

She sighed, scribbled, sighed again. 

Curiosity won the better of me. I craned my neck, catching a glimpse of her profile. As expected, her brows were furrowed and she held her lip captive between her teeth. Even irritated, she was beautiful—especially irritated, perhaps. But I was meant to be encouraging her discipline, not reveling in the stubborn set of her mouth.

She continued to roll the hostage lip between her teeth. For a brief moment, I considered tossing the book back into the pile on the floor, joining her at the foot of the bed, climbing on top of her and busying her lips with my own. But she was busy enough as it was.

Be patient, I scolded myself. Let her work.

Charlie, I knew, was already asleep. It wouldn’t be long before the first bout of his snores rattled faintly through the wall, alerting Bella to this fact.

“Edward,” she warned, sensing my eyes on her back. “If you keep staring, I’ll never get this essay done.”

She did not turn to look at me when she said it—another snub—but her tone was amused.

“You’ve done enough for tonight. Let the applications wait.”

As if on cue, the first snore rippled through the still air of the hallway between Charlie’s bedroom and Bella’s. She sighed, dropped the pen and—before I could move out of her path—crawled across the mattress and over my legs. I felt faint whispers of her brush against me as she climbed down, hair dragging over my shins, warm hand grazing my cold knee. As she made her way toward the lightswitch, I reached down, collected the scattered papers, and tucked them safely into the drawer of her nightstand. 

The overhead light went dark with a faint click, leaving only the soft amber glow of some string lights to illuminate the room. Human eyes did not navigate the dark well, and Bella was especially prone to tripping and stumbling, even in broad daylight on the flattest of surfaces. I need not be another obstacle in her poorly-lit return to the bed. 

Sitting up quickly, I perched at the edge of the mattress with my feet planted on the floor. She wouldn’t have to climb across my legs again, I left ample room for her return. Only a few more steps and Bella would be burning me with proximity once more. I smiled eagerly, patting the open space beside me. A silent invitation.

The sudden quickening of her pulse told me her attention had finally shifted away from applications. Anticipation stung my palms, which ached to reach out and pull her close. To my delight, she did not climb into bed next to me. My arms closed around her as she settled into my lap instead, and I had little time to prepare before her mouth was on mine.

The distracting heat of her body temporarily dulled all my noble intentions. She threaded her hands into my hair, pressing her chest flush against mine. I let myself burn in her feverish kisses and drown in her breath, sweet and intoxicating and staggering against my mouth. My hands moved of their own volition, one at the small of her back, the other gently cupping her jaw, coaxing it closer to mine.

Charitably, she indulged this for several minutes before breaking the kiss. Just breaking for air, I thought. I thought. When she began to slip from my lap, I clutched her tighter, making another false assumption. She wasn’t falling, she was leaving. Why? Did she need a human moment? Was she cold? I loosened my grasp to free her. Warmth disappeared from my lap as she eased off and—even through the sound of her pulse, rapid and pounding against the fragile skin of her throat—I heard the soft thud of her knees as they sunk into the rug below. Did she mean to stop there? I offered my hand, again assuming, incorrectly, that she needed assistance standing. She kissed my palm and then turned her head slightly, pressing her cheek where her lips had just been. I felt two fiery hands flatten against my knees and slide upward simultaneously. Perhaps the applications had aggravated her more than I once thought, I mused. It would not be my first bad take of the evening. Perhaps she was being stubborn, unwilling to accept my hand. I waited to feel her apply the pressure she would if she were to use my legs as leverage to push herself up off the floor. 

But the sensation never came.

Was she unwell? I stared down at her, worried now. She seemed perfectly content kneeling between my legs. But the small v between her eyebrows appeared, as though she were trying to work out a difficult problem.

“Are you feeling all right?” The back of my palm caressed her forehead, feeling for signs of fever and finding none. Perfectly normal. As far as body temperature was concerned, at least.

Having become so immersed in my confusion and pursuit of a diagnosis, I had been too slow to catch her unbuttoning my pants. It wasn’t until I felt them loosen around my hips that I noticed what her hands had done. Ah. All the pieces fell into place at once. She tugged my zipper, shifting the denim and freeing what had been so poorly concealed beneath the fabric—the shameful evidence of my own arousal, humiliatingly exposed.

My hands hovered in disbelief, unsure what to do. Perhaps I was misinterpreting the situation. Would it offend her if I lifted her off her knees? Surely she cannot mean… The usual dire need to protect her virtue warred against my fear of being presumptuous. I realized too late that I should have been frenetically tucking myself back into my pants, pulling Bella into my arms. The sight of my manhood pressing urgently beneath thin cotton briefs was obscene. I should have covered her eyes. Instead, I froze just long enough for her lips to brush an exposed sliver of skin on my lower abdomen, just above the offensive member. The gesture made my throat dry with thirst of another kind entirely.

The humiliation and indignity of allowing my thinly-veiled erection to rest mere inches away from Bella’s pouting face had not entirely set in, but it would surely come crashing down on me soon. I collected her thin wrists with my free hand so that she could not continue her exploration below my waist. Excitement turned to confusion in her deep brown eyes. She leaned further into my lap as if to intentionally lower my briefs with her teeth.

My hand flew to her chin, tilting her face to look at me. She looked… hopeful. A smile crept across her face. No, no, no. Her unconditional trust sent a jolt of terror through my body. Terror, because I wanted desperately to let her continue. This is indecent, I scolded myself. A gentleman would never permit this! But a man might… Pressing my eyes shut, I attempted to steady my racing thoughts.  If I allowed her to kneel before me in this way, I would be the basest of men. No—this cannot happen. I must end it before crossing a line.

“Absolutely not.” I laughed, without humor. I tried to sound stern and uncompromising.

“Why not?”

I laughed again, just once, louder and almost hysterical. The sound was hoarse and thick with incredulousness. Why not? Where to begin? Because your lips—so soft and warm and inviting—do not belong there, not in this way. Not yet. Perhaps not ever. That’s why not.

“Please, Bella,” I groaned. “Don’t ask this of me.” 

She sighed, deflating. “Don’t you want to…?”

Of course I want to! My thoughts were frantic. Loud. Let her have her way just this once! Though it was excruciating to do so, I chose my words carefully, forcing myself to deny her for fear of begging her to continue instead.

“The answer is no. Now, get up.” It sounded harsher than I had intended it to.

Am I offending her by trying to protect her? The truth is too obscene to be a comfort. What would I say? That I want it? That I want her? That her lips around me would be a pleasure unlike anything I had ever known in my entire existence? Each of these admissions, though true, were wrought with shame.

Without question, these truths would remain unspoken forever. But the blackened seed had already begun taking root. I felt it there, growing a shameful image, needling at the fringes of my mind: her warm, wet mouth on the most sensitive part of me. No, no, no. I lamented again, shoving the image from my mind. Defusing the current situation was my top priority. I could scold myself later, after I had successfully stopped Bella from attempting to pleasure me… with her mouth. I bit back a low groan.

“You don’t understand,” I started. “This is not—”

She cut me off. “Don’t tell me it’s not safe!”

Her protest was louder than expected. We both paused while I listened in on Charlie. Still sleeping soundly.

“I’m not,” I whispered. “But that is not something a gentleman accepts from a lady. I cannot take pleasure at your expense.”

“Don’t I get a say in what I want to do?”

I sighed. Why was she being so difficult? Wouldn’t this be a relief to many women? I wondered if she had ever been more confusing to me than she was at this exact moment. Was Bella implying that this was something she wanted to do? Her face revealed little, she had closed herself off with my first refusal. I prayed I had not hurt her feelings. Looking at her now, that seemed entirely possible.

“Of course you get a say,” I chided. “But this… No. I won’t allow you to debase yourself like this.”

“Oh.”

My words sent her reeling. She looked as though I had just slapped her across the face. When she found the ability to speak, her face was crimson and her voice was thick with embarrassment.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I just wanted to make you feel good.” 

The sound was a knife between my ribs. If her feelings had not been hurt before, they certainly were now. This was arguably a much worse conclusion than allowing her to take me into her mouth. At least in that scenario, we would have both found some semblance of enjoyment in the experience. In this scenario, the one where I accuse her of purposefully trying to degrade herself, I hadn’t simply hurt her—I had humiliated her. I had shamed her. Any effort I had put toward being a gentleman to Bella was negated by the pain I was causing her now. A gentleman protects dignity. I had stolen hers with a handful of words.

I gathered her quickly into my arms, clutching her to my stone chest. The irony—that I was both her salvation and her executioner—was not lost on me. A second, crueler irony was that I hadn’t the faintest idea of what to say next. Cutting her down took no effort at all. But when I needed to repair the damage I had caused, words failed me.

Hopefully, I could comfort her with touch while I searched for the right thing to say, if such a thing existed. As I stroked her hair, her arms, her back, I cursed my hands for trembling.

Touch didn’t seem to help. Bella remained stiff, her arms folded defensively between our chests. Explaining myself risked digging the hole deeper. The last thing she would want me to do is double down on my antiquated views toward sex and intimacy. But the silence made the rift between us grow wider and wider. So I had to say something. The truth seemed good. “You have nothing to apologize for,” I whispered earnestly, pressing a kiss to her hair. It smelled of freesias and ripe strawberries. 

She didn’t move, nor did she respond. How I wished I could see her face, but in her undue shame, she had turned it away from me. We sat in silence for several more minutes, listening to the sound of our breathing, Charlie’s snores faint behind so many walls. 

“Bella,” I tried again. “I am truly so sorry. I only intended to protect you—if only you knew how badly I wanted to say yes… Forgive me.”

Waves of relief washed over me as I felt her nod. I reached for her chin again, turning her face toward mine. I needed to see her. I needed to know that I had not severed everything between us. Oddly enough, if I could go back in time, I would have taken the route of a lesser man and just allowed Bella to experiment. Had I not made that unilateral decision, I would likely be in the throes of unimaginable bliss at this very moment. And that was another layer to my betrayal—that I had taken agency from her, as well. 

I glanced over my shoulder at the window behind us. This was a perfectly good opportunity to restore some of that agency. A choice I could offer.

“If you don’t want me to stay with you tonight, I understand.”

Slowly, I transferred Bella to the bed beside me. As much as it pained me to release her from my arms, it felt entirely prudent to do so. I wanted to search her expression as she considered my offer. And I wanted to provide her a clear view of my face, too.

“No,” she sighed, shaking her head. “Stay.” She crawled sleepily behind me and slid under the thick quilt on her bed.

It shamed me to find relief in a simple ‘yes.’ I had not earned the elation that spread like wildfire throughout my silent chest. Our conflict was anything but resolved. But I had kept her awake only to torment her, and I was not so cruel as to punish her for letting me share her bed… Only for wanting to make me feel good, I thought bitterly.

As discreetly as possible, I zipped and buttoned my pants, my arousal no longer a roadblock in the action. If we were very lucky, it would stay down for good, depriving me of any future pleasure—that’s what I deserved. 

Behind me, I heard a yawn. Poor girl. She must be exhausted in addition to all I just put her through. I stretched out alongside her, listening to the steady rhythm of her breathing as she drifted to sleep.

Chapter Text

Images

Edward's POV

The forest pressed in with its familiar silence, clouds heavy and unbroken above. I stood right at the bitter edge of the treaty line, leaning against the grille of my car, listening to the small lives flicker and scurry through the undergrowth. Last night’s failure replayed itself in fragments as I waited: the softness of her mouth on mine, the sudden shift of her intent, my cruel denial that had turned her eyes dark with hurt.

I had meant to protect her, but all I managed to do was insult and admonish her. And for what crime? Wanting to gratify me? Wanting to express her love and devotion physically? I cringed.

In the nearish distance, I heard Jacob Black’s car approaching—at much too high a speed. Reckless. It was one of the many qualities I hated about him. Second only to his selfishness and inappropriate lustfulness whenever he thought of Bella.

My Bella. Who, at those speeds, would be here in less than 30 seconds. I stood perfectly still and counted each one quietly to myself. Jacob’s meaningless thoughts drifted closer. I tuned them out in hopes of catching the end of their conversation, if they were conversing at all. That, I would have preferred. But lo, they were having an amicable discussion about some unimportant dynamic change between members of his pack. Something about a petty argument between teenagers. Nothing unusual for brash, uncivilized werewolves.

He pulled off onto the shoulder of the road and stepped out of the car. I scanned his thoughts—he planned to hug Bella goodbye, it seemed. He hadn’t noticed me standing here yet. Was I really so statuesque? Perhaps in my grief, I had forgotten to feign human behaviors. Oh well, I thought. No reason to keep up appearances for the dog. Certainly not while he had his arms around Bella.

Jacob’s next thought slammed into my consciousness like a meteor.

At first, it was hazy, half formed. But I could make out Bella’s face as he let the images come into focus, picturing her wide brown eyes gazing playfully up at him. He was laying on his back. I felt uneasy. What was I seeing? Her hair fell in a thick curtain down his bare stomach, mahogany strands trailing across his ribs. Her lips pressed the skin just below his navel, warm and insistent, tracing a path downward. In his mind, his breath hitched. Mine stopped altogether.

My mind raced, trying to make sense of what I was seeing in his head. Of course, the act itself was obvious—I had almost enjoyed such pleasure last night, before I scolded Bella into shameful, agonizing silence. But why would he think of such things? Had she confided in him what she had offered me some hours ago, under the cover of darkness? Told him of my abhorrent behavior? My tactless comments? The way each line of rejection struck her across the face like an open palm?

I stormed back into Jacob’s vulgar mind, hoping to be rewarded with answers for enduring this pornographic filth. I hated to think of what else he might imagine.

New images emerged. Her hands clutched his hips, which were, disturbingly, also bare. The finer details below the waist were obscured by the curtain of Bella’s hair—I was both grateful and anguished that I could not see whether the parts of her that brushed along his thighs were clothed. She kissed lower…

The thought of her mouth on him nearly doubled me over. A sharp, involuntary choking sound alerted them to my presence. I tried to disguise the noise as a cough. Jacob, startled by my proximity, quickly shoved the fantasy from his mind.

Nausea fell upon me in blankets, smothering, sending my mind reeling with questions. Was that a fantasy? Why would he think this now, as she stands before me? Did she tell him what she offered me last night? Or is this… something worse? It was too vivid. Too practiced. He knew the weight of her hair, the warmth of her lips. That was not invention alone… right? But what right of it was mine to unearth the truth? I had abandoned her. How could I have expected her to wait? Did they…? Did she…? Did this happen, or does he only wish it had?

So, which was it—fantasy or memory? Or was it an intentional act of war? I would not put it past Jacob Black to concoct such a vile image with which he could silently torture me.

It had been mere seconds since my throat tightened with disgust. I toggled between panic and abject horror, replaying the images in my mind, judging their sharpness, their accuracy. I felt a pang of resentment—had she been naked in his vision, I would not have recognized the full canvas of her body, for I had never seen it myself. But I now feared that Jacob had. That he knew her in a deeply vulnerable way, viewed her in a state that I had not.

All of this mental turmoil occurred over the course of four seconds. I had two seconds to compose myself and greet Bella as though nothing had happened. As though mental warfare wasn’t just waged in the ten feet between us.

I cleared my throat and straightened off the Volvo, posture unnaturally perfect. My fingers lingered behind, gripping the edge of the grille. Nonchalance smoothed my features into a marble calm. If anyone could see past this charade, it would be Bella. Despite the nagging impulse daring me to launch myself across the treaty line and rip Jacob into a thousand pieces, I had to be vigilant in maintaining my mask until I had a moment to let it fall in private.

Against my better judgement, I let my eyes flick to Jacob, who pointedly avoided my gaze. He was embarrassed. Good. He should be. Fantasy or memory aside, the damage was done. At the very least, I now knew that he had not meant to provoke me. But his haste to banish the images from his mind only sharpened my suspicion. He had never made much of an effort to suppress offensive thoughts around me. Although, his thoughts were not usually so explicit.

“Did you have fun?” We both knew the question was directed at Bella, who was walking briskly toward me. But I looked directly at Jacob as I said it.

“See ya later, Bella,” he tossed over his shoulder, retreating.

My answering thoughts were more venomous than my mouth. Run, mongrel. Before I strip from you every vile image you dared to conjure of her. Such a shame he couldn’t read my mind. I would love to play a highlight reel of my best nights with Bella. But those nights—good and bad—were ours. I could never weaponize something so sacred.

Instinctively, I held my arms open. She fell into them with little grace, a giggle escaping her perfect lips. This, at least, was a promising sign. She was no longer outwardly upset with me for my insensitive remarks, and if the words still stung, she did not let on to the fact. Not that she would, anyway.

I opened the car door for her, masking my paralyzing discomfort. I was not so demented as to truly suspect something nefarious had occurred behind my back. But my mind would not ease until I officially eliminated the possibility.

Leaning forward to secure her seatbelt, I planted a small kiss on her temple—overcompensating, but the act allowed me to breathe in a concentrated dose of her scent before it mingled with mine. I could dissect it for answers before entering the driver’s seat. I took a furtive breath and shut the door. She smelled only of freesias and dog, with a faint scent of motor oil. No trace of anyone else lingered on her. No foreign scent. No violation. It was a pure, undiluted, overwhelming relief. I made my way into the car quickly.

Part of me wanted to take her to my house, directly into my room, where we could explore even more creative ways to saturate her in my scent...

“You seem cheerful,” I teased, turning the keys in the ignition. “Did Jacob keep you adequately entertained?”

She smiled, nodding enthusiastically. “Not as well as his buddies did.”

What could she possibly mean by that? What role do they play in this nightmare? Accomplices? Keeping a secret for Jacob? No, I scolded myself. Don’t get carried away.

“Oh?” I lifted one eyebrow, prompting her to elaborate.

As she prattled on about some insignificant facet of the tribe’s latest drama, I tried very hard to center myself. To bask in this moment of togetherness and nothing else. Her warmth at my side should have been enough to banish the image, at least for the next day or so. But just as I felt myself relax, a lock of mahogany hair brushed my arm, and I saw it in a different context—falling forward, trailing the stomach of another man, obscuring an act I must never picture. My hands clenched the steering wheel just a little too tightly.

Chapter Text

Veil

Bella's POV

The silence of my room felt heavier than usual. It always made my pulse escalate whenever Edward was sprawled so casually across my bed, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Nothing about him was casual or average or ordinary. Even now, I still wasn’t completely used to finding him here. Not entirely, no matter the countless times he slipped through my window to spend the night with me.

When I reached the edge of my mattress, he held his arms out, welcoming me. I hesitated, remembering the sting of his refusal the night before, though I’d tried to push it away. He must have seen something in my face because he frowned and motioned expectantly for me to lay down with him. When I had nestled into his side, I felt his hands move to my hips, cool and certain, pulling me toward him. Then his lips found mine, unyielding, and he rolled over me in one fluid motion, careful not to crush me beneath his weight. Last night, he stopped me cold. Tonight, his mouth was on mine before I could even think. If this was his version of an apology, I was more than willing to accept it.

Edward’s desperation was a silent, tensile thing. It pressed at the surface—obvious even in the dark, palpable against my skin. His mouth crashed into mine with a kind of urgency, each kiss deeper than the last, as if he could erase a century of self-restraint with one moment of reckless, selfish need. This sort of response was what I had hoped for last night, when I dropped to my knees and tried to give him something I thought he might enjoy, something that would make him feel good. Selfishly, I’d wanted to know what it would be like, to see him go to pieces because of something I was doing to him. But I hadn’t gotten far—only knelt there, my hands at his waist—before his hand was on my chin, voice sharp with refusal. His words had been so abrupt, so painful, that I’d gone to sleep burning with shame and embarrassment. And now, he moved against me like he was apologizing for them.

I couldn’t think straight enough to dwell on why. I wasn’t sure if he actually was trying to make up for last night, or if he just couldn’t help himself, but he was kissing me like he’d been starved for days and someone had just tossed him the last meal on earth.

I didn’t mind. This was my favorite version of him: unguarded, barely holding onto his perfect control. But I wasn’t going to push my luck.

We were tangled so tightly together I wasn’t sure where I ended and he began. His hands mapped the curve of my waist, not gentle but not quite rough, either. His lips broke from mine only to move to my neck, or my collarbone, or just below it.

When he brushed the hollow between my breasts, I pressed my chest up into his lips and listened as my pulse pounded against him like a hammer to marble. He groaned, lifting my hand to his face, and mouthed at the inside of my palm, like he could coax the noise closer to the surface.

It happened so quickly I didn’t have time to react. In one moment, I was on my back under him. The next, I was laid flat against his chest with my head pillowed just beneath his chin, my nose to the hollow at the base of his throat. Dazed, I lifted up to look at him. Edward was smiling amusedly, clearly enjoying himself. I guess that was one thing I didn’t have to worry about. But then he stiffened, and there was something else in his expression, like he was trying to piece something together in his mind. Not usually hard for a vampire, especially not Edward.

“What’s wrong?” I asked nervously.

I felt him relax. He grinned, the smile too wide to be genuine. “Don’t be silly, Bella. Why would anything be wrong, when I have you here like this?”

His hand hovered near my face, hesitant, then dipped down and brushed a curtain of my hair over my shoulder. Maybe I was imagining things. I wanted to believe the grip he had on my waist was proof I wasn’t entirely hopeless at being with him, but now I wondered if he was trying to find a kind way to put an end to this touching, too.

I replayed my version of events. One moment his hands were sure, insistent, and the next he went still beneath me, frozen like marble. Then, just as quickly, he was calm again, like nothing had happened. I almost rolled away, making the decision to stop for the both of us, but his lips pressed to mine again, stealing my train of thought. His hand tangled in my hair. The other was pressing on my lower back, grinding my pelvis against himself in a nearly-obscene way, his legs guardrails on either side of my body. Despite the close contact, I didn’t feel any part of him grow rigid or press into me, but it wasn’t exactly a sensation I’d become familiar with. Just one I had wanted to become familiar with last night. The reminder of his words, that I was debasing myself, knocked the wind from me again, and I pulled out of the kiss.

Edward’s eyes were liquid gold and swimming with curiosity. He lifted an eyebrow, waiting for an explanation. This, my self-inflicted wound, wasn’t something I had the energy to talk about at the moment. If we gave it a few days, sure. Maybe by then, I wouldn’t feel so insecure. Maybe by then, the shame and embarrassment would be gone… mostly.

But I knew Edward well enough to know I wasn’t going to be able to fake my enthusiasm much longer. In a few minutes, he’d catch on and make me explain myself. That could not happen.

Letting my eyelids droop ever so slightly, I faked a yawn, hopefully convincingly, and waited for him to suggest sleep. It took him a few seconds longer than normal, but eventually, he sat us up gently and peeled back the quilt on my bed.

“You’re tired,” he murmured. I sensed suspicion in his tone. “You should get some rest.”

“Mhm,” I tried to make my own voice sound thick with sleep and crawled lazily into bed. There would be no Oscar for this performance, but with any luck, I wouldn't have to explain my sudden shift, either. I curled in on myself, deflated. Edward tucked the thick blanket around me and I waited for sleep to come.

Chapter Text

Discomfort

Edward's POV

Bella lay on her back in the grass, sunlight pooling in her hair like molten copper, and for one impossible second I believed I could finally be at peace. She laughed, free and unguarded, and the sound warmed me from within. I wanted to earn more of her laughter.

Over the past several days, I seemed to be able to convince myself that Jacob Black’s imagination was just that. Imaginary. If something had happened between them, Bella would have told me. But I had abandoned her, cruelly, and so I was not under the impression that I had a right to know what her life looked like during those dark months.

Still, the fact remained that I had not asked. That was my failing, and until this point, doing so had not occurred to me at all. Why hadn’t I just asked her? There had been plenty of chances to do so. Was my arrogance so limitless that I assumed she could not want another as she wanted me? Never mind the fact that the boy was so aggravatingly persistent in his pursuits, even now, after I had come back into her life for good. Which begged the question—was he under the impression that she and I had not picked up exactly where we had left off? Did he think she was anyone but mine? Impossible.

And yet, there were those horrible images to consider. Every night since I had first seen them, while Bella slept next to me, I reviewed each frame until they frayed at the edges. I understood clearly what I was seeing, even if I had not been in the same position myself. I pored over the details of his fantasy… or memory. Her lips, her eyes, the room—not hers, thankfully—the states of undress, the possible position of their hands, even the way she smiled as her hair trailed down his stomach. Had she smiled when she kneeled between my legs? Did she seem as surehanded that night as she did in Jacob’s mind?

My sense of calm was slipping.

I wanted to believe it was nothing more than a boy’s fantasy, fevered imagination. Fortunately, he had not actually pictured her taking him into her mouth… yet. I assumed, had I not interrupted the reverie, that that—I suppressed a gag—would have happened next. But why had he cut off the thought so abruptly, with such deliberate force? As though he feared I might recognize it for what it truly was. The possibility hollowed me out. But each time Bella looked at me with her wide, chocolate brown eyes, every shadow receded, leaving me aching for her mouth, her warmth, her proof that she was only mine.

Just then, she smiled at me, blissfully unaware of the darkness unraveling behind my composure. Her smile was radiant, unparalleled. But, as things stood, her lips belonged only to me. Jacob should never have been comfortable enough to think of them on his naked body, especially when he knew I could read his corroded mind—and that I would love nothing more than to shatter his jaw.

Bella sighed contentedly, breaking my trance.

I had to have her. I could not wait another moment. And what better day than today, what better place than this? I could take her now, end this gnawing doubt, reclaim what was lost—or was it given away? If it was taken from her, I would tear the boy to shreds, slowly and with immense enjoyment. Would she even tell me if it had been?

I cringed, knowing the answer was no.

The fevered ache spilled over and I was on her in an instant, brushing my lips across her jaw, then her mouth. When I felt her hands in my hair, I deepened the kiss, parting our lips and letting the exchange of breath intoxicate us both. A sense of pure need propelled me forward, I did not have to think about the way my hands moved more insistently down her waist and thighs. My body hummed with electricity, responding immediately, and for once, I did not bother to rein it in. There would be no point in resisting its urges; I was finally going to give it what it wanted—what she wanted—right here in the damp grass. It took no effort to pull at her clothing in a way I never had before. Why delay undressing her? Why focus my efforts on the order in which I removed her shirt, or her jeans? It was all coming off either way.

My touch grew frantic. I shifted my body closer to hers, pressing more of my weight against her, urgency apparent in my posture. Her heartbeat drummed beneath my silent chest—if only I could get the fabric out from between our bodies…

“Wait,” she gasped, breaking the kiss. While her lungs fought to collect enough air to explain precisely why I should wait, I moved my lips down the length of her throat, savoring the delicious heat pouring off her silk skin.

“Why would I want to do that?” I teased. My words were muffled as I spoke them into her collarbone. I reached between our hips and flicked the button of her jeans once. It popped open seamlessly. My hand slid beneath her shirt, wasting no time in caressing the soft planes of her stomach, her sternum, sliding around to her back, pulling her closer to me still. Her warmth seared my palms in the most exquisite way, the sensation pulling a low moan from the base of my throat.

“What are you doing?”

Something in her voice gave me pause. Wasn’t it obvious? I was going to make love to her. With a century of exposure to thousands of women's thoughts, I was hoping to do it in a way none of her admirers ever could. Did I need to say that aloud, or could I just show her? I pressed my erection into the hollow between her legs. Heat seemed to pool here… I could feel it even through our two pairs of jeans.

Her body went stiff. Was she surprised to have such an effect on me? I briefly wondered if this was the first time she had noticed my arousal during intimacy. What I would give to hear what she was thinking now…

“Wait,” she breathed again.

I whispered an expletive under my breath.

Abruptly, I felt her palms press lightly against my chest. Not pushing me away, but clearly attempting to create some distance. This did not seem to be a positive sign. Perhaps it was best that I could not hear her thoughts. Although, it was possible I may have done something to offend her—hearing Bella think of a transgression like this would inevitably crush me, yes, but I would much prefer to know. If only! Over time, I could learn precisely what to do, what to say, how to captivate her... how to touch her. I lifted my chest enough to see her face.

“What’s wrong?” I demanded. I hoped she did not mistake the thread of anxiety in my voice for anger. She certainly looked okay. More than okay. A little flushed, but that was to be expected.

She swallowed. “Nothing. Nothing’s wr—”

“Are you all right?” I cut her off. My anxiety edged on panic as I realized I may have hurt her in my careless haste. I kept the guilt at bay while I waited for her to respond.

“I’m fine,” she nodded.

“Oh good,” I smiled. Great. Then what was the problem? Was there a problem? Perhaps she just needed some air. I resumed kissing her, tracing a path from the edge of her jaw to the crook of her neck. Her breathing slowed slightly, assuaging my concerns. When her breath had sufficiently leveled out, I turned my attention back to her shirt, pushing it up over the crest of her breasts. I resented her obstructing undergarment for standing between my fingertips and the part of a woman’s body typically reserved for lovers. One of them, anyway.

When I thumbed the underwire, her hands flew up reflexively, grasping at my forearms.

“Edward, stop.” Her voice was thin, alarmed.

Ah. She meant to stop me. The grasping was a performative act—her human strength was nonexistent compared to mine—but I responded immediately, searching her face. There was no judgement in her eyes, but it was clear she did not recognize me at this moment. She looked nervous, and not in an anticipatory way.

Grief crushed my calcified heart, and I wished it would crush my arousal, too. It would not do to begin profusely apologizing with my body in the state that it was. I failed her on a fundamental level, not just as a man, but as a man who had rushed and frightened her. Jacob’s vivid imagination had driven me to desperation at the price of her trust. My throat tightened in horror.

I opened my mouth to apologize, to beg her forgiveness, but no words came.

“I… I think you’ll regret it,” she said, interrupting my soundless pleading. It was clear what she meant by it, although she did not use the word sex. “You know I want to.”

This was true, and amid my despair, it was a small comfort. Very small. No one knew better than I did how much Bella yearned to test the boundaries of our physical relationship. But she was right—this was a rapid escalation, especially by my glacial standards. Perhaps I had read her incorrectly. Had she stopped for my sake? Did she want this as badly as I did? My heart swelled with hope, joy rinsing away the grief. She wanted me. She wanted to make love with me. Her philanthropy, her bravery, her selflessness truly knew no bounds!

I simply needed to confirm.

“Is that why you want to stop? For my sake?” If that was her only reason—because she was worried about me—we were going to continue. Right away.

“No,” she muttered unhelpfully.

I rolled off her, propping myself on an elbow at her side. The sudden absence of her warmth alerted me to a relentless torment, demanding release. I stifled a groan, not a frustrated noise, but an almost pained one. Although, I was frustrated in the sense that I was experiencing a uniquely unpleasant level of physical discomfort at this moment. What was that awful, pounding ache? Obviously, I did not have a pulse. So was it her pulse that I was feeling? Trying to keep my expression even, I choked out a response.

“Then tell me why, Bella.” My tone came off harsher than I had intended. She flinched, just slightly. Again, I opened my mouth to apologize, but the throbbing overwhelmed me.

“I don’t think this is how you pictured it, either, Edward,” she snapped. She seemed… disgruntled? Or maybe it was the churlish way she was wrestling her shirt down over her exposed torso. It would have made me smile, had I not been wrestling with something myself.

Biting back another pained groan, I managed to press her for clarity.

“Pictured what?”

She hesitated, biting her lip. I raised an eyebrow at her in response. Go on.

“Our first time…” She said it almost like a question. As if she were no longer confident that’s what was happening.

Our first time. Did she mean our first time together as a couple? Or did she mean our first time in the sense that it would be a first-time experience for each of us individually? The thought that she may no longer be a virgin somehow had not occurred to me until this moment, and it was overshadowed by the ridiculous physical thrumming that now threatened to convulse me.

What was that?!

Chapter Text

Treatment

Bella's POV

Edward looked like he was going to throw up.

I wasn’t even sure vampires could throw up, but it seemed pretty likely that I would soon find out. Was he really so upset that I wanted us to wait? At least just until we were indoors? I was kicking myself a little for not just letting him rip my clothes off. Why did I make him stop?

I eyed him carefully. Stopping was probably a good call, all things considered. There seemed to be an undercurrent of pain behind his measured expression. If pain wasn’t the right word for his condition, then it was, at the very least, discomfort. His perfect, angelic face was pinched, and the sound that came out of him when he tried to stand up wasn’t right—strangled. Maybe I was inflating his reaction.

“Are you…?” I began, not sure what I wanted to ask.

No, something was definitely wrong. His brows were pulled together in anger, or maybe frustration. I couldn’t tell. But it would be unlike him to be angry over the enforcement of what was sort of his only rule for our relationship at this point. Although, just minutes ago, he was ripping at my clothes as though those rules applied to some other couple in some other universe in some other meadow. I would have been thrilled if it hadn’t been so unnervingly unlike Edward to behave so… freely.

Anxiety gnawed at me from within—he really looked like he was in pain.

“I don’t want to talk about it, Bella,” he groaned. His tone cut through my thoughts like a jagged blade. He may not want to talk about it, but now I did.

“Edward, what’s wrong?” I gave him a once over, trying not to be obvious about it. He was sitting up, leaning back on one arm. His posture had lost some of its classic pin-straightness and he was hunched slightly forward. I lifted myself onto my knees and crawled—inched may have been a better word for it—closer to his side. “Are you okay? Did I do something wrong? Why are you sitting like that?”

“I will not play twenty questions with you right now,” he labored. “I cannot play twenty questions with you right now.”

“Fine. Tell me what’s wrong and I’ll drop the subject.”

He let out a long sigh. “I’m not entirely sure, to be honest. Everything felt fine—better than fine—and then…” at an apparent loss for words, he raised his brows and stared vaguely ahead, lost in thought. He lifted one hand as he trailed off, motioning at nothing in the air between us, then let it fall into his lap. He winced.

We dropped our eyes at the same time. The Arizona state public education system left a lot to be desired, and the Washington state public education system wasn’t much better, but both had a relatively standard sex ed chapter nestled somewhere in the biology course outline. I wasn’t exactly an expert, but I remembered the basics. Sympathy and chagrin washed over me in waves, and my face grew hot as I understood what the issue was. Despite decades of perfecting his self-restraint, Edward seemed to have been pretty confident in the outcome of his rabid pursuit. Confident enough to allow himself to get a bit carried away… excited. In his defense, over the course of our relationship, I had given him plenty of reasons to assume he'd be successful in seducing me today. But with no release, his body hovered just past the point of no return.

I couldn’t tell which one of us felt more awkward about the situation.

Somewhere between the shock and the mortification, a practical thought surfaced: if this was a matter of simple biology, then the solution was… obvious. Was it uncomfortable? Yes, in more ways than one, but not permanent. Treatable. It was ridiculous, really, that I hadn’t immediately recognized the source of discomfort for what it was. Unresolved arousal. Maybe it wasn’t overconfidence that led us here. Maybe this just… happened. Maybe he just hadn’t had to deal with it since he was human. Idly, I wondered why neither of us had considered the possibility.

“So, um…” I wasn’t sure how to ask. “That happens to vampires, too, huh?”

“Apparently.”

“So this is… normal?”

His voice was clipped. “Yes.”

“Is it common?”

“Not for me.”

I wondered if he meant that he didn’t encounter the issue often or that he didn’t leave it untreated long enough for it to become an issue. The latter piqued my interest more than I expected. Did Edward ever... touch himself? I pushed the thought aside before it distracted me completely.

“And it’s—what, uncomfortable?”

“Agonizing.”

Apparently, he would play twenty questions with me, after all. I suppressed a smile before continuing. “You know there’s a way to make it stop, right?”

“Bella.”

“I’m just saying," I threw my hands up innocently. "You don’t have to keep suffering.”

“I’m not going to do that here,” he snapped. “And certainly not in front of you.”

It was hard to keep that image from burning itself into my mind. I suppose this was adequate confirmation—Edward masturbated. My skin prickled with goosebumps.

“Will it go away on its own?”

“No,” he muttered tersely. “At least… I don’t think so.”

“Fine,” I said casually. “Then let me do it.”

His golden eyes shot open, scandalized by my suggestion. “Are you of sound mind?” he hissed. “No!”

It was not lost on me that only moments ago, Edward had been closer to ripping my bra off with his teeth than he was to letting me touch him now. I hated double standards. He knew that better than anyone.

“Would you let me sit here and suffer?”

“Of course not!” He was livid, as if the question insulted him.

“Then why are you asking me to?”

He looked like he wanted to argue for another century, but the tension in his jaw betrayed him. We frowned at each other stubbornly for a long moment. I watched him stifle another groan as pain rippled through his body.

Tentatively, I reached out and pressed my hand deliberately against him, palm flat over the denim. He inhaled sharply, almost a gasp. His hand caught my wrist once, instinctively pulling it away. But instead of stopping me altogether, he sighed, defeated, and let go.

Obviously, I had never touched him—or anyone—like this. No amount of advice in Cosmopolitan Magazine could have made me feel prepared enough to do this now, unguided. In a perfect world, I would have preferred to have Edward himself show me how he liked to be touched. But he was in no position to teach right now, and honestly, I wasn’t even sure he was going to let me help resolve his very obvious discomfort. I glanced at his lap. The zipper of his pants was stretched taut, emphasizing his body’s desperation.

I undid his jeans and dipped my hand beneath the waistband of his briefs. When I grazed him—cold and unyielding—my face went crimson and I tried my best not to let the shock color my expression, as well. A low groan reverberated in his chest at first contact.

“Your hand is so warm…” he murmured.

His positive response both emboldened and reassured me. You can do this, I thought. I swallowed my nervousness and forced myself to relax, to let instinct take over. Did I have instincts? Despite my unfamiliarity with the territory, my fingers managed to curl around him. But the workspace was too confined, too constricting to move. Ugh, I whined internally. This wasn’t going to work—I needed more room. For a brief moment, panic swelled in my chest; as ridiculous as it was to admit this to myself, I wasn’t sure I was ready to actually see it yet. Touching him was one thing, watching myself do it was another thing entirely. I froze, overcome with shyness.

He cleared his throat and swallowed hard. If I stalled any longer, there was a chance he would sense my inexperience and lack of preparedness, mistake it for unwillingness or fear, and shut this down. And that wouldn’t help either one of us.

Carefully, I extracted his erection from his pants. My prediction was correct: I was nowhere near brave enough to look at it, nor did I think a shocked expression would have been much of a comfort to Edward. I hoped it didn’t look as clumsy as it felt. If I could just avoid looking like a total disaster, I’d call it a win.

Instead of allowing myself to get hung up on the sudden exposure, I locked eyes with him—not once looking down—and watched his face as I began stroking slowly.

It was awkward at first. Too much pressure, or maybe not enough, my movements sometimes jerky and uncertain. But his ragged breathing told me I wasn’t failing. His hand curled around the back of my neck and pulled my mouth to his, moaning into the kiss. I parted my lips, running my tongue along his bottom lip.

When he deepened the kiss, I felt his free hand cover the one I was using to gratify him. He adjusted my pace, guiding me to move faster, more deliberately.

“Hmmm…” he hummed into my mouth, flooding it with his dizzying breath.

My confidence surged.

The sound of his low moan was intoxicating, and I ached to close the space between us. I steadied myself on his shoulder and flung one leg over both of his, coming to straddle his lap. My hand continued to work him, moving steadily between our bodies, but at least now I was able to press my chest to his, to curl my fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck. His hands roamed my thighs, my waist, my hips. This position was much more enjoyable. For both of us, I think. After a few minutes, I felt his stomach muscles begin to tense in shallow pulses.

“Ah, Bella,” he warned. “I can’t—”

I cut him off with a kiss, worried he might stop me, despite the fact that he hadn’t given any indication that he wanted to stop. None at all. It didn’t even seem like he would be able to stop at this point. But after the week we’d had, letting him ruin the moment was not an option. I don’t think I had it in me to endure another rejection so soon after the last.

Egged on by his ragged breathing, I increased the pace and firmness of my grip. His hands had made their way to the grass and I heard the blades snapping as he gripped the ground beneath his palms.

“Don’t stop—” he choked.

Suddenly, his eyes squeezed shut and his whole body went stiff. I felt him shudder violently in my hand and—in spite of my inexperience—I was almost positive he was climaxing. I kept going, not sure when I was supposed to stop. Something coated my fist as I continued moving, the viscous substance slicking against my palm with each pull. Abruptly, his hand flew to my wrist, holding it still as the last few tremors rocked his body.

Watching him come undone was a startling, visceral experience, but I loved every second of it. I was messy and awestruck and so in love with him at this moment, I thought my chest might crack open. He leaned against me, silent, his hand hovering like he didn’t know whether to clean me up or caress my cheek first. When his face relaxed and his eyes opened, he looked perfectly at ease—no trace of pain or discomfort. I wanted so badly to lean forward and kiss him, but my hand was sticky and I was a little afraid to move.

A stillness crept in, anchoring our bodies in place. Silence stretched around and between us. It was difficult to read his mood—he seemed serene, but it could just as easily be veiled guilt or anger brewing below the surface. I prayed it was the former, that he wouldn’t freak out and ruin this memory for us both.

Edward removed his sweater and the white tee he wore beneath it with perfect grace.

“Give me your hand, please,” he coaxed softly.

I obeyed wordlessly, afraid to say the wrong thing. I wanted to ask if I had done okay, if he had enjoyed himself, if he was still uncomfortable. But I bit my tongue. It would be smarter to wait until after I decoded his cryptic mood before I started asking a bunch of questions.

His touch was tender, which was promising, but his eyes refused to meet mine as he wiped himself off my hand with the soft cotton fabric. When he finished, he set the shirt aside and tucked a strand of my hair behind my ear. My heart fluttered with hope; he seemed… happy? Tranquil? I breathed a sigh of relief. Whatever he was feeling, it wasn’t anger.

His brows pulled together at the sound. “Are you all right?” he asked, an edge of worry in his voice.

I kissed him softly before responding. “I’m very good.”

“Yes, you are,” he murmured, pressing his lips against my throat. I felt his mouth curve into a smile. "Thank you."

“Do you feel better?” I tried to keep my tone light.

“Much,” he sighed.

Edward adjusted himself and buttoned his jeans. For a moment, I reveled in his contentment. It definitely seemed like I had done something right, although I’m sure there was plenty of room for improvement. I wonder…

“Bella?” he asked, interrupting my wandering thoughts. “Did you… know that was going to happen?” he asked, tentatively. He tilted his head and let his eyes fall pointedly to the tee shirt next to us.

Was he asking if I knew he was going to—I struggled to find the right word—finish?

It was a ridiculous question, especially for someone as bright as Edward. I wasn’t sure why he asked or how to answer. Wasn’t that sort of the point? What was I supposed to think would happen?

“Well, I certainly knew it was a possibility,” I said matter-of-factly, my voice laced with sarcasm.

He rolled his eyes, unimpressed with my teasing. “Be serious, please.”

“I am being serious,” I scowled. “Did you expect a different outcome or something?”

He shrugged, dropping his gaze. He always looked so shy when he did that. “No, you just…” he hesitated.

My heart sank. Oh no. “Was it bad?”

“No! No,” he said quickly. “Forgive me. Not at all. On the contrary. It was… extraordinary.” My heart stuttered. He kissed my hand and smiled apologetically. "You did great, Bella. Really."

Silently, I exulted. Edward enjoyed my touch. I had been worried about nothing. Thoroughly pleased with myself, I returned his smile—mine was probably a bit smug—and leaned forward to kiss him again.

Chapter Text

Passenger

Bella's POV

He was in one of his watchful moods again, half-smile perfectly in place, eyes moving faster than seemed natural. This one seemed to hang around longer than usual, but maybe I was imagining that. If they noticed it at all, most people saw his behavior as doting, but a few—Charlie especially—saw it as obsession. I knew better. When Edward hovered and fawned and lingered like this, it usually meant something was bothering him.

Knowing this should have made me nervous, considering it wasn’t very long ago that Edward broke up with me, without warning, and disappeared from my life for six months. If anything, his sudden shift felt like a good thing, proof that he was trying. That he didn’t want me to see whatever it was that was dragging him under.

For one, he wasn’t exhibiting any of the telltale signs that I was in any sort of danger. When he was hiding some life-threatening tidbit of information, he became emotionally avoidant, physically overbearing and overall sort of twitchy. This was different. He was brooding way more than usual—it made me uneasy, even though I knew deep down that it had nothing to do with me. We were doing really well, actually.

But I wasn’t completely healed and I didn’t know if I ever would be. A small part of me still waited for the bottom to drop out again, the way it had once before. Every now and then I would catch myself bracing for the worst, so if he decided to disappear again, at least I wouldn’t be as unprepared. The thought sent a sharp ache through my chest. I wasn’t sure if I could bear being blindsided like that twice.

But I didn’t expect him to do that ever again. Not a day went by where he didn’t spend at least ten minutes emphatically apologizing for abandoning me. It nearly killed us both.

I shuddered at the memory.

The sound of the bell tore me from my morbid thoughts. I gathered my books quickly and did my best to exit the room without giving Mike too much of an opportunity to strike up conversation. I was fairly certain Edward would be waiting for me just outside of the door, as had become an even more regimented habit lately, and the last thing I needed was to throw a Mike-shaped wrench into his unseasonably volatile mood. Sure enough, the instant I crossed the threshold, Edward was at my side, pressing a kiss into my hair.

“If you didn’t greet me so warmly, people might mistake you for a bodyguard,” I teased, only half joking.

“Perhaps you need one. Who will take care of you when you go somewhere I can’t?”

“Where can I go that you can’t?” I said pointedly. Places and things tended to be much more accessible to vampires than they were to humans. With the exception of the Quileute reservation, the world was their oyster.

He pondered this for less than a second. Suddenly, a wide grin spread across his face. My heart stuttered. He was so inexplicably beautiful it almost hurt to look at him sometimes. Almost. Slowly, he leaned down to whisper something in my ear.

“I can think of a few places I’d like to accompany you…” he whispered. His voice was dripping with innuendo, and his breath made my head spin. I blinked.

“Name one.”

“Well,” he murmured. “I wouldn’t be opposed to supervising your showers. You could slip.”

My lips parted just slightly and my face went hot. In addition to his helicoptering, Edward had become pretty physically demanding seemingly overnight. It had been a few days since we’d gotten... since we had been to the meadow; the site of his sudden, unexplained, frantic desire to have sex—immediately—right there on the wet ground. I don’t know what his deal was, but it felt like if Edward wasn’t touching me in one way or another, even chastely, he was crawling out of his skin. It would be flattering if it wasn’t so alarming.

We walked, hand against hand, from the hall to the parking lot. I pulled my hood over my head once we left the safety of the covered walkways. It was drizzling, not heavily, but well enough to create a fine mist that would chill me to the bone if I let it.

Edward held the passenger door open and I hopped into the car, tossing my backpack haphazardly on the backseat behind me. He was already in the driver’s seat by the time I turned back to face the front. Carefully, he reached over to buckle my seatbelt, cranked up the heat and kissed me roughly before pulling out of his parking space.

He hummed contentedly as he drove. Usually, it was intended to lull me to sleep, not fill the silence of the car ride home. But he seemed lost in thought, so I made the conscious decision not to distract him with errant chatter. If something was weighing on his mind, I would be better off pressing him for answers after he had some.

Between the humming and the heat, my eyelids grew heavy. I yawned, unable to fight the drowsiness. I couldn’t help but think about how easy it would be to break my resolve in this state. If he really wanted to, he could have me half naked simply by asking. I was too groggy to resist, my guard was down, and honestly, it sounded pretty tempting. I wouldn’t hate it if he made a move when we got upstairs to my room, either. Homework could wait.

As it turned out, he was exactly the opportunist I hoped he would be. Luckily, Charlie wouldn’t be home for hours—there was a Mariners game tonight, and he planned to watch it at Billy’s. We had the house to ourselves. The second my bedroom door closed behind us, Edward’s hands were holding my face to his, his mouth crushing roughly against mine. I gasped when he tugged my hair, tilting my head back to give his lips access to my throat.

Even though we both knew we had plenty of alone time, it seemed he didn’t plan on beating around the bush. Our shirts were off by the time we came crashing down on my bed, our lips breaking only long enough to pull them over our heads. If I thought he was going to draw out the process of removing my pants and bra, I was wrong on that count, too. He had them off so quickly, I didn’t register the absence until chills spread across my bare chest.

This was all happening very quickly. It surprised me that I hadn’t begun hyperventilating, though I wasn’t complaining about the direction we were heading.

In the recesses of my mind, I mulled over the fact that I hadn’t been naked in front of Edward before. I’d never seen him naked, either—even in the meadow I had been too chicken to look at his exposed erection in my hand.

I relaxed a little when I felt him pull the covers around us, providing some warmth and a modicum of privacy. But he wasted no time touching me—a cool, marble hand slid beneath my panties in one fluid motion, causing me to shiver. His fingers began massaging me gently, and I gasped in shock. The unexpected sensation sent instant waves of nearly-paralyzing pleasure through my entire body.

His hands were performing some sort of witchcraft between my legs. My hands cycled between clutching the sheets and clutching his stone body to my chest. The pressure, which was building—rapidly—low in my stomach, was unlike anything I’d ever felt. I became vaguely aware that I was whimpering nonsense into Edward’s neck.

After only a few minutes, I felt myself approaching the edge of release, and my involuntary whimpering grew into breathy moans. My face was on fire. If I didn’t know any better, I would think I had burst into flames.

Climax was approaching like a runaway train, and even though I could tell Edward was saying something to me, I couldn’t hear him over the sound of my cries. At first, I thought he was coaxing me along. But his words grew clearer, more defined, as the building tension rolled through my body.

“Are you all right?” his voice seemed far away, but it was saturated with concern. “Bella?” I felt him rocking me gently at first, then urgently. My eyes shot open.

Not only was I fully clothed—I wasn’t even in my room. I blinked, struggling to make sense of my surroundings. I was in Edward’s car, which was parked outside of my house. My eyes flashed to the clock. It was almost four.

“Sorry to wake you,” he said ruefully. “Bad dream?”

That was probably the farthest thing from a nightmare, and now, due to the interruption, I was incredibly frustrated. It did nothing for my sour mood. I shifted uncomfortably in the seat—a hint of dampness between my legs indicated I should probably change my clothes as soon as we were inside.

“How long have we been sitting here?” I asked, ignoring his question.

“Not long. Just under an hour,” he said softly. “I didn’t want to wake you. Actually, I wasn’t going to wake you at all, but then you started crying out.”

“Sorry,” I mumbled, peering past him to look at my house.

“Are you all right?” he asked again, softer this time.

“Yeah,” I cleared my throat. “It wasn’t a bad dream at all, actually.”

“Oh. That’s good to hear.” Despite his clipped response, Edward visibly relaxed, leaning back into the driver’s seat.

“Can we head upstairs? We have homework… and I kind of want a shower.”

Edward’s face lit up mischievously. “I can help with all three of those activities.”

Ugh, please do, I thought. The sound of his velvet voice—and its suggestive overtones—made my tightly-wound body spasm with want.

I rolled my eyes, hoping he didn’t see my embarrassment, or just how badly I wanted to take him up on his earlier offer. Showering alone had never sounded so… miserable. Part of me wondered how serious he was about joining me.

Would I have stopped him if he tried? Probably not. And if he made another attempt to initiate sex, I would let him have at it. The ache between my legs was uncomfortable, but not unbearable. Still, it would’ve been nice if my dream had reached its logical conclusion—as long as I didn’t end up screaming his name in my sleep. Crap. Dread crept in. If I had said anything during that dream, it would undoubtedly have been something deeply mortifying.

Edward whisked me inside and set me down in the middle of my bedroom. Lifting my backpack off my shoulder, he pressed a kiss against the side of my neck.

“Shower?” he murmured.

I considered taking my clothes off right there in front of him, just to see how he’d react. Honestly, I had no idea. It could go either way—that’s how erratic he’d been lately. Obviously, it would be wrong for me to exploit that, just as it would have been wrong to accept his half-crazed advances in the meadow. Instead of throwing myself at him, I nodded, still shaking the fatigue from my body.

I shrugged off my coat, draped it over the back of my desk chair and shuffled into the hall. So quickly that I didn’t see him move, Edward had stationed himself between me and the bathroom—already leaning against the wall by the time I closed the linen closet door. His sudden presence was so unexpected, I nearly dropped the towel I’d retrieved less than a second earlier.

In his hand was a stack of clothes, neatly folded.

“Forgetting something?” he teased.

“Oh,” I said, unnerved by my own forgetfulness. “Thanks.”

I reached for the clothes—a little curious about the bra and panties he’d selected for me, mostly embarrassed that he’d gone through my dresser to find them. He pulled the stack away, just out of reach. I looked at him, my eyes cloudy with confusion.

“May I accompany you?” his voice had an edge of playfulness to it, but his face made it clear that he really wanted an answer. I swallowed loudly.

“Where? The shower or the bathroom?”

“Whichever you prefer,” he said plainly.

I don’t know why I phrased the question like he had the option to come with me at all. Suddenly, I realized there was no way I was ready to let him see me, naked and painfully ordinary, under the harsh and unflattering light of Charlie’s bathroom. I'd lost all my nerve in a matter of seconds. It occurred to me that Edward might not have seen the bathroom itself, either. No way. Too many firsts.

It also occurred to me that he may have caught a glimpse in Alice’s thoughts—she’d once had to take care of me as I recovered from the James incident—but I shoved that fear aside. Alice would have made a solid effort to hide those images, and Edward was too much of a gentleman to entertain them. Which is probably why it was especially off-putting to have to talk him into letting me shower alone.

“Neither!” I balked.

“Hmmm,” he frowned. “Why not?”

“Well, for one, you don’t have a change of clothes.”

“You don’t know that.”

He was right; I didn’t know that. And I wouldn’t be shocked to find out that he had a small closet stashed somewhere in my bedroom. Not wanting to call his bluff, I moved on.

“You don’t need a shower?” I tried.

“Neither do you,” he countered.

I blushed. “You don’t know that.”

As much as I liked using his own aggravating words against him at times like these, I was running out of protests. It was true, apparently, that he didn’t know I needed a shower… or why I needed one, either. This conversation was renewing my awareness of the ache and dampness between my legs. Maybe I should make it a cold shower…

Stubbornly, I huffed and turned on my heels away from him, stomping back into my room to search for my hairbrush. He beat me there, of course, hairbrush already in hand. His eyes danced with humor—like we were playing a game.

“I’m glad you find this so entertaining,” I muttered, too embarrassed to hide the ire in my voice.

My discomfort was eating away at my patience, one bite at a time. I took a deep breath, feeling a little bad for snapping at him so much in one conversation. Not that it had knocked much wind out of his sails. Still, as much as I wanted to, I couldn’t get past my own self-consciousness enough to cave and let Edward join me while I showered.

I had to find the right way to let him down easy. It was inevitable. I was going to disappoint him in one way or another—whether through this small rejection or by simply taking my clothes off. At least if I drew the line here, maybe I wouldn’t completely humiliate myself.

Chapter Text

Accompaniment

Edward's POV

Until very recently, I considered Bella’s blood to be the greatest temptation of my existence. That there would never be a greater threat to my resolve. I had been wrong. There was something stronger still. What poured from her skin now called to me. Urgently.

The scent of her arousal was ten—no, twenty times more mouthwatering than that of her blood. That I was able to stand before her and drown in it, without caving to a single impulse, was a feat worth studying. Perfectly galvanized control of my body was the only fringe benefit to come of my time away from her. Having once thought her dead, I now valued her life above all else; even thirst had little bearing on my resolve. Neither her blood nor her body commanded me the way her wellbeing did, although desire was not dulled nearly as much as my other passions.

The needling suspicion—that her erotic dream in the car had perhaps not been about me—practically dissolved with every breath. It was as though I could erase pain with want. Did I truly pine to know what she had been dreaming about? Or who she had been dreaming of doing it with? No. Unequivocally no. If it were anyone but me, I may never be able to repair my shattered heart.

I would have left her alone if I could. And if she absolutely could not be persuaded to let me keep her company while she showered, I would honor her wishes without complaint. But I’d lost the thread of reason. The scent was making me into a bit of a nuisance, and Bella was clearly becoming annoyed.

This was beneath the patience I owed her. I was already pressing too far; one or two more appeals, and then I would have to relent.

“Won’t you miss me?”

She sighed, exasperated. “It’s only twenty minutes, Edward. You’ll survive.”

Twenty? Twenty minutes was an eternity. I was down to my last appeal. One more. And then you must drop it, I scolded myself. Leave the poor girl alone. Yet, the intoxicating scent drew me closer still. I eliminated the space between us, leaning down to gaze into her eyes as I spoke.

“Bella,” I murmured, feigning hurt. “Surely you didn’t think I would leave you to face such hazards alone?” She blinked thrice, her face suddenly blank; it took several seconds for her to respond.

“Yes,” she managed, her voice wavering slightly.

Good to see her obstinance is still intact, I mused bitterly. It dawned on me that I neither recognized nor relished this version of myself. Too cynical. Devoid of chivalry. It seemed her arousal was suddenly as much a disruption to my stasis as her blood had once been. Was there something else exacerbating my poor behavior? I usually felt more in control of my emotions.

“Yes I may join you? Or yes you’re denying my company?”

“Trust me, Edward, I’m doing you a favor. You can’t come.”

Her response caught me off guard. A favor? What was that supposed to mean? What use did I have for favors? Only Bella would put my happiness so far above her own. Her mere existence was the greatest gift of all. Every breath she took was a favor. Every beat of her heart was a kindness! How could she not see that?

“Why not?” I demanded, piqued curiosity overthrowing my vow to abandon the subject.

She sighed, dropping her gaze to the floor. My heart dropped with it.

“Honestly?”

“The whole truth, please.” I braced for impact.

“Because I feel pretty… gross right now.”

I laughed in disbelief. Even if she were covered head-to-toe in soot, she would be nothing short of exquisite. She truly did not see herself clearly at all, no matter the passel of attempts in which I tried to convince her of how irresistible, how alluring, how ravishing she was. And she thought what—that a little perspiration could bring her beauty to its knees? What could she be referring to? At surface level, she smelled like fresh laundry. She was perfect. She was possibly hard of sight, as well. I would have to encourage her to see an Optometrist soon.

Although my debilitating love for her biased my opinion, her effect was not limited solely to me. Countless would-be suitors were waiting with bated breath, praying I would make a big enough mistake and, as a result, involuntarily release Bella back into the dating pool. I pitied those men nearly as much as I detested them. There would be no more mistakes.

“Gross? Don’t be absurd!” I could not contain the incredulity in my voice. This was not one of Bella’s more sound-minded beliefs. But it would do more harm than good to allow the delusion to continue. I reached out with my free hand, ghosting my fingers across her cheekbone. “You are the farthest thing from gross, Bella. Especially ‘right now.’” I placed one finger under her chin, forcing her to meet my gaze. “Look at me. Look at the deplorable way I’ve behaved in the last hour alone. I cannot keep my hands to myself! You’re utterly irresistible. Would I be this disorderly otherwise?”

“Fine,” she huffed, giving in.

Yes! My mouth crushed against hers, my hand forming itself around her jaw. Ecstasy burned through me like wildfire, incinerating my ability to think of anything but the luminous glow of her bare, porcelain skin. I wondered if it would blend with the tiles in her shower, or if perhaps the tiles were not white, as I had often imagined. I wondered if I would ever be able to repay her generosity.

“But you have to cover your eyes.”

“Seriously?” I whined.

“Seriously.”

I bit back a groan, frustrated and overwhelmed by profoundly unchivalrous cravings, the urges that made my body pine for hers. Would she ever allow me to admire her properly? What could I do to earn her benevolence? I stared into her eyes, about to protest, when she suddenly looked away, seeming embarrassed. Enough. Don’t push your luck.

It was hardly a contingency to get riled up about. Yet here I was, depraved and wallowing at the thought of a door, a wall, anything coming between us for twenty small minutes. Now I was going to melt down over having to avert my gaze while she showered? Absolutely ridiculous. Where had my sense of shame gone?

Bella took the clothes, towel and hairbrush into the bathroom—placing them on a counter by the sound of it—then returned to the room and began rifling through her dresser. Had I forgotten something? Feeling fractionally awkward, I quickly recalled the outfit I had assembled; two undergarments, a nondescript shirt and some cotton pants. A typical uniform for our rainy afternoons. What more did she need?

She extracted something from the recesses of the top drawer. A mask of some kind. As she approached, I realized it was the kind of mask one might wear to sleep. Black, cotton, elastic strap. I fought the urge to grimace; I would be a good sport.

“Let’s go,” she muttered, shoulders dropping forward in resignation of her fate.

This was no fun at all, and I was ignoble for having driven the mood to this miserable summit. How many ways would I punish her for loving me?

I caught her arm, spinning her to face me.

“I’m sorry, I’m being a pest.” A gross understatement. “And monstrously inappropriate. You deserve privacy. I don’t know what’s come over me. Please, take your time, I’ll be right here when you get out.” I kept my tone rueful and offered an apologetic smile. As if that were even a fraction of what she deserved.

“What?”

Had she not heard me? I added an Audiologist to the list of specialists she would be seeing this month. Her hearing must be going south as well. How unfortunate.

“I’m sorry,” I began again, slower, enunciating each syllable.

“Yeah, I heard you,” she clarified. “I’m just confused why you’re apologizing.”

“I realized how… intrusive I was being. It was inconsiderate.” Another massive understatement. “I’ll be good. Go shower, I’ll wait in here.” I motioned in the general direction of her bed.

“Is it really that much of a deal-breaker to cover your eyes?”

What? I suspected we were communicating on two different frequencies. What did the eye mask have to do with this? Why would I need to cover my eyes if I intended to stay in her bedroom? Did she think I was going to force her to strip for me, as well? My stomach turned at the impropriety of the situation. It was all so… predatory. I cringed.

Abruptly, I felt her burning a hole into my face. I narrowed my eyes and tried to hold her gaze. What was she waiting for? She extended the mask to me, an unanswered question apparent in the set of her brows. Oh, right. She asked me a question.

“No, of course it’s not a deal-breaker. But I was crossing a line. You said no, and I pushed you. It wasn’t nice.”

It was her turn to laugh now, apparently. Between giggles, she managed to choke out a dismissal. “Let’s go,” she said again, walking away from me now. The giggling resumed somewhere down the hall. I strode quickly from the room to catch up with her.

Chapter Text

Symphony

Edward's POV

When I reached the bathroom, I paused in the doorway, wanting to be absolutely certain this invitation was not coerced. She smiled warmly, eye mask still in hand.

Shame must have been apparent in my face or the way I held myself, because Bella was making every effort to convince me that I was welcome—wanted, even—in the unfamiliar tiled room. I was not so sure.

“Edward, it’s fine,” she soothed, dragging out each word playfully. “I’m not going to hold it against you for wanting to spend time with me. Besides,” she flushed, looking away. “Between the two of us, I’m usually much worse behaved than you just were.” She was absolving me—lavishing me with a mercy I had no right to claim. I deserved none of her grace, and yet I was too selfish, too weakwilled to turn it away.

I stepped into the room, took the mask from her hand and looked for a good place to sit blindfolded for the next twenty minutes or so. Easier said than done—this was a bathroom, after all. These rooms were no longer designed to accommodate company, as the capacious, ornately-decorated powder rooms of my youth had been. Not that those were areas myself or other men routinely frequented, either, but I was not unaware of their layout. I had the very faintest memory of being a small child, clinging to the leg of my mother as she chatted animatedly with other women in the powder room’s outer vestibule—a space not entirely in the bathroom, but not part of the hallway, either. Between, like a lobby of sorts. This multi-room layout provided lavatorial privacy, an arena for gossip and a reprieve from tiresome suitors.

It was an ideal floor plan. I could never understand why humans, with their perpetually-worsening behavior, phased it out of architectural norms. The world needed powder rooms now more than ever.

Closing the door behind me, I let my gaze sweep over the narrow bathroom. Though the fixtures were generic, both for the year in which they were installed—probably sometime around 1935—and now, they had a certain charm. To my left was an unremarkable wall-mounted mirror hanging just under a three-bulb vanity sconce. Below it, a porcelain drop-in sink was embedded in the countertop with approximately nine inches of clearance on either side of the basin. I was surprised to find it generally uncluttered—I had always assumed women were the messier sex, and my sisters did little to convert that opinion. Alice especially.

Next to the sink area was a tub shower, installed into its own nook along the same wall as the mirror. The tile was powder blue, not white as I had predicted. The far wall, the one opposite me, had a smallish window. If I sat below the sill, leaning my back against the wall, I would have a perfect corner nook, right next to the edge of the tub.

I settled into my nook, blindfolded and resentful that the simple eye mask did its job well. It was a little tight around my head, but it was, sadly, effective—for all intents and purposes, I was blind. Had I been a human teenager, I might have even worn something like this to counteract the early morning sunlight that spilled unremittingly into my bedroom each day.

I didn’t like being deprived of my sight, but to be within arms reach of Bella was invaluable. Senses be damned. I would have traded them all just to have her know my name. I had wanted her to know me, to trust me, to love me—if any of it was even possible. And in so little time, she did. To then leave her—in the woods, no less—was a betrayal the likes of which no one deserved. Yet, when we reunited, she immediately forgave my heartlessness, the undeserved abandonment, even going so far as to save my lifeless existence.

How did I repay her, this pure-hearted angel whom I loved more than anything? Simple. By succumbing to my own petty jealousy. For days I had let Jacob’s indecent thoughts fester, poison my sanity and compel me to behave like a degenerate. In turn, I empowered my own proliferating insecurity to deny, demean, degrade and demand governance of Bella’s every move with increasing frequency.

And now, almost inconceivably, I was being rewarded for it. I should have walked away right then, given her the privacy she was owed. That every woman was owed. But I was cemented in place on her bathroom floor, paralyzed by a hideous mixture of guilt and lust and curiosity, listening intently as each article of clothing slid across her skin and fell to the floor unceremoniously.

In an attempt to lift my spirits, I reminded myself that I had in fact offered, unsuccessfully, to bow out of this coerced invitation. I had tried to right this wrong, only to learn it was not as much of an offense as I assumed. My muscles unlocked, one at a time, and I was eventually able to relax. She wanted me here. She would have taken me up on my offer to wait in her bedroom otherwise. I just had to abide by this one contingency. As long as the mask did not come off without her explicit consent, I was welcome to stay.

I heard the last article slide down her legs and onto the floor. What an unexpectedly sensual experience it was! I suddenly wished I had started the shower for her; the water would be perfectly warm by now and she would not have to wait in the chilled bathroom.

I knew for certain that she was naked when the sweet scent of her arousal paraded through my olfactory sense. I nearly launched myself in its direction. Stop it, Edward. Focus.

Curtain rings rattled and clicked as they were pushed across the steel shower rod. There was a beat of silence before the valve groaned; I heard the water swell through the pipes on its approach. It only took a second to arrive and begin clattering noisily against the porcelain-enameled steel… and nothing else. Ah. Wisely, she had not yet stepped into the tub—the water was frigid. Again, a pang of remorse rebuked me for not doing her this one simple favor before she had begun undressing. Now, she was forced to stand idly, exposed to the cold air, waiting for the stream to heat up. Needless inconvenience.

Finally, I heard two soft thuds—one after the other, like a heartbeat—as she stepped into the shower and drew the curtain closed behind her. The symphony began with a thousand tiny snare drums—beads of water colliding sharply against tile—paired with a muffled pattering wherever droplets struck her skin. The piece was mesmerizing, Bella its unsuspecting composer. The only pitfall was that it drowned out the sound of her heart. There, I thought. A punishment.

After a few moments, I heard her sigh. The choir. A lovely companion to the orchestra.

“Is the temperature tolerable?” I proffered.

She laughed—cymbals—sounding surprised by the question. She did not know how it had so recently tormented me for eighty excruciating seconds.

“Mm-hmm. Very.” Her voice sounded so… relaxed.

Like most immortals, I was neutral toward the act of bathing. It wasn’t always necessary the way it was for humans; the only reason my family and I did it so frequently was because it made us feel civilized. But I wondered if I had once enjoyed this experience as much as Bella appeared to be enjoying it now.

Suddenly, I resented those ribbons of water, permitted what I was not. The joy of exploring her. The pleasure of caressing her. The ability to warm her. Though her legs were likely well within my reach, the indulgences afforded to water were not. Rightfully so. I had not earned such merits; at this rate, I may never deserve them.

I lounged against the side of the tub, initially using its edge as an armrest, but eventually allowing my right arm to dangle into the basin and revel in the scalding water that traveled the length of her body to pool at her feet. This would be exponentially more thrilling if she had opted for a bath, I realized. I imagined my arm, submerged to the elbow, fingers swimming just inches away from every hollow and curve I longed to touch.

I glared—I assumed, for I could not truly see—in the direction of the shower curtain and wondered if a bath would have made me feel more alone with her.

My fingers ached for a brush of her skin. Without thinking, I reached into the warm mist and snapped twice. The snaps came bouncing back at me, crisp from every angle but one. As I had hoped, sound reverberated easily off the tile, but became tangled in the stream of water flowing freely from the shower head. That’s where she was. I heard the low squeak of Bella’s foot as she turned her head to see what I was snapping at.

It was everything I needed to figure out precisely where she stood in relation to my outstretched hand. Before she could ask why my arm had joined her in the shower, and why it was snapping in the general vicinity of her left calf, I ghosted my fingertips along the back of her leg—from the top of her Achilles to the middle of her thigh. She responded immediately; though, what began as a giggle was quickly overwhelmed by a shallow gasp as I passed the back of her knee.

“Sorry,” I murmured, retracting my arm.

It was a half truth. I was sorry, or at least I was trying to be. Remorse was made difficult by the knowledge that she was naked and so close to me. The briefest sensation of silk under my fingertips sent electricity throughout my entire body, lingering at my core. Now I was starving for more.

Enough. You were granted proximity, not license.

Abruptly, the water sputtered to silence, and with it, my every nerve strained in anticipation of her next step. The last drops smacked against the tub, and I held perfectly still. Waiting. Listening. It had all the tension of a horror film: one door creaks, the audience holds its breath and the hapless heroine takes her step.

Similarly, each movement of Bella’s was a hazard to be accounted for—slippery porcelain, damp feet, her legendary lack of balance; I braced, prepared to intervene before gravity claimed her. Even the simple act of turning a faucet was fraught with peril under her hands. I couldn’t leave her at risk in my presence. Even though she showered every day without death or serious injury, today was different. I was here with her.

Jumping to my feet, I lifted one corner of the eye mask just long enough to locate the towel. I snatched it, noiselessly, and held it open in my arms, waiting dutifully for her to emerge from the basin. I did not have to wait long. The metal rings hissed as she slid the curtain aside, and I cringed as her foot caught the edge of the tub. Her balance faltered and instinct moved me before thought. The treacherous mask did not help my aim, but, miraculously, she fell directly into my chest and I caught her with more care than I would cradle a relic. My arms closed around her delicate frame, wrapping it neatly in the soft bath towel. It was the gentlest rescue I had ever performed.

“Graceful as always,” I teased, trying my best not to laugh.

She sighed, perhaps even rolling her eyes. I wanted to hurry up and rid myself of this mask so I could finally see her face properly. It had been an excruciating, viewless twenty minutes. Angling my face toward hers, I placed a kiss on her forehead and relinquished her toweled form, my body aching at the loss.

“Bella,” I murmured in her direction. Before I could ask permission to remove the mask, I felt damp terrycloth—the towel—being nudged gently into my hand. My fingers closed around it instinctively and I pressed my lips together, smothering a grin. A little longer, then.

“Yeah?” she breathed.

Her hand fell against my shoulder as she steadied herself. I heard the distinct shuffling and snapping sounds of someone dressing hastily. If I did not know better, I would have thought Bella was late for something. The possibility that she wanted to be seen as badly as I wanted to see her made my chest swell with hope. It truly felt as though a reunion were on the horizon. Though I was standing beside her, though I was touching her, she felt a million miles away.

“I was wondering when, if ever, you planned on returning my sight—” I lifted the towel, intending to sound nonchalant. The movement drew my attention to my shirt, which was soaked in several places. I grimaced. There would be no holding her in this condition. Between the soaked fabric and my body temperature, she would freeze before I had the chance to press my lips to hers. The shuffling and snapping hastened. I redirected my line of questioning, more interested in whatever it was that she was doing. “Do you have somewhere to be? It sounds as though you’re at odds with the outfit I chose for you.”

No response. Perhaps a scoff, accompanied by a thud—possibly a knee colliding with a cabinet door. The resulting bruise would tell.

“You know…” I continued. “If I were permitted to see, I might be of some assistance.”

“Just a sec.” Ripping sounds, velcro in nature, thousands of little elastic protests as one force warred against many others. Ah. A hairbrush being yanked through hair.

Then, a gasp. Was she hurt? It would not surprise me, given the way she was wielding the brush. Did she always detangle the strands so forcefully? I made a note to replace her beauty accoutrements with some that were less damaging. Maybe I could not stop her from assaulting the tresses, but I could decommission whatever weapon she currently owned.

“Oh crap. Edward, you’re soaked. I’m sorry.” The gasp was in response to the state of me? It must look worse than it felt. I wouldn’t know.

“Yes, you’ve left me at quite a disadvantage, haven’t you? Half drowned and completely blind.” I could not help but chuckle. She sounded so scandalized by my appearance.

The suspense was becoming intolerable. I prepared to inform Bella, as diplomatically as possible, that I was done with the mask and I was going to tear it off if she did not take it. But before I could open my mouth, she was pulling it up over my eyes. I caught a glimpse of myself in the fogged mirror—she was right, I could make out several dark splotches on my blurred form.

“I’m sorry,” she said again, her voice barely a whisper.

“This shirt has suffered irreparable damage, I’m afraid.” My voice was appropriately satiric, and she stifled a giggle. That I could not bottle such breathtaking sounds was a crime. I would have been an avid collector of her laughs, her sighs… especially the way she sighed my name…

“I’m sure,” her words pulled me from the burgeoning fantasy.

We were suddenly too close, the electricity coursing through the air seemed to bounce off the walls and multiply. I opened the door and strode quickly from the bathroom, a puff of steam emerging in my wake. Bella was not far behind, moved by curiosity, I assumed. When she found me, I was in the middle of her bedroom with my shirt halfway over my chest. Her lips parted in surprise.

“Um…” she trailed off.

I paused, waiting for her to protest—or throw herself on me, if she felt compelled to do so—not bothering to redress. The silence dragged for several seconds, filled only by the frantic pace of her heartbeat and staggered breaths.

“I would be happy to parade about half-dressed, if that’s what you prefer. Though I think Charlie might have something to say about it.” I winked.

“No— No it’s fine. You don’t have to sit around… like that.” Shirtless. Exposed. Available. “I can give you one of Charlie’s shirts,” she stumbled through the words. “If you want me to toss that one into the dryer, I mean.”

“If you insist…” I shook my head, moving closer to her closet doors. “But a borrowed shirt won’t be necessary.” My damp garment must go. Surely she did not expect me to hold her in my sodden condition? I resumed undressing.

There was an indecency to it, even in these circumstances. I had lived through decades of more scandalous fashions, yet baring myself to her felt unthinkably raw. Turning away, I drew the soaked shirt over my head in one motion, striving to make the transition appear unremarkable.

Still, I could feel her eyes on my body, bewildered with clear and obvious lust, massaging my ego slightly more than it should have. My lips pressed together to smother a smug grin.

“Close your eyes, Bella,” I chaffed, peering over my shoulder. “Fair’s fair.”

Her cheeks flushed, as I had hoped they would. I slid the closet door aside and selected a light gray tee… from the small collection of spare clothes I planted in her closet during my first week back in Forks.

Chapter Text

Selfishness

Edward's POV

Bella’s house had long since quieted, with the exception of Charlie’s snores vibrating faintly through the walls. Proof of the late hour. Much to my delight, Bella was stretched beneath me now, her warmth drawing me in.

This ambiance was reminiscent of the night she dropped to her knees before me. It had all the markers. Soft light, distant snoring, palpable tension. A fairly recent affair, actually. What it did not have was the same curiosity-laced enthusiasm and willingness that could foster a similar event. I had shut that right down last time. Though I fought the memory from my mind, whispers of a would-be fantasy—that needling seed—lingered at the edges of our kissing even now. I was kicking myself for it.

For all my centuries of discipline, I was powerless against Bella’s nearness, and my human instincts, buried so long, rose with violent immediacy the instant her lips pressed mine. Had her lips wandered further… lower… the mercy would have obliterated my composure in an instant.

I had never felt more human than in these moments of reflection. Moments that taunted my resolve and pried at the bars of its cage. Moments in which Bella shifted restlessly beneath me, just as she was doing now. The thought of her willing mouth was loud in my periphery. If she were to whisper my name, slide a hand down the length of my stomach, I was certain my body would betray and humiliate me. But if I leaned in to claim her mouth again before I lost myself entirely… Perhaps I could control our pace, moderate my composure.

Just as that thought crossed my mind, she wrapped her calf around my thigh, seeking purchase. I bit back an obscenity.

“Slow down. You’re going to undo me,” I murmured, letting my mouth hover a fraction too long above hers.

She giggled, but I prayed silently that she would hear the serious edge in my warning and ease up on the enticing way she was rocking her hips against mine. My situation was precarious enough given the afternoon we had, and now, I was wholly submerged in the scent and sensation of her. Breath and heartbeat and body. Thoroughly overwhelmed by each.

Tonight, it was the vulnerable arch of her frame that stirred me the most. I did not like to dwell on why, though deep down, I knew that what I found exciting about being on top of her like this was that the position so easily surrendered her to me. I reveled in the unobstructed avenues beyond her collarbones—should I ever grow bold enough to venture there again—and the way she yielded so trustingly beneath me when I climbed atop her.

Abruptly, I closed the small gap between our faces, the image of parted legs and blouses propelling me ever closer to her. She gasped at the sudden press of my lips and I smiled against her mouth, amused at her surprise. Amazing. The sound of her heart filled my ears, running wild and ungoverned, as though it were my own. I leaned back just far enough to breathe her name before kissing her again.

I had come to accept that my desires as a man were separate from my desires as a vampire. To derive pleasure from any movement that jeopardized her safety or comfort was inexcusable. But the part of me that enjoyed covering her with my body and tracing my tongue along her throat knew I would have loved it all the same if I were a human male. It had nothing to do with wanting to harm or consume her—it made me crave certain things. More. She returned a basic part of my long-lost humanity. I might have accepted it more graciously, if it hadn’t felt so indecent.

Bella’s soft moan whispered from beneath me, drawing my thoughts to a sharp point. I broke our kiss enough to smile against her, satisfied and enamored with the sound in equal measure. Her warm breath fanned across my mouth, fire scorching stone, an anchor pulling my body closer to hers despite a repeated command to resist. It was impossible, containing myself in her presence, when each sound unbalanced me further. She had no idea how much discipline bent beneath her sighs.

By this point, every nerve in my body was acutely aware that the hem of her shirt—the one I selected prior to her shower—had begun a slow ascent. The traitorous fabric crept upward as we moved, baring more of her warmth to the cold air. And to me.

It was an inexorable progression I both craved and dreaded. Still, I held her bare hip, monitoring, but not bothering to halt, the shirt’s progression. If she shivered, I would cover her immediately. But if I permitted my hand to drift further, what then? Where would it end? The idea of straying beyond the barrier of cotton was intoxicating; but to follow those impulses and explore the soft skin hidden beneath it was to court both bliss and disaster simultaneously. I winced. I was already struggling to maintain my composure as it was.

My thoughts today had been ungentlemanly, to put it mildly. An understatement, both earlier and now. Especially as I began to pitch my hips gently against hers, letting my thoughts wander where I knew my hands should not.

What word would best describe this behavior? Reckless. Indulgent. Unbecoming. I would eventually have to accept whichever suited the indelicate way in which I learned her by careful degrees. For the time being, however, I was committing every curve and breathless sound to memory as though scripture.

All the while, the scent of her arousal burned into me where our bodies met, incinerating what little restraint I had left.

If I allowed us to continue like this, I risked finding myself in the same situation I had in the meadow. Clothing strained, body rebelling against reason, all decorum gone from my composure. I knew where such abandon would lead, and I dared not follow.

No.

No, no, no.

Putting Bella in that position would be unforgivable.

Even though I knew she would probably be more than happy to pleasure me in one of a handful of ways, the fact of the matter was that I had not yet reciprocated, nor was I prepared to do so tonight. Not because I was afraid of somehow harming her—though I very much was—but because I did not yet know how to be with a woman in that way. I couldn’t bear the thought of disappointing her. Especially not in bed. The realization had been distressing.

Now seemed like an ideal time to stop.

Moments after I ended our kiss, her heart and breath began to slow, staggering against my neck. Her body, once urgent and demanding, was easing into the rhythm of rest. This transition should have been a perfect opportunity for reprieve, but instead, it hollowed me with even more longing. My body, unrelenting, pleaded its case. I knew I had to release her, but even the thought of temporary absence was intolerable.

In one torturous movement, I rolled off and pulled her against my side. If nothing else, I would stroke the length of her spine to calm my racing thoughts. Good. Now, lay still. Don’t move until she’s asleep. I could be a perfect gentleman, if only for a few minutes. I owed her as much.

The interlude nearly ruined me.

It was several minutes longer than expected, each more agonizing than the last. I spent a portion of it admonishing myself for having the fleeting desire to ask her, politely of course, if she would be so kind as to reach down and caress the length of me as well. It was only a split-second urge, but it was abhorrent, unworthy, wholly beneath the man I aspired to be. Though I would never have asked any woman to touch me that way, I knew better than to entertain the thought of asking her.

And yet I had entertained it. I wanted it so badly.

It was frightening to believe myself this deviant, loosed on the world—on poor Bella, really—after one intimate encounter with her hand had undone me completely.

Enough. Think of something else.

At that, I forced my mind to be silent for the remainder of the time she spent hovering between consciousness and sleep.

Eventually, her breathing evened, each exhale a ribbon of warmth against my shirt. It was a pleasant, reassuring sensation. Unfortunately, my body remained firm in its demand for release. I pressed my lips to her hair, then slipped soundlessly from the bed. Desire was a flame I could not extinguish in her presence, and I knew well enough to flee before it consumed me.

Exile suited me more than carelessness. I’d burn alone for decades before I’d ever trouble her sleep.

The night air struck like penance. It felt unusually cold on my skin, still branded by Bella’s warmth. I slipped across the yard and cloaked myself in the Volvo furtively, where no one could see this failure but me. I was immensely grateful that my car was obscured by darkness and flanked by a green wall of forest.

I shut the door gently, careful not to alert any neighbors to my presence.

The first thing I noticed was her scent. Even here, away from her fragile body, arousal still saturated the air like incense. It was intense—though we hadn’t been in this car since this afternoon—like she was curled up in the passenger seat right next to me, seduced by some lustful dream.

My body convulsed impatiently, begging for release. I growled, annoyed. But the sooner I handled this, the sooner I could return to Bella.

I tried very hard not to think too much about what I was doing, only how I was doing it. It did nothing for efficiency to sit here and lament over the impropriety of masturbating in one's car.

I knew it was wrong.

I knew it was shameful.

Thinking about that over and over would only serve to draw the process out unnecessarily—and right now, I just needed to unburden my body, so that I could safely return to her side with composure restored. If I didn’t handle my situation… I would sacrifice the privilege of laying pressed against the length of her, breathing in her scent, basking in her softness, listening to her sleeptalk and all the secrets it unveiled.

This is a small price to pay. I thumbed the button of my jeans open and drew the zipper down. With little ado, I extracted myself from below the waistband of my briefs and wasted no time wrapping a hand decisively around my member. I had done this before, of course—at the end of the day I was no better than a man.

My thoughts drifted to the white house next to me, where Bella slept upstairs, blithely unaware that I was taking myself in hand at the thought of her bared skin. My eyes fell closed as I imagined myself invited not only to attend her next shower, but encouraged to look… to see what I hadn’t been permitted to see earlier. I was no stranger to the body of a naked woman—though that was less by choice and more by design. But each part of her body had remained a mystery to me until I saw it with my own eyes.

As I yielded to the rhythm of my fist, I pictured her trusting expression as she granted my permission.

I considered the words she might use, the tone of her voice. Would she smile when she said it? Look at me, Edward. I wondered whether it would be phrased as an offer, a question, even a demand. Could you help me undress? Would she say anything at all? Or would she simply expose herself to me? I shuddered in pleasure.

Arousal was an oppressor I hadn’t faced in eighty years. My body was mostly dormant until Bella came along, quickly reintroducing me to this adversary of ill repute. I battled with it so frequently that we felt more like incompatible neighbors than sworn nemeses. I never had trouble fantasizing—those were always based on real events and over fairly quickly. I hated to dwell in perversion longer than necessary. It did nothing for my tendency to self-loathe.

But each time I touched myself, I found the experience to be no less intense or staggering than the last. There was no dulling or desensitizing the process. And to make matters even more difficult, I was currently tangled in a blanket of Bella’s scent so intense, she might as well have been sitting here with my face between her knees.

Was that option available to me? I liked the idea very much... So much so, in fact, that the thought alone expedited my release.

My eyes pressed together as the once-desperate ache broke apart in my hand. This was the lowest ebb of the act, its basest revelation. The true indecency was not in what I was doing, but in what it revealed of my mind. Behind closed lids, my imagination betrayed me, painting myself kneeling before her, my face buried against the tender inside of her thigh. Her hands tangled in my hair, drawing me forward, granting me access to so sacred a place. An oath escaped my lips, dragged from me against my will; I swelled to the crest of climax, unraveled and came to a shuddering halt in seconds.

The act was mercifully brief, violent in its release, shameful in its necessity.

Relief came and left hollowness in its place. The aftermath was something I had yet to master—not because it was untidy, but because I felt abysmal every time; rich with shame, yet poor in reason. I was not religious, I was not amoral, I had never pressured or forced Bella or any other woman to satisfy me. This was a private indulgence, a solitary act, giving into my body’s demand. I attended to it alone only as needed. But it felt disgraceful all the same.

I emerged from the driver’s side and straightened my clothes, as though nonchalance could conceal what I had done. As I pulled at the hem of my light gray shirt, I realized how obvious my release had been. There would be another wardrobe change in my immediate future, it seemed.

With much chagrin, I used the edge of the dirtied shirt to clean myself off, removing it swiftly once I was safely through Bella’s window. She had not stirred. I sighed, relieved, and returned to my fraction of her closet, stealthily extracting a fresh shirt for myself and discarding the gray one in a medium-sized plastic hamper nearby.

As much of a relief as release had been, the sight of her—undisturbed, trusting, wholly mine—was an even greater balm. I returned to her side, contrite, ashamed, and yet calmer for the exile.

But the calm was short-lived. It crept in as I lay enamored by the even sound of her breathing. Something I had fought so desperately to bury came clawing back to the surface as it did every single night.

The image of her face hovering over Jacob Black’s stomach.

Instead of addressing his dark thoughts, getting my answers and putting the whole thing to bed, I repressed the event for hours each day. Like I was hoping it would cease to exist if I just ignored it long enough. It was clear to me now, as I blanched at the familiar images, that my daily reckoning had come. The experience seemed to have corroded me. Jealousy manifested in undesirable forms—almost all of which had an edge of lust, or panic, or control.

To make matters worse, I was set to drop Bella at the treaty line in a few hours so I could go hunting with Alice and Jasper. I did not see how that would be possible, since it opened me to the possibility of seeing something even worse in Jacob’s mind.

Though Bella was no property of mine, I could not allow her to spend even a minute with him without ensuring my presence remained undeniable in every second of my absence. I had several hours to steep her clothes in my scent.

If I was successful, whatever she wore tomorrow would be an assault on any werewolf’s senses—but especially Jacob Black’s.

I took my time, pressing each garment to my face, ensuring the fabric had my scent woven into every thread. I wanted to be absolutely, unerringly certain that when Bella stood within ten feet of him, he would not be able to stand the smell of her. Every thought he had, proper or otherwise, would be haunted by my presence.

I smiled and pulled another shirt from her dresser.

Chapter Text

Agenda

Bella's POV

When I woke, Edward wasn’t next to me like I’d hoped. I stretched, wondering if I’d tossed around much in my sleep—that usually chased him into the old rocking chair in the corner of my room. Sitting up, that’s where I found him, perfectly still. I felt a little guilty. He was too far. When our eyes met, he broke into a wide smile.

For a second, I thought my heart might have stopped.

His impossible face was smooth, but I knew better. I had spent enough time with him to know that something was up. Or maybe it wasn’t anything new—maybe the same thing that had been bothering him yesterday was bothering him still. Moody as Edward was, he was just as capable of quietly ruminating on the same thing for weeks at a time.

I sighed, a little deflated at the thought of anything putting a damper on our day. If he didn’t chill out by the end of the week, I would press him for answers. Or Alice. Even though it was usually better to let him sort his thoughts before I began asking about them. But leaving him to stew ran the risk of some big, unexpected explosion down the line. His smile didn’t have me completely convinced. I eyed him carefully as he crossed the room to join me in bed.

“Sleep well?” he mused.

“You tell me,” I retorted wryly. “Why so far away?”

Our eyes moved to the rocking chair.

He shrugged casually. “It’s healthy to give each other space every once in a while.”

I laughed without humor, not buying it. Since he’d come back to Forks, Edward wasn’t known for his love of personal space. He wouldn’t even let me shower alone, for crying out loud.

“You know,” I offered, a hint of sarcasm in my voice. “If you need a break from keeping an eye on me…”

He rolled his eyes. “You’re going to La Push in an hour.”

His response surprised me. Sometimes I wondered if he secretly could read my mind.

“What? Why?” I heard the panic leech through—an unfortunate side effect of the six months we spent apart. I didn’t know if it would ever go away, or if the hole in my chest would forever have little fissures where it didn’t heal correctly. I wondered if I would ever stop waiting for him to leave again.

My heart doubled its pace.

Two stone arms circled my waist and pulled me tight against his chest. It was an instant comfort, though my thoughts were harder to quiet. I felt his lips press my temple. Kissing did have a way of taking my mind off things…

I angled my face toward his and then remembered I hadn’t yet brushed my teeth.

“Just a sec.” I held a finger up, then dashed to the bathroom, rushed through my grooming routine, and wormed my way back into his waiting arms. “Okay,” I breathed, craning my neck to reach him. I felt his smile as his lips parted mine, cool breath fanning across my face.

“Breathe, Bella,” he whispered after a minute.

I blinked once, then twice, trying to remember what we had been talking about. Oh right. I crossed my arms and stuck my chin out stubbornly. It elicited another chuckle from Edward. I frowned.

“Relax. I’m just going hunting. Look at my eyes.”

Oh. How had I missed that? I swallowed hard. His eyes were two obsidian pits, smoldering and drawing me into their depths. I felt the warmth creep up my chest—and felt a little guilty about it. Hopefully it didn’t bother him as much as it used to.

He cleared his throat; I must’ve been staring too intently. I looked away quickly, feeling my cheeks flush even brighter. He laughed, amused by my reaction.

“So,” I attempted nonchalance. “When will you be back?” Please don’t be gone long.

“This afternoon. We’re not going far.”

“We?”

“Alice and Jasper are going with me.”

I nodded, accepting the answer as though I had any say in the matter. I didn’t want to be away from him, but I was glad to spend the morning in La Push instead of alone at home doing laundry. I eyed the hamper wearily, hoping Charlie didn’t need me to run a load of darks or something. Ugh, it can wait one more day.

Since it looked like Edward had no intention of leaving me unattended today or ever again, there was at least some small consolation in knowing I would get to see Jake regularly. Though, not as often as I had a couple of months ago. A pang of guilt sent a jolt from my heart to my stomach. Maybe I shouldn’t be spending so much time with Jake so soon… He seemed fine now, but Edward’s return had gone over like a lead balloon at first. With both him and Charlie... not a fun few weeks. And actually, Charlie was no closer to forgiving Edward. At least Jake put on a good face.

Marble lips broke through my train of thought and began trailing kisses down the side of my throat. The chill sent goosebumps sprawling out across my chest and over my arms. I felt the lips smile against the skin above my collarbone.

“Do you have to go?” I began wedging myself beneath his body, hinting that I wanted him to slide over top of me. Hinting was the wrong word for it. I was making no attempt at subtlety.

He smiled, leaning in to continue our kiss.

Usually, this level of eagerness would cause him to lock up or pull away, but he’d been so… insatiable lately that I couldn’t help but hope I might get something I really wanted after all.

Edward had a lot of rules for our physical relationship, but one by one I’d chipped away at each of them over the course of a year or so—give or take a six month hiatus. Still, even that worked to my advantage, I thought, remembering the way he insisted on joining my shower yesterday. It was pretty out of character for him, but I was afraid that if I asked about it, he’d put the brakes on all the progress we’d been making in that arena…

“Bella. Breathe,” he was grinning ear-to-ear.

“Sorry,” I muttered, still wriggling my way underneath him.

He sighed contentedly and slid above me with practiced ease. I didn’t feel any more of his weight on me than he wanted me to, though I wouldn’t object to closing the few inches left between us. Could I fuse our bodies together?

“Listen to your heart fly,” he murmured into the edge of my jaw. His voice was heavy with a mix of awe and amusement.

My arms wrapped around his neck, tugging our faces closer together. He moved from my jaw to my mouth and resumed kissing me again, our lips crushing together roughly. His enthusiasm took me by surprise; a small moan escaped from my throat and he deepened the kiss in response. Stay with me, I wanted to beg. Don’t go hunting. Stay here all day.

But I knew better than to ask. It wouldn’t be fair. His eyes were dark. I suspected he probably wasn’t very comfortable being in the same room together, let alone kissing me. Guilt sent another stab through my chest.

The pain was short lived.

He moved his icy palm to rest against my cheek, anchoring it, then—so slowly it was excruciating—began kissing a line down my neck, across my collarbones, threatening to go lower still. When he reached the little hollow just above my heart, I stopped breathing. Suddenly, his hands moved to my waist, holding me in place. He continued his glacial descent between my cleavage, down my sternum, past the hem of my shirt at the edge of my ribs. When he reached the skin above my belly button, I shuddered. The unexpected movement knocked a whimper loose and I breathed an embarrassing, almost desperate-sounding noise.

His head snapped up, worried at first, then smug. The corners of his mouth twitched, fighting a smile.

“Shall I stop?” he breathed, his voice a mix of shock, humor and self-satisfaction.

When I didn’t respond—when I couldn’t respond—he traced his tongue up the center of my body, stopping just below where my shirt bunched around the bottom of my ribcage. It took everything in me not to begin tearing at our clothes.

The sensation of his icy tongue exploring my sensitive skin made the world go sort of hazy around the edges. I was vaguely aware that my hands, seemingly glued to the back of his head, had two fistfuls of tousled bronze hair. But I couldn’t be sure. I could barely hold a coherent thought over all the racket my heart was making. When he started trailing below my belly button, my vision went dark.

“Bella! Breathe!” His voice was thin with worry. Loud. I sucked in a huge, staggering breath. Almost instantly, my eyes grew wide with horror and flew to my closed bedroom door. Charlie must already be gone for the day, I hoped, otherwise we had about ten seconds before he came barreling through the door with his gun. Edward shook his head, confirming we were alone as though I’d asked it aloud.

He lifted off me and rolled to my side.

“Ugh,” I groaned, throwing myself back against the pillows and pulling the quilt over my head. “Can you at least try to be quick today?”

“Shhh,” he soothed, pulling the cover down to see my face. “Aren’t you even a little excited to spend some time with the dog?”

The teasing had an edge to it. I didn’t love his tone, but I understood it enough not to put up a fight. Defending Jake would only make things more difficult for our friendship, especially where Edward was concerned. Plus, it was no secret that Charlie would have loved to have him around more, too, and clearly blamed Edward for being the reason he wasn’t.

It was more nuanced than that, but even if Charlie knew the whole impossible truth—the truth about absolutely everything—I think his biggest disappointment would be in finding out he couldn’t actually put a bullet through Edward. Especially if he found out where Edward spent most nights. The mental picture was hilarious, and made me chuckle a little every time I thought about it.

“Come on,” he said, sitting up. “Get dressed, please.”

I pouted.

“The sooner I leave, the sooner I get to come back.”

That got me moving.

Chapter Text

Field Trip

Bella's POV

“As happy as I am to provide my free babysitting services while your boyfriend is out, would it kill him to leave for more than an hour? We never get to hang out.”

“It’s been more than an hour, Jake.”

“So he is your boyfriend? You two are back together?” He made little effort to hide his disdain.

“Jake,” I pressed my fingers to the bridge of my nose.

“Fine,” he rolled his eyes, dropping one question for the other. “An hour and a half. That’s still hardly enough time to get into any real trouble.”

“Oh yeah? And what did you have in mind?”

He shrugged. “Oh, I don’t know. Could fix up another couple of bikes.”

I glared at him, remembering exactly what he’d done with the last motorcycle we worked on together. Charlie nearly ground me into the next century when he found it parked in our driveway—Jake’s idea of getting back at me for saving Edward.

“And here I thought you were glad I was finally off Charlie’s house arrest…” I mumbled.
“Aw, c’mon Bella. Don’t be mad,” he said, grinning. “I’m only joking.”

Except he wasn’t, and I knew that. I sighed. No use picking a fight we wouldn’t be able to finish for another week or two. I had to go soon, anyway. Edward would be at the treaty line in five minutes.

“I’ll come back soon.”

His face lit up. “Really?”

“He’s gotta eat, Jake.”

Jacob made a face. “Bloodsuckers don’t eat, Bella.”

I ignored him and slipped into the passenger seat.

“God, Bella,” he groaned, joining me in the car. “You really reek of him today.”

“Don’t I usually?”

“It’s especially bad,” he muttered, wrinkling his nose. “Roll your window down. Is he wearing your clothes now or something? Phew.”

I bit my lip to keep from laughing. The picture in my head was ridiculous—Edward trying to fit into anything of mine. He had probably been too big for clothes my size since 1908.

Jake was already pulling onto the main road when I realized I wasn’t wearing my seatbelt—I’d gotten used to Edward beating me to it. I buckled it with a sharp click and looked out the window as we sped toward the usual hand-off spot.

Doing things this way made me feel like a little kid, but I’d tested Edward’s patience so thoroughly that I wasn’t being given much autonomy when it came to seeing Jake, and leaving me alone with Victoria on the loose was out of the question. I was passed back and forth across the treaty line once every week or so. Edward trusted Jacob only as much as he absolutely had to—always by necessity, never by choice.

Our visits were limited to the handful of hours in which the Cullens were hunting, and even then, those trips were getting shorter and shorter for Edward. The official excuse for keeping me away from La Push was that werewolves were unpredictable and dangerous, but I sensed a thread of jealousy as well. Jacob wasn’t nearly as good at hiding his feelings—toward any of the Cullens, not just Edward. On second thought, I don’t know that he was even trying to.

There were small gaps in the wall of green trees lining either side of the winding road out of the Quileute reservation. I could see Edward through them as we approached, his silvery form leaning against the front of the Volvo like usual. I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. Being in La Push had a way of distracting me from how much I missed him. It wasn’t until he was within reach that I felt the full weight of having him back.

I was stumbling into his wintry arms only seconds after Jacob parked the car, abandoning my jacket in the process.

“Told you we’d be quick,” he murmured into my hair. His breath, cold and sweet, made me shiver; his tone took on an edge of concern. “Where’s your sweater?”

“Oh!” I turned back toward the car. Jacob was standing at the edge of the treaty line, looking annoyed. Edward walked with me as I returned to rescue my orphaned jacket—he stopped opposite Jake.

Though they stood silently behind me, I could see their reflections in the car door. Edward suddenly looked ill at ease. I reached through the open window, snatching my jacket, and watched myself in the reflection as I slipped it on.

Without warning, Edward’s head snapped toward Jake. Less than a second later, almost as if in slow motion, he lurched forward, shoving Jacob several feet back from where he once stood.

“Hey! What the hell?” Jake complained, aggravated.

“Do you mind!” Edward spat through clenched teeth.

They spoke so simultaneously that their voices overlapped, both laced with outrage and surprise. I spun around to see if maybe there was something I had missed, some obvious aspect or culprit that explained the outburst. But the scene was exactly as it appeared in the reflection of the car, just a little clearer. I opened my mouth to scold someone, most likely Edward, but their faces stopped me in my tracks. The air between them felt different—wrong.

Edward was furious—really furious.

Jacob was… not. He looked embarrassed, if anything.

“What happened?” My voice was thin with alarm.

“Get in the car, Bella.” Edward hissed, never taking his eyes off Jake.

I opened my mouth to speak, but something in his voice stopped my protest.

“Bye, Jake,” I muttered uneasily.

“See ya, Bells.”

Edward scoffed, opening the door for me.

I peered through the windshield as Edward crossed back to the treaty line with inhuman speed. He shoved Jacob’s shoulder, just once, but with much less force than before. My eyes narrowed, like I would be able to see the words being exchanged if I just squinted hard enough. Edward growled something through clenched teeth—I noted the tension in his jaw—that made Jacob cringe and take a big step backwards.

So quickly that I didn’t see him move, Edward was in the driver’s seat next to me, turning his key in the Volvo’s ignition. I buckled my seatbelt quickly and saw the corner of Edward’s mouth turn down at the noise.

He peeled out onto the road without a word. It took several minutes for me to realize we weren’t heading in the right direction. We were driving away from Charlie's. My stomach dropped. Was something wrong? Did something happen? Was Charlie okay? I struggled to pick a question, starting with the least pressing.

“Where are we going?”

“My house,” he said curtly. The darkness in his mood startled me.

“Why? What’s going on?”

He eyed me warily, like he had questions of his own. It seemed like he was trying to calm down enough to ask them. I waited patiently, stunned to hear that his breathing was uneven.

Tires screeched and my body jerked to the side as Edward pulled violently onto the shoulder of the road. For the second time in ten minutes, I tried to speak. But he was on me in an instant, leaning over the center console with both hands locked on either side of my face.

There couldn’t be danger—not if he was kissing me like this.

His mouth was not gentle; there was an edge of anger and desperation in the way his lips moved. My face felt overheated, only marginally cooled by his icy skin. A shiver ran through my body, shaking us both, but he didn’t stop kissing me. Even when I pulled away, gasping for air, his hands didn’t leave my skin. One slid to my waist, the other to the back of my neck, both pulling me closer to his chest.

Eventually, I found the words I struggled with earlier. Despite his mouth moving distractingly down the side of my neck, I managed to choke a few out.

“Um…” Not my strongest start. At the sound of my voice, he slowed, but did not stop. “What—hmmm... what was all that about?” It was becoming difficult to breathe.

His lips were at my ear. “What was what?” he soothed innocently.

So that’s how we were going to do this. Just once, I wished I could ask a difficult question and get a straightforward answer. Although… the longer his mouth moved across my skin, the less I cared about talking…

No. No. He wouldn’t have shoved someone over nothing—not even Jake. My brain was still nagging me to pause our kissing and press for answers. Ugh… I groaned under my breath.

“Edward, wait,” I pulled away from him, but he just dropped his head and moved his lips to the hollow of my throat. I drew a shaky breath, trying to remain focused.

“Hmmm…?”

“What was that? I mean, why’d you…” I trailed off, not wanting to sound accusatory.

He groaned, sliding back into the driver’s seat without a word. He shot me an apologetic look before pulling back onto the road.

I stared at him expectantly.

“It was nothing,” he said, his voice low. “I was simply reminding him where he was.”

“You saw something in his mind,” I guessed.

He nodded, peering at me from the corner of his eye.

For some reason, it seemed like a good idea to drop the subject, at least for the time being. It wasn’t long before we were turning onto the Cullens’ winding driveway.

Chapter Text

Everyone

Bella's POV

Edward scrutinized my face for a long moment while I tried unsuccessfully to twist away from his gaze. His brow furrowed, and his expression became pensive.

"You’re upset," he stated, probing.

“I am not,” I lied. I was.

“Bella.”

“Fine. I just don’t understand why you two can’t get along for more than thirty seconds!”

Edward seemed completely at ease.

“Need I remind you,” he said, attempting to disguise his amusement. “We are natural enemies.”

“I don’t see how that justifies all the shoving,” I muttered under my breath.

I headed for the stairs, making no effort to disguise my irritation. I didn’t even care why Edward pushed Jacob—it just seemed so unnecessary. And I didn’t like secrets.

When I crossed the threshold to his room, a cool hand caught my elbow, spinning me around to face him. Marble lips found mine so suddenly that my anger scattered like dust. My hands tangled in his hair instinctively, eliminating all space between our bodies.

He pulled away abruptly, planting a final kiss on my forehead.

“Am I forgiven?”

“That’s not fair,” I countered. He couldn’t just kiss his way out of hot water. It didn’t stop him from trying, though. Still, we could both sense that the fire had died out and I was finding it increasingly difficult to be angry with him—especially when he was looking at me like that with liquid gold eyes.

He shifted uncomfortably.

“What?”

“Would you be terribly offended if I asked you to shower?” His voice was gentle and teasing, but his face was apologetic.

“Do I smell that bad?” I pulled a handful of hair to my face, trying to detect the same unpleasant scent the Cullens always did when I’d been around the wolves.

“Not you, Bella…” he murmured. “The dog. I just want to kiss you without smelling him the whole time. If you don’t mind.”

“If you didn't look so disgusted, I’d think this was some sort of ploy…”

He shot me a withering look, as if he hadn’t been petitioning to follow me into the shower just yesterday. A very convenient time for selective memory.

“I won’t come unless you ask me to,” he said, guessing my hesitation.

“It’s just… I assumed you were taking me home. I don’t have anything to change into.”

“Actually…” he looked a little guilty.

Of course. I wondered how long he’d been keeping a second wardrobe for me here. I had a feeling it wasn’t a new addition to his closet. It wouldn’t surprise me if he’d had it for weeks.

I didn’t even bother considering whether or not the clothes belonged to one of his sisters—Alice’s wouldn’t fit and Rosalie would rather eat dirt than let anyone wear her clothes. Least of all me. And wearing something of Esme’s was out of the question, as well. That felt too intimate. Besides, I didn’t think Edward would want to continue what we’d started in the car with me dressed like his mother…

He crossed the length of the room and slipped through an inconspicuous door in the far corner. A second later, I heard a faucet turn and sputter to life. For whatever reason, probably because I was rarely at his house for very long, I’d never noticed this bathroom. The door was always closed and obscured behind a lamp and some clutter.

Curiosity pulled me toward the sound of running water. Through the cracked door, I could see Edward standing just outside a panel of floor-to-ceiling glass. A shower. A rather spacious walk-in shower. He was reaching into the stream to test it, sleeve rolled to the elbow.

I stepped fully into the room, which was larger than it appeared from the outside. A grid of charcoal slate tiles covered the floor, looking almost too modern compared to Edward’s bedroom.

“It should be warm enough,” he murmured, without turning.

“Oh. Thank you.”

I wasn’t sure whether or not he planned to stick around. Looking at the shower, I realized that two of the four sides were just massive panes of glass; it felt too open. I might as well have been under a spotlight. My pulse pounded in my ears at the realization that I would be wholly on display if Edward chose to keep me company.

No point in dragging it out. I began undressing.

Slowly, I shrugged out of my jacket—folding it once before dropping it to the floor. I kicked off each shoe next, sliding those aside so as not to trip over them when I went to step out of my jeans. I reached for the waistband—the buzzing sound of my zipper being undone was enough to make him turn.

“Just a minute, Bella. Let me give you some privacy.”

“Are you sitting this one out?” I asked, trying to keep my voice casual. I couldn’t tell if I desperately hoped he’d stay or desperately hoped he wouldn’t. Not wanting to seem bothered by either choice, I continued undressing as we spoke. My shirt fell to the tile next to me.

“Will you be very long?” he asked, clearing his throat. His eyes, sadly, didn’t leave my face. I thought I saw his hand twitch, but I couldn’t be sure.

“Less than twenty minutes.” My jeans fell to my feet. I kicked them aside awkwardly.

“Then no,” he teased. “I’ll survive.” He planted a kiss on my temple and moved toward the door.

A little deflated, I reached behind my back to undo the clasp of my bra. By the time the hooks separated from the eyelets, he was gone. The door clicked shut, and suddenly the room was too quiet.

I probably would have finished showering in just fifteen minutes, but someone—I guessed Alice—had stocked the shower with a collection of products clearly intended for me. I was perfectly happy to use Edward’s, but I didn’t want to give off the impression that I didn’t appreciate the effort. I spent a whole five minutes just tearing through safety seals.

The entire bathroom was spotless, looking mostly untouched, but the upscale men’s shampoo and conditioner before me were both open and used. I tried to imagine Edward showering here after a hunt or some activity or just out of habit. Vampires didn’t sweat, but he always smelled so clean, it was hard to believe he wasn’t in here bathing twice a day.

Now, with the addition of my products next to his, it felt like this one little area of a room I’d never been in before was somehow ours. When I reached for the soap, it occurred to me just how intimate sharing a bar of soap was. I wondered idly if Edward thought of it the same way. I assumed, if he didn’t want me using it, that a new bar would have been among the supplies left for me. But it wasn’t.

I scrubbed, shaved, rinsed, shut off the water and stepped out of the shower, expecting the tile to feel cold beneath my feet. But the slabs were… warm. Heated. Of course. Even the plush towel draped nearby felt like it had just come from the dryer.

In a split second, the comfort of warmth vanished. My stomach dropped. I’d forgotten the clothes. I was about to call out for Edward when something to the left caught my eye.

There, perched on the flat edge of the tub, was a wide-bristled hairbrush and a stack of neatly-folded clothing. Unsurprisingly, they were precisely my size. Shocking. Chagrin colored my features, though I couldn’t help but smile a little to myself. The gesture was pretty thoughtful.

Under the handle of the brush was a note.

Don’t pull so hard.

I rolled my eyes, but silently agreed to heed the instructions on the paper. My hair could use a break from all the abuse. I turned my attention to the clothes.

Edward had good taste, but I had reason to believe Alice was responsible when I noticed that the bra and panties laid out for me were a matching set. Despite having decades of life experience and hearing millions of deeply private thoughts, selecting intimates felt a little beyond his paygrade. Thankfully, she didn’t go overboard. Each piece was simple, lavender, and made of a thin cotton.

Sufficiently dried and de-wolfed, I got dressed quickly and brushed my hair—gently, as instructed. When I turned to gather my dirty laundry, I noticed the clothes weren’t piled on the floor where I’d left them. They weren’t anywhere in the bathroom, as far as I could tell.

It dawned on me that someone must have come in here while I was showering—I hadn’t even noticed. The realization sent a chill down my spine, even though rationally, I knew it could only have been a Cullen. Again, most likely Alice.

A small, traitorous part of me wanted to believe it was Edward—that he’d changed his mind. But I knew it must have been Alice.

Maybe Edward, in all his perfection, didn’t want to see me, in all my plainness. Maybe his concern really was all about my safety. Maybe my desire for him would always be stronger than his could ever be.

I sighed, trying to shake the thought, and hurried through the rest of my routine.

When I finally emerged from the steamy bathroom, Edward was waiting patiently for me on his wide leather sofa. He was sprawled effortlessly, leaning longways with his shoulders propped against the armrest. His right leg was slightly bent, foot resting on the cushions. The other was draped onto the floor.

I would never get used to his beauty, I was sure of it. Right on cue, he smiled, motioning for me to come lay along his chest.

“Where is everyone?” I asked as I made my way across the room toward him.

“Out.” he said casually.

“Everyone?”

“Everyone.”

“Who brought me these?” I gestured vaguely to my clothes.

“I did.” The corners of his mouth twitched.

Oh. I felt my face go hot.

My breath hitched. Every part of me pulled toward him.

As embarrassing as it was, I wasn’t about to let my lungs keep me from climbing into his arms. I closed the distance between us and pressed my cheek against his stone chest, breathing in the sweet scent of his skin.

“How do I smell?” I asked, fighting to get my breathing in check.

“Exquisite. Irresistible, even.”

Angling my face towards his, I began inching higher. He responded immediately, wrapping his hands around my shoulders and lifting me effortlessly to eye level. For a long moment, time stood still as his lips moved carefully against mine. I wanted more. Without thinking, my lips parted, inviting his to do the same…

Suddenly, I felt him rotate my body away from his, situating us so that my back was pressed along his chest and my hips rested between his thighs. The unexpected repositioning confused me; how were we supposed to kiss like this? I opened my mouth to protest, but his lips were already pressed beneath my ear.

“Now, Bella,” he teased. “Is that all you’re interested in?”

“Yes,” I said, trying to rotate back to face him. His arms tightened around me.

He chuckled, but I felt a subtle shift in his mood. This would be a great time to be able to see his face—I got the sense he was about to ask a question I wouldn’t want to answer.

“Tell me something… why does Jacob Black know what the inside of your bedroom looks like?” His voice was deceptively calm.

I tensed; the warmth between us vanished instantly.

For once, I hated that I’d predicted his next move correctly. I didn’t want to talk about this. Ever. So why did he have to bring it up now? When things were moving in such a pleasant direction…

“W—what?”

“Why does your friend Jacob Black know what the inside of your bedroom looks like?” He spoke slowly, the calmness taking on an edge of… aggravation? Impatience? I couldn’t tell. It wasn’t good, whatever it was.

I didn’t know what to say. Where was this coming from? Had I missed something when I was in the shower?

“Um…” I had nothing.

“I was just curious, that’s all.”

I shifted uncomfortably in his iron grip. Another silence. Something else was working its way to the surface—he wasn’t ready to let this go.

“Was it… recent?” he probed.

“No,” I sighed. I felt him relax a little. “Can we not have this conversation right now? I don’t want to fight.”

“Why would we fight?” His voice was suddenly anxious.

“Because you—” I didn’t know where to go with that. Because you always pick a fight over Jake. Because you wouldn’t even let me see him until recently. Because you left and he was all I had. Hot tears pricked behind my eyes. I wiped them away angrily.

“Are you crying?”

“No,” I lied.

“Oh, Bella.” I felt his arms leave my waist, then cold hands wiped the tears from my eyes. “I’m sorry. I didn’t intend to upset you.”

“I’m allowed to have friends, Edward.”

“Of course you are, love. Please forgive me. I didn’t mean to imply otherwise.” A long pause. “Curiosity got the best of me. Really, Bella, I am sorry.”

“You weren’t here.”

For whatever reason, that seemed to make him physically cringe. His breathing picked up, stress obvious in every inhale. I felt a little guilty for adding that last bit—it sounded like I was throwing it in his face. I wasn’t even sure why I said it, either. It just slipped out, as if my brain thought three words would somehow wash away his unbearable resentment of Jacob. Like maybe he would feel some sense of gratitude that I had someone to occupy the hole in my chest during those dark months. As I listened to Edward fight to calm his breathing, I was suddenly aware that my words might have had the opposite effect. Being blind to his expression was probably for the best. I didn't want to see the pain I may have just caused.

Chapter Text

Privacy

Bella's POV

I pondered our terse exchange for a minute. Why were these questions even on his mind? What did it matter if Jacob knew that my walls were painted spruce green, or that my sheets were lilac, or that my computer was practically a dinosaur? Edward was being ridiculous.

Did this have something to do with the altercation at the treaty line? Probably. But I hadn’t planned on asking about that until after we’d had a nice day together. No sense in ruining it early, I thought. And yet, here we were, talking about Jacob anyway.

I craned my neck to look at him—not that there was a lot of room for me to do so.

“Why are you so keyed up about Jacob all of a sudden?”

His eyes closed and he pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. When they opened again, they were unreadable.

“I’m not keyed up, Bella. I was curious.”

“That’s all?”

“That’s all.”

I tried to salvage the mood by wriggling to face him again. If I could just reach his lips…

“Did you spend a lot of time together at Charlie’s?” His voice cut through my attempt, knocking the wind from my sails in the process.

“Edward,” I sighed. “Please just say whatever’s on your mind.” But before he could respond, something else occurred to me. “Are you… Are you jealous?” I asked, cutting him off.

“Of course I am!” he snapped. The words slipped out before he could temper them.

“Be serious,” I replied, ignoring the outburst.

“Easily—there’s nothing even remotely amusing about this.”

I scoffed. He was being impossible.

“Why? You’ve been in my room hundreds of times!”

“I don’t know,” he shrugged, clearly annoyed with himself. I wasn’t buying it—he was omitting something.

Just before I could call him on his lie, I looked up at his face, at his topaz eyes; I hadn't noticed it in the moment, but he looked more than a little anxious. I decided not to push it; he’d had enough for one day. We could hash this out later, when our bodies weren’t so distractingly tangled together. Arguing with Edward never ended the way I expected. Somehow it always melted into this—his apology written in touches instead of words.

Settling back against his chest, I lifted his hand to my cheek before turning my face to kiss his palm. He’d pulled the same move many times, and it had a strange way of comforting me. Silently, I hoped it would do the same.

“You have no reason to be jealous,” I murmured against his open hand.

His breath brushed my temple, tentative. After a second or two, he pressed a line of kisses to the corner of my jaw—I felt his body relax with each one. It seemed like he didn’t feel like ruining a perfectly good afternoon, either. After all, we had the whole house to ourselves. Why waste a rare moment of privacy fighting?

I let the tension dissolve before speaking again.

“About the shower… Why didn't you want to keep me company this time?” I asked, feigning nonchalance. “What happened to not letting me—what did you call it?—face such hazards alone?”

“Is that what you thought?” he laughed. “That I didn’t want to?”

“Well… sort of, yeah.”

I felt the last shreds of his dark mood lift. His body was shaking with silent laughter.

“Quite the opposite,” he murmured. “I just thought you might like some privacy after my intrusion yesterday. I’m sure this comes as no surprise, but I don’t own a sleep mask…”

I didn’t have time to roll my eyes—he’d already found a better way to distract me.

A pair of cold, marble lips began moving against my neck in a way that should be illegal. Heat coursed through my veins, burning where my skin touched his. I lost all train of thought.

“Such a gentleman,” I managed, my voice trembling.

“Of course…” he breathed. “I could take a break for a little while, if that would make you feel better.”

Things started moving so quickly, I couldn’t focus. His words had no meaning. I could only nod. He didn’t wait for my response anyway. The shift was so subtle I almost missed it—the air thickened, his body still as stone beneath mine.

His left hand drifted to my collarbones. An inch higher and it could have easily circled my throat. The idea startled me; I knew he’d never hurt me—he would never want to—but a flicker of heat still ran through me at the thought of his marble fingers tracing the hollow of my neck. I forced the image away before it could root itself.

His arms wrapped around me, holding me against him, summer and winter. It felt like every nerve ending in my body was a live wire. My thoughts tangled, tripping over each other as they tried to make sense of what was happening. This was so unlike Edward—for a split second, I wondered if I’d fallen asleep again. Part of me was just terrified he would pull away at any moment.

I gasped when his knees edged between mine, a slow, deliberate movement that urged my legs apart. Before I could react, his ankles hooked gently around mine, pinning me open in a way that felt both careful and insistent.

What is he doing? I’d never felt so exposed—or so aware of every inch of space between us—without his body hovering above mine like a shield. I tried very hard not to hyperventilate or do anything that might scare him off. As much as I wanted to clamp my thighs shut, I wanted him to touch me even more. Besides, I couldn’t break free of the vise he had my legs in even if I’d tried; his hold was effortless and absolute.

I was completely at his mercy. A pleasant shiver ran the length of me.

His right hand came to rest on my sternum—just below my frantic heart.

We both froze, waiting for the other to put a stop to the progression. When I didn’t object aloud, I hoped my silence would be sufficient permission. I didn’t trust my voice to sound normal, and even if it did, I would probably just use it to beg. The fear of him stopping at this point was unbearable. It far outweighed the embarrassment of being held open like this.

I couldn’t stop thinking about how un-Edward this was. Especially considering the tense nature of our conversation just minutes ago.

I expected him to move slowly, cautiously. Something I hadn’t expected, though, was the path Edward’s right hand chose. I held my breath as his cool palm drifted down along my stomach, leaving every nerve burning in its wake. I wasn’t sure where he meant to stop. If he meant to stop. Each inch he traced stole a little more of my breath until my lungs forgot their job entirely.

Please, please touch me.

“Breathe,” he instructed.

I sucked in a huge breath, clearing my head.

When he reached my waistband, he stopped. The pause was torture; my skin felt like it might burst into flames at any moment.

Was I supposed to say something—some human signal that meant don’t stop? I tried, but the sound that came out of me wasn’t exactly a word—more of a soft, needy whimper that just slipped out, startling us both. For a second, I was afraid he was going to stop again—that, or lose control entirely and rip my clothes off at the seams. But eventually I felt the tension ease from his hand.

“That sound is heaven. You are driving me utterly insane,” he whispered, sending icy breath fanning across my skin. His tone sent a shiver down my spine. Another whimper slipped through my lips. His entire body went stiff.

“Edward—” was all I could manage.

“Give me a minute, please, Bella,” he warned gently. A few excruciating minutes later, he added, “Tell me immediately if I hurt you or you want me to stop. Promise?”

“‘Kay…”

When he finally slipped his hand beneath the fabric, I thought I might faint. He hesitated again, just for a second, then pressed into my skin and began moving in a small circular motion. The world went hazy at the edges. I locked my hands to his thighs just above the knee, one gripping each leg.

“Are you all right?”

No.

"Yes," I lied, nodding enthusiastically.

His fingers moved between my legs, slow and careful, the cool weight of them making me writhe against his touch. He kept his exploration strictly external and varied the pressure—firm, light, steady—almost like he was testing something.

The rhythm built slowly, deliberate, until thought blurred into sensation. For a split second, I felt a low, unfamiliar pressure begin to form in the pit of my stomach, but it dissipated unexpectedly when his hand moved off target. I went still, waiting for him to find his way back. A few more seconds passed, then a minute. He was so close, just millimeters away from where I needed him to be.

I wasn’t sure if what I was feeling was impatience or pain, but my palms were damp and my legs were trembling and I felt like I might cry at the rush of foreign sensations.

We seemed to sense each other’s frustration simultaneously. It was like we were drowning in a strange mix of embarrassment and awe; neither of us knew the next step, but stopping wasn’t an option. I wondered if I should say something or let him keep experimenting.

In all fairness, what he was doing didn’t feel bad by any measure. Actually, it felt sort of amazing. But my body was coiled tight like a spring and it ached for the slow pressure he’d been building before.

“Show me,” he demanded after a few minutes.

What? I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t make sense of his words. Was he even talking to me? I didn’t know.

His hand stilled. I groaned in disappointment, not even trying to hide it.

“Why’d you stop?” I whined. Vaguely, I heard myself gasping for air.

“Show me,” he repeated, a little more encouraging this time. “Take my hand and show me where to touch. Please.”

Oh. My whole body shuddered.

Had he lost his mind? I could barely think, much less guide him.

“Don’t make me ask a third time,” he murmured, voice rough and careful at once. I thought there may have been a thread of anxiety as well, but I couldn’t be sure. I couldn’t be sure of anything. He retracted his hand from between my thighs, holding it away from our tangled bodies like a game of keep-away.

I reached for his wrist at a glacial pace. My hands were trembling.

“Relax,” he murmured. The word slid through the fog in my head, grounding me just enough to continue.

Fighting the excruciating awkwardness that threatened to derail the moment, I took a long, steadying breath and pushed our hands back between my thighs. I hesitated, not totally sure what I wanted. He waited patiently, still as a statue behind me. Eventually, I nudged his index finger into place.

“There,” I breathed, my voice barely a whisper.

Edward began moving with renewed enthusiasm and my body responded immediately. It took every last ounce of self-control to keep myself from biting through my lip. I was breathing in a humiliating way that could only be described as panting. There were soft cries rising through parted lips, spilling out into the air above us. I think they were coming from me. But I couldn’t be entirely sure with my pulse shouting in my ears.

The room felt as though it were shrinking, like there was less air in it than usual. My skin was hot and cold at the same time and although my eyes were pressed shut, I could tell I was clutching both of his marble wrists in a white-knuckled grip.

I felt Edward groan before I heard it; the vibration ran the length of my spine, making me dizzy. Suddenly, my entire body tensed, as if every single muscle cramped at once. But it didn’t hurt. Not at all. It felt incredible, like the tide was rushing over me.

For a long moment, neither of us moved. My pulse was still stumbling over itself, trying futilely to catch up.

Eventually, Edward’s voice brought me back from wherever I’d gone—his words pulling me back down like gravity. I felt weightless and a little dizzy, like the world had tilted sideways. Eyes wide, I sat up, twisting to look at him. Though I couldn’t see my own expression, I would have bet anything that it matched the shocked look on his face.

“Did you…?” His voice trailed off.

“I think so.”

“You think so?”

“I—” the words caught in my throat. “I’ve never… you know.”

“You’ve never had an orgasm before?” he said, disbelief threading through the quiet. The word sounded foreign coming from him, but not vulgar. His velvet voice had a way of making even the most clinical terms sound polite.

“Not unless you count today,” I mumbled, embarrassed.

I watched silently as confusion melted into pure joy, the grin touching every one of his features. It helped soothe the embarrassment, but I could tell from the heat that my face was crimson. For some reason, I couldn’t look him in the eye.

He must have sensed my mortification. A cold hand grabbed my chin gently, tilting my head so that he could meet my reluctant gaze.

"Look at me," he coaxed. His golden eyes, filled to the brim with excitement, burned into me. “That was the most extraordinary thing I’ve witnessed in a hundred years.”

Chapter Text

Abyss

Edward's POV

For nearly a century I’d believed I had exhausted every wonder this world could offer. But again, I was wrong—utterly, magnificently wrong, and grateful to be so. It seemed there were still heights of happiness I had yet to discover. I was standing on the summit of one at this precise moment.

For once, joy coursed through me unchallenged by doubt or consequence, wholly unmarred by any external force. Of course, I performed a subtle examination to ensure she was unharmed; once I was certain she had passed, I let relief come flooding in.

How does one describe the miracle I’d just witnessed—brought about by my own hand? The way my touch coaxed Bella to a trembling peak right here in my arms?

In more ways than one, she roused a part of me that was so startlingly human I was beginning to miss the banality of being immortal. Human emotions were so coarse and unpredictable and inconvenient. It was difficult to remember that I had once endured them for seventeen years—under far less forgiving circumstances, at that. In a way, the turmoil made me feel a certain sympathy for Bella, with her incessant pursuit of sexual intimacy so often stymied by me. Though I was tortured by these human instincts, the poor, sweet girl suffered one additional human condition that I, fortunately, did not—the ardor of teenage hormones.

As I assessed Bella, who sat flushed and bewildered in my lap, those instincts flared wildly. Her heartbeat—still pounding out a jagged, disjointed rhythm—was the only sound binding me to reality. She was easily the most beautiful creature I had ever laid eyes upon. There were no words to adequately describe how senselessly I loved her in this moment.

Perhaps the scent of her arousal—more forthright now than ever—clouded my judgement, but I was almost certain I wanted to live inside this moment forever. If eternity required a single, selfish act of defiance—to change her right here in my bedroom—I might have committed it simply to prolong the feeling. What a small price to pay. Surely she would forgive me.

In varying increments the murk of climax lifted from each of her senses. It seemed only fair that I, too, reclaim my composure and tend to her.

Regrettably, my erection—the most flagrant symptom of my affliction—was threatening to intrude upon our reverie. I became utterly still, not wishing to expose her to such a graceless display of male arousal. Better she never witness that indignity again—now or otherwise. However, the idea of excusing myself, abandoning her warmth, flooded me with grief.

I studied her face, trying to determine whether or not she was even stable enough to be left alone. Experience suggested she could easily find a million ways to injure herself before I reached the door. Concussion. Blood loss. Broken bones. The catalogue of potential injuries recited itself automatically. She was a hazard to her own existence, though her medical history wouldn’t provide an accurate picture of the severity. Carlisle kept most of her mishaps from official record.

With a small, contented sigh, Bella glanced up at me, drawing my attention to a fine point. I wondered idly when she had last eaten.

“Shall we go?” My voice was thin with stress. The words came out half an octave higher than intended—I prayed she had not noticed. Not wanting to give her any opportunity to protest, I gathered her belongings quickly and waited expectantly just outside my door. My composure would return once we were in the car, far away from the temptation of my room.

Remaining in my empty house had become nothing more than an invitation for mistakes. I needed to place us within arm’s reach of accountability, or I was likely to break my vow and try once again to take her right here on the floor. The idea made my palms ache and sent a shiver down the length of my spine.

Enough. Think of something else.

Although my bedroom had successfully cloaked Bella in the comforting familiarity of my smell, I knew it would only be a temporary balm. The minute she fell asleep, I would resume my ongoing battle against nightmarish jealousy and Jacob Black’s vivid imagination. Until then, I reveled in the combination of my scent mingling with hers.

The air outside was sharper, laced with notes of pine and rain. It cleansed my senses, absolving each of its various sins. With renewed ease, I opened the passenger door and lifted Bella into her seat.

I made a point to secure her seatbelt for her this time. I did not like that she’d had to do it herself on the ride here, and the slip had plagued me ever since. Of the many flawed traits I possessed, forgetfulness was not one of them. How had I let bitter jealousy distract me from the single star in my endless night? The most important thing in the world had been next to me, completely unsecured, as I raced her toward the one place guaranteed to make her smell most like me again.

And what an extraordinary idea that had turned out to be. I wondered what our afternoon would have looked like if I had taken her to her home as originally intended… If I focused hard enough, I could relive the feeling of her delicate silk skin on my fingertips with near-perfect recall.

She smiled at me then, perfectly at peace. Her deep brown eyes were full to the brim with love and adoration and awe, and I should have basked in the warmth of her affections.

But my sense of wonder turned quickly to vigilance; joy always invited its own test. Instead of warmth, an involuntary spike of jealousy flared in my chest. That smile had belonged to me long before Jacob ever even knew it existed, and yet he had been so cavalier as to reproduce it in his mind. In my presence, no less!

I hurried to repress the rage, to move swiftly to the ecstasy I usually felt when she looked at me this way. The vitriol dissipated in fractions of a second, thankfully much easier to stifle than I expected.

“What are you thinking?” I asked, more out of habit than curiosity.

“Nothing,” she said too quickly, her gaze darting from my mouth to my eyes.

“Somehow I doubt that,” I coaxed.

“Well,” she started, her voice barely a whisper. “Nothing you’d approve of.”

Fantastic.

“Do I want to know the broad strokes?”

“Probably not,” she muttered.

Even better!

From the corner of my eye, I watched her purse her lips, trying to hide a smile. I couldn’t help but notice her voice lacked its usual thread of remorse. I got the sense that whatever she was thinking about was inevitably going to reveal itself to me, whether I wanted it to or not. In any case, she seemed rather pleased with herself. Decisive, even. I should press for finer details.

“Let’s say, hypothetically, that I do want to know. What then?”

“You don’t. I’m positive.”

“Humor me,” I said through clenched teeth. I felt my grip tighten on the steering wheel.

She flushed, suddenly hesitant now. I felt a stab of guilt as I watched her deliberate on how to phrase her response in a way that wouldn’t immediately send me into a blind rage. She wouldn’t look at me. Oh no. Had I conditioned her to edit her thoughts this way?

I softened my tone into something faintly playful. “That bad, huh?”

The blush flared and her pulse began thrashing violently beneath her fragile skin. What kind of thoughts could possibly make her feel this self-conscious after the day we’d had? It was good that I had not let the events delude me into thinking that Bella—my Bella—in all her reticence, would throw caution to the wind after just one orgasm.

Tentatively, I reached across the center console to take her hand. Her breath hitched, but after a second, her body relaxed, and me with it.

A pleasant sound, almost a hum or a purr, sighed out of her and it occurred to me that she might also be tired. There was still plenty of time before Charlie would be home; perhaps I could persuade her to take a nap. Slowly, I lifted our interlocked hands and, with the back of mine, stroked her cheek.

I parked behind her truck when we arrived, not sure whether I should stay long enough to cross paths with Charlie. What he was doing could barely be called tolerating me. Still, we had several hours before that decision needed to be made. And, if I were to leave, I would not need to keep away for long—he had to go to sleep eventually. If Bella took a nap, she might even stay up a little later than usual…

Without thinking, I reached over and unbuckled her seatbelt. Seconds later, I was at her side, extracting her from the passenger seat and whisking her upstairs into her bedroom. The sudden movement seemed to rouse her, at least momentarily. Long enough for me to wrap my arms around her waist and pull her gently onto the bed.

My mouth crushed roughly against hers, my hands strained her face closer to my own. I wanted to feel her skin against every part of me. I wanted to hold her so close that we could never be separated. Her lips opened against mine, with mine, and it seemed every part of me could think of nothing but deepening that kiss.

A thousand different possibilities ran through my mind in an instant—a thousand different ways to touch her.

I sat us up so that I was perched at the edge of the bed, cradling her delicately in my lap. Was it too soon to touch her with such intimacy? Did she consider me intemperate for my haste? How could I be expected to keep my hands to myself, knowing how much good they were capable of doing?

Strange that I should even be able to worry about anything other than Bella’s lips against mine. I could not silence the part of me that wondered how permitting so much unrestrained indulgence differed from opening Pandora’s box.

And yet… none of these concerns stopped my hands from following the length of her spine, mapping the curve at the small of her back, then resting atop the slope of her hips.

Her skin was warm velvet. It was entirely plausible that I would never, ever grow tired of touching it.

Though I’d meant to tease her, I was soon lost in the moment as well. My lips moved urgently against hers, and I heard my breath speeding to match her heart.

Abruptly, she shifted in my lap, inviting another wave of questions, each more anxious than the last. Was she uncomfortable? Had she noticed my erection rebelling against the fabric of my pants again? Had I been too rough, harmed her in some way?

Her fingers trembled against my chest, but her face revealed no sign of discomfort or awkwardness or trauma. She seemed very relaxed. Almost comedically so. I steadied my thoughts just in time for the alluring scent of her arousal to send them reeling into disarray. The response was immediate.

My body convulsed and objected, demanding release.

Absolutely not. Don’t even think about it.

She deserved a gentleman; at the moment I was perilously close to being less than a man. I had to find a way to put a wall—any wall—between her scent and my hands before the next shift undid me.

Enough.

At that exact moment, the worst possible one of them all, she sighed my name against my lips.

Too late. My hips rolled upwards into her, entirely of their own volition, sealing my fate. For the next hour, I could not be expected to deny her anything she wanted. Her blush heated the air between us and I went completely still, praying she somehow hadn’t noticed the movement.

But she had.

She pulled back immediately, the corners of her mouth fighting to contain the excitement that was already so apparent in her eyes. How could I convey to her that this was not an opportunity, but a curse? Would she even listen if I tried?

Time slowed as she wriggled free from my arms and lowered herself to the floor between my knees. No, no, no. This was a little more on-the-nose than simple deja vu. We had been here before. We had been over this. We had put this to bed.

No.

She looked at me with that same trusting hope. I stared back, wondering how I could possibly do anything right by her.

“Bella…” I pinched the bridge of my nose and groaned.

Ugh. It was too hard to concentrate with her peering up at me like this. I couldn’t think straight. Why did my body have to betray me so easily?

She frowned; I suspected she could hear the abstraction in my voice. She seemed to be trying to understand why I was staring at her so intently—why I hadn’t stopped her.

I was trying to understand the same exact thing.

She blinked at me, her eyes flashing briefly to my lap. Despite her valiant attempt at subterfuge, it was a remarkably-obvious stolen glance. Her expression smoothed seamlessly into a mask of nonchalance, as though we were on the verge of having perfectly innocent fun. For a fraction of a second, I forgot where I was, and even felt a pang of guilt for being so suspicious of her motives.

Then she reached for my waistband, a silent proposition, and I was instantly reminded that she had not slipped here—between kisses, between my knees—to gather something she’d dropped, or feign some innocent task that would excuse her nearness.

No, no, no! This was no longer an issue of impropriety, or compromised virtue, or hedonistic indulgences. Nor would it be an opportune time to exploit of her desire to please me. There was nuance, now, because I myself had initiated physical intimacy less than an hour ago.

Though it was an objectively indecent act—the mere idea of her performing it perturbed me, for various reasons—there was the question of fairness.

Allowing her even the thought of reciprocation threatened to unbalance us again. What kind of man would condone such an inequity? On the other hand, I started this.

My arousal ached at the thought of pulling away, but after some deliberation—and reckoning with my personal values—I saw no other choice. No decent man would be half as selfish as my body wished me to be.

I would have to address the matter alone. I winced at the thought; retreating to pleasure myself again so soon seemed excessive. Still, it was a more respectable course than sheathing myself in her mouth.

Though, at this moment, I could think of nothing more appealing.

My better judgment, long silent, chose that moment to finally reassert itself. I gathered her hands and held them to my lips, placing a soft kiss in each palm.

“Not today, Bella.”

It wasn’t a refusal, merely a postponement of a refusal. I was delaying the inevitable—forwarding the no to a later date, when it was less likely to cause a fight.

“Be fair, Edward. This is a two-lane road. Today was perfectly acceptable an hour ago.”

I cringed. She was right.

The needling fear surfaced abruptly, offering its unsolicited perspective. What if your restraint is for nought? How sacred can the act be if Jacob Black may have already received it?

These fears were a bottomless pit, and I could so easily fall into it if I wasn’t careful. Still, ever the masochist, I peered over the edge into its depths. I saw it there, floating just below the surface: the latest of his obscene visions, the one that caused me to lunge at him. It was playing out just as it had in his mind—undressing Bella in a spruce green room before folding her at the waist over a familiar set of violet sheets.

The flash of rage was so all-consuming that it robbed me of oxygen and clouded my vision. Sanity intervened as if pulled by invisible thread—grace snatching me back from the fall. In an instant, the vision was gone. I blinked, realizing with indescribable relief that I had been yanked away from the edge of that abyss by some unseen force.

I struggled to comprehend the series of events as they unfolded before me. Even my disorientation was abruptly and thoroughly interrupted—this time by an unexpected flood of pleasure. My eyes fell to my lap just in time to see Bella tug my erection out of my jeans.

The world narrowed, conscience faltered and I surrendered, wholly and without grace.

Chapter Text

Arraignment

Edward's POV

I stared at Bella, who at present held a rather important piece of me firmly in her right hand. There was very little I could do about my expression. Each of my features were so distinctly colored by stress and incredulity that it bordered on pain.

My eyes were wide and my brows pulled together above them, working in tandem to make me look as though I were watching a hospital burn to the ground. My jaw was slightly slack, but locked in place, leaving my lips parted in awe.

Probably the most obvious sign of my dilemma, aside from the fact that Bella had clearly breached my clothing, was that both hands—my hands—were tangled in fistfuls of hair—my hair—on either side of my head.

It had been a little less than a minute since she slipped my erection from beneath my briefs and neither one of us had moved so much as an inch. She might as well have been holding a landmine.

“Bella,” I said cautiously, voice thick with reluctance. “This is not…” I trailed off, realizing abruptly that there was no way to finish the thought without insulting her again. I dropped my hands to the bed and fisted the sheets nervously.

Think of something to say. This is not something we should be doing. This is not something you should be doing. This is not something women enjoy doing. Is it? This is not how I prefer to cherish you. This is not a position I’m comfortable with. This is not—

“This is not… what?” she pressed me to continue, curiosity intermingling with distrust.

I could not think of a worse possible time to have this conversation. Or any conversation. My eyes drifted to the ceiling, as though the plaster may have advice on how to proceed. She still had me in hand, chatting as though she were cleaning her room and I was some object in the midst of being put away.

My lungs drew a long, wavering breath. If I could just finish the sentence…

“Edward, what’s wrong?”

Now she was worried about me?

“Just a minute,” I murmured. I would need a hell of a lot more than a minute.

Ten minutes ago, I wouldn’t have believed it possible for euphoria and remorse to coexist. Now? Chaos. Nonsense. Disorder.

Touching her was worship; letting her touch me was morally bankrupt at best. Was that right? I reviewed my logic.

She wanted to pleasure me—bliss.

She was sacrificing her virtue for me—unacceptable.

The math checked out. And so there was really no way around it then. If she wanted me to pleasure her for days on end, I’d do it happily. But I refused to corrupt her further with my own desire. It was wrong. My brows drew together in concentration; I could be the man she deserved and the gentleman I was raised to be.

All I had to do was stop her.

What choice would she have in the matter? She was physically powerless by comparison. Sure, she would pout, we would fight, but I would have done the right thing. The honorable thing.

So why hadn’t I stopped her? Why were we still staring at each other—me in complete shock and her in wonder?

She caught her bottom lip between her teeth and I convulsed in her hand humiliatingly. I shot her a warning glance. My judgement dematerialized; was this the best day of my existence or the worst? I could no longer tell. And then Bella, in all her cleverness and astute ability to read the situation, dragged her fist tentatively up my length.

Someone—or something—took hold of my body long enough to react.

“Damn it, Bella!” I hissed. “What on earth are you doing?” I cringed immediately, horrified at my impertinence. I did not recognize myself and by the looks of it, neither did she. But she seemed generally unbothered by my foul language and sudden outburst. In fact, she lifted her chin into its most stubborn position yet.

“You know what I’m doing, Edward.”

“Do I?” It was clear by my tone that I was not actually asking, but rather remarking on the absurdity of our predicament. There was an edge of panic in my words, though I hoped the sentence itself was too brief to reveal that edge to her. I needed to at least appear level headed if I expected her to hear me out.

Another deep breath—interrupted when she pulled her fist slowly back down the length of me. I stifled a groan. Not successfully.

“Why are you doing this to me?” I asked—again, rhetorical.

Please, please, just give me a single minute.

Bella, the dangerous creature between my legs, simply ignored me and drew her fist up and down again. It dawned on me a bit too late that she had a little more in her hand than was obvious; in addition to me, she held a crippling amount of power over my resolve. How had I not seen this coming? Every time she stroked me in one direction or another, she vetoed another objection. So far, she’d overruled me three separate times.

My body sensed—correctly—that there was more to be had, close at hand. But my body couldn’t move. I’d forced it motionless and I kept it so. My brain, too, was motionless, having been severed from my body by the heat of her palm.

Still, even the most basic, single-celled organism could see the beauty in this picture. The gentle arch of her wrist, her free hand perched delicately on my knee like a songbird, the way she worried her lip as she waited for me to regulate my breathing.

I squeezed my eyes shut, banishing the masterpiece from my sight.

I had to think. I had to stop feeling and think. There was something outside the bliss.

Reason. Obligation. Etiquette, for heaven’s sake.

There was not something outside the bliss—there was a crowd. Precisely why I had to stop the progression. The question was never about whether or not I wanted her; the question was about how much I was allowed to express those desires before compromising her virtue.

On the rare occasions in which I thought about my upbringing, specifically, the reasons behind the beliefs that made Bella giggle and tease me for their antiquity, it was easy to trace each to a source.

Oral pleasure was regarded very much the same way among most people of the time—though I had only become familiar with the concept about a year before my death. The general consensus was that no gentleman would permit such an act. Certainly not with the woman he intends to marry. However, there were exceptions to the rule for debaucherous men who indulged in ladies of the night.

I was not that type of man. I detested those men.

Regardless, it was widely viewed as degrading, culturally taboo. Even though attitudes had changed—no one knew that better than I—it was nearly impossible to convince myself that Bella wanted to place her mouth on me there.

So why did she look so hopeful? As though it would crush her to be denied.

Propriety was the one arena in which I had not corrupted her life with my presence. If I could just not touch her—impossible—then I could leave her pure and good and unmarred by my selfishness. And yet, I was incapable of respecting even the basest of rules. So now, here we were, gazing at each other with her fingers curled around my length.

I watched in horror as she took a deep breath and tucked her hair behind her ears.

Don’t just gawk at her. Stop her. Right now.

She leaned forward… right into my open palm. I moved quickly to catch her face and guided her head back into its original upright position. She huffed, a small, dissatisfied noise, and shot me a look of pure frustration.

“Edward—” I moved my palm to cover her mouth. She scoffed—into my palm—then twisted her face to free her lips. “Ed—”

I palmed her again. This would have been hilarious if it weren’t intended to save us both from making a mistake. I knew that when she could speak, Bella could talk me into doing anything. And so she simply could not be allowed to speak.

Abruptly, I felt my hand tingling with a wet, painless burn. Was she biting me?

I could not stop the laughter that slipped past my lips. My tingling hand flew to cover my mouth just long enough to provide her a window. She launched her campaign.

“Listen, of all the ridiculous—”

“No, Bella. You listen.” It was not lost on me that she still had a hand wrapped around my arousal. It was a miracle I was able to interrupt her at all. “You have to understand, this is a lot for me. I have to essentially reclassify everything I believe about propriety just to let you kneel below me like that!”

Perhaps where I went wrong last time was that I did not communicate the cultural differences perspective to her. She did not know that this activity was once reserved solely for prostitutes. I simply rejected her cruelly. If I could just explain the history, make her see that I was protecting her, tell her why I considered the act so ungentlemanly…

Yes, great idea. Why don’t you try likening her to a whore again? It went so well the first time.

She straightened her posture, just slightly. Then cleared her throat.

“Please?”

Damn it. I hated that horrid little word. When breathed in just the right way, it incapacitated me completely. I froze, looking at her through wary eyes.

“Please, just try. If it’s too much or you hate it we can stop and watch a movie instead.”

I scoffed. I would not hate it, of that I was entirely sure.

My lungs drew another long breath. I rubbed my eyes with the heels of my palms, groaned once, and dropped my shoulders in defeat.

“All right.”

She exulted.

The tension in her limbs relaxed—melted almost—and a smile, wholly triumphant, touched every one of her features. I was a shell of myself. How could this end well?

She drew a steadying breath, dropping her gaze to my lap. The thin lines of her eyebrows pushed together as if she was concentrating very hard on some puzzle. After an excruciating minute, her eyes went round. She stared in awe—I prayed it was awe in her expression—at the most indecorous part of my body, and for a moment, I worried the vulgarity of it may have frightened her.

I was having second thoughts. Perhaps we were pushing our luck just a bit too far today. A nap would be a more productive use of her time. We could try later, when cooler heads prevailed. She would understand my wanting to wait a few additional hours, right?

Just as I considered tucking myself back into my pants, she leaned forward and took me into her mouth.

Chapter Text

Trial

Edward's POV

I choked; pure shock.

It was a pleasure greater than anything I had ever known. I anchored my fists to my legs and let myself get completely lost in the feeling. I knew I was in no way prepared to look at her, for so many reasons, so I returned to the ceiling, trying to count the dust particles in the air above us. Anything to belay my fast-approaching release—I could not bear the thought of embarrassing myself that way after only a couple of minutes.

There was another, considerably less-vain fear, as well. Far more important than the other. I did not wish to block her airways, even temporarily. If at any point I heard her so much as gag, I vowed to cease all physical contact and redirect us both to the sofa downstairs, where she would select a movie and keep her entire body to herself whether she liked it or not.

So far, the loudest and only sounds in the room were my ragged gasps and the thrum of her heart.

By slow degrees, she drew me further into bliss; then out, then in again, pulling a little more of me each time until she found a comfortable limit to her capacity. I returned to the dust particles.

Once I had adjusted somewhat to the overwhelming sensation of her mouth and tongue—searing heat, velvet texture, gentle pull—I unclenched one fist and, very carefully, shaped it to her cheek, my fingertips curling just slightly under the ridge of her distended jaw. I wished I could see her face better, but she couldn’t angle it toward me without abandoning her efforts, and I was far too selfish to ask her to stop.

Her maneuvers were slow and shallow at first, testing. Occasionally, she would peek up at me, seeking reassurance; I did my absolute best to respond with an encouraging smile and small nods, but the indescribable pleasure made it difficult to control my movements.

At one point, she pulled back an inch or so too far, dragging the seal of her lips over highly-sensitive territory and almost off of me completely. This slight variation in the gentle push and pull of her mouth nearly sent me over the edge, and I exhaled sharply, startling her.

She freed herself of me—abruptly, cruelly, noisily—leaning back so she could look at me while she spoke. “Is that— are you okay?”

Before I could stop myself, I groaned in frustration; it was a pitiful, devastated noise that suggested that I was probably not.

How did one respond to such a question? I wanted to grab her jaw—gently, always gently—direct her gaze to my lap, jumping sporadically in pleasure, and tell her to look at what she’d done to me. The most damning evidence of my condition was a mere six inches from her face! Did I really need to say any of this out loud?

I pinched the bridge of my nose with two fingers and tried to ignore my body’s physical reaction to the loss of her mouth; I did not have the patience to acknowledge such theatrics.

Bella blinked twice.

Think, Edward. Answer her ridiculous question.

The English language—any language, really—did not contain a comprehensive enough lexicon for me to tell her how satisfied I was. I could only pray that the image of my manhood convulsing every two to three seconds was enough to convey the message.

“Bella,” I said cautiously. “I am actively trying to determine whether or not I’ve somehow died and gone to heaven without either of us noticing.”

She grinned triumphantly. “Really?”

Once more, I was at a loss for words. Shaking my head in disbelief, I swallowed hard, trying to dislodge the ones that had caught in my throat.

“Would you think it very rude of me,” I cleared my throat, “if I were to ask you to continue?”

I will beg. I will grovel. Please, my love, sweet, benevolent angel, put me back into your mouth before I lose consciousness.

She did, and I expressed my gratitude with an unsteady but contented sigh. I relaxed, though I did not wish to lay entirely flat and return to the banality of the ceiling. I wanted to see.

Perhaps if I lowered my line of sight… I leaned back a few degrees and propped myself on my elbows. The position was perfect. Absent-mindedly, I reached forward and gathered her hair into a makeshift ponytail, holding it away from her beautiful face. She glanced up at me with a hint of appreciation for the small gesture. She did not seem to know I had done it as a favor to us both.

Lounging with her hair in my fist, I could see her face much better. I could see everything much better, and it felt more balanced this way; I did not enjoy the feeling of being so far above her while she pleasured me. If I’d had the presence of mind to notice anything beyond the confines of her mouth, I think it would have felt as though I were degrading her.

I could hear my breath coming out in quick bursts. To think I was actually panting. How many times had I implored Bella to understand precisely how dangerous I am? And yet, it was practically nothing for her to drop to her knees and bring me to mine. Effortless. Humiliating, really. Would she respect me in any way after this? Would I respect myself after this?

It mattered not.

Between her increased tempo and heightened enthusiasm—both perfected after the brief and agonizing hiatus—I did not expect this to go on much longer. And I was correct.

“Don’t stop, please,” I prefaced, for fear that she would startle again. The rest came out a strangled mess. “I— am very close—”

She glanced at me briefly in acknowledgement, then her brows drew together and the focus returned to her features.

Fire and silk drew me quickly to climax. My whole body filled to a shatter point and in an instant Bella was drawing the climax from me.

It seemed as though, similar to our moment in the meadow, she was unsure when to stop. I sat up, pulling my arm from behind me.

As gently as was possible, I shaped my hand to the side of her face again, fingertips curling under the ridge of her jaw. With my other hand, I gave her hair a slight pull and eased her off of me carefully.

Time stopped; I was immensely grateful to have an opportunity to properly appreciate her at this moment. She stared up at me through wide, chocolate brown eyes brimming with undiluted trust. I believed it entirely possible to drown in them if I held her gaze long enough.

Her cheeks were flushed a delicious shade of pink; I could feel the heat radiating off her fragile skin. Her lips were pinker still, slightly swollen and set in a pout that, surprisingly, made her look more angelic than stubborn.

It was the most breathtaking sight in the history of the world; I was absolutely sure. I burned the image into my mind and prayed that I was—and would forever be—the only person living or otherwise to ever lay eyes upon it.

Though I already knew it to be completely and utterly true, devotion swelled in my chest and I was certain that I would never love anything more than I loved her.

Her expression pulled me from my reverie—a mix between uncertainty and acceptance. She straightened up, lips pursed…

Stop her.

“Don’t—“ I lurched forward, placing my hand under her chin. “Don’t swallow that.”

Just a precaution, I thought. I didn't yet know if it could make her sick.

She listened to me, for once in her life. Without breaking eye contact, she tilted her head slightly forward and expelled the substance into my cupped palm. I retracted my hand and she shifted, still kneeling, straightening her posture.

I froze as she lifted her left hand to her face. Slowly, her lips parted and she swiped the pad of her left thumb across her bottom lip—pulling from right to left—clearing away any excess.

The innocuous act should not have been attractive to me, I thought, feeling ashamed. But the sight of it nearly brought me to my knees. I shuddered and knew that if she were to reach for me again right this very second, I would welcome it exultantly.

I stood, using my free hand to pull my briefs and jeans back over the crest of my hips, and strode quickly to the bathroom to clean myself up.

By the time I was finished at the sink, Bella was beside me, reaching for her toothbrush. It would be perfectly acceptable to me to spend the rest of eternity in quiet moments like these, so long as she was always within arms reach.

When she, too, was finished at the sink, I followed her dutifully to the kitchen, enamored with the instinctive way she collected ingredients without paying much attention to her actions. As soon as I felt she had reached a good stopping point—around the time she pushed something vaguely Italian into the oven—I closed the space between our bodies.

She giggled, generally unbothered by my proximity. A grace I did not deserve. I stood behind her, pressed firmly against her back while she washed dishes, placing open-mouthed kisses from her ear to her collarbone and back.

As distracting as it was, I could not stay away from her. There were entire minutes in which I feared I might sweep her upstairs all over again. I only wanted to please her, to earn her laughter and affection. To thank her without acknowledging the tremendously indecent pleasure she had given me upstairs. I did this in small ways, peppering her with impatient hands and unguarded kisses… until it was too late for me to evade Charlie.

I cursed myself for the slip. How had I missed the sound of his cruiser until it was parking in the driveway?

With great reluctance, I pried my protesting body away from hers and placed a chaste distance between us. There was a brief moment, however, where I was willing to take my chances with Charlie’s patience. I was already his least favorite creature—was the small merit of keeping my hands off Bella really worth the immense cost of keeping my hands off Bella? I didn’t think so.

Yet I managed to put enough space between us—a calculated amount. Not so much that I could no longer bask in the warmth radiating from her flushed skin, not so little that Charlie could reasonably take issue with my nearness. He was openly disapproving all the same, made even worse when he realized we weren’t fighting as he would have liked. He always grew a little hopeful when he caught us in an argument.

“Good evening, Charlie.” My tone was perfectly polite.

Charlie grunted in response, eyeing us warily.

For a split second, his suspicious demeanor sent a jolt of paranoia through me. I rationalized that if he’d had any idea what we’d been up to, he would have already devised a way to kill me.

Still, I stole an inconspicuous glance at Bella. Her lips were still a little swollen, her hair could use a brush, but she was otherwise put together. A quick mental inventory confirmed we’d left nothing out of place upstairs, either.

The sound of someone clearing their throat in obvious displeasure was enough for me to take the hint. I was pushing it—I knew that.

“I’d better get home,” I said, solely for Charlie’s benefit.

Bella straightened up. “I’ll walk you out.”

At the door, I placed a kiss against her forehead. “See you tomorrow, Bella.” Another line for Charlie. Bella grinned up at me knowingly. I returned a conspiratorial smile, pressed another kiss to her smirking lips, and excused myself. We both knew I’d see her much sooner than tomorrow.