They sit face to face, chest to chest, saying little. He stares at her unabashedly, mesmerized by the flickering fire light that catches on her skin, hopelessly aroused by the feeling of her pressed to him this way, with so little between them.
She wears a loose cotton shirt, one that lazily slinks off her shoulder, giving his mouth perfect access. Her hair is tangled, disheveled from his hands, and desire stirs in him as he thinks of his hands in it again. He wants her again, desperately, but then he studies her small form engulfed in the blankets surrounding them, and he slows the rush of now. He will try to be patient.
Her legs are bare and soft as they drape over his thighs, and his fingers run just under her shirt, drawn to the slight swell of her hips. Her skin is feverish, making him feel soft and pliable, as if her scorching skin can mold his stone body. Melt this metal exterior. And she does.
He is breakable.
The protector in him scolds his helplessness, his complete inability to resist his wife's pleas to pretend she has not caught a cold on their honeymoon. That no, she does not need to wear more clothing to stay warm. There are other ways of warming up, she insists.
He thinks that if she would just put on more layers he could resist exploring her body, but he knows that's no longer the case. Now that he has discovered Bella, is discovering Bella, he secretly hopes she never puts on more than she wears now.
He pulls her a little closer, fingers strumming her lower spine. Her skin is damp, a little sweaty. He breathes in and her scent is all around him, a part of him, a hint of her arousal making him ache for her, just her. It is in these moments that he remembers he's not even thirsty.
"What are you thinking about over there, Mr. Cullen," she says quietly and with only the smallest hint of a sniffle.
"You." He feels warm as the word leaves his mouth. "And how much I love being with you this way."
"Me too," she laughs, one of her tiny laughs that make her eyes shimmer. "But you're making my tea cold," she says, as she places a hand flat on his bare chest, pointing out the small distance between the mug she clutches in her hands and his chilled body.
Although he doesn't actually feel sorry, he starts to pull away.
"No," she pouts, slowly nudging her body forward an inch, the skin of her thighs sliding lithely over his.
He feels himself stiffen, grow hard at her touch, his practiced control no match for the sensual being he has married. Despite the best of intentions, the simple movement of her center brought closer to his is enough to be his control's undoing.
"I didn't mean to seduce you," she whispers playfully, a smile just barely gracing her lips. He doesn't believe her innocent brown eyes.
"Bella--" He stammers, but her mug is already set aside, her hands already clinging to his shoulders, her hips already flush against erection, and he can no longer think.
She kisses him painfully slowly, her mouth soft and warm against his. Her kisses are achingly sweet, filled with a love for him he may never understand. He kisses her back willingly, only beginning to hesitate when her mouth begins to open against his, pleading for more. He wants to, everything in him wants to delve deeper into her incredible mouth, but if he does that, it will only be minutes until she's beneath him, until he's moving inside of her, and he wants her too much. He won't be able to keep from---
She rocks slowly against him, once. He hears the soft rustle of the blankets around them as her body moves, the slight catch of her breath as she feels him hard against her, feels a clap of distant thunder roll its vibrations through their tiny cabin. I am deeply in love, he thinks, as he pulls gently on her waist, pulling her down into the mound of blankets.
She stretches the length of her body over him, and he feels every inch of her--her soft breasts pressed against his chest, her small fingers winding in his hair, her toes stretching just far enough to tease his calves, and she does so, nearly tickling him with her touch. The gesture dazzles him. The simple intimacy. His wife above him and not afraid.
The fire next to them spits out a loud pop, and her body startles. As she giggles, he smiles up at her, loving her hair as it falls around his face. It is peaceful, being with her like this, but he is aroused and hard, and aching for this creature above him. All walls are down, and the need rushes back so fiercely, it scares him. He grips handfuls of her shirt, trying desperately not to tear it.
She pushes her hips into his again, gently but deliberately. With his vampire senses, he feels the warmth between her legs press into him, feels the fabric between their pelvises as if it were tissue paper, a miniscule barrier against being inside of her. Her hips softly thrust again--and again--and a third time as his tongue slips into her mouth without his consent. Her moan is low and deep, and his fists clench automatically, straining against the pleasure threatening to undermine every conscious thought.
Her pleading voice does strange things to him. Sharp pleasure shoots through his body, so acutely and powerfully that he is momentarily unhinged, like a sudden blaze rushing through dried timber. The delicate fabric of her shirt shreds in his hands.
"Edward-" Her voice is breathy, startled.
He abruptly stops, ashamed of frightening her. He kisses her cheeks, attempting to cover her bare back with the frayed cotton pieces still clutched in his hands.
"I'm sorry," he whispers against her neck, wrapping his arms gently around her back as she hovers over him. "I'm so sorry."
"Wh-what?" she stutters. "Are we stopping?"
"I just ripped your shirt off, Bella."
Her sigh is short, exasperated. He feels the little puff of air against his cheek.
"But I liked it," she says, raising her head to look down at him.
"I don't want to be violent with you."
"I know--You just wanted my shirt off and got a little carried away. People rip each other's clothes off all the time, Edward."
"This is different."
She smiles down at him a little sadly, her hand still buried and soft in his hair. "Right," she smiles, "As in you literally tore my clothes off."
"Stop teasing, I'm serious."
"I'm serious, too." Her other hand reaches up, and now both hands are softly stroking his hair as she brings her mouth to his ear. "I liked it," she whispers, and he feels her body flush.
She brings her lips to his slowly, one hand still buried in his hair, the other pulling at the remains of her shirt, peeling it from her overheated body. At the feel of her breasts against his bare chest, he shudders, fingers shaking as he finds the skin of her back.
She shifts her weight off of him slightly, and her warm hand is at his stomach, fingers creeping below the elastic waist of his pajama bottoms. He knows his panic must be obvious in his wide eyes, but she looks at him with nothing but tenderness.
Her hand stills, just as her fingers reach the soft hair just above his erection.
"We can go slow, Edward." Her eyes are wide, curious. He falls even more in love with her bold innocence.
And he wants to guide her hand further towards him so badly it terrifies him.
"I want to touch you," she whispers.
He feels himself still, turn immobile. Maybe if he's a stone, this powerful need for her now will run it's course, and he can be safe for her again.
But even a stone can feel the heat of her body flushing, can hear her heartbeat skip and tumble as it pounds relentless against his chest.
He's so consumed with fighting his need for her that he nearly misses how quickly she pulls her hand away from him.
"Bella, no--" And he barely knows what he's pleading for as he reaches for her hand and presses it to his stomach. "Please don't be embarrassed. Never be afraid to tell me what you want."
She holds his eyes, and it floors him. "I want to touch you the way you touch me," she says a little too loudly for the quiet room.
Images of him touching his wife fill his mind. The first time, wrapped in her quilt in Charlie's house, he lets his fingers skim between her legs. She bucks into him so desperately he has to flee across the room and wait there, just to regain some semblance of control. The second time, he feels the skin of her, and it is wet and warm and beyond arousing. Last night his fingers had been buried inside of her, burning against her wet warmth, and she had come apart in his arms and against his hand.
He kisses her. Yes, I want that, too, the kiss is supposed to say. He hopes she knows. He also hopes she doesn't.
In a fluid movement, her hand moves from his stomach to press firmly against his cotton pants, and he wants to thrust against her touch. Something gritty and primal sounds in the back of his throat and it comes through as a yes as she kisses him.
"Yes, Bella, please--"
The sound of his own voice stops everything, and in less than a heartbeat, he is across the room, crouched in front of the dying fire with his heads in his hands.
He listens for the rustle of blankets moving, covering--please covering--but he hears nothing but her quiet breathing and occasional swallow.
The guilt is nearly unbearable. He expects to look up to find her frustrated, but her face is calm and sad and sorry.
And still naked. He thinks there will never be anything more beautiful.
"I'm always apologizing to you," he whispers.
"And I'm always telling you it's ok, and it is, but---" She lets a frustrated sigh out through her nose. "Edward, we've made love-"
He has to offer a small smile, remembering the three times he's been inside of her. "Yes."
"And I survived."
He nods, feeling thankful.
"And you feel in control enough to touch me in ways I--" She suddenly blushes, and he has to be close to her again.
He slowly stands, painfully aware of placing one foot in front of the other as he walks back to her at a human's pace. She never breaks his gaze, sitting amidst their pile of blankets, the fire illuminating her still bare form. He kneels before her.
"I love you," he whispers.
"I know," she answers, climbing into his lap, wrapping her legs around his hips, pulling him close to her. "I love you, too." She swallows, and her voice comes out needy and breathless. "I want you. All. Everything."
She is open to him, more open than she has ever been, her heart spread out and perfect on her sleeve.
He can never seem to match that honesty. He has convinced himself that one day she will tally up the strikes against him--the fear, the cold, the strange, the inhuman-- and run screaming. In penance, he strives to keep his basal nature at bay, never giving in when he's with her, never letting go. He never lies outright about what he is, what he wants, at least not since then, in the woods behind her father's home, but he hides the truth.
And he's sick of it.
"Bella, I want you, too."
"Edward--" she softly moans.
"I want you. Now." He uses his arm wrapped around her back and another tangled in her hair to slowly lower her into the blankets, settling his hips against hers. "I've never--" He starts a gentle, slow rocking with his hips, as he watches the woman below him flush and start to tremble. "I've never--" Her little fingers start to tug at his hair, and a whimper escapes her swollen lips.
"Tell me. Please." She arches into him, her eyes momentarily fluttering closed before reopening and finding him again.
"I've never let go with you, Bella, and I want to," he whispers.
He thinks about the times he's pleasured himself alone, frustrated and aching for the woman he fell in love with, aroused from laying next to her warm body all night. Out of necessity, he's left his old-fashioned qualms about masturbation behind him, but it does leave him lonely, unsatisfied and terrified he will never experience sexual release with the only one he's ever wanted. He wants to share that with her.
She cups his face gently, fingertips brushing across his face, into his hair, back to his lips, their bodies still rocking gently. "You mean--"
"Yes," he swallows heavily, afraid of her reaction. "But it has nothing to do with you and how it feels to be---"
"Shhh--" she soothes. "I know."
He stares down at the beauty below him. Her hair is wild, her skin warm and lovely. She brings her legs up to circle his hips and moans as he presses more firmly against her, quickening the pace of his thrusts just slightly. It is still cloth rubbing and straining against cloth, but it feels good and perfect.
He kisses her deeply, tasting salt, Bella, her intense arousal in the air around them as close as if he was tasting between her legs. That is not something they've tried yet, but when she's ready, that is something he wants to. Try. It will not be her blood, but it will still be something intensely her. He shudders.
He moves his mouth to her neck, to the dip at her clavicle, small, worshipping kisses that quicken her breath and relentless heartbeat. She is starting to arch hard against him, and through some haze of desire and love and want all jumbled and rolling together, he registers how dangerous this position is for her. He wants to thrust, hard, and he will hurt her.
"Bella--" he moans desperately.
"So good," she whispers back, running her hands down his back and to his backside, in a movement to try and move his hips even harder against her.
"Wait--love--" he stills his hips, but immediately scoops her into his arms, rolling them so that she is now laying on top of him. "Like this. I won't hurt you--"
She nods, looking a little bashful.
"Is this alright?"
"I've never been on top."
"I'll help you. You can control how fast we go, what feels good, and I'll follow you."
They remove the remainder of the clothing between them, taking sweet care to help the other, and then she is straddling him. She seems frozen in her nervousness, still breathing heavily and running her hands across his chest. He can feel how wet she is against his erection, but he knows how gentle this moment must be. He runs his hands up her arms to cup her face, calling her name softly.
"Bella, sweetheart." He sits up to hold her. "We can stop."
"No, I don't want to, I'm alright, lay back," she says gently.
He lowers his torso back into the pillows, and she is smiling down at him. She raises her hips experimentally, searching for his erection and slides her folds down the length of him once. He moans for her, for them, to let her know what she is doing is perfect. She slides along him again, and all he can feel is the place where their bodies touch, all of his senses attuned to that movement against warm, wet skin, his wife.
She begins to move in earnest against him, and he loves the way her body moves, the soft roll of her hips, the way her hands can not still and she alternates between touching his face, his hair, his chest and clutching the pillow beneath his head. He knows she is close to climaxing, from the way her body trembles when his length rubs against her swollen clit. He will help her reach her peak, and then maybe, maybe, it will be safe enough to let her guide him toward his.
But she always surprises him.
"Edward, I want you inside," she whispers boldly, as she stills her hips and trails her fingers down his stomach to his erection. "Help me, I don't know how--" She grasps his erection gently, trying not to startle him and experimentally runs her hand softly down the length of him.
"Oh--Bella--" he stutters, before also gently reaching towards his erection and guiding her hand up and down, up and down, slowly. "Wonderful."
She raises her hips a little, inching her body toward where their hands both grip him, and she settles the tip of him there. With a nervous smile, she slowly lowers her body on to him, and he feels engulfed in a warmth that spreads the length of his body. It is fire and sunlight and home all wrapped up in a single being. A single point of feeling that compares to nothing he has ever known in a hundred years.
She begins to rock above him, little moans and whimpers making their way out of her body. He wants to touch her everywhere, her perfect undulating hips, her breasts that he knows will always feel perfect in his hands, her face, her hair, but instead he grips the blankets around them. He has never been this far gone. He is going to climax inside of her.
"I'm going to come inside of you," he whispers without thinking.
This is the catalyst inside of her, and her thrusts grow more erratic as her pleasure takes over every movement. She is moaning his name, calling, pleading, constricting around him, begging him to follow.
But he holds back. He is suddenly terrified of what will happen when the sweet coil in his stomach unravels and he lets go. He is afraid that the force will break her body and obliterate his mind, letting loose the monster that always lingers, just below the surface in wait. There is no control in this passion, nothing to keep the monster at bay.
"Edward, don't you dare hold back" she whispers above him, still rocking hard against him, but now with her breasts grazing his chest and her hands knotted above his head. "I'm--"
"Oh God--" And she curses above him, dropping her forehead against his.
And then she is coming again, all loud, breathy moans and grinding against him. He brings a hand to her hips, and at the feel of her moving with him, he is gone. There is no holding back.
He comes hard inside of her. He can distantly feel her forehead pressed to his, her nipples against his chest, the arch of his neck as he pushes against her. It is the most exquisite pleasure, so powerful that he feels himself sob with it. He shouts for her, having never felt so close to her, yet also so swept away beyond all reason. His raw senses--the smell of her, her blood, her moisture, her voice and lips against his cheek, the last spasms of her orgasm as he begins to soften inside of her--all leave him trembling. Please let her be safe he pleads.
As he comes down, he feels her holding him and kissing his eyelids, his chin, his forehead. She is soothing him with her touch. He opens his eyes and she is gazing down at him, worried. He feels terror seize his limbs.
"Are you alright?"
"Edward, yes," she immediately answers, kissing him sweetly on the mouth and letting her mouth linger. "I'm fine," she whispers against his lips. "I was worried about you. Did that--was that alright? For you?"
He laughs softly, pulling her mouth back to his. "Yes, incredible Bella-"
"Good." She smiles warmly as she kisses him. After a few soft kisses, she moves to his side. His breath hitches as he slips out of her.
"It felt good?"
He clutches her perhaps a little too tightly, a little too terrified of the pleasure still coursing through him. "Too good."