Massage Therapy, Chapter 25 - Reunion

The Diary of Bella and Edward
Monday, September 20

Aw, that’s sweet that you put my name before yours, Edward.

Ladies first, always. You know I’m a gentleman.

But only when necessary, thank God.

I thought you liked gentlemen.

I do. But I happen to be very fond of your un-gentlemanly behavior, when you choose to unleash it. It does decadent things to my girly bits.

Mm . . . so I’ve noticed. Stop distracting me -- I have very important events to record here. I’ll do things to your girly bits later.

Is that a promise? Okay, okay. So exactly how does this shared journal thing work, anyway? Do we take turns writing entries? Or do we divide each page down the middle so we can make comments on what the other has written?

That sounds equitable. Let’s divide it down the middle. Or how about I take the left-hand pages and you take the right?

Okay, sure. But what happened to “ladies first?”

I’m calling dibs this time because I want to write about your surprise for me today. That’s the kind of thing I need to describe in detail for posterity. Although I’m certain I’ll never forget how I felt when I walked into that room and saw you there.

It was a good surprise, wasn’t it?

The best. But before we get ahead of ourselves, I need to backtrack a bit. Are you hungry? You’re welcome to anything in my kitchen while I write. This could take awhile.

Is that your way of asking me to make us some dinner? You know, this would go a lot faster if we kept a cyber diary instead. Typing is a lot quicker than writing long-hand. Join me in the twenty-first century, Edward.

I like the physicality of writing the old-fashioned way -- the feel of the notebook on my lap, the paper under my hands, the pen between my fingers. You should be happy that I’m such a tactile person. It has served you well, if I’m not mistaken.

Indeed it has. And I must admit, you look very poetic and dashing scribbling away next to me while I look over your shoulder. But I’ll leave you here on the couch for now and go make dinner with whatever you have in the kitchen that passes for food.

Hey, I went shopping when I knew you were coming home. You might be surprised.

You always surprise me. In a really good way. So, you write about today, and I’ll read it later and add my own comments. This could be fun.

It will be fun. That was a nice kiss you just gave me, by the way. I almost didn’t let you off of the couch, except that I really am kind of hungry, for food this time. I wonder if you can feel my eyes on your ass while you walk away? Probably, since they’re pretty much fixed there whenever you have your back to me.

God, I missed you here in the loft. I never minded the emptiness before you filled it. It’s so cold when you’re not here . . . vacant. Kind of like my soul was before you resurrected it. When you read the rest of the letters in here, you’ll know. I don’t care anymore that you’ll see how needy I am. I know you need me, too. If I’d realized how much freedom there was in surrender, I would have given in to you completely long ago.

I have to hand it to you -- I really didn’t see your surprise coming today. I believed your texts, and I believed Emmett’s ruse. Even Jessica was amazingly convincing as she lied right to my face. Should I be a little worried at how duplicitous all of you are capable of being? Of course, look at how I kept things from you for so long. Turnabout is fair play. And considering how much that turnabout was to my benefit, I’m pretty undeserving, no matter how much you’d probably like to argue that point.

In any case, I readily believed Emmett when he begged me to squeeze in a session with a new patient of his, even though he knew how anxious I was to leave work as soon as possible to meet you at your place. Jessica even went so far as to reschedule my last appointment of the day so that I could take off early. You should have seen the repentant look on her face when I sullenly asked her about my unexpected new client.

“Sorry, Edward. Emmett says this new girl has some major issues going on -- muscles tight as a drum, pulling her spine all out of whack. Maybe you can just give her a quick relaxation massage today and then reschedule her some other time.” Her last phrase sounded like a question, her sheepish grin looking more like a grimace.

“Yeah, Emmett already gave me that hangdog expression. It’s fine. I’ve already waited a week -- what’s another hour?” I said with a resigned shrug.

“Well, just think how much sweeter your reunion will be the longer you have to wait for it. Right?” I should have questioned the giddy tone of her voice right then.

“Sure,” I answered with a quick, forced smile. “So, do you have her patient file?”

“Emmett put it inside the door,” Jessica replied smoothly.

“Okay.” I began to walk down the hall toward the massage room when I caught her smug grin out of the corner of my eye.

“You look pleased with yourself,” I noted, stopping briefly at the side of the counter. “Did you have a nice weekend? Did you see Jake, perhaps?” I added hopefully.

“I did, actually,” she said, her face brightening. “He took me to this cool Mexican restaurant before he had a gig with the Pack. They’re sounding fantastic, by the way. He says the recording is going great. And on the plus side, he didn’t mention Bella once the entire evening.” -- That’s probably the same place he took me. He really needs to up his game and get more creative.

My grin matched her own. “I’d say that’s a very big plus.” Of course, you’ve been gone all week, but like Jessica, I choose to believe that maybe he’s finally accepting reality and moving on from his fixation with you. If not, I’ll help move him along forcibly, if necessary. -- I love it when you start in with the macho posturing and threats. That does things to my girly bits, too.

It always takes me a few seconds for my eyes to adjust to the ambient lighting in my massage room. I pushed my glasses up my nose, then reached for the patient file folder Jessica had deposited in its usual plastic holder on the wall inside the door. I wish I had a picture of the huge smile that engulfed my face when I opened the file and saw the name on the top of that patient information page. I knew what I would find when I looked over at the massage table, but I still felt a surge of emotion barrel through me at the sight.

There you were, lying face down on the mattress, your pale skin gleaming like amber-tinted alabaster in the glow of my desk lamp. I felt exactly the same as the day I first saw you there . . . strangely, inexplicably moved; and inexorably drawn to you.

Except now, there’s nothing inexplicable about it. And I welcome your inexorable pull instead of fearing it. I relish the sway you have over me now. I live for it. I happily gave into its insistence as I slowly walked toward you and gazed down at your beautiful back.

I’m sure you heard my voice crack with emotion when I spoke. “What seems to be the trouble, Miss Swan?”

You spoke through the towel-wrapped donut hole, just as before. “Well, I’ve been having some issues that go way back to a car accident I was in six years ago. I thought that maybe you could help me. I hear you’re the best.”

I smiled and came to stand at the head of the table, looking down at those cascades of chestnut hair just like I did that day. When I touched your neck, it felt almost like the first time. Your skin prickled in goose bumps again and desire stirred deep within me. It was the same desire that’s always been there, yet so much richer now, infused with love and respect and understanding.

“I don’t know if I’m the best,” I said dubiously. “But I promise to do my best for you. If I can make you feel whole again, that will be the best thing I’ll ever accomplish.”

My hands were on autopilot as I spoke, examining every inch of your ivory skin in search of any deficiency. I found few. And the ones I did find acquiesced to my touch in a way that made my satisfaction -- for both you and me -- soar. You are living proof of my worth.

“My entire life, I’ve never felt as whole as I have with you.” Your words were mumbled through the donut hole, but they still sounded like angels singing to me. “Maybe if I’m lucky, I can return the favor someday.”

I couldn’t take any more after that. I’m sure you could hear how choked up I was. “You already have. You know that. In a way I thought would never be possible for me.”

I pulled the flannel sheet over you and gently lifted you into a sitting position. You easily helped me along, which you never would have been able to do that first day without wincing from your lower back injury. And then you fixed those chocolate eyes on me for the first time in a week, and I felt the melancholy of those days disappear in an instant.

“Edward, that letter . . .” You were shaking your head; I tried to still the motion by placing my hands on either side of your face. “I don’t even know where to begin. How to tell you what those words meant to me. How I wish I hadn’t left you here to go through all that alone.”

“But I had to do it alone,” I interrupted you. “You knew that. You knew that taking a step back would make me take a step forward. I needed the push. Or the pull. Whatever it is between us that forces me to be a better man.”

Your hands were on my face then, too; warm and cradling and possessing. “You were already a good man without me. I wish you’d acknowledge that.”

“But I like who I am with you so much better. You freed me from that cage, in so many ways . . .” I trailed off, remembering how you brought me out of myself without even trying. Without me even realizing it. “Here I am, the therapist, being healed by his patient.” My smile felt both wry and grateful.

“We healed each other.” I drank in your smile, swam in the film of tears that gathered in your eyes. “I came to you for massage therapy and got so much more.”

“A hell of lot more than you ever bargained for, I’m sure,” I replied with a laugh, determined to make this a happy reunion for us.

Your laugh was short but genuine. “More than I ever hoped for.”

“I know the feeling. I’d still be stuck in a hell of my own making if it weren’t for you. Thank you for not giving up on me. For not letting me give up on myself.”

“You know you don’t need to thank me for that.” Your fingers were in my hair then; my scalp tingled and begged for more. “I’d do anything for you.”

I saw the truth in your eyes; felt it in your touch. “And you know I’d do the same for you.”

A smile broke through your tears then. “You’re going back to school!” I smiled and nodded a little sheepishly at your exclamation. “The fact that you’re doing something for yourself means more to me than anything else you could do for me.”

“Yeah, well, it feels like a way to finally complete that chapter of my life and be done with it. I mean, I have no idea if I’ll end up even using that degree. You never know, I just might chuck the whole health care profession and join Jasper’s band instead.”

I saw your eyes light up a little at the idea, but your reply was diplomatic. “You know I’ll support whatever decision you make.”

I nodded and felt my grin spread. “There’s a certain appeal in joining The Grade, you know. Just making music all day and night. There’d be a lot of satisfaction in that -- reaching people in a different way. You always said music could save people. That it saved you.”

“You know how much I believe that,” you enthused. “And I could get you signed to Java and oversee your recording and marketing and distribution….”

I cut you off before you got carried away. “And then we could crash and burn like Rosalie and her first boyfriend when they tried to work together like that. Remember what I’ve always said about business and pleasure?”

Your expression was scoffing as your hands moved down my neck, thumbs over my collarbone, fingers under the collar of my lab coat. I watched my own hands stray over you the same way.

“Your insistence on not mixing business and pleasure is what caused us so much trouble in the first place,” you reminded me. “If you had just allowed the two to co-exist peacefully, we never would have had all those misunderstandings.”

“Maybe,” I admitted. The sheet had begun to slip down, exposing your breasts, and the dusky pink protrusion of your nipples distracted me. “But back then I was unconsciously looking for excuses to fuck things up between us. If one method didn’t do the trick, I would have found another.”

“Or maybe you would have just given in to me.” I watched as your fingers unbuttoned my shirt, one by one; felt the warm air and your even warmer touch ignite my skin with desire.

“I wanted to.” My voice was growing huskier, my hands bolder. Your sigh was soft and maddening when I traced the tips of my fingers over your hardening nipples.

“Just think what could have happened the day that we both got ourselves off, a room away from each other, instead of giving in to what we both wanted.”

It was my turn to sigh as I trailed my fingers down your taut stomach, taking the sheet down with them. I stopped only when you reached up to push the lab coat off of me. I let my arms go limp until you had succeeded in making my jacket and shirt drop to the floor with a muffled thud.

“God, the thought of you lying here, touching yourself . . .” I stared down at you and imagined your fingers working yourself into a frenzy while you fantasized about me. I caught your eyes with mine and voiced my desire out loud.

“Show me. Right now. Show me what you did.”

Even in the dim light, I could see the blood rush to your cheeks in my favorite cocktail of self-consciousness and lust. You bit your lip in that way that drives me crazy, then you lay back on the table and kicked the sheet down with your feet, your eyes locked with mine the entire time. But I soon felt my eyes stray down your body, and your hand followed, fingers smoothing over your belly, heading south. I think I stopped breathing for a minute as you pushed your fingers under the lace edge of your panties -- tiny floral print today -- and down, down, down until they forced a pleasurable sigh from your mouth.

“I’m sure I started like this,” you said, moving your hand up and down rhythmically beneath the cotton panel, legs spreading and hips tilting upward. I glanced at the sultry gaze in your eyes before my attention was arrested by the movement of your body, undulating into the pressure of your fingers. “I’m sure I was imagining you doing this to me, touching me this way. And then, when I was good and wet, my fingers slid inside . . . deeper, and then deeper still . . . while I pretended they were your fingers. . . and then your cock.”

Your voice was almost as hypnotic as the motion of your hand pushing the fabric of your panties down while you pleasured yourself. My dick was throbbing, but my eyes were frustrated. My hands obeyed their demands and I reached for the edge of your underwear, pulling the offending cotton down over your hips. I loved when you lifted your body so that I could pull the panties down and remove them altogether. I loved even more that you would let me watch you do this to yourself -- shove the fingers of your right hand deep into your vagina while your left hand joined in and massaged your clit in perfect time.

The self-conscious girl I once knew never would have done this so freely; never would have trusted me enough to truly let go of her inhibitions. I thought I had banished her for good until I saw her lurking in your eyes last weekend when you found my journal. But watching you now, unashamed and free, I knew that I would not see her again. And that is one loss I will not lament.

I couldn’t decide which I wanted more -- to continue watching you do the all the work, or to jump in and do it myself. I compromised by unzipping my own pants and pushing them down, releasing my hard-on into my own waiting hands.

I’m not sure why it felt so intimate to do this together -- watch each other revel in our own auto-erotica without even touching each other. Yet our eyes were transfixed on each other’s sex while our frantic hands brought moans to our hungry mouths. We hadn’t even kissed yet, and at last I realized that my mouth was watering for yours, begging for the feel of your tongue tangling with mine.

I think I murmured something like “So fucking sexy” before I gave up and leaned over the head of the massage table, grabbing your face in my hands and covering your lips with mine. God, the taste of you after so long . . . Indescribable. I couldn’t stop devouring your mouth with hungry kisses, and your desperation matched mine, which only made my crazier. My hands were all over you, one in your hair, the other caressing every part of your body I could reach, like a blind man finally granted permission to “see” his lover for the first time.

Your hands were just as hot and greedy on my skin, searing me and making me groan into your mouth. By the time you grasped my dick and began stroking it up and down, I was a panting mess, barely able to even kiss you. I felt like a teenager again, floored by the first touch of a girl’s hand. I could feel you grinning into my mouth; relishing your power over me, using it to your advantage and mine as you pumped my shaft hard and fast. You showed my dick no mercy, knowing that it wanted none.

You know me so well -- what I need, what I want; but most of all, what I don’t even realize that I need and want. I always prided myself on having figured that out about you. I never stopped to consider that you’d figured out the same about me.

As our kiss disintegrated, you scooted around slightly so that your head was hanging slightly over the edge of the mattress. You looked up at me and I could see that your expression was provocative, even upside down. Your hand never stilled on my dick, gently yanking and pulling me in the direction of your mouth.

“Give me your cock. I want to taste you.”

I vaguely hoped that Emmett and Jessica had vacated the building, because the groan I emitted was definitely loud enough to be heard in the next two rooms. My lust barely outweighed my awe as you tilted your head back and took me in your mouth. You were unable to really move your head in this position, so I withdrew, let you take a breath, and gently pushed into your mouth again, down your open and waiting throat. I felt it constrict around the tip of my cock, and I pulled out before you choked; but then the irresistible urge to gently push into that hot, wet entrance overtook me again.

“Fuck,” I groaned, unable to produce any other coherent speech as I filled your mouth and watched your throat expand in the shape of my cock before I withdrew again. I’m still a little stunned that you took me in that way, over and over . . . Let me bury myself so deep that your lips sucked the base of my cock before I pulled back again.

If it bothered you, you never let it show. Your hands gripped my hips and thighs; your tongue tickled my shaft with every thrust. If you choked, I pulled out. But I can’t deny that the sensation of fucking your beautiful mouth was one of the most intense highs I’ve ever experienced. Not just the feel of it, but the trust you had in me not to hurt you. I was overwhelmed at the fact that you wanted to give me pleasure so much that you were willing to do something that might have been completely uncomfortable for you. --Just so you know, it wasn’t that bad. I felt kind of fierce, like a sword swallower in the circus. Getting you off gets me off. Surely you’ve figured that out along with all your other insights, right?

Once I got into the careful rhythm of it, I couldn’t keep my hands off of your body before me, naked and wanting. My fingers soon picked up where yours had left off, stroking and rubbing and then sliding inside you. I can’t believe how much I missed that sweet pussy after only a week. I felt like the luckiest bastard in the world that you would let me invade you so completely, fingers plunging deep in one end while my dick plundered the other. But you seemed to welcome the invasion, your moans vibrating my cock until I thought I would lose it and ejaculate right down your throat.

But I didn’t want it to end like that, so premature, in such a coarse way. Today deserved better than that.

I withdrew from you completely and eased your head back up on the flannel-covered mattress, turning you slightly so that I could drown in that Hershey’s syrup looking up at me.

“God, you’re incredible,” I said before I leaned down and kissed you, not giving a damn about where your mouth had just been.

“So are you,” you replied, shaking your head a little. “Do you have any sexual hang-ups at all?”

I thought for a moment. “I’m not really into pain, yours or mine. I guess that’s my only boundary.”

I loved that little Mona Lisa smile you gave me. “Works for me.”

My lips found your throat and I nuzzled there a moment, but my imagination was restless.

“Do you remember that text message you sent me when you were drunk?” I whispered in her ear.

Your giggles stirred the hair at my temple and sent a hot shiver down my spine. “Vaguely.”

“Allow me to refresh your memory, then. I believe you said you wanted me to fuck you from behind . . .” I stopped to plant several kisses along your neck. “. . . deep and hard, like you like it.”

Your feigned shock was adorable. “That must have been the whiskey talking.”

“I don’t think so,” I argued, letting my lips trail down your chest. “I think you were telling me exactly what you like. You said you wanted my cock aalll the way in.” My thumb toyed with your left nipple while my tongue tickled your right, and I relished how it made you squirm and squeal a little. “I love it when we’re on the same page.”

I stood abruptly so that you’d scowl up at me until you saw that I was merely removing my clothes entirely, including shoes and socks. I climbed up on the mattress and lowered myself onto you, groaning at the feel of your body beneath mine, warm and soft and responsive. My mouth captured yours and I didn’t want to let it go; my fingers entwined in your hair and held on for dear life. The feel of your skin, your lips, pressed to mine is the closest I’ll ever get to heaven on earth, of that I’m sure.

I couldn’t wait to enter you. Your legs were instantly open to me, your limbs already wrapping around me and holding me there. Our moans mingled into one when I slid my cock into that sweet heat, and I knew I wouldn’t stop until we both came undone.

“What about the fucking from behind?” you murmured in my ear. You didn’t seem eager to turn over any time soon, your hands gripping my shoulders and my back, your hips bucking forcefully upward with every thrust of my cock.

“Later,” I managed to grunt hoarsely. “We have all night.”

Your groan was guttural as I ground my hips into yours. “Thank God we do,” you replied in between moans as our rhythm intensified.

I’m going to admit something to you right now, Bella. No matter how many gymnastic positions we attempt, or silly toys we play with to keep things interesting, I will never love anything as much as I love looking you right in the eyes, every inch of our bodies fused into one, when we come. Nothing will ever surpass that connection I feel with you when we’re face to face, body to body, soul to soul; when you tighten all around me and possess me, and I surrender and explode inside you.

There is nothing I will ever need or want more than that. And I think I sensed it from the very beginning with us. It just took me awhile to stop playing by the rules -- not just the ones imposed upon me, but the ones I made for myself. So today, when I finally ignored them and followed my heart instead, I felt another barrier fall away. Coming inside you on that massage table was one of the most oddly freeing things I’ve ever done. It was like acknowledging, once and for all, what is most important to me. Or whom, I should say.

It will always be you. You are my life now.

And speak of the angel, you’re walking toward me right now. Something smells delicious in this loft, and I’m about to go see what it is. You can read this and add your own comments, or fill in the things I left out.

I love you, Bella. I’ll say it every day, and I’ll write it every day, so you never forget it.


Wow. There’s not much to add. (Although I couldn’t resist a little peanut-gallery comment here and there, which you’ll see when you look back at your entry.)

As always, your words astonish me, Edward. I don’t know why I’m surprised, though. From the very beginning, I saw that depth in your eyes; that anguish and desperation; and that hope for something more. Something better. I wanted to really know you, like no one ever has before. I wanted to be the one to set you free. And now that I’ve actually helped you accomplish that, I know my own worth, too.

I’m watching you in the kitchen, sniffing under pot lids and peeking into the oven, and I’m absurdly, insanely attracted to you right now. It’s like your mere existence makes me so high that I’d be happy to simply observe you from afar for the rest of my life. But trust me, I’m much happier when you let me share in your existence.

You are my life now, too.

And I’ll tell you I love you, in words written and spoken, every day. That can be our troth to one another.

Until we make an official one, that is. And make no mistake, regardless of what I’ve said in the past about marriage, I will require some sort of formal commitment if you hope to ever have the slightest chance of keeping me barefoot and pregnant.

With that, I’m off to check on dinner. You look happy enough with it, and that’s enough for me. Here, you take the journal while I go stir. Love you.

I knew it! I knew you wanted to have my babies. *picture my smug, self-satisfied mug here*

That can wait awhile, though. We have a lot of living to do before then. That’s why I bought such a big diary for us. I know we’ll fill these pages in the blink of an eye.

This is just the beginning for us, Bella. And I intend to savor every minute of it.