Massage Therapy, Chapter 10 - Vertigo, part 3

“You can’t do what anymore?” I whispered, just to be sure Edward’s lips would tell me the same thing his eyes were saying.

“Stay away from you. Pretend I don’t want you.” His thumbs ran slowly along my cheeks as his fingers combed into my hair. “I’ve wanted you since the day I first saw you… since I first touched you.”

I stared up at him, dumbstruck. I prayed to God that this was actually happening; that I hadn’t fallen asleep in my bed and was simply having one of my desperate dreams. His fingers felt real enough as they tangled further into my hair, running along my scalp, sending tingles down my neck. My hands moved to his chest of their own volition, my fingers spreading across the wisps of hair over his taut pecs. His eyes were hypnotic as they held mine under their spell, but I could feel the warmth of his skin and the rapid drumming of his heart beneath my hands.

“I can’t believe I finally get to touch you,” I said, my words the merest whisper. I could barely find my voice.

A tiny gust of a laugh shot from his mouth. “’Get to?’” he repeated. “Like it’s some kind of privilege. If you only knew how much I’ve wanted you to.” The Sex Voice was softer, gruffer, more seductive than ever.

How much I’ve wanted you to…. My mind was awed at the confession. “It is a privilege,” I insisted. My fingers skimmed over the protrusion of his nipples and further down to the beauty marks below, reading the Braille of his body as my eyes remained fixed upon his. His face was so close now, I could smell the toothpaste masking his earlier sins. I didn’t care what they were. I welcomed every last one of them.

He shook his head ever so slightly as it bent closer to mine. “You always get it backwards.”

Any words I might have mustered to deny it were silenced by his lips upon my lips, his tongue tangled with mine. The soft exploration of our earlier kiss had given way to hungry demands this time. He was insatiable now--his mouth tasting, probing, licking, biting mine--gently but insistently until he drew ragged breaths from my ravaged mouth. He kept closing the distance between our bodies until none was left. I didn’t realize I was giving way until the small of my back met the edge of the countertop and I was pinned in place, the length of his torso flush against mine, hot and hard and soft all at once.

His hands finally let go of my hair and dropped quickly to my waist. I gasped in surprise as he easily hoisted me up on the counter, bringing us face to face. His eyes never left mine as his hands slid down to my thighs, gripping them firmly and pulling me tight against him again, my groin to his belly, my legs wrapping around his trim waist. He seemed determined to get as close to me as physically possible, and my body strained to meet his, pushing greedily against him.

I finally let my eyes fall to the beard that was overtaking his jaw, and my fingers soon followed, trailing along the thick, rough hair and thrilling to the prickle of it against my fingertips. His mouth demanded my attention, lips swollen and red, parted and panting, inches from my own. I stared at the delicious candy that was so close. I was awed by the sight, the feel of his mouth as my fingers traced the soft, wet skin of his lips.

The sound that came from him then was something between a sigh of surrender and a growl of animal lust. I savored the candy as his mouth attacked mine, insistent and hungry. His beautiful hands stroked my face, then drifted down my neck to my shoulders. I couldn’t keep track of them after that as they traveled up and down my body, front and back, leaving intricate webs of sensation that ensnared me and bound me to him as his mouth took possession of mine.

He finally released me with a gasp, and his eyes traveled my face again, seeming to drink me in as I was him. He kissed my cheek gently as his hand caressed the other side of my face.

“So beautiful,” he whispered in my ear, his warm breath billowing in shockwaves straight down my spine. His words mirrored my thoughts exactly as I gazed at the exquisite sculpture of his face so close to mine. His mouth began a slow, seductive journey down the side of my neck, leaving a trail of wet kisses to my shoulder. My fingers twisted deep into his thick hair as my head fell back, granting him better access to my neck. Everything in me yielded to him, begging him to invade my personal space and make it his. I wanted his in return, my greedy hands tracing the strong lines of his jaw and neck to his broad shoulders, then over his shoulder blades and down the ribs of his back. My fingers examined every muscle and bone, eager to learn the map of his body beneath the warm, smooth blanket of skin. Was this how he felt when he worked on me during our massage sessions? Like a grateful student granted permission to study a revered subject? I should only be so lucky.

His exploration of my shoulder continued as he pushed the hindrance of my camisole strap out of the way. He ran his tongue along my collar bone, the wetness making his breath feel cool as it met my skin. Goose bumps rose on my flesh and I felt my nipples harden under the thin cotton of my shirt. His mouth traveled toward the evidence of my desire, and I tensed involuntarily as he pushed the fabric lower, ready to uncover the tiny, quivering mound. I’d always been self-conscious about the size of my breasts, the modest boost they’d gotten when I went on the pill still not enough to erase my insecurity.

Even drunk, Edward didn’t miss the way my body stiffened against him. “Is this not okay? Do you want me to stop?” he asked hoarsely.

“No, I don’t want you to stop,” I assured him, biting my lip and bracing myself.

“Then what is it?” he questioned, cupping my chin gently as his bleary eyes tried to focus on mine.

“It’s just… I don’t want you to be disappointed,” I gulped, looking away from his worried gaze.

“Disappointed…?” he said, uncomprehending. “In you? That’s impossible.” He reassured me with small, sweet kisses, his lips beseeching.

“I’m not one of those kinds of girls, you know,” I faltered, trying to find the words to explain. “Those perfect-bodied Barbie-doll girls.” Images of Kate Denali flashed through my mind, and I wondered again if Tanya had resembled her.

Edward looked genuinely confused now. “What makes you think I want someone like that?” His face registered something akin to distaste.

I shrugged and had difficulty meeting his incredulous stare. “James said I wasn’t your type… that I was so different from--”

“Sshhh.” Before I could say her name, Edward’s fingers pressed gently over my lips, shushing me the way I’d silenced him that afternoon. “Don’t let any of his garbage pollute your mind.” His eyes flashed fiercely and his grip was firm on my face. “The only thing you need to know about any girls from my past is that none of them ever made me feel the way you do. Not even close. This…with you….” he shook his head, seeming to struggle to find the words. “…it’s so much more than anything I ever had, anything I’ve ever felt before. I don’t know how to explain it… I don’t even understand it.” His hands stroked my face gently; his eyes pleaded for permission. “Let me show you.”

I wondered if he knew what his words did to me; how they swelled my heart to the point of bursting and brought me to my knees. He probably wouldn’t even remember them in the morning. He would never understand how he pulled me off the ledge and sent me freefalling; falling for him, falling in love. I refused to think of how hard my landing might be. Instead, I allowed myself the freedom, the exhilaration, the weightlessness of the fall.

I clutched him to me as his mouth sought my skin again, burning a path south, eager to feel and taste the few parts of me that he had yet to discover. When he tugged the hem of my camisole gently upward to remove it, I raised my arms to the sky like wings and let him release me. His mouth closed over my naked breast, hot and sweet, gently tickling and sucking my nipple into a hard button that seemed to be hardwired to every nerve that converged between my legs. His hand worked the neglected breast in similar fashion, fingers massaging the flesh until it was erect and eager for his mouth to come claim it as well.

My sighs became moans as he kissed and caressed my breasts this way, back and forth, until they were swollen and sore and my back arched wantonly, head thrown back, hands buried in his hair.

He finally released them and worked his lips up the other side of my chest and neck to my ear, where he whispered, “You see? More than a mouthful is a waste.”

The giggle that escaped me was a relief; a momentary respite from the sexual tension twisting my body so thoroughly under his touch. “I thought the saying was, ‘more than a handful is a waste.’”

“No, the handful measurement is for your ass,” he murmured wickedly, his hands suddenly dropping to my cheeks and giving each a firm squeeze. I gasped with pleasure as his palms and fingers caressed and then thoroughly gripped my flesh harder, pulling me more tightly to him. My legs were spread wide, my panty-covered crotch straining against the treasure trail of pubic hair that taunted me above the waistband of his briefs. I could feel my hips beginning to move against him, aching to start the rhythm that would draw him into me, deeper and deeper. He felt it and moved with me, his hands guiding me. And then his mouth was on mine, his tongue teasing me in identical rhythm with our bodies, simulating what we both wanted, what we knew was coming. My arms wrapped around his neck to match my legs locked around his waist. The hair on his chest tickled my nipples, and I flattened my breasts against his chest, eliminating every bit of air between us. I couldn’t get close enough to him. I wanted to breathe only his breath, smell only his skin, even tainted with the alcohol that battled his heavenly natural scent.

His mouth broke away from mine as he rasped, “Where’s your bedroom?”

“First door to the left,” I reminded him as he lifted me easily off the counter and headed for the kitchen door. He staggered a bit, his motor skills still shot. Either that or I weighed a lot more than I thought. He was the oddest drunk I’d ever seen, seemingly lucid, but his body uncoordinated and uncooperative as he stumbled around the corner and into my bedroom.

“I could have walked, you know,” I teased him as he teetered toward the shape of my unmade bed in the dark.

“No way. That would spoil my romantic seduction moment,” he replied. Mere seconds later, he walked right into the bed frame and rather ungracefully deposited me on top of the mattress, mumbling “Shit!” as he half-fell on top of me, clutching his bruised shin in pain.

“Edward,” I laughed ruefully, unable to contain myself. “Are you okay?”

“Fuck. Ungh. Yes,” he grumbled, rubbing his shin and then seeming to give up on the endeavor. “What about you? I didn’t hurt your back, did I?” His voice was filled with concern.

“No, I’m fine. The bed is a soft place to land,” I reminded him with a smile.

“I never want to hurt you,” he whispered as he eased his body over mine, feeling his way in the dark until his face was inches from mine. “I only want to make you feel good.” His lips were tender on mine. “Better than good.” His lips grew bolder, and my mouth opened against his, letting him in. His hands were in my hair again; mine found the small of his back and pressed him into me as my legs encircled him. I knew that I’d probably regret having sex with him when he might not even remember it, but my body was in control now, and it would not be stilled as it writhed beneath him.

His body responded in kind, moving fluidly against me, grinding me rhythmically into the mattress. He groaned loudly as his lips broke away from mine, attacking my neck and chest with renewed vigor. My fingers itched for the feel of his hair between them, and I obeyed. He moaned as I massaged his scalp; I moaned as he took my right breast in his mouth again. I was overwhelmed at the sensations hurtling through my body, one after the other, taking me to places I’d never been. Frustration began to bubble within me as my open legs were met with only layers of fabric instead of skin on skin. I’d never felt lust like this in my life; never wanted and needed a man--this man--inside me so badly. My brain had been reduced to only one base thought, a crass and relentless mantra: Fuck me. Fuck me. Please, for the love of all that is holy or otherwise, FUCK. ME.

He raised his head from my chest, breathing heavily, and I could feel his frustration as well. It came out in his voice as he seethed, “It’s too dark in here. I can’t see you. I need to see you.”

“Open the blinds,” I suggested, gesturing to the window across the room. Just as I was about to offer to do it myself, Edward was off the bed and weaving his way to the sill. He fumbled with the plastic rod until the slats opened and let the night sky into the room. The moon had risen late, but its rays were finally here, bathing the room a pale, pearlescent indigo. I memorized his silhouette as the light glowed over his shoulders and lit his tousled hair into blue flames. He didn’t move. I couldn’t see his face, but I could feel the heat of his eyes on me, scorching me, even as my oscillating fan drew goose bumps from my flesh with every pass. He walked slowly toward me; my heart rate increased twofold with every step. When he finally stopped at the edge of the bed and gazed down at me, my breathing was quick and shallow, chest heaving. The burning hunger in his eyes ignited a fire between my legs and I squirmed at the radiating heat. I silently begged him to release me.

As if reading my mind, he knelt next to me and ran his hands slowly down my torso to encase my hips, his thumbs digging softly into the nexus of my thigh and hipbone. The nerves there quivered violently and I gasped audibly, my hips lunging involuntarily upward. In that moment, he grasped the fabric of my panties between his thumbs and fingers, and with one easy pull, they were halfway down my thighs. I exhaled in a shuddering breath as he continued to pull them slowly down my legs, then left them in a lacy pile at my feet.

His hands moved as slowly as molasses back up my legs, first gentle and feather-like, then firmer as he reached my thighs, gripping them and running his thumbs along the inside, up toward my throbbing sex. A second attack of self-consciousness battled with my arousal as I suddenly wondered if Edward was turned off by pubic hair. I always kept things trimmed and shaved down there, but I hadn’t actually waxed the hair off in…well, ever. Mike never seemed to mind much, and the thought of yanking my pubes out by the roots had always sent me into paroxysms of panic. It sounded too painful to actually endure of my own freewill.

I must have frozen up again, because Edward stopped just short of the manicured triangle and shifted his gaze to my face, gauging me.

“Are you okay?” he asked hesitantly.

“Yeah. I’m just… I’m sorry I haven’t… waxed,” I finally sighed, biting my lip.

He gave me the same look that he’d given me when I tried to hand him his water glass in the kitchen--a look that clearly questioned my sanity.

“Do you honestly think I give a shit about that?” he asked. “I’m sitting here thinking that you look so unearthly beautiful in the moonlight that you should be in a museum… that I should get down on my knees and worship you and thank God that you even let me touch you… and you’re worried about a little pubic hair?”

I stared at him, stupefied at his words. He was saying the kinds of things that I’d dreamed of him saying, but never truly thought I’d hear. He was the one who looked like Michelangelo’s David, his slender, well-muscled physique gleaming in pale perfection under the moon’s rays.

He released my legs and crawled up next to me, lying on his side and turning me toward him.

“How shallow do you think I am?” he said softly before he kissed me. His hand slid slowly down my middle and settled on my hip, his fingers gently squeezing my cheek, thumb rubbing that incredibly tender spot on my belly. I felt moisture gather between my legs, preparing for his touch. I forced myself to focus and answer his question.

“I don’t think you’re shallow. It’s just that, anymore, a lot of girls have Brazilians, and I thought you might prefer that,” I said, feeling a little foolish. I stared at his chest, unable to meet his eyes; and my hand couldn’t resist the urge to reach out and examine the hard muscle there.

He let out an annoyed-sounding laugh. “I prefer whatever makes you happy,” he said. He moved his hand slowly forward, over my abdomen, toward the patch of hair in question. “I want what’s inside there. I don’t care how the outside is decorated.”

My soul quivered at his words; my body, at his touch.

“You are too good to be true,” I sighed, moving my own hand down his flat stomach, letting it drift to the chiseled indentation that marked his hip. I couldn’t help but stare at every distinctly masculine part of his long torso as I explored them all with my fingers.

“Hardly,” he snorted, a glint in his eyes as his hand drifted lower. “I’ll leave the hairless pussies to the pedophiles.” And with that, his fingers slid over my snatch of hair, then gently worked their way between my labia to the slick, tender flesh beneath. A moan vibrated my throat immediately at his touch, my legs parting and hips lifting to meet his probing digits. My own fingers combed through his treasure trail and slipped under the waistband of his briefs, eager to find his cock and give him the same immense pleasure he was giving me.

“So wet,” he whispered as his fingers slid up and down my clitoris, into my ready opening. “Is all this for me?” he questioned. The half-smile that flitted across his face faded quickly as my hand moved further down to the base of his cock, forcing a groan from him instead. He massaged me up and down, making me nearly sob at the sensation of his fingers working their usual magic, but with in an intensity I’d only dreamed of. He was right--I was drenched with desire for him. With every stroke of his hand, his middle finger slipped deeper inside me, urging my hips toward him to help him along.

I grasped the base of his cock and slowly pulled my hand upward until it reached the sensitive tip. I savored the sound of his heavy breathing as I swirled my palm over the thick, round head. I pushed my hand back down his length to the base again, loving the feel of him responding to my touch, thickening, lengthening, growing in my hand.

“God, Bella,” he groaned. I could answer only with mindless noises of my own as we stroked each other, the push and pull between us growing more urgent as our desire grew. His face was so close that it was nothing but a beautiful blur in the rare moments that I tried to focus. My own rapture was escalating to the point that I didn’t even notice at first that there was something wrong. “Wrong” was the wrong word. Nothing could ever be wrong with Edward, at least not so wrong that I wouldn’t do my damnedest to make it right.

Edward’s equipment simply wasn’t quite up to the task at hand, so to speak.

He wasn’t really soft, that much was evident. Nor was he particularly hard, at least not as hard I was certain he was capable of being. He wavered somewhere in between, responding to my touch, but not enough to progress to the next level. I soon realized that the alcohol and cigarettes and probably plain exhaustion were taking an unfortunate toll on Edward’s manhood. It wasn’t a problem so much as a disappointment, one that became more evident the more diligently I worked to make him feel as amazing as he made me feel. And, rather ironically, the more friction I applied, the less rigid he became.

I slowed my efforts and stroked him gently, then leaned in to kiss him. He obviously realized that his body was letting him down, for his face hardened with humiliation and he removed his hand from between my legs. He turned away from my effort to kiss him, rolling on his back and staring blankly at the ceiling.

“I don’t believe it,” he finally said, his voice a mere crumb.

“Edward, come on,” I began, determined to make this okay for him. No matter how insecure I felt about my body, I was sure it didn’t compare to a man’s utter shock and horror when faced with any sort of penile dysfunction. “Think of how much you had to drink. You could barely walk an hour ago. And you know smoking doesn’t help. It constricts the blood flow to--”

“Stop. I beg you, please don’t,” he cut me off. “I’m fully aware of the potential side effects of my assaholic behavior tonight. It’s just… this has never happened to me before. And I know all guys say that. Every guy who can’t get it up swears it’s never happened before. But I’m telling you, I’ve been drunk off my ass a hundred times before and could still seal the deal. So this is….”

He let the sentence hang in the air, unfinished, as all the air left his lungs in one tremendous sigh. I hoped he was exaggerating about the number of his past drunken conquests.

“It’s normal. Human,” I finished for him. I scooted closer and laid my arm over his chest, covering his heart with my hand. His face twisted bitterly as he shook his head in disbelief.

“I know what it is. I’m being punished for all the times I fantasized about you when I shouldn’t have.” He placed the palms of his hands over his eyelids, rubbing them, as his fingers clawed at his hair.

“You fantasized about me?” I asked, slightly awed and more than a little thrilled. “When?”

He let out a short guffaw. “When didn’t I fantasize about you? I mean, that’s the real kicker: I’ve been jacking off at least twice a day thinking about you, and now that we’re actually here together, the perpetual boner I’ve had for a month is a no-show.”

I let that sink in a moment, savoring the knowledge, as well as the mental image. It was not, however, helping to ease my current state of sexual frustration.

“I even did it in the office,” Edward continued. “I’ve never whacked off at work before. Ridiculous.”

I stared at him in surprise. “When did you do that?”

“Last Saturday,” he sighed. “The whole time I was working on your legs, I was losing my mind. I wanted to mount you right on the massage table. Instead, I finished myself off in the restroom after our session was done.”

I gasped as I realized what that revelation meant. “I can’t believe you did that,” I said in wonder, remembering my own similar actions right after he left the room.

“I know, I’m a sick pervert who has no business treating you anymore,” he lamented.

“Well, if you’re a pervert, then so am I,” I informed him. “As soon as you left the room, I did the same thing. I was so turned on from you touching me that I couldn’t stop myself.”

He turned his head to look at me then, his expression incredulous. “You mean to tell me we were both masturbating at the same time, a room away from each other?”

I nodded. Aggravated grins suddenly spread across both of our faces as the immense irony of the situation struck us. Frustrated anew, Edward began muttering a stream of profanities as his hands covered his eyes again. I was reminded of the first day I ever saw his face and realized he was the man behind the hypnotic voice and masterful, healing hands. He was infinitely more attractive to me now, intoxicated and tired and unable to bring our fantasies to life. He was real.

He ended his string of expletives with the confounding words, “God-damned Dead Kennedys,” then sighed and stared at the ceiling again.

It took a moment before my mind switched gears from the former First Family to the 1980s seminal punk rock band. I chortled as I made the connection.

“’Too Drunk To Fuck?’” I recited the title of one of their more infamous songs.

His head lolled toward mine and his eyes narrowed. “You knew that?”

“It’s a punk rock classic.”

“Wow. I think I love you,” he said, his crooked grin disarming, as if I had any defenses left. His words reverberated in my head, a joke that didn’t seem funny. I wanted to take those words so seriously that it scared me. I couldn’t risk serious right now.

“No, that’s the Partridge Family,” I answered sardonically.

His eyes twinkled with mirth, but his voice was low and husky. “Now I know I do.”

Please don’t do this to me, Edward. I couldn’t afford to believe any more of his whiskey-induced professions. I stared at his chest, absently swirling my index finger through the sparse hair around his left nipple. I felt his hand on top of my head, stroking my hair, and I finally looked up into his eyes, so remorseful as he gazed at me.

“If you knew how much I want you, you wouldn’t believe this is happening. I don’t know why my body’s betraying me now,” he said softly, shifting onto his side and cupping my chin gently in his hand. “Maybe it’s because I want you too much.”

“Edward, you’re still trying to metabolize all that liquor, and it’s late, and you’re exhausted. We don’t have to do this tonight, you know. We can have plenty more nights together… if that’s what you want,” I added uncertainly.

His brows furrowed as his eyes wandered my face, my body. “I want… so much. Too much,” he repeated. I didn’t know why he kept saying that. I didn’t like how it sounded--as if he didn’t deserve to get what he wanted.

“I want the same thing,” I assured him, my hand reaching up to stroke the soft skin of his cheek where it met the rough stubble of his jaw. “I want you. I can wait. You’re worth waiting for.”

His eyes were deceptively sober. “I want to be. I want to be deserving of you. I want….” his voice trailed off again, desperation whittling the end of his sentence away. He leaned in and kissed me, moaning softly into my mouth. He seemed needy and vulnerable as he pulled me toward him, working his leg between mine, wrapping his arms around me as he deepened our kiss. I melted into him; limbs clutching him more tightly, pressing every inch of my skin against his and luxuriating in the warmth of his body meshed with mine. His lips left my mouth with a sigh and immediately found my cheek, my neck, my earlobe.

“Let me have you, just for tonight. I can make this so good for you, I promise,” he whispered throatily into my ear. His body moved so sensuously with mine that I didn’t even need his cock inside me to feel completely at one with him.

“You can have me as many nights as you want,” I whispered back, my lips catching on the soft skin of his earlobe as I spoke. “It’s already good for me. Just being next to you is good for me. I never thought it would really happen. I thought you’d never let me get close to you.”

He grimaced as he spoke. “That’s because I’m a fuck-up, Bella. I’m damaged goods. And now you have proof.” He held me tighter, clinging to me, and buried his face in my neck. I was reminded of the pain I’d felt emanating from him the first time I saw and heard him sing. Its raw sting pulsed through me now as I held him, and I wished for nothing more than the power to heal him through my touch, the way he had done for me.

My hands combed gently through his hair as I rained tiny kisses over his temple, his forehead, anywhere my mouth could reach. “Everyone is damaged goods, if they’ve lived long enough. I don’t care if you’re not perfect. You’re perfect for me.”

The sound he made into my neck was indescribable, some strange hybrid of animal and human, pain and pleasure. It shook me to my core.

“Bella…” he began, his voice thick with emotion. I waited for him to go on. I tried to get a glimpse of his expression, but his features were obscured as he breathed heavily into my neck. He finally pressed his lips to the side of my face for a prolonged moment, a kiss that felt almost reverent.

“I need you,” he said.

I looked into his eyes until he slowly raised them to mine. “I’m yours,” I promised. “Take what you need.”

He shook his head slowly. “No. I want to give to you instead.” His lips pressed solemnly against mine. “Let me love you.”

My eyes rolled back and my lids closed. I could no longer think about what his words meant. They would be long gone in the daylight, with no witness to remember them but me. Instead, my mind surrendered to my body and to Edward, and I let them be my guide.

Everything that followed was nothing but pure sensation taking over me. His hands, his mouth, were everywhere; kissing and caressing my skin until I was so delirious I thought I might pass out. As he worked his way down my body, he came to the part of my abdomen that he’d worked on that morning, and I winced as he touched the tender spot.

“Are you sore from the psoas release?” he asked me. I was amazed that he couldn’t sustain an erection, but he could still enunciate the phrase, “psoas release.”

“A little,” I nodded.

He responded by gently kissing and licking my side until I could feel nothing but rampant lust raging between my legs. My body undulated beneath him, ready for his mouth to move down, to taste the cream that coated me. His hands felt huge but lithe on my hips as he gripped them lightly, massaging his way down, pressing his thumbs into that spot that he now knew made me squirm with unbearable pleasure.

“Edward, please,” I begged, the words out of my mouth before I had formulated the thought.

“Please what?” he taunted, moving his lips southward. I felt my legs opening for him, beckoning him. My entire groin throbbed almost painfully with want.

Suddenly he rolled off of me and stood up next to the bed, leaving me cold and shocked as I peered up at him, confused. He reached down and grasped my thighs gently, then pulled them toward him, turning my body so that my legs opened to the side of the bed. He kneeled down on the floor between them, then lifted my legs and placed them over his shoulders.

“Oh God,” I moaned with anticipation as his hands slid down the insides of my thighs and came to rest on either side of my sex. I felt him gently pull on the skin there until my labia opened, exposing my quivering clitoris to the cool air. Before I could react, his warm tongue replaced the cold air, and I whimpered like a baby as the shockwaves barreled through me. His tongue licked up and down and side to side, thoroughly tasting every bit of flesh there; and when it flicked rapidly on the swollen tip of my clit, I cried out in sobs of ecstasy that I could not control.

I had a quick flashback to my time with Mike--certainly not because he was an expert at oral sex, but because he occasionally liked to watch porn to get in the mood. I remember laughing at the women in the videos, with their absurdly exaggerated panting and groaning and screaming, like banshees in heat. I always thought they were putting on quite a show because men seem to fall for that sort of sexual melodrama.

But as Edward Cullen buried his face between my legs, I had to admit that maybe it wasn’t all acting. Maybe there were sensations that were so mind-blowing, so beyond the scope of mental control, that the only response was an uninhibited physical release. The combination of his soft lips, wet tongue, rough beard and hot breath on my sex was far too incendiary for me to hold in my reactions. By the time his tongue plunged deep inside me, performing what his dick could not, I gasped and moaned uncontrollably. “God” and “Edward” became one and the same as I cried out to both, alternately.

Edward had become more animal than human, too, growling and grunting as he devoured me. When he spoke, it was only to ask me rhetorical questions such as, “You like this, don’t you?” to which I could only nod helplessly and twist my fingers in his hair, forcing his face back down.

“God, you’re so delicious,” he murmured as his tongue tasted every part of me, front to back--all the way back. “I’ll never get enough of you.” He placed his hands behind my knees and pushed my thighs further apart, spreading me wide open, as he continued to explore every orifice with his mouth. I wondered if he only did this when he was drunk, or if he was this uninhibited all the time. I didn’t stop him, because not only was I curious, but everything he was doing felt amazing. I had known from the minute I met him that I would be putty in his hands, no matter what he wanted to do to me. I had the feeling he was about to put that theory to the test.

He slid his hands, smooth as silk, down the backs of my thighs to my pussy again, but this time, he didn’t stop there. He placed one hand over my clit, stimulating it with his long fingers before slipping them back to my wet opening again. I was out of my element with someone as skilled as Edward, and my ceaseless moaning was evidence. Mike had been my first lover; I had been his third. Neither of us was particularly experienced, and sex was mostly awkward and experimental. Going from him to Edward was like leaving the triple-A minors for the All-Star team. If I had thought his hands did wondrous things to my muscles before, I was about to be schooled in exactly what his hands were capable of.

His index finger was deep inside me before I could blink an eye. Through my fog of desire, I could hear him utter things like “so tight” and “dripping wet” and “going to have to get you ready for me.” That’s when a second finger joined the first, slowly pushing into me, stretching me, forcing more cries from my mouth. My hips moved rhythmically upward, pulling him deeper. He began increasing the speed, pumping faster, curling his fingers into my g-spot and stroking it rapidly. I could feel the pressure building inside me… the convergence of a million unbearably intense sensations in the ultra-sensitive spot that Edward’s expert touch was massaging into a frenzy.

“That’s it,” he whispered as he felt my body tighten around him. “You’re almost there.”

And then, inexplicably, he removed his fingers from me. “No!” I blurted without thinking. “Don’t stop,” I begged him, my words more a whimper than a demand.

“Oh, I’m not,” he replied, gently kissing the insides of my quaking thighs. “I’m nowhere near done with you yet.”

His mouth descended on me again, working me up and down with his lips and tongue, tickling me roughly with his beard. He kissed his way back between my cheeks again, and I groaned softly when he tongued the tight opening there. I wondered if I should be ashamed at how good it felt. Then again, if it didn’t bother Edward, then why should it bother me?

He placed a wet fingertip against the taut, flat opening and pushed gently. My body instinctively resisted the intrusion, and I was suddenly reminded of my last trip to the gynecologist. She had performed an anal exam, and though not exactly painful, it wasn’t the most fun fifteen seconds of my life, either. Was I ready for something like this?

“Do you trust me, Bella?” Edward asked, again seeming to sense my hesitation. His eyes were liquid midnight as he sought my permission. I was surprised to realize that I didn’t even have to think about my reply.

“Of course I do.”

“You know I’d never do anything to hurt you, don’t you?” His words tumbled like cascades of velvet from his lips, caressing me, lulling me. I nodded my consent. “I need you to relax completely. Can you do that for me?”

Could I? He had me in such a heightened state of arousal that I wasn’t sure.

“I’ll try,” I whispered.

He proceeded to work slowly on the rigid band of muscle, lubricating me with his tongue, then rhythmically probing with his finger, trying to gain admittance. His free hand rubbed my thighs and stomach with a soothing touch, trying to relax me; and then his fingers found my clitoris again, massaging me slowly, tempering the discomfort that his other hand was causing.

Still, I winced as his relentless finger pushed its way further inside me. “Relax, Bella,” I heard him say, his breath warm and enticing on my straining flesh. I concentrated on releasing the tension from my body, letting it go limp and pliant in his hands. And then, quite suddenly and surprisingly, the ring of muscles relaxed and gave way, allowing Edward’s index finger entrance. It slipped easily inside me after that, and I gasped at the unexpected flood of pleasure that rippled through me.

“How does that feel?” he asked as he gently pushed the digit all the way in.

“It feels good,” I admitted, still a bit flabbergasted. “So good.”

“That’s because there’s a bundle of extremely sensitive nerves right at the opening here,” he murmured, the doctor in him taking over. I was glad he didn’t use any clinical terms for the body parts he was stimulating, because I really didn’t want to think too much about what he was doing to me.

“It’s really an amazing pleasure center in the body. You can get a lot of sexual gratification from this.” His finger began slowly, methodically pumping in and out of me, building a rhythm in the back as he had done in the front moments ago. “I’m going to give you the most amazing orgasm you’ve ever had, Bella. I’m going to make you come like you’ve never come before.”

“Oh my God,” I mumbled as my eyes closed and my head fell back. I reached behind me and gripped the bed covers in my fists as I gave myself over completely to the tremors that Edward was sending through me. Not content with breaching my back door, he attacked the front simultaneously, his mouth and other hand taking turns stroking and kissing and rubbing and licking me until I writhed uncontrollably, begging for more. That’s when I felt his fingers enter my vagina again; one at first, plumbing me deeply; then two, filling me completely. My cries of ecstasy came out in sobs again as his hands delved into the most tender, intimate parts of me, stoking the burning nerve endings into a raging volcano that was in desperate need of release.

“Edward… God… please….” I gasped as his fingers plunged deeper, faster, more ruthlessly inside me. I didn’t think I could take anymore. The pleasure was so intense it was almost pain. I throbbed with need, begging for a climax to end the exquisite torture.

“Come for me, beautiful girl,” was Edward’s whispered command. He placed the tip of his tongue to the tip of my clit, then moved it back and forth with the speed and delicacy of a hummingbird’s wings.

The volcano erupted.

The first contraction of my orgasm was so strong, so intense that my hips surged upward, every muscle inside me gripping Edward’s fingers as if they were life preservers. My chest heaved breathlessly as I cried out; my hands gripped any piece of fabric that was nearby. After the shockwaves of that first initial burst had subsided, the rest of the contractions began, wracking my body with wave after wave of unbridled ecstasy as I convulsed around Edward’s hands. I had no name, no frame of reference, for this kind of euphoria. The freedom of my climax made me feel as though I had left my body entirely; yet I had never been so completely, happily anchored within the confines of my flesh and its demands.

As I slowly came down from my incredible high, I became aware of Edward’s amazing hands still moving gently inside me, stroking me, as he kissed and gently nipped at my legs, my belly, my buttocks. I didn’t want him to stop, or to move away. I dreaded the emptiness I would feel without his flesh and bone inside me.

But slowly he pulled his hands free, licking his fingers clean, apparently unperturbed by where they had just been. I wondered if he had any sexual hang-ups at all… or just emotional ones?

“So beautiful,” was all he kept saying as he continued to caress me gently everywhere, languidly moving his way up my body as he pulled himself back up on the bed and situated us both so that our heads were on the pillows. He pulled the covers gently up to my waist, but no further, as he nuzzled and fondled my breasts.

My arms wound around him, fingers toying with the damp curls on his neck. I was speechless, dazed.

“Are you okay?” he finally murmured as his face reached my neck. “Did I hurt you?”

“No. God, no. The opposite. Unless you an kill someone with an orgasm. Which I’m beginning to think is actually possible.”

He chuckled softly into my neck. I could smell my sex on his face, and I was strangely okay with that. I intended to return the favor someday. I began to daydream about giving him head so amazing that he’d feel as languorous and useless afterward as I did now.

“I can’t believe you’re real,” he whispered as he settled next to me, face to face, his head on my pillow. “You can laugh at this all you want, but I have to tell you that you have the most gorgeous pussy I’ve ever seen or smelled or tasted. It’s perfect. It’s fucking perfection. The scent of it makes me crazy. No girl smells like you, so sweet, so completely irresistible. It’s insane.”

I laughed a little as I stared at him. I had no idea how to respond to that. If I weren’t so utterly spent, I would have been wet and ready again just listening to how much I turned him on.

“So I guess what you’re saying is that you’re pussy-whipped,” I teased him.

His sleepy grin warmed me as much as his encircling arms. “I am definitely that. I was before I even saw it. So I feel very lucky right about now.”

I shook my head as I smiled back at him. “You’re the one who gets it backwards. I’ve never had anyone make me feel the way you make me feel. What you just did to me… there are no words.”

“So we’re both lucky,” he admitted. I nodded in agreement. He leaned in and gently pressed his lips to mine. He stifled a yawn, then said, “Just you wait until I get my dick working again. You are going to be in so much trouble. Your pussy is going to be screaming for mercy.”

My eyebrow raised. “You promise?”

“Such a naughty girl,” he sighed, his eyes closing for a moment before he struggled to open them. “Keep it up and I’ll give you a spanking.”

“You keep it up and I’ll let you,” I giggled.

“Fuck, you’re going to get my dick hard yet, aren’t you?” His eyelids closed again, and I knew that our little game of slap and tickle would have to wait for another day. Maybe tomorrow, if he wasn’t too hung-over, I thought wickedly.

But now it was time for rest. His eyes stayed closed and his face relaxed as he drifted into unconsciousness. I shifted my body so that the moon would illuminate his features. I don’t know how long I stared at him before I finally succumbed to sleep. I was fascinated by his eyelashes, the longest I’d ever seen on a man. Likewise, his smooth complexion and deep-hued lips were almost too pretty, too feminine. Yet these unlikely features were assembled over a bone structure and punctuated with hair growth so strikingly masculine that it left no doubt as to which chromosome was in charge.

He had called me “beautiful” so many times in the past twelve hours that I lost count; but the man I was lucky enough to find lying next to me was the very definition of the word. Yet even with such physical perfection before me, it was nothing to his words, his expressions, his respect in the way he treated me. Those were the traits that gave him true--empirical--beauty.

His face was etched indelibly on the backs of my eyelids as I finally lost consciousness. I slept fitfully at first, not because I was uncomfortable with Edward in my bed, but because I felt a tiny thrill each time I rolled over and discovered him there. His body was always touching mine in some way, the contact between us remaining unbroken. He often sighed in his sleep and scooted closer, or brought his arm across me to pull me to him. His head never left my pillow; his soft breath tickled my face throughout the night. I snuggled into him and enveloped myself in the warmth of his skin, so much better than any blanket. I didn’t know how I would ever sleep in this bed again without him in it.

At last I succumbed to a deep and exhausted sleep as the dawn approached. I faintly heard Edward get up and head for the bathroom, and I hoped he wasn’t sick. The fan I ran in my bedroom every night helped block noises beyond my bedroom door. I had fallen asleep again by the time he returned, but I opened a sleepy eye as he crawled back into bed.

“Are you okay?” I mumbled, reaching for him as he pulled the covers back over us.

“I’ll live,” he answered rather unconvincingly.

“Poor baby,” I sighed, rubbing my nose against his shoulder as I placed a protective arm over his troubled tummy.

“I brought it on myself.” He rested his hand over my arm, his fingers finding mine.

I couldn’t argue with that, and I couldn’t stay conscious, either. By the time I awoke, the sun was trying valiantly to breach my blinds as it glared, full strength, around the window frame. I squinted at the window and realized that the blinds were shut. Edward must have closed them. I turned and reached for him, dismayed to find only a cold, empty space where his body had been.

A tiny seed of worry, even panic, sprouted in my belly. He hadn’t left, had he? He wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t sneak away in the morning, no matter how embarrassed he might feel about his drunken antics, or lack thereof.

Would he?

I jumped out of the bed and searched for some clothes, yanking the nearest sweats and t-shirt over my naked body. I bolted out of the bedroom and took a quick inventory of the apartment. I was relieved to hear Edward’s voice, low and quiet, as he talked on his cell phone. He was sitting on the couch, fully dressed. So much for any thoughts I might have had cuddling with him and serving him breakfast in bed, which I was fully prepared to do.

He ended the call as I approached the sofa. I suddenly felt uneasy and I didn’t know why. I hated the feeling.

“You’re up,” I said lamely as I perched next to him on the sofa. His still looked tired, dark circles rimming his sunken eyes.

“Barely,” he said with a rueful chortle. “I’m sorry if I woke you.”

“No, it’s fine. I wish you had. How are you feeling?” Dumb question. I already knew the answer.

He shrugged. “Like I expected to feel. Thanks for the aspirin, by the way. And I helped myself to some orange juice--I hope that’s okay.”

“Of course it is. Anything I have is yours,” I answered. In light of how intimate we had been hours before, I was almost insulted at his reserved politeness now. But I was more afraid than anything else.

He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, hands kneading through his hair. He finally turned his head to look at me.

“I’m sorry for the way I behaved last night. I was an idiot. You deserve better.”

The anxiety in my gut only grew at his words. “You were fine. Everyone gets drunk now and then. It’s not the end of the world.”

He still looked disgusted with himself. “Yeah, well, you shouldn’t have had to baby-sit me while I behaved like an irresponsible jackass. I knew that gig last night was a big step for your career, and I almost put that in jeopardy. That’s inexcusable.”

I shook my head in denial. “You seem to forget that you stayed out of the way for that very reason--so you wouldn’t interfere while my bosses were there. You were extremely thoughtful, actually, even bombed off your ass. Although it didn’t seem like it to me at the time.”

A wry grin played at the corners of his mouth. “You had every right to be pissed at me. My showing up like that was a disaster from the very beginning.”

The anxiety had teeth now, gnawing at my insides. “I don’t know. I think things turned out pretty well.” I studied his gloomy face. Didn’t he remember anything about how great we were together? Or the heart-stopping things he said and did to me?

“There were some pretty amazing moments, if I recall correctly,” he admitted, his grin growing. “Although if I’d been able to plan things, the evening would have gone much differently.”

“Really? I wouldn’t have changed a thing,” I insisted. He gave me a look of extreme skepticism. “Okay, maybe one thing. But you more than made up for what I’m sure you consider to be a short-coming.”

He said nothing at first, just sighed; then he tentatively reached out and stroked my hair. “I didn’t hurt you, did I? Be honest with me.”

He really was too good to be true. And he did remember. Relief helped to still my anxiety for a moment. “You didn’t hurt me, I swear. I’m feeling just the teeniest, tiniest bit sore in a couple of places, but that’s normal, for me, anyway. I mean, it’s been awhile.” My eyes fell in embarrassment. I didn’t want to admit that I hadn’t had sex since Mike and I broke up late last year. I simply wasn’t one to pick up guys for one-night stands, even though I certainly had plenty of chances in my line of work.

His hand moved to the side of my face, his thumb stroking my cheek. His eyes were penitent. “I’m sorry. I should have gone slower. I should have waited until I was sober. I should have done a lot of things differently.”

“Please don’t do this,” I begged quietly, hating the feeling of him backsliding into regret and self-blame. I didn’t want to lose the Edward who teased me with goofy come-ons and took what he wanted, confident that I would want the same things. “I’m absolutely serious when I say I wouldn’t change anything about last night. I’m just sorry that you’re paying for it today.” I reached out and mirrored Edward’s movements, smoothing his hair and stroking the 24-hour beard growth that crept down his neck.

“I have felt better,” he admitted with another wry smile.

“Why don’t you let me make you breakfast? Sometimes some good, greasy hash browns and eggs are just what the doctor ordered for a hangover.”

His face turned ashen. “Thanks for the offer, but I really can’t eat anything just yet.”

“That’s okay.” I continued to brush the side of his face with my hand, trying to comfort him. “Why don’t you just lie down and sleep some more? I can make you lunch later. I can even hold your head if you need to throw up. I’m excellent at that--I have an iron stomach. Just ask Angela.”

He grinned and looked down, shaking his head. “You’re much better to me than I deserve. I’m afraid I’m the ‘suffer in solitude’ type. I’m going to head home and get out of your hair. I’ve been a big enough imposition on you already.”

He was leaving. The anxiety had fangs now, slashing at my insides.

“Are you sure? I make a really good nurse maid. I’ll take good care of you, I promise.”

His eyes seemed pained as he looked at me. I swear I thought he might cry.

He swallowed and said, “You’re amazing, you know that? You’re incredible. Everything about you….” His words withered and died. He gulped again. “You’re too good to me.”

“You deserve it,” I tried to convince him.

He looked down again, as if he had trouble holding my gaze. “I know we need to talk, but I really can’t do this right now.”

I exhaled shakily, hoping he didn’t notice. “That’s fine. We’ll talk when you feel better.”

He nodded and managed a glance at me. “Thank you.” He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and looked at the time, then rose from the couch. “My cab should be here any minute, so….” He gestured toward the front door.

The anxiety had ceased merely biting at me; it was now grabbing my heart and slamming it viciously against my ribs.

“Why did you call a cab?” I exclaimed as I jumped from the sofa. “I’d be glad to take you home.”

“You’ve already done too much for me, Bella.” He rested his hand on my collarbone, just as he had done in the bar last night when he begged to talk to me. Except then he was inviting me in with the gesture; now he was pushing me away.

He leaned down and brushed his lips against mine, so lightly that I could barely perceive the contact. “I’ll talk to you soon, I promise.”

I watched helplessly as he walked across my living room and out the door. I didn’t follow.

I spent the day in bed, wrapped in his scent. Even the stale alcohol and smoke that polluted it was a welcome reminder that he was here. I relived every moment of the past 24 hours, growing only more confused and disoriented the more I tried to make sense of the incredible highs and lows.

Exhausted, I finally gave up on the endeavor and ripped the sheets from the bed. I threw them in the bathroom hamper and then stepped in the shower, letting the clean, hot water wash away the remnants of Edward’s touch from my body. When I came to the dirty bandage on my knee from the day before, I grasped the edge of the tape and gave it a ruthless yank, pulling it off the wound in one swift movement. The skin was still raw and red. But once I let I breathe a bit, I knew a hard scab would form and protect the tender skin beneath.

I’ll heal. That’s what I do.


BTW...some FFnet reviewers made me realize it looks as if Edward was going to sneak out that morning without telling Bella! That's not the case. Looks like Edward will have some explaining to do in the next chapter... ;)

Massage Therapy, Chapter 10 - Vertigo, part 2

“Edward,” I exclaimed, a tiny thrill shooting through me despite his obviously inebriated state. “I didn’t think you were going to show.”

“Surprise,” he said in a rather caustic tone. It sounded almost like an accusation. But of what?

My excitement sputtered slightly, then fizzled as I looked uneasily at his skeevy-looking friend. The way he kept eye-balling me gave me the heebie-jeebies. I stared back at Edward, itching to slap the stupid hazy grin off of his face. I couldn’t decide if he looked like an idiot, or sexy as hell. Maybe both.

“So this is her?” the ponytail guy asked, pointing the bottleneck of his beer back and forth between me and Edward. He made the question sound more like a statement, as if he already knew who I was. I immediately wondered what Edward had told him about me.

“Oh, I’m sorry, please excuse my rudeness,” Edward replied with exaggerated politeness. He was so sloshed that everything coming out of his mouth seemed to smack of sarcasm. “This is Isabella Swan, my favorite client. Isabella, this is James Lawrence, an old drinking buddy of mine from college.”

“Clearly,” I muttered to the drunks, begrudgingly holding my hand out to shake James’. He took it and brought it to his lips for a kiss instead. I fought the urge to wipe the back of my hand on my jacket as soon as he released it. He was slimy. That was the only word for him. He was the kind of guy I’d always avoided when I was in college myself. The kind of guy I avoided now, for that matter. I couldn’t believe this was an example of the sort of people Edward used to hang out with.

“She’s cute,” James shrugged, taking a sloppy swig of his beer. “Not really your type, but you know, it’s been awhile. Maybe your type has changed.”

I glared up at Edward, getting more irritated with him by the second. How could he stand there and let this jerk talk about me like I wasn’t even there? Worse yet, he was back to calling me by my full name, as if I were on trial and he were the judge. That was pretty rich, considering he should be the one feeling guilty right now.

“How much have you had to drink?” I demanded. It wasn’t even 10:30 yet.

“How much have we had, Edward?“ James mused. They snickered at one another like kids who’d just been caught raiding the cookie jar.

“Not that much,” Edward scoffed. “But I guess it depends on your definition of ‘too much.’ Is a fifth of whiskey too much, Miss Swan?”

I definitely wanted to slap him now.

“Well, apparently it’s not enough, since you still remember her name,” James replied with a derisive laugh. His words knocked the wind out of me and I staggered back.

“That’s enough,” Edward ordered, raising his arm in front of James’s chest, as if to keep him away from me.

I turned my disbelieving eyes on him. “What the hell have you been saying about me?” I demanded, stunned that Edward would be talking about me behind my back, especially with someone I didn’t even know.

“Nothing. He’s just being an asshole,” Edward tried to placate me as he gave James a warning look.

“Oh, he’s being an asshole? Glad you cleared that up for me,” I retorted.

“At least he’s not macking on other girls right in front of your face,” James accused.

“That’s enough!” Edward repeated, his voice now a menacing snarl as he glared at his friend.

I gaped at them in undisguised shock. What the hell was James talking about? The only thing I could think of was that he and Edward had witnessed the kiss Jake had given me, and that had been over an hour ago, before the band even began playing. As understanding dawned, I could feel rage begin to bubble deep in my veins.

“Have you been sitting back here spying on me all night?” I exclaimed, giving Edward a look of utter disbelief. That kind of behavior seemed so beneath him, I couldn’t wrap my mind around the thought of him stooping that low.

James, however, was another story. My eyes narrowed at him as he continued to spew his vitriol. “I wouldn’t call it spying,” he said with a smirk. “More like a general observation. I mean, you are in a public place, where anyone can see your little band-boy slobbering on you.”

I shook my head, still barely able to comprehend what was happening. I looked up at Edward’s guilty, impotent face and truly wanted to smack some sense into him. I’d never felt so close to committing physical violence before, but I wanted to in the worst way right now.

“I can’t believe you,” I unloaded on him at last, trying to keep my voice from quivering. “I’ve been sitting up there with my bosses and your brother this whole time, and you never even bothered to say hello? Let alone come sit with us, like a normal person would. Instead you’re hiding back here, getting bombed off your ass? Unbelievable. You are seriously fucked in the head, Edward.”

He looked like he was about to protest, so I quickly cut him off. “Speaking of your brother, I’m sure he’s wondering where I am right now. So unless you want him to come looking for me, I’m going back to our table and try to pretend I never even saw you here.”

I spun on my heels and took off for the front of the club before the tears could come, and before Edward could stop me. Would he even try? He was too hammered to catch me anyway, I thought bitterly as I stormed off.

Wrong, on all counts. I felt his hand close around my arm, gentle but firm, yanking me to a halt. And one blasted tear was already streaking down my face as he turned me around to face him.

“Bella, please. I need to talk to you.” He was using the Masseur Voice now: low, calm, persuasive. Even swimming in alcohol, his eyes managed to penetrate all my angry defenses and pierce my soul.

“About what?” I spat, trying to keep my anger on full boil.

“Everything,” he answered simply. He looked serious. As serious as a completely smashed individual can be, anyway.

And just like that, I felt my furor reduce down to a low simmer. I’d been trying to get Edward to open up since I met him. If it took a gallon of booze to loosen his tongue, then so be it.

“Come sit with us. Talk to me,” I offered.

He shook his head, frowning. “No, I don’t want to embarrass you in front of your colleagues. That’s why I’ve been staying out of your way.”

“Then why did you get so wasted?” I said with an exasperated sigh.

“Because I’m seriously fucked in the head,” he replied. Repeating my words seemed like an act of contrition, an admission that I was right. His eyes were plaintive. “Come outside with me for a minute.”

I shook my head. “My bosses are backstage with the band right now. I need to be here when they come back.”

“It’ll only take a couple of minutes, I promise.”

I wanted to tell him to go to hell. But behind the alcoholic fog, there was a desperation in his eyes that I could not ignore. It called to me like a siren, and I knew I had to answer the call.

“Let me go find out what’s going on. I’ll make an excuse and meet you outside in a few minutes,” I begrudgingly agreed.

He leaned in close to me, his hand resting on my collarbone, and my heart raced accordingly. “Thank you,” he whispered. His lips brushed the delicate bones of my ear, sending a surge of endorphins flooding through my body.

I tore my eyes from his heavy gaze and shakily made my way back to the front of the club. As luck would have it, Rosalie, Mark and Sam were emerging from the backstage area at the same time, and we all converged at the table. Their satisfied smiles told me that The Wolf Pack becoming the newest client on our roster was practically a done deal.

“You’ve got some very happy friends back there, Bella,” Rose beamed at me. “You might want to go congratulate them.”

“Oh my God, that’s awesome!” I exclaimed, relieved to hear some good news. “You won’t be sorry,” I told Mark and Sam. “I’ve known these guys a long time, and their work ethic is second to none.”

“I’ve seen enough to know that,” Mark grinned, looking a little nostalgic. “The raw material is there. We can do the rest and let them concentrate on harnessing that energy we just saw. Nice find, Bella.”

“Thanks,” I said, blushing modestly. After all, how hard was it to “find” a talented group of guys you’d grown up with?

“This calls for a toast,” Emmett declared, refilling all of our glasses from the pitcher he’d just ordered.

“To Bella and Rosalie,” Mark said, raising his beer.

“To The Wolf Pack,” I suggested instead as I lifted my glass.

“And Java Noise,” Rosalie smiled.

Everyone touched glasses and took a hefty gulp. Emmett winked at me and then gazed at Rosalie, clearly smitten. She smiled seductively back at him, happy to be in her element, closing another successful deal. I had the feeling Emmett was going to get lucky tonight. And all things considered, I thought Rosalie was pretty lucky, too. I wished Edward could have a fraction of Emmett’s open candor.

“Why don’t you go backstage and see the guys?” Rose suggested. “They’re celebrating pretty heavily, so I hope they’re sober enough to do their second set,” she laughed.

“I can imagine,” I smiled. I wasn’t sure if I could deal with any more inebriated males tonight, but I figured I’d better make an appearance before the band went back onstage. Besides, I was truly excited for them, and glad they were joining our label. I’d deal with Jake’s infatuation later.

Sam guided me to the backstage area, where I was greeted by a champagne-soaked Jake the minute he saw me.

“Bells!” he hollered, rushing up and grabbing me in his muscular arms. “You heard the good news?”

“I did,” I grinned. “Congratulations! I’m not surprised though. I knew they’d love you.”

Jake whirled me around a couple of times and I couldn’t help but laugh at his enthusiasm. “We couldn’t have done it without you,” he said as he finally set me down. “Thanks for going to bat for us. I won’t forget it.”

I couldn’t quite meet his eyes as they grew serious. “Well, you’d better not. The hard part is just beginning, you know. Recording a CD, promoting, touring, fighting off groupies,” I joked.

“Are you kidding? That’s like a vacation, all of it!” he laughed. “Besides, you’re going to be with us for all of it, right?”

“Well, yeah, pretty much. I mean, you’ll be working with a lot of other people, but Rose and I will still be kind of overseeing everything and helping to promote you. We aren’t going to disappear or anything.”

“I can’t wait,” he grinned, his eyes shining with excitement and a little something else that made me uneasy.

“Me neither,” I said a little less buoyantly. I was beginning to fear that he was coming in for another kiss. I was grateful when the rest of the Wolf Pack interrupted us to tell me thanks for getting their feet in the door. I congratulated them all and glanced surreptitiously at my watch, wondering how long Edward would wait for me.

The band was due back onstage shortly, and they excused themselves to get ready. As Jake tried to corner me again, I noticed a red “exit” sign over his shoulder on the far wall.

“I need to call Angela and I can’t get any reception in here,” I fibbed, gesturing toward the door behind him. “I want you guys to kill it out there, okay?”

“You know it,” Jake grinned. He pulled me in a quick hug but nothing more, then released me and bounded back toward the stage. I sighed with relief and zoomed toward the side door, hoping it was unlocked. It opened easily and I walked out into the summer night, enjoying the warmth that still lingered under the moonless sky.

I peered around in the dark, trying to take in my surroundings. The door had opened into a narrow alleyway between the club and its restaurant neighbor. The rank aroma of a dumpster to my left sent me wandering off in the other direction, toward the road, where a single street lamp cast circle of illumination on the pavement below. Silhouetted in its backlight was a tall, lanky figure leaning against the side of the building. I watched as he raised one hand to his face, creating a tiny red glow that flickered and then dimmed. The burning tip of a cigarette, I realized. As I drew closer, I recognized the lean lines of his long torso and limbs; the disarray of his hair.

“Edward?” I whispered.

He turned toward me, but I couldn’t quite see his face in the dark. I approached him slowly, sure it was him, but still wary in case my senses were wrong.

“Bella?” he replied, his velvet voice sounding as surprised as mine did. He had been looking for me in the direction of the front sidewalk, not the back door.

“I’m sorry I took so long,” I apologized, though I wasn’t certain he deserved an apology. “The band’s getting signed. I just came from congratulating them backstage.” I motioned to the side entrance in explanation.

He nodded and took another drag from his cigarette. “That’s great. I’m happy for you.”

I stepped closer, moving around so that I could see him better in the street light. Its pale blue rays carved his face into an architecture of perfect masculine beauty.

“Did he kiss you again?” Edward asked. His eyes were hard to read in the low light, but the annoyance in his voice was impossible to miss.

“No. And if he had, I would have turned my head.”

He took another puff from his cigarette. I hate smoking. I especially hated how sexy he was making it look right now.

“I was right about him. He’s not giving up.” Edward exhaled loudly, turning his head to blow the putrid smoke away from my face.

“It doesn’t matter what he wants. I told you what I want. Now it’s your turn,” I said, throwing the ball in his court. I stared at him relentlessly until his gaze faltered and fell. He frowned down at his fingers, where his cigarette had burned down to ash. He dropped the butt, squashed it quickly with his black leather boot, and fumbled around in his pocket for another. It was clear that he was using his effort to light up again as an excuse to ignore my challenge.

“You’re smoking,” I observed, trying not to make it sound like a judgment. “Since when do you smoke?”

He studied me, perhaps trying to discern my feelings on the subject. Or possibly he was just trying to stay awake and upright.

“Since high school,” he said flatly, unapologetically. He put a fresh cancer stick to his lips and set a butane lighter flame to the tip, inhaling deeply.

I felt my irritation returning. “You wanted to talk to me. So talk.”

He twiddled the cigarette between his long fingers, then put it to his mouth again. He was nervous, although I wasn’t sure how he could be, as pickled as he was. Finally, he settled his skittish eyes on mine. They were luminous blue-green liquid in the streetlight.

“I had a great time with you today, and I’m sorry I fucked it up,” he said. His free hand reached for his hair and found its comfort, fingers burrowing, hiding. I waited patiently, knowing more was coming. He took a deep breath and continued.

“I’m sorry that I’ve been using lame excuses to keep you at a distance, when I’m the one who’s too much of a chicken-shit to let you in. I’m sorry that I pushed you away instead of facing my feelings for you. And I’m sorry that I wasted my time with a jackass like James tonight when I should have done the right thing by you instead.”

Were my ears ringing? I stared at him, dumbfounded. His string of honest declarations nearly flattened me. I would have been a lot more impressed if he hadn’t needed so much liquid courage to say them, but I figured we had to start somewhere.

His expression grew pensive as he waited for my reaction. I let him sweat a little longer, until his brows furrowed and he turned his attention to his cigarette again.

“I accept your apology,” I finally relented. When he looked back into my eyes again, I asked him, “Now, what are you going to do to make it up to me?”

He blinked at me a couple of times, and I realized he was probably trying very hard to focus. I raised an eyebrow at him and gave him the kind of suggestive look he was so good at. He exhaled in relief as a slow grin crept across his gorgeous mug. “I can think of several things. Quite a few, actually.”

“I’ll bet you can. Whether or not you’re able to act on them at the moment is another story,” I teased. By the looks of him, I figured he was about an hour away from passing out entirely unless I could get some good, strong coffee into him.

“Oh, I might surprise you, Miss Swan. In the past, I have proven to possess some fairly impressive skills, even while intoxicated,” he leered down at me.

“Well, it’s pretty impressive that you just uttered the word ‘intoxicated’ without slurring, I’ll give you that.”

“I want you to give me a lot more than that,” he murmured. He was leaning closer, venting a cloud of boozy smoke all over me, yet my body still instinctively stretched up toward his, yearning for his kiss. His face blurred as his lips came closer, and I could taste every evil he’d consumed this evening as I inhaled his breath. I made an involuntary face, then quickly placed my fingers over his beautiful lips before they touched mine.

“Huh-uh,” I refused him. “I’m still pissed at you for stalking me all night. That was despicably low, not to mention, immature. You’re going to have to work for my forgiveness for that one.”

He scowled petulantly. “I didn’t plan to spy on you. I didn’t even intend to come here. I called James because I just wanted to get drunk and forget everything for awhile, and he happens to be excellent in that capacity, if nothing else. We started off at a different pub, throwing back shots and chasers. He finally got me to admit what I was trying to escape from. Next thing I knew, he was getting a cab and dragging my ass here.

“Literally, the first thing I saw when I walked in the door was MonkeyBoy laying one on you, and I just… I don’t know. I wanted to punch that big fucking Ultra-Brite smile right off his face. I didn’t want to stay, but I couldn’t bring myself to leave, because you were here. I knew I was in no shape to meet your bosses, so I just sat and drank some more.”

I tried not to smile at the fact that he felt compelled to stay because of me, and that he referred to Jake as “MonkeyBoy.”

He shook his head and stared at me dolefully. “You know how when you’re drinking, you just keep thinking that one more will finally drown everything out, but it doesn’t, so you have another…and then another…?”

“Edward,” I sighed softly, reaching up to smooth the worried wrinkles from his brow. “I don’t have to tell you that doesn’t work. You can escape a lot of things, but you can never escape yourself.”

His eyes probed mine, the one lucid part of him that remained searching for something there. He looked tired. The lamplight etched shadows under his eyes that looked deeper than usual.

“I think you should get out of here and sleep it off. We can talk about all of this tomorrow,” I suggested. I began walking toward the front of the club, holding my hand out to him to follow.

“I’m fine,” he protested, sounding a little like a kid complaining that he was being sent to bed early. He grabbed my hand and began weaving clumsily, his feet unable to walk a straight line. “Wait, lemme finish this,” he mumbled, stopping short and sucking on the dregs of his cigarette as if the nicotine were his lifeline.

“You’re being ridiculous,” I told him, grabbing the stub out of his hand and tossing it to the alleyway. He gaped at me a moment, a child whose favorite toy had just been taken away.

“Now who’s being bossy?” he exclaimed, a slow smirk forming. “You’re right--it is sexy. Tell me what to do some more. Tell me what you like.” He rubbed his thumb suggestively along the inside of my palm, and just like that, the child’s play was gone.

“Come on,” I sighed, pretending to be highly irritated with him. In reality, a slow burn was beginning in my nether regions. I gave his hand a yank as I made my way toward the sidewalk again.

“Yes, mistress Swan,” he continued in that insane Sex Voice of his. How he managed to find and unleash it through all the booze was beyond me. “You have handcuffs in that handbag, by any chance?”

“You wish,” I shot back over my shoulder. He stumbled along after me, giggling like a schoolgirl. As we rounded the corner, Edward managed to trip on a crack in the pavement and nearly went down, then began giggling anew.

“Jesus Christ,” I swore, grabbing his arm and trying to pull him upright. “Do you want me to have to bandage you up like you did for me earlier?”

He smiled down at me. “I think I’d like that. I think you’d take good care of me.”

I wished he’d stop shooting all those little arrows straight through my heart. He still had perfect aim, even when he was seeing double.

“I think I’m going to have to,” I sighed. “I’m worried about you getting home in one piece tonight. I think you should stay at my place so I can keep an eye on you.”

That startled him into a second or two of sobriety before the mischief stole over his face again. “What will your roommate have to say about that? Is she into threesomes?”

“Angela is staying at her boyfriend Ben’s this weekend. And you’ll be staying on my couch,” I added immediately, before he could get in another crack.

“Naturally,” he agreed, though he sounded smug and expectant. I thought to myself that even if he did end up in my bed, he’d black out before he could lay a hand on me. What a shame.

I dug the cell phone out of my bag and dialed my usual cab company. I gave them the address while Edward leaned lazily on the railing outside the front door, grinning at me. The monstrous bouncer eyed Edward’s drunken posture suspiciously.

“We’re leaving in ten minutes,” I told the guy as I grabbed Edward’s hand and pulled him toward the front door, practically daring the doorman to separate us. Monster Bouncer rolled his eyes a bit as he checked our admission stamps and let us re-enter the club.

When I glanced up at Edward, he looked highly amused. “I like Bossy Bella. Very take-charge. I’m impressed. And more than a little turned on.” He grinned down at me, letting his heavy-lidded gaze settle on the non-existent cleavage of my v-neck shirt. I hoped he wasn’t a boob man, because he was sure to be sorely disappointed.

“Slow your roll, dude,” I said, making him giggle again. “I’m going to go make up an excuse to everyone. I’ll tell them I have a minor roommate emergency or something. You can come with me, if you’d like to say ‘hi’ to your brother,” I added acidly.

“I’ll take a pass, thanks. I have enough problems without getting an ass-kicking too.”

“Which you kind of deserve,” I couldn’t help but add as I turned to go.

“Don’t worry, I’m sure I’ll be hurting enough tomorrow without it,” he sighed. “I’ll find James and let him know I’m leaving, then meet you by the door.”

I nodded and headed to the front of the club, where the band was still jamming. A large crowd was gathered in front of the stage, dancing and cheering. I found Rose and Emmett cuddled together at their table, looking quite cozy and very much alone. They didn’t even see me until I was practically on top of them.

“Did Mark and Sam leave?” I yelled over the music to Rosalie when I got within earshot.

“Yeah, they did. No worries, though, they left right after you went backstage. Where the hell have you been? We were about to start combing the bar for you.”

“Angela called while I was backstage--she had a fight with her boyfriend. I had to go outside so I could talk on my cell. She’s pretty upset, so I’m heading home early. Give my apologies to the band, would you?” I felt a little guilty leaving Rosalie holding the bag. I looked at my watch and was a relieved to see that the band’s set probably wouldn’t last too much longer.

“Sure, no problem,” she smiled. Emmett nodded and waved good night over the din. I was glad that I didn’t have to explain anything to him. I felt guilty making up lies to cover for Edward’s behavior, but I couldn’t bear to send him off alone in a cab in his condition.

I searched room for James, as much as I hated to see him again. I finally found him at the bar, chatting up a heavily-painted blonde with massive cleavage spilling over her tight top. Edward was nowhere around. I looked by the front door, but he wasn’t there either.

I swallowed the bile that rose in my stomach as I approached, then tapped him on the shoulder. He swung around, his ponytail brushing against my hand and sending a wave of revulsion through me.

“Well if it isn’t the lucky lady who’s taking Edward home tonight,” he said sardonically.

I ignored his innuendo and asked, “Have you seen him?”

“He ran to the little boys room. If you’re lucky, he’ll hurl in there instead of at your place,” he laughed.

I gave him a withering look and turned to leave, but he was still talking.

“I have to hand it to you. I didn’t think I’d see Edward get himself tangled up with a girl for a long time after that whole mess with Tanya. I don’t know how you managed it, but you seem to have done a real number on him.” He looked me up and down in that way that made my skin crawl. “Maybe it’s because you’re so different from her.” He shrugged dismissively, then turned back to his slutty-looking conquest.

The bile rose again as I hurried away from him and headed for the restrooms. There was no line to the ladies’ room, so I went in and staggered toward the last stall. I was suddenly seized with a sickening insecurity that literally made me quake. I sat on the toilet, rocking back and forth, holding my middle.

That whole mess with Tanya. The words rang in my ears; the name filled me with inexplicable anxiety. Tanya. Was she part of the terrible, life-altering moment that Edward’s siblings had spoken of? A past girlfriend, obviously. Things must have ended badly. Very badly, for Edward to be so deeply affected.

He must have really loved her. A girl who was “so different” from me. Visions of women like Kate Denali danced in my head: long, lovely, tanned blondes with big boobs and curvy hips and toned legs and everything the polar opposite of my short, pale, slight self with the messy brown hair.

But for whatever reason, Edward Cullen was waiting outside for this tiny brunette, I reminded myself. And if I didn’t get out there soon, he might be in danger of passing out and getting himself arrested.

I pulled myself together and looked long and hard in the mirror, trying to see the good things that Edward told me he saw. Trying to see the beauty. If he saw it, it must be there somewhere, right?

I sighed and turned away from the glass, then made my way out to the front door. There he stood, leaning against the wall, looking bored and ready to nod off; and he was still the most gorgeous thing I’d ever seen. He could protest all he wanted, but he truly was empirically beautiful. No one could possibly think that about me.

And yet when he saw me coming, his face transformed. A broad smile pushed his pink cheeks upward and crinkled his eyes, his boredom replaced with happiness. He was indisputably happy to see me. I had to hang onto that, no matter what.

“I was beginning to think you ditched me,” he scolded gently as his arm went around me. I put mine around him as well, to help steady him as we exited the building. Our cab was waiting, and I considered it a miracle that no one had snagged it while I was having my mini-breakdown in the bathroom.

“I would never ditch you,” I assured him. He opened the cab door for me; I scooted over so that he could enter through the same door instead of going around.

“Thanks,” he whispered, placing his hand over my thigh and giving it a gentle squeeze. “How’s your knee?” He ran his fingers lightly over the fabric of my jeans where he knew the scrape was.

“It’s fine. You kissed it and made it better, remember?” I hooked my arm through his and laid my head on his shoulder. I needed his reassurance now.

He took my hand and slid his fingers between mine. I felt him rest his cheek against my hair; he let out a sigh. We rode in silence this way for several miles, bodies pressed together, warm and drowsy.

Edward was drowsy, anyway. I was still too preoccupied to relax. Finally, I could stand it no longer. I had to know.

“Edward, are you asleep?” I whispered.

“Hmmm? No,” he said groggily.

I took a deep breath. “Who’s Tanya?”

I felt the length of his body stiffen; his fingers gripped mine a little more tightly. “What makes you ask?”

Great, a question answered with a question. “James mentioned that he was surprised to see you ‘tangled up with a girl’ after ‘that whole mess with Tanya.’”

Edward was silent a moment. “What else did he say?”

“Nothing, really. Just that I’m very different from her.”

He squeezed my hand more tightly and began rubbing his thumb along mine. “That’s true, you are. Thank God.”

I pulled my head back to give him a quizzical look. He smiled gently and continued.

“She was a girlfriend in college, that’s all. I’m really not up to talking about our old girlfriends and boyfriends right now, if that’s all right.”

“Sure,” I agreed, not really eager to launch into my past with Mike Newton, either. There wasn’t much to tell. It was the typical short-lived college romance, doomed to fail by the time graduation rolled around. Mike certainly didn’t have the earth-shattering effect on me that I feared Tanya did on Edward.

Edward was snoring softly when the cab pulled up to my house. I hoped I could rouse him long enough to get him up the stairs.

“Hey, borracho, we’re here,” I spoke in his ear as I nudged his arm.

He grunted softly and mumbled, “Did you just call me a drunk?”

“Yes. A drunk who’s bi-lingual--impressive.”

“Tri-lingual. I also speak French. La langue d’amour,” he grinned, giving me a sleepy sideways look.

“Even better. A tri-lingual drunk with a one-track mind.”

“What, you don’t like the track I’m on?” he asked. “I don’t believe that.”

I ignored him and reached up to pay the cab driver. Edward immediately began to fish for his wallet, insisting on paying.

“I got it,” I told him, shooing his hands away. “You can pay me back tomorrow if you’re hell-bent on being chivalrous.”

“I am, and I will,” he declared as he swung the door open and stepped out of the taxi. He swayed slightly, but seemed to get his bearings by the time I joined him.

“Come on, Mister Stumbles,” I teased as I put my arm around his narrow waist and steered him toward the stairs.

“I’m starting to take offense to all this name-calling,” he grumbled as we climbed the steps, though he didn’t sound offended at all. He was still grinning like a loon. “I get it. I’m a drunken idiot. You don’t have to rub it in.”

“I know I don’t, but it’s fun,” I giggled as we trudged up the wooden staircase. “You’re actually pretty cute when you’re blotto. Well, when you’re not being an asshole. But I think I can blame a lot of that on your buddy James. I can’t believe you used to be friends with that guy.”

“Yeah, well, that was another life.” I couldn’t decide if he sounded relieved or wistful.

“Do you miss it?”

“No,” he answered emphatically. “Every time I think I do, something like this happens to remind me why I’m glad it’s over.”

“What do you mean by ‘it?’ Glad what’s over?”

“College. Bar-hopping. Hanging out with douche-bags like James. Being one myself.” His voice was brittle.

“Were you that bad?” I asked him. “Were you a womanizer?” I would have been surprised if he hadn’t been. He’s too good-looking not to have taken advantage of it at some point in his life.

“I had my moments,” he admitted. “I’ve done things I’m not proud of.”

“We all have,” I reassured him. I tried not to think about Edward’s past anymore, and how many women might have been in it. He was here with me now, and that was all that mattered.

We successfully reached the landing outside our duplex and I pulled my keys out of my purse’s side pocket.

“Welcome to my humble abode,” I said as I unlocked the door and pushed it open. I’d left a lamp on in the living room because I hate coming home alone to a dark house. I had no way of knowing that this time, I wouldn’t be alone.

“This is nice,” Edward said as his sleepy eyes perused the place. This was the first time I was glad he was inebriated, so maybe he wouldn’t notice the hodgepodge of mismatched furniture and décor Angela and I had gleaned from flea markets and garage sales.

“Eclectic,” he smiled. “Cozy.” Even drunk, nothing escaped him.

I pointed out the kitchen to the left and the bedrooms to the back, then motioned for him to follow me to the bathroom on the right. I showed him where the aspirin and antacids were in the medicine cabinet, then dug in the cupboards underneath until I came up with a brand new toothbrush.

“Here,” I said as I tore off the packaging. “You’re in luck, we have a spare. It’s yours.”

He stared at the toothbrush like I’d just handed him a key to Fort Knox.

“Wow. Thanks,” he said, giving me the strangest look, like he was deeply touched at my generosity. “You’re like a Girl Scout.”

“What, prepared? I guess so,” I laughed.

“Or maybe you have a whole drawer full of toothbrushes for all the guys you lure back here, and I’m just one of the many,” he joked.

I gave him a look that wordlessly expressed how ludicrous, even insulting, that was.

“I’m sorry,” he grinned. “I’m very grateful for this right about now.”

I left him to brush his teeth while I found clean blankets for the sofa. As I carried them out to the living room, I wondered how I was going to sleep, knowing he was in the next room. I certainly never imagined that the first time I spent the night with Edward, it would be under these circumstances.

I went to the kitchen and got him a glass of water and a vitamin, hoping it would ease his eventual hangover. When I came out of the kitchen, he was just leaving the bathroom.

“Minty fresh,” he proclaimed as he pointed at his delectable mouth. “Want a taste?”

He really was trying to kill me with the innuendos. From any other guy, they would have been laughable. But from Edward, even the lamest come-ons were tempting beyond belief.

“Maybe after I brush my own teeth,” I put him off. “Here, take this. It’ll help your hangover.”

He dutifully placed the vitamin on his impossibly pink tongue and washed it down with several gulps of water. “Man, I’m thirsty,” he commented as he downed the rest of the glass.

“Yeah, I’ll bet.” It felt strange, yet instinctively natural to be taking care of him like this. I was surprised at how much I wanted to do it, and how much I enjoyed it.

“Don’t forget, there’s aspirin and stomach medicine in the bathroom if you need it,” I reminded him. I was suddenly afraid I had just crossed the line into mother hen territory.

He smiled down at me. “I know. You just showed me.”

“Right,” I said sheepishly. “Okay. So… I’m just going to go get ready for bed. You can watch TV if you want--the remote’s on the coffee table. I made up the couch for you.”

“I see that. Thanks.” He didn’t move; just stood there, gazing at me, unblinking.

I could barely tear my eyes away, or make my body move. I mutely gestured toward the bathroom like a mime, then slowly made myself turn and head in that direction.

“Bella?” his voice called after me as I opened the bathroom door.

I whirled around, my face a question mark.

“I was right. You do take good care of me. And I like it.”

His voice was warm butterscotch, melting the last of my resolve, if I had any to begin with. What the hell was I thinking, making him sleep on my couch? Why wasn’t I dragging him into my bedroom instead?

I wrestled with that question as I smiled at him and closed the bathroom door behind me. I pulled my hair back and tied it in a hair band, then scrubbed the make-up off my face and brushed my teeth. I’d been ready for Edward to take me on his piano a few hours ago. And now that I had him here in my apartment, too drunk to fight me off--which he clearly didn’t want to do anyway--I was acting like a nervous virgin. Was it the way he’d been waffling earlier, pushing me away? He had apologized for that, and pretty impressively, under the circumstances. Or was I getting spooked by the ghosts that still seemed to haunt him, no matter what he said?

I stared at the extra toothbrush in the holder as I placed mine next to it. It seemed hugely significant somehow, like a marker of Edward arriving in my life. The Real Edward--serious, silly, smart, foolish, and everything in between. I’d wanted him so badly, and here he was. The emotional paralysis that threatened to take me was an eye-opener. I suddenly understood what had made Edward push me away earlier.

Was I really ready for this? It had been serious between us from the start. Anything that happened now was only going to carve his niche more deeply into my soul. But the alternative--walking away from him--was unthinkable. The only thing I could do now was be honest, with him and myself. I decided I’d play it by ear.

When I crept quietly out of the bathroom, I looked for Edward on the couch. It was empty. My eyes searched and found him across the room, leaning over the end table where several framed photos of me, Angela and our friends were displayed.

I cleared my throat; he straightened and turned. “It’s been a long day,” I heard myself say. “I’m going to get some sleep. Do you need anything else?”

His heavy eyes still seemed to gleam with hunger as he stared at me from across the room. He didn’t answer.

“Just yell if you do,” I said, my voice cracking pitifully. I cleared my throat again and hated the warm flush that began to creep over my face. “Good night,” I called as I escaped to my bedroom and shut the door behind me, cursing my cowardice. For better or worse, Edward and I were more alike than we ever dreamed.

I tried to comfort myself with the thought that I didn’t want my first time with Edward to be when he was too drunk to even remember it the next morning. For that matter, he might not even recall half the things he said to me tonight, including his apologies. Knowing my luck, he’d be calling me “Miss Swan” again in the morning, and not in a “handcuff me to the bed and give it to me now” kind of way, either.

I peeled off my clothes and donned my usual sleepwear, boy shorts and a cotton camisole. I turned on the fan and crawled into bed with no hope of falling asleep in the near future. I could think of absolutely nothing else but Edward on my couch. I wondered how many clothes he’d removed. What was he sleeping in? What if he was naked? Oh, God, how I longed to see him naked, to feel every inch of his skin next to mine. It seemed extremely unfair that he’d already studied nearly every part of my body with his hands, and I’d only had the pleasure of memorizing him with my eyes.

Just as I began fantasizing about going out to the couch and massaging him the way he had me, I heard a loud yowling noise, followed by a little cursing. I jumped out of bed and threw the door open, listening. Mild cursing continued in the direction of the kitchen. I ran around the corner and through the doorway, trying to see what was going on in the pale light streaming through the kitchen window. I finally discerned Edward leaning on the dining table, one leg crooked as he bent down and rubbed his foot.

“What happened?” I exclaimed. “Are you okay?”

“I stubbed my toe on the chair,” he grumbled. “It’s nothing.”

“Why didn’t you turn on the lights?” I asked him. “What do you need? Let me get it for you.”

I spied his empty glass on the table as he said, “I just wanted to get some more water.”

“Here, I keep a pitcher in the refrigerator,” I said as I grabbed his glass off the table and opened the refrigerator door. I got a few ice cubes out of the freezer and plopped them in the glass, then filled it with water. I turned around to hand it to him, and I froze.

He was wearing nothing but a pair of black boxer briefs. The light from the refrigerator spilled over his naked chest, illuminating the slight swell of his pectorals; his flat, pink nipples; the gentle ripples of his abdominal muscles; the smattering of light brown hair and moles that decorated his torso. That endless, long, inviting torso. I followed the trail of hair that joined his navel to his groin, growing thicker until it disappeared beneath the waistband of his underwear. My eyes continued their journey down to the rounded bulge between his strong, well-muscled thighs.

Fuck me.

No, really, do it, I thought madly as I stared at his glorious physique. On the counter, over the kitchen table. I didn’t really care. I wanted him, now, however I could get him. Whatever hesitation I’d been feeling was erased with one look at what I’d been missing.

I finally had the sense to be vaguely embarrassed that I’d been openly ogling him, and I looked up sheepishly into his face. I needn’t have worried. His eyes were traveling the length of my body, up and down again, with equal intensity. Pins and needles of desire began to dance between my legs at the ravenous look on his face.

“What are you wearing?” he finally rasped.

Well, certainly nothing very sexy, I thought. “Is that a rhetorical question?” I asked.

He couldn’t seem to muster a laugh.

“Here’s your water,” I said lamely, holding out the glass. He stared at me like I’d gone mad, then finally took it from me and managed a few gulps.

“I can’t do this anymore,” he whispered hoarsely. He stepped closer and reached past me, setting the glass on the counter behind me. The refrigerator door swung shut as he pulled me closer, his hands cradling my face. I could feel his breath hot on my forehead as he towered over me, making me feel small and feminine. The pale moonbeams through the window flickered like flames in his eyes. They were fierce as they raked over me, and I felt that inferno building in him like I had earlier that day. But this time was different. This time, he was giving in, letting it out.

And this time, I was ready for him.