Summary- I have nothing to fear but fear itself. And my incompetent stylist. I just asked for Spanx, but his hand is raised and…this isn't going to end well.
Characters- Edward, Bella, and their many shenanigans.
Rated M- Don't tell me you're just in it for the malarkey.
Chapter Seventeen: This Isn't What It Looks Like
It's a shame the way the world works.
One moment you're screaming for help because your hot stylist is dying of an allergic reaction, and the next you're being pulled off by a paramedic just because you're trying to sneak a few humps in.
In between Edward's wheezing, I could tell he was totally into it.
"Sir, this is an epinephrine injection. We are going to insert it directly into your thigh. Stay calm. It should start working immediately." The paramedic stabs Edward in his leg, while everyone stands around in awe. The smug look on his face irritates me. I mean, was I not just doing the exact same thing? Where are my accolades for rescuing Edward?
Sure, I may have caused swelling in other areas rather than decreasing them, but let's face facts here. If Edward were to die, he would have went a happy man. That's enough to get me to sleep at night.
"Fank…you…" Finally, Edward is able to rasp out a few words. Because of my quick thinking and life-saving skills, I nod my head.
"You're welcome, Edward."
The paramedic turns in my direction, the frown apparent on his face. "I believe he was talking to me."
Oh. Well, you don't have to be such a jerk about it.
"Sir, you should be fine now. Take it easy, and stay away from anymore mushrooms. If you are begin to feel dizzy, have trouble breathing, or the swelling does not subside, call 911 immediately."
The paramedics give Edward another final check, pack up their belongings and head out. Jessica, Alice, and I help Edward to his feet, assisting him out of the club.
"So…that was fun…" I joke, standing with everyone under the streetlight.
"You almost killed my brother," Alice accuses me, pointing her finger.
"Dry humping, Bella? Where are your priorities? He could have died!" Jess shakes her head in disgust.
The key phrase here is "could have." I consider Edward's ability to walk a definite success.
"He's fine. I mean, look at him!" I point to the bulge that was once his beautiful face. "You can barely notice the puffiness anymore. It's more like a Botox job. You look great, Edward. I'd pay millions to have those lips."
When his only response is a subtle growl, I fear we may have to agree to disagree.
I sneak in through Edward's door to check on his current condition. He's sleeping, with a tad bit of drool seeping out the corner of his mouth. I tuck him in tightly with the blanket and kiss his deformed forehead.
Hopefully, he'll be back to himself by morning. Otherwise, sex is going to be difficult if I have to look at his distorted face. There are only so many positions you can do with a paper bag covering your head.
On my way out, I trip over Edward's black binder peeking out from under the bed. I pick it up, to place it on the dresser when several magazine cut-outs fall to the floor.
What the hell?
The images are disturbing. Clowns dressed colorful attire, a Scooby-Doo costume edited with fur, dresses with cheetah prints coordinated with zebra purses…it's enough to make me open the binder.
The inside cover is labeled, scrawled in cursive writing: Bella Swan's Style Guide.
I flip through, hesitantly scrutinizing every photograph. Between the pages are craft pamphlets, Halloween costume design guides and a horde of Lady Gaga photos.
I'm hoping to have picked up the wrong binder when Edward's phone beeps next to his pillow. I slide it off the bed, careful not to awaken him.
It's a missed text message from some guy named James.
Where's my money, Cullen? Don't think you can hide from me.
Money? Intrigued, I scroll through the messages, each one similar in content.
Pay me back my dough.
I'm sending my men for you.
What's the difference between you and Nemo's mom? Nothing. You're both dead.
Ouch. That last one hurt.
I narrow my eyes suspiciously between the binder and Edward's secret friend. Something is definitely amiss. It doesn't add up.
Why would a well-paid model owe money to a creepy guy? Why would he keep a folder with my name on it and pictures of poorly dressed people? And lastly, if Edward's face is swollen to a pulp, would that mean his penis is too?
I didn't know the answers to these questions, but I intended to find out.
My very life depends on it.
No, I'm kidding. That's so dramatic. The only thing in jeopardy around here are my orgasms and I didn't plan on giving them up anytime soon.
Stroking Edward's cock through the heavy material, I carefully inch my hand until I reach the edge of his pajama bottoms.
I'm this close to realizing my fantasy when Edward's eyes barely open.
A dozen excuses run through my mind of why I'm molesting him in his sleep, but none of it matters. He gazes down to the electronic in my hand.
"Why do you have my phone?"
I should be concerned I've broken Edward's trust. My anxiety should stem from the fact that he'll never believe my lies. Instead, I hang my head in shame.
I've been caught red-handed. This is the end. My vagina will never again enjoy the magnificence that is Edward Cullen's cock.
The Orgasms of Bella Swan
May You Cum In Peace
June 2, 2014
Thanks for reading & keep on laughing.
*I want to ask why you all keep reading this, but I now know it has nothing to do with the malarkey and everything to do with Edward's peen. I'm on to you, you sick, little readers. :D