This is my entry for the Text From Last Night Contest. It tied for 3rd place public vote.
I hope you like it.
Thank you to Marly from EBS for beta'ing and LovelyBrutal for pre-reading.
And no, I have no plans of expanding it. Sorry.
"In a perfect world, you could fuck people without giving them a piece of your heart."
Neil Gaiman. ~
"I've seen you around," he said. The look on his face was predatory. She squirmed under his green-eyed stare.
"I'm a student at NYU," she said, looking at his beer bottle. He had been tracing the bottle with his index finger, and the cuff of his dark shirt looked wet. She stared at it.
"So you're a minor," he said, looking away from her before taking a gulp from his beer.
She shook her head. "I'm 21," she said, shouting above the noise.
He looked back to her, and she stumbled back, suddenly unprepared to be that close to him. His eyes were so intense. The green color of them was alluring. He studied her, starting with her face, then following the contours of her body with his gaze.
Her breath hitched. She felt warm, as if he had been touching her.
She'd seen him around. He was a social studies professor who specialized in supervising dissertations. He had a master's degree in sexual and couples' therapy, and a reputation of being adventurous when it came to sex.
The fact that he said he'd seen her made her feel important. She had been trying all night to walk up to him.
"You're not 21," he said and turned his back to her.
She knew that would be his answer. Along with all the other things that got around about him, he was known for not messing around with non-legal-drinking-age partners. Not that he had been seen around with anyone in a long time. But it was just one of those things everyone who cared to know about him, knew.
She'd once heard that watching Mr. Cullen paint someone's body with welts was like a religious experience. That he was ruthless, but so worth it.
Feeling desperate to keep his attention, she touched his shoulder. He stiffened.
"You're right. I'm not," she said, inching closer to him. "But I could be. For a night. Just a night." She looked right at him, not breaking their gaze, even as she whispered the words.
She knew she sounded desperate, but she was past the point of caring. She had spent an entire year lusting after him, hiding in the crowds to get a chance to look at him.
Slowly, he turned around and grabbed her wrist. He pulled her closer to him.
"What's your name?" he asked. The commanding tone of his question made her shiver. This was exactly why she wanted him.
"Isabella Swan," she said, and her voice didn't shake like her insides did.
"I'm Edward Cullen," he said.
Isabella nodded. "I know who you are."
He tightened his grip on her hand. "Do you, now?"
His smirk made him look even more attractive—it made him look like sin. It did things to her.
"I want to," she whispered. He didn't say anything for a moment, just holding her wrist and staring at her.
She bit her lip and fidgeted under the scrutiny.
"Please," she said. He took a deep breath and nodded.
"Come with me," he said, letting go of her wrist and making a beeline for the door.
She followed him, falling a few steps behind.
Her heart was racing. She couldn't hear anything but the thump of her heartbeat.
Once outside, he got into a black car with a chauffeur, who was waiting for him. She hesitated before joining him.
Was she really going to do it? Was she finally going to get what she wanted? It was a scary notion. People were always talking about how terrifying getting what one wanted could be.
Flashbacks of her last lover—so inadequate, so weak—made her get in.
She knew Edward Cullen wasn't going to be weak. He would be powerful and strong. He would make her body sing under his orders.
It would be hard, maybe, surviving his demands. But she was certain she would thrive.
"One night," he said when she settled in the back seat.
"One night," she echoed. Deep down, she didn´t believe it would be just one.
He looked troubled, as if he thought it was a bad idea to be with her. Maybe he didn´t believe it either.
She wanted to assure him she wasn't a crazy teenager looking to score a sugar daddy.
No, that's not what it was.
She was a girl in need of physical pain and pleasure. She was an addict in need of a fix.
And if what she had heard about Edward Cullen was true, he was the best provider in town.
"Tell me what you want," he said when they entered his apartment. At least, that was what Isabella thought. She had no way of knowing if this was where he lived.
She trembled while he watched her—not in fear, but anticipation.
"Whatever you want. Anything you ask of me," she said, sure of herself.
He shook his head. "That's an excellent attitude, but it's dangerous. We don't know each other. One wrong move and I could break you."
She took in deep breaths, understanding.
"I want to submit to you. I want to have you inside me," she said, longing, as if that was her whole reason for existing. "I want to feel owned by you."
He took a moment before walking closer to her. When she thought he was going to touch her, he walked past her and sat down on a leather couch.
"Strip," he said, touching his lower lip.
She took another deep breath, closed her eyes, and started to undress.
It was a slow process, and he settled in, looking comfortable while devouring her with his eyes.
Once naked, she lowered her eyes and waited.
"You know what to do," he said. "Who trained you? Answer me."
"My high school boyfriend," she said.
"How old was he?"
He nodded. "You like older men," he said.
"How old are you? The truth."
He didn't ask her anything else for what felt like a long time. She was aware of her naked state, but she didn't complain. She didn't do anything but wait.
As he watched her, her heartbeat picked up. Her body craved his touch. She watched his hands, how strong they looked. She thought about how much pleasure they could probably give her.
It was the most arousing thing in the world, just watching his hands, just thinking about his touch.
Until at last, he stood up and walked up to her.
He started tracing a line down her neck, her breasts, until he entered a finger inside her and found her wet.
"I'm 30," he whispered in her ear. She shivered. "So let your mind run wild with the fantasy. I'll make it happen."
He fucked her with his fingers until she panted.
"Please," she begged. There was nothing but need in her voice.
Before she could come, he stepped away, chuckling. He cleaned his hand with a handkerchief and sat back down on the couch.
"Finish," he said.
With trembling hands and labored breath, she did. Her orgasm wasn't as strong as it would've been if it had been him touching her. But it was better than the ones she'd given herself before.
He was in front of her, after all, watching with intense green eyes and a wicked smirk.
"Good girl," he praised.
"Thank you," she said, biting back her desire to call him master, or sir. He hadn't specified what she should call him.
"Put your clothes back on. You're dismissed."
She blinked several times, not sure she had heard him right. Before she could ask him what he meant, he was gone, locked in a room at the end of the hall.
Feeling used and ashamed, she got dressed and left.
It was impossible to pay attention in classes the next day. He was distracted. Isabella Swan's naked body haunted his thoughts.
What the hell was he thinking? He had never gotten involved with a student before, much less one who was still in her teen years.
But there had been something different about her. She was timid, yet bold. She seemed to fear him a little, yet it didn't stop her from asking for what she wanted.
As soon as she left, he did some research. It turned out her trainer happened to be Garrett White, a well-known S&M club owner. They had even shared a partner once a few years ago. One phone call was all it took for Edward to have the basic information about Isabella Swan.
From the whispers around town, everyone knew he only played at the S&M clubs. That was how they knew what he was capable of.
No one had caught his attention long enough for him to take them to his place.
Isabella Swan had. Her brown hair, her pearl-white skin, and her full lips seemed to hypnotize him.
He couldn't say no to her.
"Professor Cullen," Isabella said from the door. He got up in an instant, shocked to see her standing there, even though deep down he knew she would look for him.
She was wearing a black skirt, a white shirt, stockings and boots. She looked like one of his most secret fantasies: a regular girl. If she wanted to, she could get lost in the crowd. There was an off chance people would guess she had fingered herself for him the night before. And that was exactly what he loved.
She was the perfect pretense of a regular girl. But he knew better. And that knowledge gave him a rush of power he couldn't compare. He got high on the feeling.
"What are you doing here?" he asked, annoyed and aroused at the same time.
Edward waited until she answered, but it took a while. She seemed wary of answering him. Before he noticed, she had stepped inside his classroom and closed the door behind her.
"I… I need to know what happened last night," she said. Her voice shook, and it pained him.
He hadn't meant to scare her. God knew how humiliated she must have felt after touching herself in front of him; that was such an intimate thing to do.
He had played her, knowing she wanted him, losing himself on her attention and desire. He'd taken advantage of her need.
Edward cleared his throat and fixed his tie before answering her.
"Last night was poor decision-making on my part. And I'm very sorry. It won't happen again," he said.
She started shaking her head, not accepting his excuse. With confident strides, she walked closer to him. He stood still, waiting until she reached him. She stared at him, and her gaze made him feel weak.
"Don't say that, Professor Cullen. I can do better. I can be… whatever you need me to be," she said.
Isabella sounded so willing. He could practically taste her lust.
He took a step forward, invading her personal space. She took a deep, shocked breath at his proximity.
"You don't know what you're asking for, little girl," he said.
"I know what I want," she said, not backing down. He admired her bravery.
He could see her hands shaking. He could tell it wasn't easy for her.
He pulled on her hair. She gasped, and the sound, so innocent and young, made him harder than he already was. There seemed to be no darkness in her. The world hadn't gotten to her yet.
Edward wanted to drink that essence. He bit her neck, loving the way she grasped at his forearms to keep upright. With controlled force, he made her kneel before him. She looked up at him.
"Take off your shirt," he said.
Isabella followed his order with frantic movements until she was left in her bra. He commanded her to take it off, too.
When she knelt in front of him, undressed from the waist up, he started undoing his pants.
In broad daylight, in the middle of his classroom, he fucked her mouth with ruthless thrusts, and came all over her naked chest.
She loved every second of it.
Isabella had never felt more excited about waking up early.
She wasn't a morning person. Her trainer used to spank her almost weekly for oversleeping.
Memories of a good time didn't hurt her anymore. Not when she knew that with the bright morning sun, came a message from Mr. Cullen.
At 2:00 pm, go to your bedroom and log in to Skype.
That was the latest one, received only 3 minutes before her alarm.
It had been a week since she undressed herself for him at his place.
After finding him in his classroom, confronting him about what had happened Sunday night, and giving him a blow job in the middle of the afternoon, he had been in contact with her every day.
Each morning, a text or voice message found its way to her phone with an order.
So far, he had made her touch herself, wear butt plugs to class, leave her dorm without underwear, and put on her own set of nipple clamps.
He hadn't touched her again. He hadn't approached her, either.
All of these commands were given through her phone. When he'd first asked for her number, she wasn't sure what would come of that. She thought he would call her to set a meeting, a date, to play a scene. But that wasn't what he did. When he first texted his order, she wasn't sure how he would know if she obeyed or not.
And then, in the middle of the cafeteria, she had received another text.
I see you're squirming on your seat. I hope your butt plug isn't too big.
She had flushed a bright red and looked around for him. She never saw him. Still, it had made sense. He could've been watching her.
What she still wondered about was how he knew she had touched herself on her bed, or how he'd found out the exact moment she put on the nipple clamps.
It was weird. She felt watched, exposed and vulnerable. It made her smile.
As she got dressed and ready for class, she wondered what they would do. Mr. Cullen didn't seem like the type to have cyber sex. Then again, he had been eliciting such strong responses from her, and they hadn't even seen each other.
Her excitement grew. Maybe watching him through a webcam was the first step to seeing him face to face again.
With a sigh, she left her dorm and went to class.
Her body got in her seat on time, but her mind… her mind never made it.
She was such a good little girl.
So obedient, so willing. She hadn't questioned his methods, even when he knew she must have had doubts.
A text every morning, and all she responded with was: yes, sir. Then she went right ahead and did as he ordered.
It was intoxicating. Her submission made him delirious with want. His lust was blinding, which was exactly the reason why he hadn't met with her again.
Fucking her mouth had been heaven. He didn't know what he'd be capable of once she went into his bedroom.
Ever since he'd made her touch herself for him, he had been picturing her small, tight body tied to his bed.
The idea of painting her delicate flesh in red, sexy welts was enough to make him hard.
Sometimes, his hands trembled. The need was that intense.
But he wasn't a careless Dom; he wouldn't touch her until he felt in control of his desire.
Asking her to do the things he did was a test for him as well. It was unfair that he had been putting her through so much, when he already knew she had it.
She could handle it.
"Good afternoon, Professor Cullen," a female voice said, making him look away from his laptop.
He nodded in greeting, looking at his watch with discretion.
It was only 1:15 pm. He knew this student was early to class so she could be alone with him, and he frowned in annoyance.
She asked him several questions about subjects he knew she knew.
"If you have so many questions, maybe you should keep studying until the class starts." His tone left no room for argument.
Once in silence, he stared at the Skype logo, wondering if Isabella was already logged in, determined not to log in until 2:05, and not to talk to her until after he had finished giving the instructions for the test.
As the last student walked in at exactly 2:05, he logged in, saw her online, and stood up. He explained the basics to his students, answering stupid questions with concealed distaste. When he was done, he checked the time: 2:36. He sighed, hating how much he had to make her wait, momentarily afraid that she had left.
But when he sat down and checked, his relief was too grand when he saw her there, online, waiting. He cared too much already.
Hello, Isabella, he wrote and pressed send. Her immediate response made him smile.
I will turn on my camera now, so that you see it's me. Then I'll turn it off and you will turn yours on. You will leave it on.
And so it began.
The internet was a magical thing. After being denied of his presence for an entire week, the high-definition image of Professor Cullen on her computer made Isabella sigh and swoon.
He looked so good.
He was wearing a dark-blue suit, with a white shirt and a light-blue tie. His hair looked disheveled, as usual. And it looked as if he was in his classroom.
His green eyes seemed to have the same effect on her, even through the camera lens. It was as if he could reach her heart.
Do you see me?
As soon as she hit send, she regretted answering so fast. It made him disconnect the webcam.
Turn on yours.
With trembling hands, she activated it. She took deep breaths and waited. What now? What would he ask of her now?
You look lovely, as usual.
His words seemed to jump out of the screen. She started to smile, but remembered she was being watched. She bit her lip and lowered her face to hide her grin.
Don't do that. I want to see your reactions to what I write to you.
She shook her head, smiling as she read.
I'm sorry, sir.
She looked at the screen for what felt like a long time. It was starting to make her nervous.
Isabella breathed a sigh of relief, playing with the collar of her blouse. She was so nervous.
I'm in my classroom, the same classroom where you sucked my cock, remember? My students are taking a test, and all I can see is you on your knees while I fucked your mouth.
She reread the words several times, not knowing what to do with them.
Her heart was racing, and she was squirming in her seat. She remembered. She longed for the time it would happen again.
I remember, sir.
She wanted to type more. She wanted to say more, but she held back.
Are you wet right now?
That was the point of all this. Isabella knew that logging into Skype wasn't going to be about a quick catch-up chat.
She stood up, took off her underwear, and arranged herself until she could show him. For a moment, he said nothing. She waited, anxious and nervous for a response, getting even wetter from what was happening.
With a sigh on her lips and adrenaline coursing through her, she sat back down in front of the computer. She thought that was the worst of it. How much more could he ask with his students in the room?
But deep down, she knew she was fooling herself. He must have had something else planned.
It wasn't a game. His students weren't the only ones taking a test. She was being tested, as well.
His next order was simple, and it reminded her of the first night they spoke.
Some of his students were starting to pick up their things to leave, but there was still a considerable amount of them in the room.
He didn't care.
Isabella Swan's timid hands were shaking as she unbuttoned her blouse. He already knew she was wet, as she'd shown him.
He knew he could push her more. And he needed to push himself, too.
When her perfect breasts were bared to him, he clenched his hands. He wanted to bite her nipples until she cried out. He wanted to drip hot candle wax all over her beautiful chest.
But he wasn't with her. All he could do was watch her and enjoy the way her breaths came out in pants.
God, he hadn't even touched her.
Lick your fingers and run them down your body.
He typed with precision, as if he was reading one of his students' essays, instead of ordering Isabella to do as he pleased.
He saw her lip tremble. She was fighting a battle between apprehension and desire.
As he knew it would, desire won.
Isabella did as he said, and he closed his fingers in a fist. He wanted her so bad. He wanted to be that finger running circles around her nipples.
Go lower. Make yourself come.
Edward thought her movements would falter, stop for a second until she debated with herself again.
Isabella Swan, the girl with the innocent brown eyes and the timid smile, put on a show for him via webcam.
He wanted to listen to her, but he couldn't turn the audio on. Especially when there was a student walking up to his desk.
He asked Isabella to stop touching herself and hid the Skype window.
Isabella was having trouble breathing. She couldn't believe what was happening. Professor Cullen's students were taking a test while he watched her get naked via Skype.
It was surreal. She didn't think these things happened in real life. But she had just finished getting to her climax, and it had been the most intense one yet. The thought of doing something as illicit as what they were engaging in gave her a rush. It got her body going.
When she'd discovered she had different tastes when it came to sex, she decided to test it all. She did as much as her boyfriend asked her to do, and surprised herself by loving it all: the whips, the canes, the nipple clamps, having someone in charge of her. Most of all, she loved the fall after being held by the edge for long periods of time. There wasn't a better feeling than falling into the abyss of the kind of pleasure that came from and with the pain.
She spent a long time feeling bad about herself—feeling ashamed. After reading several interesting books about it, she felt weird about being so aroused after every chapter. Something inside her brain seemed to reject what her body was feeling. Isabella didn't think it was normal, or right.
What would everyone think of her?
And then she found out about men like Mr. Cullen—intelligent, interesting, wealthy, and completely normal. He liked the same things she did and everyone knew about it. No one judged him.
Isabella heard whispers about him; the reverent tone in which he was talked about made her that more curious.
When she saw him for the first time, she couldn't sleep that night, fantasizing about him.
She laughed now as she thought of the delusional girls on campus who thought they could spend a night with Mr. Cullen. Fools.
They wouldn't have been able to pass his tests.
He had never been as hard as he was. After being in the S&M scene for so long, he considered himself to have excellent control over his body. When he'd started as a sub, he was trained to function with a hard-on. Most of the time, it was painful, but it made the release much more powerful. And it taught him to be a good Dom. He didn't understand how he hadn't exploded by now. Isabella's body was enough to get him hard, but her submission drove him crazy.
He didn't know what it was, couldn't explain it. Something about her was different. Maybe it was knowing she had sought him out and had done it with success. He was tired of women looking his way and flirting with their eyes, pretending to want something they didn't understand.
They thought it was game, just a racy thing to do for a while.
He was tired of other Doms making their pets put on a show for him. They were all lovely, but he knew their submission wasn't to him.
His past two subs had been incompatible with him. They weren't bad or disobedient, but they didn't drive him wild. Their submission hadn't felt like it was made for him.
She wanted to please him. She needed him to touch her. He could see the craving in her eyes. It gave him a rush he hadn't realized he missed.
Edward took a deep breath and opened the Skype window. He hadn't ordered her to do anything. Isabella sat there, looking beautiful as she waited for his next order.
Tell me something.
Edward wrote, trying to distract himself from his lust. There were still 5 students finishing their tests.
There was confusion on her face before she typed.
Something like what, sir?
Two more students stood up to hand in their tests, while Isabella looked down at her hands.
He knew she didn't know what to type. Or maybe she knew and was afraid to say it.
She looked up at the webcam and Edward was held in her gaze, as if she were in the room with him.
His students said something before they left, but he didn't listen. He could only focus on the words she was writing.
I've been waiting for you to touch me, sir. It's all I think about. Please…
Edward's heart raced. Her words, even the written ones, were like a blade cutting him open. She had taken hold of him in a weird way he couldn't deny anymore.
No more tests. No more waiting.
He had to be with her.
Get ready, Isabella. I'll pick you up in an hour.
He logged out, then took the tests from the surprised hands of the three students who weren't finished.
Isabella's heart was doing things that shouldn't be classified as beating; it was threatening to come out of her chest. Her hands shook, and her legs felt like they wouldn't support her body.
After Edward picked her up at her dorm, they rode in silence to his place.
With barely concealed restraint, he took her clothes off and tied her to the bed.
"Don't you want to know why I did what I did?" he asked, once she was secured. He played with her tied hands as he waited for her answer.
She shook her head and tightened her hold on his fingers. "I trust you."
He could've come right then.
"You're very trusting," he said, running his thumb along her lower lip.
He opened her mouth with it before kissing her. The kiss was rough—no slow build-up, no teasing. His mouth collided with hers with desperate lust.
She moaned as he kissed her, attempting to free her hands to touch him, but he held her by the waist, crushing her delicate, soft body against his hard one.
Edward moved his kisses down her neck, biting the skin until it turned pink.
"You'll have to cover that up tomorrow," he said, smirking. She nodded and made another attempt to free her hands.
"This is what gets to you, little girl? Being tied up?"
She didn't say anything. He stared at her for a moment, smiling a little at her frustration.
"Tying you up was one of the first things I imagined doing to you. It's where everything starts," he said, running his fingers down her navel. "It's when you can start to set your mind to submit."
He walked around, eyeing the cuffs on her wrists and ankles. She looked beautifully helpless.
Touching the cuffs on her wrists, he feigned taking them off. When he didn't, she groaned.
"Don't be a brat," he said. "Explain yourself."
"When I was trained, we didn't play with cuffs. I never got used to them. I… I never learned to… enjoy them," she said, her last words faltering when he started to fuck her with his fingers.
His movements were so slow. It was the most pleasant kind of torture.
"You want to touch me?" he asked, and stopped fingering her.
"Yes, sir," she breathed. The tingling between her legs was distracting. It felt like she couldn't concentrate on anything else.
Her senses were spiked and dull, all at once.
"You know what I want?" He stood up and circled her. He stopped at the end of the bed and looked down at her. "I want you to submit to me. I want you to be an obedient student, and surrender your body to what I'll do to it."
She breathed out slowly, her eyes hooded with lust. She licked her lips and looked at him as if she wanted to eat him.
Maybe he'd let her.
"I want to turn your flesh red with welts, make you scream in pain and pleasure until you can't take it anymore. Do you want that, Isabella? Answer me."
"I do, sir."
He crawled over her; the buttons of his shirt brushed her skin and made goosebumps rise.
Edward bent down and bit her lower lip. "Then the handcuffs stay on."
He was the devil, she was sure of it.
It had been more than an hour. She was still tied up on his bed, and he was playing with her, taunting her with the release she needed but never giving it to her.
The innocent caresses and playful bites all over her body had her mad with lust. But it hadn't been enough. As soon as she got close, he eased off, allowed her to recover and started again.
Edward hadn't beaten her. He hadn't made her come. He was fucking with her mind.
She knew it, and deep down, she loved it. She knew this was what he did best.
"You've been such a good girl," he said from his place at the foot of the bed.
That was what he had spent the last 10 minutes or so doing. Just sitting there, staring at her with a soft smile on his lips.
She tugged at her cuffs.
"I don't mean just tonight. Ever since you approached me, you've been good," he said, grinning. "A little bold maybe, but so good."
Isabella beamed under his praise and waited.
"I should reward you, right? Answer me."
"Yes, please. Sir," she begged.
He stood up. "What do you want?"
"You," she answered without hesitation.
He nodded and took off his shirt with precise movements.
She stared. He was perfect, from the way he stood to the way his muscled body looked. If she'd thought she wanted him before, she had no idea. There were hard edges on his body that she wanted pressed against hers. The need that settled deep in her belly was painful. She craved his touch.
"I'll flog you first," he said and picked up a flogger from under the bed.
There was no warm-up, and the first hit landed on her thighs, very near the place she ached the most. The flogging was intense and he didn't let up; she breathed through the pain.
Her skin was already sensitive for being exposed to his gaze for so long. She understood now. That was the warm-up.
He looked lethal, clad in dark jeans, naked from the waist up. In between her gasps of pain, she admired his power and beauty.
At first, she was counting inside her head, but had to stop after they reached 20. The pain was all she knew, and she surrendered to it.
"Beautiful," he whispered, running his fingers over the marks on her body.
"How do you feel?" he asked. "Answer me."
It took her a while to find the words and the will to speak, but she did. "Suspended in time," Isabella said.
"That's an accurate way to see this," he said, nodding. "What else?"
"I don't want it to end," she said, tears welling up in her eyes. He rushed to free her from her restraints.
With soft touches, he held her to his chest, and she cried in his arms. In that moment, the fantasy had become the reality. She was his.
The night passed without much excitement after her breakdown. Edward understood. It wasn't that he had broken her. It was that he had healed her.
She had been in so much need, craving his touch and the pain, that when she finally got some, it became too much. He had seen it happen only once before, while watching a friend play a scene with his wife.
Last night had been different. She was different.
It didn't make sense to feel so strongly about someone he had just met, though Edward had noticed Isabella's beauty in between classes before. He could admit to having pictured her on her knees for him way before she approached him.
But it still didn't make sense. He couldn't care so much already. It was impossible.
She stirred in his arms, stretching like a kitten; the soft curves of her body pressed against him. He looked down at her, awed by the delicacy of her features. How could someone look so fragile and take so much?
He had been merciless with his flogging. He didn't hold back. And he had planned on doing more. She would've taken it.
The tiny sound that escaped her let him know she was awake. He kissed her forehead before she opened her eyes. When she did, attentive and aware at once, she smiled.
"Good morning, pet," he whispered.
"Good morning, sir," she said. Her voice was low, but she didn't sound meek.
"How are you feeling?" he asked and started to put some distance between them. She held him to her.
"Um, vulnerable and… content?" she said. Isabella sounded unsure. She didn't seem to think those were the right feelings. How could they go together?
Edward nodded, though. He understood. "Needy?" he asked, and chuckled.
She realized the way she was holding onto him for dear life and let go. She giggled. "Yeah."
"It's okay," he said.
He needed her too.
The rest of the weekend passed in a blur. Before they knew it, it was Monday again.
Edward wanted to see her later that day, but Isabella needed time. One night with him and she felt split open—and he hadn't even fucked her yet.
He seemed to sense her apprehension, because he said, "It's a request, not an order."
He knew her so well already.
"I'd rather go back to my dorm, sir," she said, hiding her eyes from him.
He lifted her chin until he could look her in the eyes. "It's okay. We'll arrange something during the week," he said.
It was a promise. She believed him.
He drove her home, holding her hand the entire time. Once they got there, he killed the engine and stared out the window for a few seconds before speaking. They were clouded in the shadow of the trees around Isabella's dorm, but he still spoke in fast, hushed whispers.
After all, relationships between professors and students were forbidden by the college.
"I'm a complex man, Isabella. And I have way more experience than you in the S&M world. Being with me… it'll be difficult. It'll be controversial."
She bit her lip and nodded.
He sighed, deep in thought. "I thought I would never feel this way about someone, that maybe it wasn't for me. And yet here we are, Isabella. I want you so much it's driving me crazy."
His words sounded like a confession, as if honesty was created for this moment.
"You have me," she whispered.
He grinned. "No, I don't. But I will."
After several meetings that entailed nothing but getting-to-know-each-other conversations and casual teases of what was to come, Isabella was standing in front of Edward again. And she was naked. Again.
This time she wasn't tied to the bed.
She was on her knees, spine straight, arms behind her back, and looking down at Edward's expensive shoes while he paced around her.
There was a brand-new collar around her neck.
The conversation had been simple. She would be his to do as he pleased. And he would be everything she needed him to be.
Neither of them had dared to talk about how quickly they were ready to belong to one another, how their chemistry and sexual attraction seemed to overrule everything else. It wasn't to be questioned. Not when her heart felt like it had doubled its size to want him. Not when his flesh seemed to burn in need for her.
They were long gone from the moment she'd approached him at that bar.
"Is this what you want?" he asked, lifting her head.
She bit her lip before nodding.
In a second, his delicate touch around her chin became a painful tug of her hair. She gasped.
"Answer me," he said.
Isabella's heart soared. Before she realized what was happening, she was on her stomach, and his hands were on her ass, landing deliciously painful slaps.
Once the spanking was over, he searched for an eight-tailed whip. Her heart went crazy at the sight of him, holding the instrument that would mark her body.
He tied her to the bed, much to her dismay, before standing to admire her helpless body.
As she took in his commanding presence, she couldn't help the sigh that escaped her.
He grinned. "Is this what you dreamed about, little girl?"
Before she answered, he landed the first strike. The sound of leather hitting flesh was deafening, and it only added to Isabella's pleasure.
She whimpered and arched her back, fighting against her restraints and accepting the pain.
All the while, her mind was blank. There were no memories, no thoughts, nothing. Her mind was an empty canvas, just as her body, and Edward was the painter, making art out of her need—out of her lust.
Each land of the whip on her body was releasing something that had been carved inside her for a long time. She had no name for it, but it was erased from her body that night.
A year of following Edward Cullen's life had led to this moment, to the moment when he dropped the whip and crawled on top of her. To the moment when he released her from her handcuffs, kissed her collarbones, and bit her nipple. To the moment when he pushed inside her for the very first time.
"Oh my God," she whispered. It was all she could do as she held on tight to his shoulders.
"Fuck," he said. The curse—so raw and honest, whispered in her ear—drove Isabella wild. She could almost hear her heartbeat accelerating.
Edward moved inside her with ruthless force and unleashed need.
Everything she thought would happen was thrown out the window. He didn't fuck her slowly, or toy with her like he had been before. He went all out, naked passion driving his movements as he desperately tried to get deeper inside her.
He kissed her until her lips seemed to hurt, and when she bit her neck, she lost it. She whimpered and clawed at his back, thrashing underneath him.
"Please," she begged, but her orgasm was already stronger than her will to submit. It was too much. She wasn't ready to hold back. She came, biting back her scream, soaring in bliss.
When she landed back on earth, Edward's movements were slower. With caution, she opened her eyes and found him grinning at her.
"You'll be punished for that," he said, thrusting harder into her.
As he continued to move above her, Isabella said the only thing she could say.
"I'll take anything you give me, sir."
"Master," he corrected.
"Master," she said, with a smile.
As they moved in tandem, it seemed like the world had stopped and they were the only people left. Edward picked up the pace again and whispered how much of a good girl she was, how proud he was to have her, how excited he was to show her off.
Because that was exactly what she was. After searching, hoping, and waiting, she was his.
And the best part was—the part of the fantasy she hadn´t even allowed herself to think—he was hers.
Thanks for reading.