Dear Sparrow, do you remember G's obsession with Bellisle? Well Happy Birthday! Don't ask how long this is going to be because the likelihood is we will never finish it. Love G and T
A Change of Heart
"One more before I go. Please?" I grab his shirt in my fist, twisting the material as I pull him closer again.
"You're never satisfied," he tells me, his lips holding that dirty smirk right up until they touch mine. I savor him momentarily before breaking away.
"I never heard you complaining before," I say.
"And I'm not complaining now," he replies, letting his tongue sweep along my bottom lip in the moment before his mouth closes on mine again. He pulls away, groaning as his phone rings.
"I'll see you later," I say, re-fastening the buttons on my blouse.
"You will," he promises.
~ aCoH ~
"I'm sorry," he says as he lets me in. "I couldn't get away any sooner." He closes the front door and walks toward me until I'm backed up to the wall. He leans in to kiss me and I make the most of every moment. The first kiss whenever I see him is like a drink of water in a dusty, hot desert. Every. Single. Time. It's almost worth saying goodbye for.
I drop the shopping bags on the floor, hearing the wine bottles clink. If they're spilling out right now, I don't even care.
"I'm ready for the first course," he says, hurriedly pushing my jacket off my shoulders and tugging it down my arms. I giggle at the way he rushes, as if he can't wait a moment longer. He pops the button on my jeans and tugs the zipper down, kneeling in front of me as he peels them down my legs. I kick my shoes off and lift my feet as he pulls the dark blue denim over them and off, discarding them inside out. He has me down to my bra and panties before I can even get my thoughts in order to complain about the unfairness of the fact he's still fully clothed.
He reaches for my bra straps but I cross my arms in front of my chest, placing my hands over the strips of elastic so he can't get to them.
"Uh-uh," I say, shaking my head. "Your turn."
I smirk and raise an eyebrow.
"No way, mister. Get naked. Now." He looks around the hall.
"Why don't we go somewhere more comfortable."
I'd love nothing more than sinking onto his bed with him, but I get a kick out of pushing him out of his comfort zone. I've been making a habit of it lately.
"I want you here," I tell him, standing back against the wall and spreading my arms out to the side, pressing my palms against the cold surface. "I'm going to wrap my legs around your waist and you're going to fuck me against this wall until the neighbours complain."
His eyes glaze over a little.
"Jesus fucking Christ," he murmurs. Suddenly he's all action, unfastening the top couple of buttons of his button-down and then impatiently yanking it over his head. He almost falls as his legs get tangled in his pants and I laugh, despite my best efforts not to. He grins at me, pulling off first one sock and then the other. Finally his boxers drop down to the ground and he kicks them away as he lunges at me.
He lifts me and I wrap myself around him, exactly like I promised, gasping loudly as he slides inside and slams me against the wall. I cry out, blissful as he drives himself into me again and again. He tries to shush me, but that only makes me worse as I let my body hit the wall hard with each stroke. He finally sends me over the edge as someone on the other side of the wall begins hammering their annoyance. I'm too far gone to care, squeezing his waist with my thighs and yelling his name as he comes inside me.
We collapse onto the floor, too spent to do anything other than giggle.
"I have to look those people in the eye outside these four walls, you know," Carlisle says, poking me playfully in the ribs and making me squirm.
"When you can fuck like that, you should be able to look anyone in the eye," I tell him. "I love you."
"I love you, too. Can we eat now? I'm starving."
~ aCoH ~
"Edward arrives home for Christmas next Friday," Carlisle tells me as we sit at the table eating, me wrapped in his robe and him in a Cubs t-shirt and sweatpants.
"Ah, shit," I say.
"Hey! That's my boy!"
I smile apologetically.
"I'm sorry," I tell him. "You know I'm only pissed because I miss you when he's around."
"I did offer to tell him about us. Remember? You were the one that said no."
"I know, and I stand by that decision." I spear another piece of pasta and lift it to my mouth as Carlisle shakes his head and pushes his own food around his plate.
"Hey," I scold him. He looks up.
"Stop torturing yourself. It's fine. We're fine. I love you, but it's easier this way. I can live without the judgemental looks and snarky comments. I kind of like being your dirty little secret." I stretch my leg out and place my foot between his thighs, nudging him with my toes. He reaches down and gently eases my foot away.
"And what if I'm tired of having a dirty little secret?" he asks, his blue eyes challenging me to come up with a solution.
"Are you?" I ask in return, resting my fork down on the edge of my plate, as worry creeps in and begins to nip at the edges of my conscience.
"I just want you," he says. I don't miss the pleading edge to his voice. "Without the secrecy and the sneaking and the code words and the lying." He rhymes off the list of social sins of which we're guilty.
"You almost sound like you want to make an honest woman of me," I scoff. He looks away and smirks a little; a secret smile that completely gives away the fact he's considered it.
"Don't even think about asking, if you can't handle the rejection," I warn him, picking up my wine glass and emptying half its contents into my mouth in one go. I may be panicking a little.
He watches me carefully. He's an intelligent man; intuitive. I feel as naked now as I did when he was fucking me against the wall.
"Stop it," I tell him, my gaze flickering nervously between him and anything other than him.
"Stop what?" He's amused, pushing me from my comfort zone now.
"Reading me like that. I hate it."
He sits back and laughs.
"You think I can read you?" he asks.
"I know you can," I say, picking my fork back up and stabbing another piece of pasta.
"You want me to tell you what you're thinking?"
"Hell, no. I know what I'm thinking, I don't need to hear you say it."
"Don't need to or don't want to?" Carlisle asks, picking up the wine bottle and refilling both glasses.
"Smart-ass," I shoot back. He smiles.
"Are you staying over?"
I sigh as I lift my glass to my mouth, pausing to answer his question
"I can't, my dad's on a late, he'll go out of his mind if I'm not there when he gets home."
He's silent, brooding almost, and now I can read him just as well as he could, me.
He wants to push me again, list the benefits of going public to make himself feel better about the fact he's secretly dating a girl eighteen years his junior. There's nothing he can do about the age gap, but the secrecy he can remedy, and as he justifies it to everyone else, so he'll finally be able to justify it to himself.
That's what I tell myself, at least. As far as I'm concerned, going public means one thing:
Inviting everyone else to have an opinion, and I can live without that kind of negativity in my life.