AN: These characters are not mine, they are Ms. Meyers.
She knelt next to him on the bed, her long hair hanging in a shiny rope coiled over one shoulder. He didn't have to be a mind reader to know that she was nervous. Even in the darkened room he could detect the faint trembling of her body, echoing the thundering pace of her heart. The tension thrummed off her like a plucked string.
He tried to stay calm – he desperately wanted not to frighten her (even though he always told her she needed a healthy dose of fear), but from the moment she had stepped out of the bathroom, her body briefly illuminated by the light behind her, wearing only a flimsy scrap of something that trailed off her shoulders and barely reached to the top of her thighs, his thoughts toward her could only be construed as frankly terrifying.
Even from that distance, he could feel the heat from her anxious body rolling off her in waves. That and the intoxicating lure of her scent, equal parts fear and arousal, drew every molecule, every fiber of his being toward her, painfully, abruptly, like an iron to true north; and he wanted nothing more than to throw himself on the voluptuous softness of her body in a pure abandonment of lust. Staring as he was, at the outline of her breasts, the swell of her hips, the lushness of her thighs, as she stood limned in the soft light from the other room, he was sure he looked a complete predator in every sense of the word.
As if she were thinking the same thing, she hesitated in the doorway, her thumb anxiously rubbing the slender gold band that now adorned the fourth finger of her left hand. She licked her lips, a nervous reflex, looking at him from under her eyelashes, her chin tilted submissively to the floor.
In a rough, low, voice that even he didn't recognize he whispered, "Come here." It was as if an electric current pulsed through the room; he could feel his skin tingle with it, echoing the ripple of gooseflesh visible on her arms as she padded slowly over to where he lay back on the bed, almost as if she were hypnotized. Suddenly the dress shirt and slacks he was still wearing seemed to be too much, too tight, and the only thing that kept him from ripping them immediately off his body was the sight of the gentle shift of her flesh as her body moved under her nearly see-through garment. It left him pinned, paralyzed as he leaned against the padded headboard.
He could feel the mattress shift under her slight weight as she drew herself up, first one knee and then the other, before crawling hesitantly across the seemingly vast expanse of bedding between them. Watching the fabric ripple across her hips, straining at the fullness of her breasts, her nipples hardened pinpoints in the gathered bodice, he was painfully aroused, and he would have fidgeted like an uncomfortable child had he been able to move. He could see now that she was not wearing any underwear. His hands clenched against the bedclothes.
And so she knelt, now, before him, all soft velvety feminine flesh, her body wrapped for him like a most alluring present, her throat exposed to his ravening gaze as if it were some sort of offering. The phrase "virgin sacrifice" flitted across his lust addled brain, inundating him with a flood of images that primarily involved rolling her under him onto the bed, tasting her innocence, his body arching mindlessly into hers . . . He opened his eyes – he had only blinked – but they had not moved. She still rested demurely on her knees, completely unaware of the ways in which she was now occupying his less than virtuous thoughts.
He reached out a surprisingly unsteady hand, tracing a ghostly line from her jaw down her pulsing jugular to the delicate bow of her collarbone, watching in rapt fascination as her skin ignited in a blushing brand under his touch. She leaned instinctively into his fingertips letting out a shuddering breath as his other hand repeated the same path on the other side of her neck. Gently, he let his hands circle her shoulders coming to rest wrapped around her upper arms, lifting her and pulling her close.
He didn't know quite how it happened: it seemed like his mind went blank when he grasped her overheated flesh, but suddenly she was straddling him, his narrow hips swathed in the softness of her thighs. Her hands rested upon his shoulders, limp and nerveless, offering no protest as his own settled firmly on her hips, holding her a willing captive against his desperately wanting body. She was the flame to his freezing moth, and he wanted nothing more than to throw himself into her and be consumed.
Breathing shuddering breaths they looked at each other, lost in a final moment of uncertainty before the monumental prospect of their physical absolution. Gazing into the bottomless depths of her soft brown eyes he felt as though he were drowning, as if there were an iron band around his chest, and he could never again draw air. She stared back at him, transfixed, and then slowly, weakly, brought one hand up and tentatively traced the fullness of his lower lip, shattering the stillness.
All his breath left him in a gust, his body pulsing with a fresh jolt of desire, and he roughly claimed her mouth with his own. She whimpered as his arms tightened reflexively around her, and her mouth opened against his, her blazing tongue tasting the coolness of his lips. He splayed one hand wide over her lower back, molding all of her voluptuous softness to his unyielding frame, and the other slipped softly into her hair, gently tilting her head back to expose her throat. Her body arched helplessly against his own, her swollen breasts squashed against his cool chest. Pulling away from her mouth, he traced his lips down the gentle arch of her neck, urging her body further backward, tracing the heat of her blush to the warm haven between her breasts.
By now she was breathing in sharp, urgent gasps, her hands clutched to the fabric of his shirt like a lifeline. He eased the straps of her gown off her shoulders, feeling as powerless as she, as the waves of his own arousal poured over him. His own coherence was rapidly slipping away in the flood of sensation emanating from the superheated lushness of her body. The fear that he could hurt her was quickly being replaced by the overwhelming need to touch, to possess, every last inch of her naked flesh.
He kissed the skin of her shoulders down to the bow that held the fabric of her bodice together, and then paused, gathering himself, whispering his cool breath against the roundness of her breasts. Gently, he traced the outlines of her nipples, taut with desire under the sheer fabric, and, when she was breathing so loudly she could be heard in the next room, he tugged the flimsy strands apart, leaving her naked before him as the gown dropped away from her body. She blushed even deeper, if that were possible, and tried to look away.
"Never," he whispered, catching her chin between his thumb and forefinger. "You are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen." He kissed her then, softly, comfortingly, and then received one of the greatest shocks in all his long life when she whispered laughingly into his mouth, "Silly Edward. You're wearing too many clothes," and then began tugging industriously on his belt.
In a flash, he skinned of the rest of his clothing, the buttons of his dress shirt falling like rain as he ripped it unceremoniously off his body. His dress pants were more of a problem – he did not want to move her gentle hands, or to be parted from the delicious warmth of her spread thighs. Groaning softly in frustration, he rolled, tipping her onto her back against the mattress, and together they managed to remove the last barrier between them and their nakedness.
She was smiling slightly as she laid back, her hair spread out against the pillows like seaweed, her arms wrapped lightly around his neck as she guided him back down to the impossible warmth of her bare flesh. Her body arched against his, tight as a bow, as his mouth closed around her breast and he tasted the hardness of her nipple with his tongue.
It felt as though he were sinking into and inferno. Her body, so soft and yielding compared to his, seemed to mold around him, engulf him, bathing him in the deliciousness of her heated scent. He moaned softly against her breast as he felt her blazing, trembling hands beginning their own tentative exploration of his body. Her touch whispered like flaming butterfly wings against his cool skin, tracing a line of fire down the tensed muscles of his abdomen and then back up, more deliberately now, to circle around his chest, rolling his nipples under her burning thumbs. He felt the muscles jump and flutter in his groin, his body screaming at him to give in and claim her, to ravage the purity out of her like a monster - the monster he knew he was.
He paused, trying desperately to silence this new beast arising within him - the phoenix of his masculine, human self resurfacing, untamed, from the ashes of his undead body. He was failing. The siren call of her scent, her sex, the heat rolling off her skin, the way her rose tipped breasts molded into his hands, the soft, anxious, yet trusting look on her face as she gazed up at him were all too much for his overloaded senses.
"Oh, god, Bella," he managed to choke. "I don't think I can do this."
It broke his heart to say it, to know that he would disappoint her, that he was willingly rejecting her, but the last remnants of his quickly retreating sanity were demanding that he stop the madness and fling himself away from the tantalizing promise of her innocent flesh before he gave in to his baser instincts and destroyed them both.
Something darted across her face. Disappointment? Understanding? Shame? He could not be sure, and the uncertainty froze him in his place.
"Edward," she whispered, slipping her burning hands low against his hips, "You won't hurt me." And she guided his anxious body to rest in the cradle of her thighs.
A number of somethings happened then. His eyes met hers, fierce and determined. She nodded, taking her swollen bottom lip between her teeth. Her legs straddled his, awkwardly, eagerly, as he surrendered himself to the roaring rush that flooded his body, deafening his ears. Holding her gingerly, as though the lightest touch would shatter her, letting the pressure of her hands measure his pace, he slowly pressed himself into her liquid heat, taking with a barely audible groan the last vestige of her girlhood, finally allowing himself to become a man.
Her eyes were vivid, locked on his, with a wild streaming tenderness that enveloped him, crystallized him, and birthed him into a new being as he felt the thundering her heart through her chest being echoed in their newborn connection lower down. He knew he was hurting her, he could feel it in the tension emanating from her, taste it in the single tear he kissed away from her cheek, but the sensual heat of her body, soft and yielding though it was, held him trapped and paralyzed, helpless in this new unguarded rush of sensation. Her fingers traced a feather light touch down the smooth planes of his back, circling on his hips, and then splaying flat against him, urging him deeper as she rolled her pelvis against his.
His mind went blank, blissfully empty of intruding thoughts, and he gave in to the exquisite pleasure of losing himself in his wife's embrace. The blazing heat of her body, wrapped around his, and seemed to set fire to his own as he moved hard against her, as though he were seeking somehow to extinguish himself in the flesh between her thighs. She was flushed, perspiring despite his own cooling touch, causing their skin to slide slickly as they moved against each other, immersing him in the headiness of her scent. It was like bathing in blood, and it was the most intensely erotic thing he had ever experienced.
Arching his back, he buried his face in her throat, tasting her perfumed flesh with an open mouth. Her breasts rubbed, full and soft against the tense muscles of his chest, her hardened nipples pressing like fingertips against his own. He captured one in his hand, rolling the taut, puckered flesh between his thumb and forefinger. She moaned at his touch, and he could feel the sound shuddering through her slight frame as her body lifted and tightened against his.
Something dark surged within him, driving him involuntarily into her, thrusting deeper into her yielding wetness with an instinctual, animalistic abandon. Dimly, distantly, he could feel her responding in kind, opening to him, wrapping her legs around his rolling hips, urging him to violence as she sank her small white teeth into the hard skin of his shoulder. He was only too willing to comply. She let out a gasping, choking sob, the cry of a drowning swimmer, as her body contracted around his; and he rode the tide of her clenching release like a cresting wave, crashing upon the shore of his own climax; muffling his shuddering breath in her hair as he spent himself within her, and then collapsed, boneless like a fish on top of her.
He had never felt more helpless. He had never felt more alive.
Her heart beat slowly against his chest with the thick, full rhythm of satisfied desire as her body shivered with the lingering waves of their shared passion. He felt her hands, released from their death grip in his hair, slide down to rest, flat against his chest as it heaved with unnecessary breaths against hers. As his consciousness slowly swam back into focus, he realized that he was crushing her. Forcing his oddly protesting muscles to move, he rolled to his side, feeling an unfamiliar prickle of cold air as he divested himself of the excessive warmth of his wife's fragile body.
She murmured in protestation at his movement, turning with him, tangling her legs with his. He stopped her with a shaking hand on her chin, looking her over quickly for damage, ready to curse himself for being too rough, too forward, for losing control. She was still flushed with exertion - he could see the faint twinkle of salt crystals on her ivory skin - her eyes were dilated, almost completely black, and her lips were swollen and red. Had it not been for the empurpled marks where his hungry mouth had lingered too long against her tender flesh, and the faint tang of the blood spilt between her thighs, he would have sworn she was not human – that she had, in fact, changed him in the frenzied moment of their completion, the mutual surrendering of their virginity.
He traced one of his marks on the slope of her breast.
"Are you all right, love?" His voice sounded thick, unused, and it stuck in his throat. She looked at him then as he had her, unabashedly taking in their nakedness, the debauched disheveledness of his hair, with a goofy crooked grin that was a perfect facsimile of his own.
Her voice was as rough as his when she responded.
"I really wish you could read my mind right now." The look she gave him as she said this was feral, almost frightening. She stared at him for a moment, calculating, and then his whole body tensed as she licked a burning path from his collarbone to the hollow at the corner of his jaw. He felt his own lips curl wickedly in anticipation as he grabbed her thighs and flipped onto his back, hitching her legs over his hips so she was astride him, pressing against his nakedness. He framed her face with his hands.
"I think you can show me," he whispered as he brought her mouth down to his.
And she did.
I'd like to clarify at this point that the only reason why I wrote this is because I wanted to prove that it is possible to write smut, or just a plain old sex scene without any ridiculous euphemisms for reproductive organs or bodily fluids. I'm not going to list them here because I'm too embarrassed to really admit that I've actually read the stuff.