Disclaimer: While Stephenie Meyer would never have written this—these are still her characters (sort of)—and Twilight is hers. Disclaimer over.
If you're not old enough to buy adult material, don't read this.
So, this first chapter is intentionally shocking - I think it's hysterical (just so you know) but this is an EdwardxBella story, - just so we're clear. And this first chapter is not essential, but it's important. The next chapter is sweet, however, so feel free to skip it if my African violet planter comments make your eyes pop out of your head.
A super-duper special thanks to mischief-maker1 for her feedback on this and encouraging me to turn the dirtiness into a story.
So, my inspiration for the writing style in this chapter came from 50's post war pulp, cuz I like the grittiness and I find it a nice change from romantic fluffy bullshit (even if the old stuff was sexist as fuck). So, dirty, dirty, sour lemon below. It's a Bella-James lemon. Yes—I know. And more to come.
Sex without love is an empty experience, but as empty experiences go it's one of the best.
James is an ugly motherfucker.
He is the manifestation of ugly, and yet, he is very tall.
My first confession: tall men turn me on. It's like standing in downtown New York City on a clear day at lunchtime only to look up and see the skyscrapers going up and up and up. It's intimidating and bloody beautiful. Well, you see, tall men do that to me as well. I look up, and I get turned on and on and on...
So you'd think I'd be turned on by James.
He is a tall motherfucker—like six foot four and that is nothing to scoff at, but there is another factor to consider.
He has a large chin, large in the way that it makes his face look like the plane of a shovel. It is ugly.
My second confession: large chins scare me. I mentioned the shovel. A large chin makes a man look permanently hungry. Large chins scream out: dirty, sadistic, cunt-munching serial killer at your service—the kind of S&M psycho who could chow out your girlies and then bury the pieces in your African violet planter when you're not looking.
That shit is scary.
So let's get a few things straight. James is ugly. James is tall. James has a huge chin. James is scary.
But the man is a master of the orgasm.
He fucks well.
Fucking an ugly man is awesome.
Because you cannot have sex with a man you find truly ugly.
You have to fuh-uh-uh-uh-ck them.
So I keep doing it.
And it scares me, but I kinda like that, too.
I go over to James's studio. It's an old building with an elevator that still has an extra brass gate to throw open, so you have to run out quickly because the door will slam on your heel if you're not careful, and I'm clumsy and not fast, so this has happened on three separate occasions. I walk down the painted and repainted art deco hallway, bordered at the ends by defunct radiators and barred windows. I knock on the paneled door. I politely cross my arms and wait like I'm coming over for tea and crumpets or something equally banal and depressing.
James opens the door wearing a goddamn apron.
Last time it was a beret.
He holds the door open, one arm crossed across his chest and an intent look in his eyes. He silently motions for me to enter.
When the door is closed, he spins to face me. His arms lie languid at his sides.
"Tell me about your day," he commands. There's an air of drama to his words. I can tell that he's thought this one out.
"Well, I filed a report..."
He waits patiently.
"Rosalie Hale of all people showed up at our meeting."
He touches four fingers to the side of my torso, like he would if he were aligning his fingers on guitar strings. His other hand rubs the slightly pinkened flesh on his large chin unthinkingly.
Good boy, he just shaved.
"Is that so now? Ice bitch deigned to grace you with her presence. I imagine the permafrost is still melting."
He pulls his fingers gently forward and then he cups my breast. I close my eyes and grit my teeth at the contact of his fingers over the fabric of my collared shirt.
"You think she's hot."
He presses his thumb into my nipple and begins rubbing geometrically perfect circles. He smirks arrogantly.
"I have a cock."
I give him a level stare in return. I continue on nonchalantly, as if his hands on my body mean nothing. "My report was well-received, even Carlisle liked it."
He pulls me upwards and bites my neck. Then he slowly raises his head, letting the bottom edge of his teeth catch on my chin, my bottom lip, and the tip of my nose. He has nice, even teeth.
"Carlisle wants to fuck you."
James thinks that I'm in love with Carlisle. I'm not. I'm in love with someone else, but that's neither here nor there, and this is not the time to dwell. I'm not thinking about green eyes right now. I'm getting my fuck fix, and then I'm going home.
I hold my tongue out and James takes the bait, flattening his tongue against mine before greedily sucking it into his mouth.
I jerk my face away from James, but I smile pleasantly. "Carlisle is happily married, and you have no idea what you're talking about," I explain in a mocking, almost babying tone. "Everyone was happy with the financials. I simply made sure that the business plan sounded persuasive."
He, meanwhile, shoves his hand up my skirt. He starts scratching at my thin pantyhose on my inner thigh.
"Bella, talk to me about the exciting financials. Tell me the numbers, Bella baby."
His scratching rips a small hole in the hose. He pokes a finger through, and begins to rip a line upwards.
I can barely stand straight, but I manage to croak out, "Profits are up two percent."
The hole in my hose is now wide enough, and he pushes his whole hand through. I gasp as I feel his whole hand kneading the bare flesh of my thigh.
"EBITDA needs to be reassessed." Another croaked sentence.
"Say it again Bella," James demands coolly.
I become conscious of the fact that I'm losing my lady fluids like I've got a garden hose between my thighs.
"Say what?" My head is swimming.
I feel the excess starting to run down my thigh, and my body clenches in anticipation.
"E-BIT-DA," he says it rhythmically.
His hand stops when he feels the moisture against his hand, but then he methodically follows the trail upwards and snags his fingers under my panties and wiggles his fingers in the pond.
"Fuck, EEEEBITDAAAH" I spit out. I continue, breathing heavily.
"Bella, baby, keep going." He likes it when I start speaking incoherently.
Meanwhile, his fingers keep on a'going.
I start mumbling on about meaningless crap that had nothing to do with today's report. "Loan rates are up 1.25% and the company needs to consider a—alternative—lender."
James yanks my panties and pantyhose down.
"Sit down." He commands. He's done with the financial chatter, apparently.
I sit my bare bottom down on his off-white, cracked linoleum floor.
He kneels in front of me, pressing both thumbs into the thin fabric bunched at the bottom creases of my breasts, and pushes me back onto the floor.
I can feel grit and dust on the tiles.
"James, you need to sweep your ratty ass floor."
"But Bella, my little fuck monkey, I was planning on mopping it up later," he retorts.
Fuck me, I just got wetter. I bite my lip.
He assesses my face carefully before reaching and pulling my bottom lip away from my teeth. He shoves his finger into my mouth. I can taste myself on his finger tips, something else, too, spicy. I wonder if he had nachos for lunch.
I bite his finger.
He gives me a hard look. He shoves the other hand into my hole.
Another "fuck" and my head rolls back, and I involuntarily let his finger go.
He holds it up to examine it. There is a line of red teeth marks. Apparently, I bite hard.
His fingers pick up the pace and he thrusts them in and out of me.
"Fuck. Shit. Motherfucker. Shit. Shit. Shit."
He clamps his free hand over my cursing mouth. "You see why I had to wear the apron, Bella? You're being so dirty."
I nod, moaning through his fingers.
"I'm going to have to clean you up."
He waggles his tongue and then flicks it against my chin.
He leans down, and he presses the very edge of his tongue to the very edge of my clit, and I moan and shout and curse, and he starts dabbing his tongue against my clit to the same rhythm that his fingers are fucking my hole, and I'm grabbing and pulling at my own hair and my chest is heaving with my constant gasping and moaning and cursing.
He stops moving his fingers.
He raises his head and stares at me expectantly, smiling like he's about to tell the punch line of a dumb joke.
"Won't you come for me, Bella?"
I gape at him.
"I would if you'd keep going, you fucker."
I grab his hair and try to pull him back against me, but he easily throws my hands aside and grabs my ass, yanking me towards him, while he pushes his legs out in front of him and pulls me forward. He sets me on his face.
And then his hands are grasping my ass and pushing me up and lowering me down as his tongue shoots in and out of me.
"God, James, thank you," I gasp.
He gives my ass a slap to let me know he's accepted my thanks.
It doesn't take long at this point. James can feel the onslaught of female rapture, and so he slides his tongue up from my hole and takes a long, angry suck on my clit.
And I scream.
And I scream.
There's a reason why James doesn't talk to his neighbors.
Between the chin, the extreme tallness, and the screaming, he cuts a pretty creepy figure.
He shoves me off of him. I don't care. I lay dazedly sprawled on his dirty linoleum.
He lifts the bottom part of his apron and wipes me off his face. He grabs both of my feet and starts pulling me across his studio.
"Kitchen?" I ask breathlessly, straining to keep my head from bumping on the floor.
"Second reason for the apron."
He stops dragging me when we reach the tiny little closet that he calls his kitchen, and he scoops me up, lifting me onto the edge of piss-yellow Formica countertop. He raises his apron and pulls the tie on his pants. They fall to the floor.
He's standing in front of me in some crap t-shirt and a checkered apron. On most men this would look a bit camp, but James pulls it off. He has extremely masculine legs. He's a big guy, a bit thick, but I'll take that over chicken stick legs any day, and I'm also grateful that he doesn't have a gut, especially since he's a bartender.
I grab a hold of the apron, yank it up, and observe that he's long and ready for me.
He doesn't fuck around, and he's already planned ahead. He snatches a condom out from behind the toaster, rolls it on, and pushes inside of me.
He rasps a gritty, "Fuck," and I say "Fuhh..." and he's already slamming into me. He's already made me come, so he doesn't pay an ounce of attention to me.
This also turns me on.
I'm going to make the most of it, though. I push up on my arms so that the angle is good, and he's pounding my clit in his haste, and I come again almost immediately. My teeth clench, and my walls clench, and I see his face clench.
He really is ugly.
James grunts. He comes like a bear, grabbing up my arms and throwing bites along my collar bone.
He gives a final sigh and pulls out of me.
His rolls off the condom and chucks it in the trash. He grabs a paper towel, wipes himself off, and quickly washes his hands.
He looks up at me, "Sounds like work was okay."
"Be back tomorrow?"
I grab my purse out of the living room. I don't remember putting it there. I grab my panties and the remnants of my pantyhose off the floor. I toss my panties in my purse. I toss the pantyhose on top of an overstuffed trash bin. I slide on my flats and let myself out.
I'm going home. I'm going to make myself dinner. There's a new novel that's captured my interest. I'm going to read it until sleep takes me. I'm going to sleep, and tonight, I hope, I won't dream about green eyes.
I laugh at my own madness.
As if one could tame one's own dreams.
What dreams may come, indeed.
So there are seven chapters to this one (probably an epilogue, too). And you might guess from the title, that it contains major plot elements of a certain classic novel by Jane Austen—except that the chapters are as follows: lemon, fluff, lemon, limey-ness, lemon, actual plot, lemon. Eh, yeah, I kinda, sorta outdid myself on the screwing (but I couldn't help it... it's all tormented and angry).