Disclaimer: Twilight belongs to the Stephenie Meyer.
There is no remedy for love but to love more.
—Henry David Thoreau
- x- | -x-
When I wake up the next morning, I'm sprawled in furry whiteness. The furry haze is a rug.
When I raise my head to take in my surroundings, I see that Rose and I are sprawled on what I'm pretty sure is her living room floor, still in our work clothes. The coffee table is loaded with magazines, empty Haagen Daz pints, an empty bottle of Grey Goose L'Orange, half-sliced lemons alongside orange skins, and uncapped bottles of magenta and violet nail polish. The TV is still flashing the DVD start screen for some BBC production. The flashing is making my eyes water.
Rose and I both have pretty fabulous hangovers.
"Rose?" I groan, flipping onto my back.
She grunts, lifting her head, looking around, and then laying it back down.
"Water?" I rasp.
She raises her hand and points in the direction of the kitchen.
I come back with two glasses of water. I set one on the small table next to Rosalie, and I slide onto the couch and begin sipping mine.
"Are we going into work?" I ask.
I am answered by another grunt.
"Roger that, sister—over and out," I declare, even as my voice crackles like it has bad radio reception.
I find my purse buried beneath a pile of chocolate wrappers and old Cosmos. It sort of smells funny—like apple. I fish out my phone and dial the buttons for my secretary's line. I leave a message for Angela—and ask her to call Rose's secretary, too.
When I set down the phone, I see that Rose is sitting up. She's looking around at the mess that surrounds us. She smoothes her hair and picks up the glass of water.
"I think I might go in the office later today."
I look over at her. "You have to turn in that vulture presentation or whatever it is."
She nods. "Yes, there's the final draft of the Volturi contract, and well," she gives me a significant look, "there's also that item of business we talked about last night."
I hold up the glass of water.
She holds up hers.
I catch a taxi home.
It is 5:50 PM, already night in New York City, and I'm in my office, and it's dark. I consider turning on my desk lamp, but I decide not to because I'm enjoying sitting in the almost black. The darkness of my office is broken up by the glow of the city from outside my window. The blue and white lights from the surrounding skyscrapers saturate the room, creating shadows that seem to fizzle at the edges. A sliver of the moon is even visible above the skyline.
I'm smiling because I caught the office gossip from Rose's secretary before she ran out the door for the evening.
Jessica had eagerly spilled, "Rosalie smashed Emmett Cullen against the wall in his office. She pinned him there, and she kissed him—no, more like she jumped him!" she exclaimed, but then she stopped, looking down the hallway to see if anyone was listening in. "So, yeah, she jumped him—publicly—door open and everything."
She had paused for dramatic effect and then continued in a lower voice, "And what was even crazier is that she did it right in front of Edward—her fiancée—with his brother no less—and Edward just laughed. He laughed."
So, now I am here, alone in my office in the dark and smiling—because Rosalie has Emmett—and Edward was okay with it—and—
I hear my door creak.
The energy in the room changes, and I can feel the hairs standing up on the back of my neck.
And then I hear the door close and click shut.
I hear the footfalls as he approaches.
I am still looking up at the night sky out the square window, but now it's like I'm peering through a kaleidoscope with a shifting pattern of black and blue and white.
The footsteps stop, and there is the faintest of sounds behind me as I hear the quiet ruffle of fabric rubbing against fabric.
And then I feel my hair being pushed forward over my shoulder and arms being wrapped along my arms, and hot breath and soft lips on my neck. The lips press, and they kiss.
I'm almost unable to breathe, and when I do, the breaths are choking out like sobs.
I feel fingers slide under my chin, and then my face is being gently lifted upwards.
And all I see are green eyes.
They're staring into mine
But then they're staring at my mouth.
The kiss is slow but instantly deep, and I'm smiling as I kiss him, and I can see that edges of his mouth are upturned, too. And it's like I want to sing a tune and herald this moment but my voice sucks something awful, so I make up for it by intensifying the kiss, clutching his arms tighter around me.
He pulls his lips from mine, and he has his hands on my face, and he's trailing the pads of his fingers across the planes, angles, and curves, deciphering every last bit.
All I can do is look into his eyes.
"Bella, Bella, Bella," he sings, and the way he says it, it's like my name is an actual bell ringing.
I open my mouth to respond, but then he runs his fingers along the inner creases of my lips. My mouth opens wide, and then he hooks his thumb under my front teeth, and I feel his nail against my teeth as pulls my mouth back to his.
And then our lips are one again, and I'm warm and cold and beaten and flying.
I'm pressing his chest as hard against me as I can, but I realize I still want more. Because I have dreams to fulfill, dreams that have ravaged my psyche every night since the afternoon that I met him. I have dreamed, but the dreams have only been the stuff of nightmares—horrid jokes that dangled carrots like happiness before swiping them away at the last second.
So, it's like I can finally hit the play button on a missing reality.
I slide my hands out of his hair and down his neck, and pull out the knot on his deep blue tie. He urges me on with his eyes, and he moves us and sets me on one of the chairs in front of my desk. He kneels down between my legs. And his hands push mine away and unbutton the top button of my shirt. It opens, and then Edward edges up to the newly bared spot of skin, and he kisses it and then he licks it, and then he pulls back.
So, I do the same for him. I undo the button, kiss, lick, and wait.
He opens the button, kisses, licks, and waits for me.
And we go back and forth.
Open. Kiss. Lick.
He nips at the tiny satin bow between my bra cups.
Open. Kiss. Lick.
Open. Kiss. Lick.
Near the end, we're barely able to keep it going. His lips are trembling and his eyes are wide and vivid, and while I'm working on the next button, his hands grip my knees and knead more and more urgently. He finishes my shirt first because he is taller and longer so his shirt still has more buttons. I almost rip out his bottom two, but he takes over, pressing me back into the chair and plucking the final buttons out.
He grabs the front flaps of my shirt and pulls them apart, sliding the shirt sleeves down my arms, and then I do the same for him, and I'm gasping because when he holds his arms up so I can pull the shirt up, I see the blue and white flickers dancing across the planes of his chest. He looks unearthly and sublime and rather like an angel.
I lean up to kiss him, but Edward clutches my face, "Bella, there's so much I need to explain."
"No, Edward, really. Rose and I talked—I understand—"
But he cuts me off with a swift peck and then continues in a rush of words, "I was an ignorant, young fool when I first met Rose," he explains, "the consequence of having everything handed to me and never questioning it. She appeared everything that I had come to expect. I had seen so little of the world that I could make no comparisons and see no defects."
"Eh, maybe because she doesn't have any?" I offer, not stopping myself from running my hands up and down his biceps.
He laughs, and it's so silly, it's boy-like. "I'm glad I can finally laugh with you. I couldn't laugh before—no matter how funny you were. I felt like I was locked outside the nursery window."
"Not the nursery window, Peter," I tease, but then I grow more serious, and I tell him, "I always kept it open."
He kisses my forehead, and it's the same passionate kiss that caused so much longing before, but now it just feels like coming home.
"Bella, you are my perfect. I have dreamed about blushing cheeks and chocolate eyes since the day I met you. Seeing you at work was always the highlight and misery of my day."
I run my fingers over his eye lids, and he closes them in response. "These green eyes," I whisper.
"Bella, I tried to find you that night, I mean, the night of the Christmas Party."
"You didn't find me, well not until..." I trail off and suppress a shudder because the memory starts to creep back in.
Edward bends down, and his eyes are less than an inch from my own.
"I have you now, is that enough?"
"I'm in love with you, is that enough?"
And I smile and nod, and then I mouth the same words back to him.
And then Edward grabs me and pulls me tightly to him, and we're there, here, everywhere, together. His bare flesh is against my bare flesh, and there's something about skin and nerves and uneven heat that's seamless and whole.
But then he starts kissing down my neck, and skin against skin is almost too much—and then it is, so I pull back and start attacking the buckle and buttons on his pants. He lets me go, but all the while his hands are moving up and down the sides of my waist and the edges of his fingers are intermittently sneaking underneath the fabric of my bra.
And then he's unbuttoned, so he stands and shrugs out his pants. Then I'm pushing out of mine and his hands are unclasping my bra. Edward pushes me back against my desk and lays me back with one hand under my lower back and the other cradling my head. He has full access to my breasts and he's running his tongue through the valley, up the crest, and nipping softly at the summits, and I'm no longer able to keep quiet, so I'm moaning and hissing at the unexpected nips and licks.
He sets me down on the desk, and its cold and hard, but Edward's fingers hook along the outer straps of my underwear, and I raise my lower half, so he slides them down, and his boxers come off, and then he leans over me, and I can feel him pressed against my stomach, and his lips are against mine and his eyes are the ocean and my body is on fire, and I fucking want—no, need—to dive in to the abyss, so I move to the edge of the desk so he can enter me.
But he pulls away.
And then he sits on the floor.
And then he pulls on my ankles, so I move forward, but then he pushes on the backs of my calves.
I lose my balance and fall forward.
Edward's hands catch my waist.
"I caught you," he breathes, his eyes wide, bright, brilliant.
"You have no idea how many times I've wanted to catch you," he rasps desperately.
"I fall a lot," I murmur.
"I know. You nearly gave me a heart attack every time," he confesses.
Edward pulls me forward, and I'm kneeling above him.
"Well, why didn't you ever catch me?" I try to tease, but my voice breaks upon itself.
"I wouldn't have been able to let you go," he says in a strained voice, and it's like he's admitted to a sin.
I melt into buttery drool, because I've already forgiven him, and I know just as well that he's forgiven me.
We kiss, and it's wonderful, and then he angles my hips, and then I lower down.
And he's staring into my eyes and his lips are parted as his tip presses at my entrance.
And then his hands are gripping my hips even more firmly, and I'm being lowered.
And then he's inside of me, and I gasp his name and then I cry.
But we're still staring at each other, so he sees the tears as they form, and then he's kissing them away.
And he's moving me up and pushing me back down and we're kissing and touching and I'm moaning and his breath is coming in pants. I'm completely focused on drinking in his breath and not closing my eyes, because I'm not ready to stop looking.
But then our legs are getting too sweaty, and we're starting to stick, which almost makes me laugh, so we lift up and roll over, and then he's on top of me, and I'm bearing a portion of his weight, and my hands are combing through his silky mop of hair.
When I realize that I'm getting close, I grab tightly against his back, as my heels push into his ass, and he starts moving faster and harder, and this time, the waves start slowly, and my head falls back and my eyes squeeze shut because of the concentration of pressure in between my legs. I'm not looking at him for the first time, and the final rush hits, and I'm moaning loudly, so he kisses my forehead, and I suck on his chin until I'm back to the plateau.
My breathing is slowing, but his is still tense and hard, so I nod and urge him with my eyes, because he's been focusing on me, and I want him to come, too.
He releases his restraint, plunging in and out me, and then he's surrendered, and his mouth snaps shut and his jaw tenses but his eyes stay open, and I kiss them both when he lets out a final groaned breath.
We stay like that for several minutes, lying in a tangled mess on my office floor, and he's still inside of me, even though he's softened.
But I refuse to let him move away.
We just kiss and look, because we're inside one another, and it feels right.
I feel it sometime later when he hardens again, and I beam up at him, and he smiles down at me.
"This is permanent," he says, stroking my hair.
I kiss him, because I don't know what to say.
He lifts up slightly, even as he keeps our position, and his hand falls down to my belly and begins to stroke it.
"Are you on anything?"
"Like the pill?" I ask.
I nod back.
"Please, stop taking it."
I cock an eyebrow at him. "Are you planning on knocking me up?" I tease.
He lowers back down and thrusts even deeper into me.
"That's exactly what I'm planning on doing."
He increases his pace.
I'm whimpering and whining, because I'm actually trying to think, and he's intentionally making it difficult.
"Oh, and if I pop out a kid, are you planning on marrying me, too?" I chide.
"Is tomorrow okay?"
I gasp up at him because he said it like a proposal.
He sees my face and laughs, and it's so carefree and peaceful, and then he kisses me.
"I told you, Bella, Bella, my Bella. This is permanent."
And then he pounds deeper, and I find myself nodding yes, and I'm crying again.
But I don't care.
Because I am happy.
We are happy.
It's green eyes.
And bronze hair.
It's when everything falls into place.
It's when the epiphany smacks you on the head but instead of fainting, you finally wake up.
And I have to laugh because that's a very new experience for me.
Not fainting, I mean.
It's when the stars fucking realign.
And you're up there, too, flying up and away, straight forward to the brightest star.
Pulled up, up, and away by happy, happy, happy thoughts.
*Pastiche does a happy dance*
This is my first completed story, and JamesxBella was even my first lemon (although I've written enough limes to make several buckets of margaritas), and now I need you-all's feedback...
Update: the companion story to this one is Price of Permanence on my profile. It's this same story but from Edward's POV... and a much more in-depth explanation of Emmett as well.