Glorious

Rose-tinted view
And satellites that compromise the truth
I wanted more
With the cuts and the bruises
Touch my face
A hopeless embrace

Faith, it drives me away
But it turns me on
Like a strangers love
It rockets through the universe
It fuels the lies, it feeds the curse
We, too, could be glorious

I need to believe
But I still want more
With the cuts and the bruises
Don't close the door
On what you adore

Faith, it drives me away
But it turns me on
Like a strangers love
It rockets through the universe
It fuels the lies, it feeds the curse
We, too, could be glorious

I've posted this stunning Muse song, along with other tidbits for various chapters, on my profile. Check it as well as my other stories!

To V, my muse and my master beta (she is mine, all mine I say!)…I thank you.

And speaking of Miss Mightylicious, she felt she needed a word with y'all…this is all vanessarae, and I adore her!: "As some of you may know, I was not thrilled with this idea in the beginning. But because I love Rie, I backed her up like I have before. Now, after it is said and done, I swear that if those of you reading never showed any ounce of emotion or recognition of any kind to any scene in here, than thou art more of a cold-hearted bitch than I. And that is saying a lot. This story made me question my own views and stances on topics at hand, and I don't take them lightly in the least. I thoroughly enjoyed this ending, and honestly put off beta-ing it because I knew it was the end."

I think what she means to say (think of me as Jake translating Edward) is REVIEW! And she might even send you cookies.

Disclaimer: So, this is the end, and I do own it! However, Mizz Meyer holds the keys to the kingdom of Twilight. I've just taken a few pages and some delicious characters out of her books.


I awoke to hot lips on my hot, wet lips. Between my legs, my engorged flesh pushed outwards and into Edward's devout kisses, using only his pursed, poised, and talented mouth to swiver against me, at first. Supple. I smiled, moaned, and leaned back and onto Edward's arms that cooled the flushed skin of my ass as he cradled me all along my tremulous thighs, hands stroking over and under and between.

"Why, Bella, it seems as though you've been waiting for me…," Edward, home from a very late shift. Shifted against me in sultry desire, his voice gritty and gruff with an edge of fatigue that was tempered by the tightened wire of sensuality; feeling his face between my legs made me just want to lick the sexy sculptured planes of his cheeks, his forehead, his soft eyelids, and firm lips inside out.

"Why?' I heard that question often. It was only a repetitive part of life. But every single time someone said it, even one year on from the fact, my decimating act, whether they were talking to me or someone else, threw me straight back to that morning. It haunted me. It reminded me. It made me proud and thankful and somewhat sickened once again.

Just three little letters.

I had been taken aback by that question, all quiet and tortured, crumbling Edward's lips as he pronounced that singular word with my hands linked to his after we'd made love, after he had tasted the despair and sorrow of my tears, with my heart beating over his on his chest, in sync, trying to conjoin forever. My heart in his hands. I shouldn't have been surprised. No mere "I'm sorry" was going to slay this demon.

That night that Edward had come home to me, that ended with the bang of our souls reuniting was only the beginning of hard times to come.

He'd asked why. How could I explain that it had nothing to do with him, everything to do with myself? That I had been at once enlivened by the changes within myself, the reawakening of myself, and felt stagnantall at the same time? But I had to, that was my task and there was no other remedy. No deus ex machina that would save us from these carnivorous gallows. Just my voice, probing out letters to form the stumbling words that could possibly limp us away from this crucifixion.

And we met that dawning of the new day that had started out all misty haze, glowing pink but emblazoning into the brightest of sun-shattering illuminations, in an embrace that turned into fists that were half-hearted in their tiny, unhurtful hammers and quickly weakening, giving in fast this time to hands that opened and clasped in granular grips on naked skin as we sat with sheets pooling at our waists. Facing each other with gutted faces, tears sobbing and snotty and sniveling, running over with never quite perfect enough apologies.

All made bare. Every last single broken bit of me. Opened, like my trickling admissions that cultivated with unstoppable force into a flood of everything that had been wrong, was wrong, with me.

Dissonant.

My words tarnished, my voice corroded, "Edward," I leaned forward and grasped his hopeful-hateful-unlocked face in the palms of my hands that did not balk as much as my heart and mind did, not knowing exactly what I was going to say next, "I fell in love with you the very moment I fell into you!"

I paused just this once to smile at the memory. And that smile faded with my next unveiling, "You were awesome! You were fucking awe-inspiring! So fucking gorgeous. The first time we met against those stupid, drab, green lockers, you saved me with all of your instinctive suaveness."

I shook my head, still trying to swipe away the wonder, lifting my perplexed eyes, "There was something so extraordinary about your solitariness. I had watched you, surreptitiously, my first day at Forks. Saw you, always apart. Ever graceful and in position and unspoiled, but apart. To be honest, I thought you were just another high school prick who was far too full of himself!"

Edward grinned at that exclamation. But I wouldn't stop until the grin was gone, "When you wrapped me up into your arms, when you stared into my eyes, when you, Edward-untouchable-Cullen—in the course of that one day I'd already heard the talk about you from all the turned down and tuned out tweenagers—looked at me so intently, I was lost."

And I didn't even realize all this was true until the words propulsed out of me.

"I wanted to be lost. There was no way you could take me as I was! You were…good god, you were flawless! And me? I was just…Bella. Broken-down Bella. Yeah. So I pushed and shoved and shook away parts of me that were not at all attractive. Hurt and pain and insecurity. Pitiful. I became nonchalant, brave, and insouciant! All so that I could make myself commendable of your most unlikely attention, at first, and then, JESUS, how could you love me? Your love was totally improbable! And I wanted it more than anything in the world! I would become a completely different Bella just to have you shine that crooked smile at me!"

So I had seen it then, and so I had continued to believe it for nearly twenty years, amending myself into what I thought was necessary. Bella, the abridged version. Not believing Edward could ever truly, wholly, and entirely love the real me. So that this edited adaptation of me ended up brewing, boiling, roiling and festering. My ultimately fucking Jake was just one symptom of the diseased me, riddled through with ragged holes of the disintegration eating me from the inside out. Secreted beneath the drug cocktail of wine and words and books and flowers and sex toys and feeling suddenly sexy and strangely confident, and worthwhile and wanting something more to remember the me I used to be, should have been, and could have been! Toiling and troubling, ripping soul-deep fragments of me apart, creating a husk, hard and desiccated and again not really me, that housed a Bella that was quickly dissolving into a mire of self-doubt and disappreciation. All of me gory and not one bit glorious, and a paradox that was a palindrome, and me, not me, backwards and front to back and inside out with ends that could not meet!

All off-the-cuff.

As my words leaked out, the utterly gross truth of them killed me and murdered Edward. One. More. Time.

It was never him.

"It was never you, Edward. Absolutely never! But it was always you that moved me so much. Deep down I'd always been busted up, felt unworthy, knowing there was some other me inside that I didn't want to identify, that I, me, the realest other-me, could not credityour love! Not you. Not you."

"I was never pretty enough, certainly not stunning enough to warrant your attention."

"I was this squirmy little newbie. Never been touched. Never been kissed."

"I came from a house filled with hate and anger. While you, you were made from the gods themselves! Carlisle and Esme, prestigious and ideal examples of parenthood!"

I shook my head hard, glancing at Edward. He was stricken and morbidly biting his lips to beat back words, but a few escaped, "No, Bella, no!" all the while nodding his head. It was as if inside he knew the truth of what I was asserting. Attesting to the exactness and detesting what I was admitting all at the same time. Tearing my two halves apart and shoving them in his face and not asking him to put me back together again, for once. I would do it; I could do it, myself.

In remembrance, I smiled slightly, "And my sense of style. Fuck me, Edward! I looked like a dumpster-diving ragamuffin next to you, Mr. Take-a-page-out-of-GQ and fucking rocking it!"

This time my grin was wide and I licked my lips, "God! You in a narrow tie and jacket and I just want to rip the cufflinks from your wrists and wrap that strap around my arm until I choke you against my mouth. Suffocate you with my desire! I will always feel that."

Edward allowed himself a lascivious smirk at my proclamation of just how fresh and forever he made me. It was a step. An imbalanced baby-step.

The guilt and twenty-odd years of self-loathing cascaded out of me and I longed to put a stopper in my mouth! Edward's head was hanging down but I would not have that. I needed the visual. My hands tore up his neck and over his strong jaw, my fingers walked surely across his grim lips. Into his hair, all copper craziness, and pulled it back with the most chary of touches until he raised himself up.

"Please, Edward, it was not your fault. None of this! I beg your forgiveness and nothing more except that you will love me. All of me!"

He started to speak and I shushed him tacitly, shook my head because he had nothing on this humiliation that kept roiling forth, "No, baby no. I know. Shhhhh," I soothed his hair and lingered over the warped lines of his brow, "Shhhh." Locking his eyes with mine, seeking the winged brightness of his spirit, I quieted him, "You would love me however I was. You will love me in every way that I am. I know. I am sorry to have held myself apart, and to have held that against you. Shhhh. Every molecule of me belongs to you; every particle of you is mine. Shhhhh."

As if we had not spent enough liquid yet, silent knowing tears tumbled from both our welling eyes.

Declaring all of this, my dark, dirty, rank, and buried depths, to his eyes. Orbs, so light so swampy, jade and black and glints of gold, I watched the understanding unfold. Saw it absorbed into those spheres that widened with somberness, and lips that fell open with shunted gasps. Cheeks that lifted up and pulled down alternately. Above it all was his hair that had been through the wringer, tortured by my hands, belted against the bed, whirling madly and softly and toppling onto his forehead. Begging my caress, my touch, my kiss.

I pulled my boy, my man, my warrior, my Edward, into my naked breasts.

Resonant.

His damp warm face plunged between my tits. And though his words were smote against my flesh, I heard them, "Bella, I forgive you everything. Always."

And even though I didn't really want it, Edward felt the need to explain his actions. I just wanted to pardon him, console him, help him erase the memory and not even have to go there more than I already had. Cowardice still tamed me. I was all ready to put on my hardhat and ear-guards and drown out the sonorous low rumbling of his voice, but rubbing it all out would do no good. We'd learned that much. So I listened. I took in all of his remorse. Made it mine. Stronger. Bigger. Coming to an eclipse filled with reconciliation.

But still Edward's moment with Zaf, not twelve hours earlier, was like a dagger dragging through my gut up into my chest, right before it dug deep to cause a shredded gash through my sternum and sideways into my heart that was just beginning to take up this newest beat.

My treachery twinned with his duplicity.

The sun heated us in our despoiled bed. No longer despots, but greedy and needy all the same. And that fucking bright sunlight shattered every single, shitty, last disillusion. The bruises on my skin, the cuts I'd inflicted with my nails upon Edward's unflinching chest, were reminders of the wounds I had caused our souls. The unending night did end; the arms of the day did open to us, alive and together. It felt healing. But we were not that naïve, not this time. It would take more than this night-turned-day to plaster over the gashes we had punched into each other's essence. And even when they were sewn shut, the scars would always remain. There was no going back to our outwardly unblemished beauty, but these scores could be beautiful too if allowed to heal properly; they spoke of living and experience and war and recovery. Convalescence into rehabilitation.

In the days that followed, shrouded in our sanctuary, we took a good hard look at each other, ourselves, our marriage.

Not that our marriage had been lacking; it wasn't a lie or a ruse or a sham. But I had slacked on the job, basing my performance on three-quarter truths. And it should never have been a performance in the first place. There was no such thing as wedded bliss, and this was not a showpiece that I needed to act my way through. Misconceptions, perceptions that were skew-if, squiffy. Off-base and off-balance. Ideas of inequality and lesserness and otherness, coloring reactionson both our sides.

And now there was me, the real me, all serrated, broken glass-shards and mirror images and echoes of my past and delicate, unknown future promise….all the fuck of me on full view. Only for Edward. And there was all of him, he that I had always venerated a bit too much. Now, with us both bottomed out, we were on equal footing. And climbing, with each other as support, back to the top of the sheer cliff face. Or maybe just an overhanging ledge in the middle. We need not soar to such idealistic heights again. Assuaging and massaging and loving and pleading guilty to sins.

Forgive me for I have sinned. I had loved Edward, and felt undeserving, because he had saved me. I had loved Edward for the way he saw me.

I forgave Edward his indulgence. For the idealistic way he envisioned me, as an untouchable, unattainable goddess who needed to be rescued, whose presence he'd been blessed with, and whose soothing, silent, hushed thoughts put an end to the beastly meanderings of everyone else.

To come together not with humility but with equality.

Though it was all a vast mistake, it became a conduit for something more than we'd ever had.

After those first terrifying hours of shadow we did not make love for two months, and then several months more. Intimacy was more important. Desire was displaced for touching and re-learning. Teasing, caressing, feeling, and rediscovering all of the myriad planes of flesh that we'd grown so used to.

Hunkered down, bunkered in, just trying to get back to us, forward across the dicey rope and beaten plank bridge to us.

We kissed more. We made out like teenagers! And it was delightful. Delicious! Holding hands in public, pent-up but not through desperation, just infatuation and acceptance and newness. I'd never scoff at PDAs again!

It was a rebirth, our renaissance. A new era in the making. Our summer solstice.

Mitigated by yet more declarations.

That thing Edward had wanted to discuss, seated at his piano, waiting patiently for me while he pittled away at the keys on that auspicious day. The thing he never got the chance to speak of, the reason he had so tenderly made a bowl of my belly the daybreak we'd attempted to come back together, he finally shared with me. Midsummer found us back at that gleaming instrument and all the pain we'd worked through came roaring back with a sonic boom! While I was fucking my way to hell and back with Jake across the road, Edward was attending me in our home with thoughts of making a family! Wanting to ask me, for the first time, if I would reconsider my deal-breaker. Wanting our own child to pitter-patter across the floors with sweet, tiny, unsteady feet. A beloved to send the simple beating of our hearts into a tinny excited pitter-patter rhythm of pure love. Worried and anxious and excited, Edward had tilled away at his keys, working through the very first song he had orchestrated for me while I was getting chafed inside out by Jake.

I cried one more time at this ceaseless grief, wondering when it would end.

Stalemated. Stalled.

I shied away, instantly petrified! I'd proven myself the quintessential enfant terrible and to learn that on that day of annihilation, Edward had been gearing himself up to ask me to re-evaluate having our own child?

Selfish, selfish bitch. I mentally slapped myself. Hard. Shamed. I shoved away my past, my pitiful, near-sighted, utterly self-centered proclamation that I could never be a mother simply because I'd never had a true mother. I was built of better things than that. Suddenly I saw and knew and understood that I was more stalwart than that! I'd known-- almost thrown away, and fucking worked hard to regain—true, earth-shattering, spine-tingling, heart racing, life ending true love! Maybe I could give this to Edward. Maybe I could do this?

Maybe, just maybe, this was just another slice of me I'd lost by the wayside, disregarded and denied.

I was engaging the possibility, still not quite emancipated enough to accept it.

In the months that followed, three more quick yet oddly lingering months, I understood afresh just how much I'd taken a wrecking ball to our marriage. All onus was on me to salvage it.

I ventured into the reclamation yard of all our tumbled-down doors, windows, roofs, and floors. I kept restoring, shoring up the building blocks that we had bulldozed with me in the driver's seat, the historic architecture of our love, relying on the fundamentals, the foundations. Searching through the debris and rubble and refuse for the hard-to-find squandered missing pieces. That which had become squalid and rancid was removed and replaced.

I fit new parts into old places, filling gaps, caulking seeping and oozing holes. Made renovations to our formerly frail careening house of cards with cement and stone and sure-fitted firmament.

A new genre, a wiser, deeper, been-to-hell-and-back-again, bought the fucking t-shirt, take on the old. Neoclassical, Victorian, Gothic, Baroque, Rococo; Edward and I revisited every period of us.

One afternoon while the hot sun scorched through me, its gleaming rays finding me at the very beginning of a glorious fall while I labored in the garden, covered in the shouldn't-have-been mugginess, not at this time of year and not here, sweat tracking down my spine to pool at the small of my back, glancing off my eyelashes and spattering to the ground. Dirt streaked across my forehead where I'd pushed my hair aside when the up-puff of air from my mouth no longer did the trick, knees encrusted in grime, fingernails blackened with earth. Edward, who had sat on the patio reading his newspaper, set it aside quietly and paced across the emerald dappled lawn towards me. His shadow casting a tall form amongst those of the pines and maples and oaks until it stopped short behind me. The sun to my back altered and alerted me to his presence as his silhouette lengthened over mine.

My fuming breath halted.

Braless, wearing the barest shreds of panties, in a sundress that hardly met my upper thighs when I leaned over in the privacy of our six foot tall fenced-in backyard, I was not trying to tease Edward, well perhaps a little. After our self-enforced no-fucking guidelines I was like a bitch in heat! It had been five months. Five fucking insane months since we'd made love, fucked, had sex. And every look in all that long time was searing, every touch baking, every kiss passionately promising that which we weren't certain we were ready for yet.

God! I was now so ready that I went about my daily business all pent-up and randy, swollen and liquid and desiring even the touch of my panties, my skirt whispering between my legs, my blouse and lace little naughty balconette brassieres plucking up the erect tips of my nipples.

I couldn't even think about Edward performing the simplest tasks without a sex-rash flushing my creamy skin. Reading the paper, his hands and strong wrists flicking the thin newsprint pages put me in mind of those selfsame appendages riffling over my tits. Sucking the smudge of type off his thumbs and all I saw was his mouth slipping over my pinkening nips; goggling while Edward glided his limber digits over the black and ivories as I sat mesmerized beside him on the slim piano bench, only half-listening as he effortlessly composed new symphonizations that were at once joyful and deeply sensual. Listing into him, seeking the skin-on-skin contact from his athletic legs that were half-bare in khaki shorts, and my own curves revealed by my itty-bitty, airy dresses. Arms brushing, static electricity humming. And the beads of sweat that formed on his taut forearms, his forehead almost hidden beneath the swag of the silkiest bronze mess of hair, and above his sculpted chef d'oeuvre of a mouth, tempting me to lick the divot of skin just above his top, firm, berry-colored lips. That dewy perspiration was not due to his musical movements. Edward was as captivated as I by every single muffled groan and graze, bursting with need! When we hugged, I felt his rigid, stiff, longest of long cocks reaching against me. I did not know where he found the fortitude to continue this idea that our newfound luscious closeness should continue to preclude sex!

In the garden, horny as hell, feeling Edward's formidable shape lowering and lowing against me, plowing against me until one of his arms reached over my shoulder. His hand bit into the freshly tilled soil only an inch away from my own that was now strangling the delicate bruised black-purple aquilegia I had been about to drop into the earth. His other splayed hand sliced a neat unfaltering groove up my inner bent-at-the-knees legs, seeking the soaking splendor of my pussy, wired like phosphorescent heat-lightning speeding indolently across a humid summer night-sky. I nearly blurted out, "Fuck me hard, and fast and NOW, Edward!" But I bit my tongue on the outburst and whimpered almost silently instead, squashing my thighs together, clamping one of my bone-tight hands and one of Edward's in between.

And my mind raced back to imagery that pushed eroticism further into my seared mind. Flashing, flashing, flashing. Heat lightning. Edward, nimbly preparing a meal and feeding me from the old warped wooden spoon, spooning me, competently replacing my windshield wiper blades and bending into the opened hood of my car to check the oil, bending me over the back of the cracked and crackling leather sofa, jeans open, panties ripped off. Flicking, sucking, gliding, nimble, competent, bending…Fuck. Me. Now.

"Bella," Edward's hot breath bombarded my neck, shimmying up and down, "I know we decided to wait, but Jesus!, I'm going crazy here! Enough!"

"God yes, Edward!" Tearing great chunks of mulch out with me as I turned desperately beneath his clasp, I met his mouth and grappled him to me, falling back into foliage that would stain my eyelet white dress with irremovable green chlorophyll! My legs opened wide, his khakis wrestled in all four of our hands to his ankles, the belt clanging against the bitten old brick border, two strokes of all of our fingers, all of our fingers, up and down his cock that was light brown and purple and all veins and heat and silk and filled, and two strokes of all of our twenty fingers over and some into and round my cunt that was always wet but now swollen to a ridiculous state!

I still held the deadly columbine threaded through my fingers, strangling its leggy end-of-season stalk, its petals torn out in a 'He-loves-me, he-loves-me-not' tempo. Ending with he loves me, surely.

My skirt thrown up, just like my breasts when Edward wrenched them free of the deep v-neck, pinestraw bit into my elbows and the thorns of ground-creeping raspberry vines smidged into my leaning back elbows. Edward bit me, tongued me, licked me, but did not at all tease me as he eased into me. We could not wait! A quick thrust and both of us deeply, "Ooooh FUCK!" So even if the neighbors couldn't see us, they could hear us on this vibrantly lit afternoon and it just did not matter at all!

Edward was bigger and deeper and all-reaching and all-satisfying. I was wetter, harder, more needful, and tighter!

There was simply nothing better on this earth.

With my ass scraping against the bricks, opening fresh scratches, Edward propped me up slightly and propelled even more vigorously so that we crushed the deep red-purple ferns that had plumed against my back. The back of my head met the sugar maple that sprouted and soared majestically into the air above us, creating a tiered ceiling with the pines and oaks.

Bushy and burgeoning.

Bark scored me as he shored me up. Showered me with intense strokes. My knees lent over his swimmer's hips, all sinew, my heels gathered his tight ass harder, and we were hell-bent on outshining the world with our need.

It didn't take long.

Because Edward was so long and knew just the right twist-roll-thrust-plunge to hit my most sensitive little pearl! He was all-knowing! And now he knew every single thing there was to know about me.

Push.

Pulse.

Reach.

Grab.

Before I knew it, Edward was on his knees before me, pulling my calves that much higher, I was flung into a shockwaves and cataclysms and the end of it all and the beginning of everything! With my hips mashing so solidly against Edward's, feeling the forever-slam of his cock, his balls, into me, over me, into me…into me, a little finger-flick-fuck was all it took for my head to pound right back into the maple, sticky, juicy, tacky gum tangling into my hair, the slightest twinge of worry that I'd just caused myself a concussion not even dimming the white-hot fire that made a doused inferno of my cunt.

"Bella, FUCK. Bella, Bella, Bella, FUCK!" And this new mantra was better than any platitude!

Jetting and pulsing and throbbing and reaching and gut-hard cum shooting right up into me!

And then laughing.

Giddy and shaking and giggling and fucking silly with it all!

In our backyard. Demolishing the bed I'd just planted. Disintegrating any idea our neighbors may have had of us as the quintessential little yuppie couple with our raving mad fuck-spree!

Our foreheads shone. Our smiles gleamed brighter. Our chuckles and spent-whispers muted.

Edward lifted me in his strong arms, shucked off his khakis and let loose my dress. Made his way, with me placidly pulled all around his torso and thighs and waist, into our house.

That was the moment of completion. Repletion. We'd been through our end of days, suffered through the drought of hard times to come. Met each other on equal footing for the barren worst nightmares, holding on so tightly and not willing to let go. Battled hand-in-hand, side-by-side through bleak and bitter reasons to release until we sought and reached for and discovered and pined for an utterly new season to become us. The summer, autumn, winter of our love gone wrong and then finding rightness and turning into the fresh, blossoming spring that was within us.

Surprisingly, life did continue. All the clichés about time healing wounds and yadda, yadda, yadda came to ring true.

This start was not fresh, but neither was it old. Those summer-turned autumn months had been fraught with traps and snares and landmines. Not destined to be sidestepped. We hurtled straight through them all, blowing off limbs, amputated, and substituting parts with un-artificial limbs. Our hearts, boggled and bamboozled, the only bits of yesterday that remained even close to recognition. Bracing each other for explosion, and steadfastly negating imminent collapse. Looking The End in the eye and telling it to fuck right off!

There was no going back. So we pioneered. Forged ahead. Weary. Wary. Wiser. There were wilder moments too. Zealous, frenzied, full-on fucking. There was love making. There was raunch and teasing and taunts and lust and always the reminder that made our need for closeness even greater than all the rest. Abreast of it all were the moments of joy, the hints of peace. Sensuality and eroticism and love and agony, total fucking agony, collided into one scepter that became the new Bella and Edward.

Eye-opening disclosures abounded as we revisited the notion of making a family time and again; it was put on the table, one more card in our strengthening hand.

My fledgling self-confidence should have been shot, but fighting tooth and nail, hand-in-hand with Edward, for Edward and me, I became that Phoenix. I was able to lay to rest, to say a final eulogy to the miserable existence I had known pre-E.

And Edward no longer set me up too high. We were both humbled. Hurt gave way, eventually, to hubris and gratitude, and a love that was deeper because of imperfection and spurious betrayal rather than innocent purity.

What we ended up with was not a perfect representation. A mish mash of the two of us as we used to be, those bits of us that were unbreakable; innovative joinery that had no need for hammer and nail, a timber-frame that was made tight and perfectly shunted together through sheer artistry and craftsmanship and hard, long, sweaty slogging.

During all this time, we became each other's Scheherazade, in just the same manner as when this whole hurtful bittersweet thing began I would read nightly to Edward of the works of Anaïs Nin. Now we read not from books, but of each other. Not from invention, not as a servant or minor or a beholden telling stories to the King of Persia. Our daily tales were as mundane as what we ate for lunch and who we ran into at Starbucks or what inanities transpired during trips to the library. Delving as far back as memories of Christmas mornings when we still believed in Santa and watched the twinkly, cold, Christmas Eve midnightness for signs of his sleigh arching across the blackness, with our presents in red velvet sacks, and the jangle of his reindeer's bells charging into our dreams!

Every single thing we could remember, and even stuff we just bullshitted about. At the table during dinner, swinging our hands as we strolled around the bustling square on market day, squeezed pleasantly against each other on Sunday mornings with steaming mugs of coffee and donuts and newspapers and books and notes and jumbles of ideas flowing between us.

First kisses, first touches, fooling around. We even revisited that first game of yesteryears that was precursor of sexuality to come. Playing doctor…we played doctor! So much better with real props, a cold stethoscope and Edward in his scrubs and white coat, balls-out and commando beneath, and my fetish for absolutely all of him in any and every single unmentionable way grew ten-thousand fold!

Full circle. One complete rotation around the sun. Now and here and all present and accounted for. It was spring again. The windows were open to the light lukewarm breeze that wafted through sheer curtains, deepest middle of the night extinguishing the clouds and stars and even the moon. I'd been supine on the bed. Asleep, gloriously dreaming of Edward. The golden-brown lantana that mirrored my eyes was blooming beneath our mailbox. The perfume of fresh-cut grass, made damp with dew, I inhaled deeply and gasped. I groaned and clasped Edward's slowly swiveling head between my legs.

Awakened to his fiery mouth and tongue stroking, sampling. Dipping in and pulling me out. Making one hand into a receptacle for my heavy breasts that were rich with the liquid gold of colostrum and his other hand reaching up to drape languidly over my budding belly. My filled womb. Enclosing me. Enfolding the home of our baby. And still his succulent tongue made sweet satisfying work of my soaking wetness.

Wonderment.

Amazement.

Joy.

Inside this new house, we made room for one more.

Translating that little plastic prophetic piss strip with shaky hands and blurry eyes, reading and re-reading the symbols on the blueprint of fertility, I had been instantly petrified! Edward gave me privacy but I could hear his pace-pace-pace-stop-pace-pace-pace outside the bathroom door for five long minutes while my pee raced up the window and immediately inscribed a plus sign. Pace-stop-pace-halt-sigh-pace, I heard his hand sweep down over the door and visualized his forehead all covered in disheveled copper locks resting against the closed aperture.

Battling against sea-legs, bracing myself, trying on a smile for size and not quite getting it right, I opened the door and Edward almost tumbled in. There were no words to describe my distinctly paradoxical clamoring of fear and the furor of hope that propelled through me. I simply held up the urine-stained wand, nodded my head once, smile-frowned with my toast-dark eyes into Edward's widening, brightening, tearing-up eyes!

Beating back the desire to cower beneath his immediate congratulatory hug, I grabbed Edward's gorgeous face and pulled back, just for one second, so he could read and understand and come to grips with my fear-mingled faith. Drops of everything we'd been through and all that was to come made giant tears that shed from our awed eyes. Moving my hands lower and loosening my tightened knuckles, Edward held them both straight over his heart that pounded within his chest. His free hand melded into the side of my face, brushing away tears, holding my cheek and then lowering to my neck. Closing off the verdant grassiness of his eyes with glistening tips of lush eyelashes, he sighed with peace against my mouth, a breath-beat away, "Bella, my love, I understand everything. It will be okay." Not in banality but in knowing. His lips lazed across mine. Pursed and soft, silenced beneath gratitude. Just once before he leant back, "It will be okay, Bella. But you must tell me everything. And whatever you are feeling, whatever I am feeling, we will work through together, this time." The corners of his mouth could no longer contain the grin of utter happiness that swelled his smile upwards! Our next kiss was a meeting of opened mouths, man and woman, husband and wife!

Plus one.

My womb was full. Not of black butterflies but of our unborn child. And my heart was bursting. It had been an easy road; that alone scared me. I had not expected facileness. Not for me. Where was my comeuppance? But I hoped the fates, God, Mother Nature, or who-the-fuck-ever called the shots in the grandest scheme of things, would keep this compassion up and continue to show such mercy…at least for Edward.

I became even more ungainly, who would have thought that possible? I grew to epic proportions. My tits swelled and were not nearly reined in enough. Ripe, round, rotund.

Fecund.

Fertile.

Earthy.

Every bit of me was loved by Edward, and mulled over by me. Bemused, amused, intrigued and beginning to grow in excitement over meeting this new tiny creature that jutted little elbows and feet and a hard head under my stretched skin.

My mate, my man, my Edward soothed the bruised skin of my belly with his astonishingly sonorous hands, joined himself to me with all of his body and every bit of his soul, and we succored our still-healing love in slightly cautious, sensual sex. Wondering at the being we were making and growing, just like my flowers taking seed and blossoming to fruition. Stronger. Together. Sage. Open, honest, and hopeful.

Was I scared pantless in all of this? Lord yes. Was I a mess? Hell yes, that was a given. Was I going to fuck up? Without doubt. But I didn't even think twice about putting a brave face on this new wondrous thing, motherhood and fatherhood-to-be. I spilled my guts to Edward about my every insecurity…bonding, breastfeeding – the only person I'd fed nightly from my breasts was Edward and he certainly wasn't after mother's milk--, burping, bulging-with-shit-nappies! And what the fuck was with pacies? I was terrified. And buoyant. I felt…motherly. Not one bit melancholic as I had always imagined.

Mothering instincts did not pass me by!

Through it all the Luna Moth was stretching with me giggling at its deformity. Cocoa butter massages comforted my flesh and still Edward headed to that home each dusk. That brilliant green gem on my hipbone expanded beyond recognition, just like me. A giantess among her own kind. And that's exactly how I felt! Not just bodily, but within me! All of me; the old me, the new me…all rolled into one that still had slight dents and dips but, god I was whole! And unchained from the lockdown of my own making! Flowing. Flying. Soaring!

Now, here, tonight, middle of the night with Edward just returning home from his shift at the hospital and heading straight to the Promised Land, against my back and below my hips. My body, in this expectant state, was even more responsive than before and we took full advantage. With me all that much more gripping, heavy inside and out with child, Edward loved to shelter himself in the asylum of my pussy. Plush and overflowing with life.

Not death.

Not defilement.

Full of everything. Both of us.

Inside me. Inside of Edward.

So gentle. Fastidious. Making love. Cradling me. Nurturing him. Nesting. Swaddling into each other and nestling with Edward at my back, spooning me into a new shape; me a new woman and him a changed man.

Coddling.

Better people.

Braver people.

He lifted my thighs apart with one of the fondest hands ever fashioned, his lips velvet and whispering molten, golden love over my upmost shoulder and following the path down into the arching curvature of my spine. Full, plump belly thrust forward and resting sidewise on the bed. Situating himself inside of me, unhurriedly parting my weeping lips with his splendid cock. Sighing. Swaying. Adoring. Once inside, all the way enclosed, Edward groaned into the back of my neck, nosing my longer, shoulder-length hair aside to lick the drops of sweat that leisurely tracked down.

"Beautiful."

Grabbed a handful of my ass and opened me further. I tilted back yet more, curving my bum into his groin and ground against his hugely satisfying erection, not wanting him to leave and crying out harshly when he un-rooted himself.

"More! Edward, more, please," my body a thing of pure feeling, a pyre fueled by new life, not death, and every thrust and feather-kiss and whisper-lick-caress touched nerves that were like bared conducting copper wires with the intense synaptic reactions this pregnancy created within me!

He swept broad hands to the front of me, one coming underneath me to cup my ballooning breasts, pushing them together so that he could press and flicker and palm both milk-filling globes at the same time. His other hand drawing sweetly over my top hip to fold over my womb. Following the curve down my linea negra with his solitary index finger, tickling me despite myself so that I giggled into the body pillow I'd been biting before! All gaggling stopped as soon as that finger whiled its way in an unwavering line from my convex belly button to my engorged clit. Tapping, sliding, teasing, and rapping. And then straight-on pulsing in time to his magnificent dick that plunged in and out, long strokes, wide strokes, swirling on meeting me fully so that his balls pushed against me.

I ground back and lifted up and into Edward as much as I could. My neck thrown back so that he could easily blast away at the throbbing veins therein. Tongue and teeth.

Slapping, slippery, gushing sounds! Slithering. So fucking sexy! Every time we fucked I thought there was no way Edward could be bigger, go harder, faster, reach further! But he did. Every. Single. Fucking. Time!

I was going to break my neck trying to reach back to meet his lips!

He could read my mind. Edward rolled out of me, singularly. Long-lastingly. I moaned and bit and whined and reared at the way he tasseled out of me. Holding his head within me for two tense seconds before pulling that big bit out too so that I could feel every svelte vein and the rigid edge slip out. "Oh fuck me!" I wept.

Hunkering up on one ridiculously muscled arm, fully upstretched, Edward leaned forward over my lax lust-ridden body that was all gasps and chesty juts and whining need. A hand paved between my deep cleavage, separating and twinkling once, twice, three times from nipple to nipple. Fondling my protuberant navel. Working between my thighs to the moist hair and puffy clit and lips that hungered for his blissful touch.

Turning over that hand, opened all the way, winded up over my thigh and down below the back of my knee. His hard grasp there caused my breath to stop completely and compelled my leg to hitch up higher, and over. So I was that much more open to him.

Still high up on that one striking arm, Edward found purchase inside of me, harder this time. And when my upraised leg stayed in place, he brought his fingers to my under-cheek and turned my head to his. Our moans meeting. Breath halting. Lips touching. Tongues reaching. Mouths. Mouths with liquid amber wetness and the deepest of all kisses! God! This felt so very right!

With his cock diving into me in this new deepest position, I watched through half-eyes as sweat rallied down the arm that held him aloft. Mesmerized by his in-out-in-out-in-out cadence and the glazed look that hooked my lips and then to my nipples that he ate with a voraciousness! I took the opportunity to suck Edward's peaked bicep, inner elbow, his forearm and then the blue-purple threads within his wrist.

Our teeth were bared. He battled in and out of me. Softness gave way to savagery! How could he go on this long? Our mouths found each other again but kissing was impossible with the Fuck, YES, mmmm, fuck fuck fuck, GOD FUCK! exhalations.

A suck-simper-lick was all we could muster.

With Edward faceting so deeply into me, and so quickly out of me, the end was near. My tummy racked up. His neck cracked back. My back sloughed out. His spine broke backwards! The nape of my neck broke in a howl! His cock was like an earthquake! My innards were a flash flood! And Edward's face was all yawning caverns and caved in, an open-mouthed moment of unthinking intensity! "Aaaaahhhh!" His hips jerked into me, hard. And I met each thrust as my own orgasm shuckled through me.

"Aaaaaaah. God. fuck."

Unwound.

Unbound.

Sleep full.

Edward stayed inside of me, as he often did, softening.

He strolled musical fingertips laxly up and down my spine…once up, once down.

I rolled over, awkwardly and with his help, until my momma-belly juggled against his baker's something-or-other pack of abs.

Edward smiled. Eyes shut. Hands dexterously stroking the small of my always aching back.

I bowed back just the littlest bit so that my newly buxom bosom and quarter-sized nipples met his perfectly chiseled chest. As my bits skirmed and teased against his, as my hips swayed and relaxed beneath his touch, as my baby-big stomach caressed his tum, Edward jammed one eye further closed, but squinted at me through the other. And his smile grew to that crooked half-smirk that was made for me alone.

Noses nuzzled.

I tasered him with sliver-lips slanted across his. And smiled on my own.

This was.

This was.

Love.

This is.

This is.

Us.

And the future.

~Fin~


A/N: I have to say, I had tears in my eyes while I was writing this last scene. This has been so bittersweet for me. And though I know most would not even read this because of the premise, the responses I have received have been staggering, and I am so grateful for those that bit the bullet and took the time. In fact, I bow down to you.

So if anything, any little word or scene or phrase called to you or pissed you off or made you, "Aaaah" or cry or want to throw your computer out the window only to come back and read more (eh, you know who I'm talkin' about), I beg you to review.

Switching gears, bigtime, Alert alert alert (ME)! I've got in my devious little verbose mind something new. I hope to kick it off in May, it is mostly planned out and much of it written. Here's a wee teaser:

"The South has always been dirty but now it's gettin' ugly." This is the New South and the entire crew will be there! AU (can you say mmmm for vampy Rebelward? Y'all, who doesn't need a healthy dose of Southern drawlin' Edward?), canon pairings, following the major themes of the Twilight saga (I think) but with my own brand of irreverence, love, horror and fuck yes you know it, sweet-nasty sex…probably all ass-over-tea kettle as SM would never have imagined. A full tonnage of humor, angst, romance, and if you know anything about me by now, hot tasty sweet as key lime pie LEMONS!

See you all there, MWUH!