Author's Note: Hey guys, thanks for checking out this story. It is a little bit alternate universe and doesn't fit into any particular time line in the stories. I hope you enjoy. This is my first rated M piece.
Edward was always so perfect.
Everything about him, from his smooth, marble skin to the precise way his long, elegant fingers tapped the ivory keys of the piano, was pristine. His voice was a symphony of smooth tenor notes, crystalline in quality and clear in pitch. His bronze hair was artfully disarrayed, but even this show of abandon was a careful part of the façade. It all fed into his perfection even more. His scent, like snow and sandalwood and sometimes just a tiny bit like the coppery tang of blood was always sweet and soothing. His presence was a refreshing gust of august air on a hot summer day. His golden eyes were beams into his depthless soul. And his flawless white skin was smooth to the touch, begging to have a human hand caress it's convex slope.
A hundred years of immortality had brought 'human' to an art form. Every sigh rehearsed, every gesture of impatience and flick of the wrist was a graceful step in the ballet of mortality for him. He played his part with all it's varied roles, whether it was blasé student or nonchalant receiver of less-than-adequate affections. His latest role, she had learned, was carefully devoted boyfriend, and as in all aspects of his 'life', Edward was, in a word, perfect.
She hadn't to need for anything. His affection was carefully measured. Just enough to keep her going, to keep her dependent on him, but not enough to send him over the edge. He wouldn't let himself lose control. Especially not with her. She was his prize possession, his dear, darling mortal, and she completed the façade. With her on his arm, he knew he almost seemed like one of them, almost as if he belonged to the cult that was mortal. He strived for humanity, which he could never obtain. He made her his project.
But for all his doting, and all his careful planning, she was unfulfilled. Beneath the cold, hard flesh was a non-beating, cold, hard heart. She couldn't seem to reach him, no matter how hard she tried. Her warm hands weren't enough to melt the icy, diamond barrier he had put up, and his perfection became almost cruel. A constant reminder of all that she could never truly have was always within arm's reach, but also a million miles away.
And so she turned away from his perfection, away from his cool, hard beauty and haunting voice. She searched for his opposite, and she found it in none other than a wolf.
Where once there had been cold, now there was searing heat, and it ignited her through and through. Where Edward had been careful and conscientious, this one was raw and ragged. Snow white skin was replaced for back-lit bronze, and against her porcelain complexion they looked like silver and gold, a beauty of contrasts. The way his hot, rough hands gripped her waist in the dying light brought a shiver to her spine, and soft, human lips captured hers in a kiss before a sound of shock could penetrate the thick air and the sounds of their tempered breathing. She sighed his name into the night as his calloused hands traced deceptively gentle patterns against her flesh. "Jacob…" It was a whisper of heat and passion, and nothing about it was rehearsed, practiced, or… perfect.
The first time he hurt her, they had gotten carried away. In a stroke of passion his big, strong hand had left a tender bruise on her pale flesh. Careless, he had told himself. How could he be so careless? And all the while she rejoiced for the abandon that they had shared in that moment when he had stopped holding back and had just loved her with every fiber of his being. "I'm strong," she had told him. "I can take it." And her soft, feminine lips and her weak, human arms had drawn him back to her.
The first time that they really made love, she thought of Edward. She remembered his affection, but also his distance. His beauty, but also his coldness, in both temperature and temperament. Her Jacob, her wolf, could be all consuming. He suffered the curse of humans- jealousy, temper, but also passion, and he shared that passion with her. She knew her cold protector would have always been incapable of such a love. He couldn't make love to her the way her human lover could, and he wouldn't. The fact that he wouldn't try had burned her. It had been the bitter burn of frostbite on her soul.
And then, all thoughts had turned away from Edward, and onto the man that clutched her to him as if she were his life essence. She was his everything, and without knowing it, he had become hers. She raked her fingers through his black hair- long again, it grew so fast- and pulled him even closer, a tear silently rolling down her cheek and dropping into the open, upturned palm of his hand. She would never forget how he had kissed that tear away, and with her tears fresh on both their lips, she professed her love for him. She loved him for his imperfections. She had had her turn at playing with ice and diamonds and silk, and had discovered that while they were beautiful they were also cold and impersonal. Playing with fire, she knew she stood the possibly of getting burned, but at least he would let her take the chance.
As their lips crashed and molded, the rain began to fall outside his window, a steady pitter patter of raindrops with no definite tempo. His heat kept her warm against the chill, and their passion consumed all thought. Her hands pulled him closer, his hands pushed her back against the rough, insulating warmth of his bed. Her back made contact with it and his heavy body was a gentle, comforting pressure against her own figure, which he lovingly caressed. Her pale, nimble fingers, shaking with anxiety and fear of doing something wrong, or ruining their perfect moment, worked at the buttons of his shirt, trying to get them undone. Her hands shook so badly that her progress was slow, and she felt him smile against her lips, amused by her efforts. One large hand left her side and found her nervous hands, gently pulling them away. His lips left hers and she mourned for the loss, fearing that her anxiety had ended things between them as things had been ended between her and Edward so many times in the past.
He pulled away from her, and the immediate loss of warmth left her cold in the heavy air. She couldn't hear the rain over the pounding of her heart or the sound of rushing blood in her ears. But she looked up into warm, dark brown eyes and saw a smile there, and an odd sensation tickled at her abdomen, leaving her weak. She was grateful for the bed she was laying on. With a smile, he lifted the shirt over his head, not even bothering with the buttons as she had. He got it off and tossed it away from them onto the floor. The sight of him shirtless was not a new one to her, but it always elicited the same reaction of desire and need. There was a stirring in that place between her legs, a tugging sensation in her stomach.
"Better?" he had asked, and before she had the chance to even respond 'oh yes, much better', he had captured her lips once more. His bare skin was hot to the touch, and he smelled like earth and wood and spicy cinnamon. He tasted like cinnamon too, and his breath was a hot breeze on her chilled skin. They were both inexperienced. He knew no more about what they were doing than she did, and when they knocked their heads together trying to remove her shirt, they both collapsed against each other in a fit of laughter and stayed there until they regained their breath.
Her shirt off, he left a fiery trail of kisses down her neck, nibbling and tasting, bringing a smile to her lips as her liquid chocolate eyes fell shut and she enjoyed the sensation. Fire, she had learned, felt so much nicer than ice. It was hot and rough and endearing and all consuming. His fire consumed her. His mouth traveled lower, into the dip between her breasts, and her blush covered her chest as well as her face. When he reached behind her to unsnap her bra, her eyes tightly closed, but he had refused to continue till she opened her eyes and looked at him and he was convinced she was okay. Looking into his eyes, smoldering darkly back at her, filled with desire and need but tempered with patience, she had let her inhibitions and insecurities slip away.
She liked the firm grip with which he held her waist, and the soft way his calloused fingertips dragged along her nipples. She liked the way his teeth nipped at the skin of her neck, and the way his tongue soothed the gentle ache. Her own hands had a mind of their own, searching his strong, hot body for every imperfection. Her fingers traced the jagged scar along his shoulder, the smooth scar above his heart, the healed burn mark on his stomach from his 'human days' as he called them, and with every scar, every blemish that marked him as 'imperfect' she rejoiced, because she knew the man that held her was real. He was as flawed as she, and he wasn't holding back. She didn't want him too.
Her hips ground against his, one of his hands cupping her behind as his knee slid up between her legs and her core, separated by several layers of clothing, made divine contact against him. He repeated the motion, helping her gain friction in her rhythm as a sort of crest began to form. Her forehead dropped weakly to his shoulder as her breathing became shallow. She had never felt this way before, not even close, she thought. And still they had half of their clothes on. How could this person make her feel such things?Her fingers scrambled to unbutton his pants, but he beat her to it and pulled her hands away, surprising her when he unbuttoned her pants instead. He tugged the loosened jeans down her legs and she waited for him to do the same with his, but he didn't. Instead, his hand caressed her abdomen, causing an incontrollable shiver to pass through her, and then his fingers stroked lower, lightly passing over the fabric of her panties. She looked at him, her lip between her teeth, and then nodded her head, letting her knees loosen to allow him to touch her. His fingers dipped lower, tracing over her panties the spot between her legs. Her breath caught in her throat, and he softly, deftly stroked her back and forth, slowly, lovingly, almost teasingly. She ached for more, arching her hips toward him, silently pleading for the mercy only he could give. He looped his fingers around her panties and pulled them down to her ankles then tugged them off, where they joined the pool of fabric on the floor. She flushed, her skin hot, but she was past the real embarrassment. She trusted him completely.
His fingers stroked lovingly, gently dipping into her hot, wet well, getting his fingers moist, and then he stroked the tiny nub of pleasure, making her moan and pant. In her ecstasy she hardly noticed him moving lower, and it wasn't till she felt his tongue dart over her center that her eyes flew open. She had never felt such a sensation, had never even imagined such a feeling could exist. He lapped at her, gently working the bundle of nerves with his tongue, testing her, tasting her, all the while building that tension till she was rocking against him, her breathing shallow, her quiet moaning penetrating the room. Her fingers tangled in his dark hair and she felt her legs begin to shake, as his tongue continued like a worshipper at some holy shrine, and her body froze in a momentarily suspended state of tension, time stopped, and then the wave crested and broke and she felt a quiver run through her as her hands sought to pull him up.
"I need you," she whispered feverishly against him, her voice weak and pleading, and her hands tugged to get the jeans off his slim hips. He pushed them off and positioned himself above her on his bed as he looked into her eyes and pushed the strands of hair out of her flushed face. 'Are you sure?' his eyes asked, and hers were the reply. 'Yes, I'm ready.'
He entered her, and she wrapped her arms tightly around his neck as he pushed against her inner barrier and then broke through. She winced and he kissed her neck, not moving for a moment, just letting her adjust, and the pain subsided. "I'm okay," she breathed, mimicking him by placing a kiss on his neck. He gently rocked against her, entering in shallow strokes at first, and at her encouragement, went deeper, pushed harder, thrust faster. She wrapped her legs around his waist, aiding him, and their bodies fit together perfectly, as if they had been made that way. His heat and warmth ignited her from the inside, and she cried his name as her nails dug into his back and she hit that crest again, even harder. She felt him tense against her, and then release as their bodies gave way to weakness and they collapsed against the blankets and each other.
And as they lay there in each other's arms, cocooned in the warmth and light of their experience, she thought about all of his imperfections. She thought about the fact that he couldn't control his emotions the way Edward could, and for that she was glad. She thought of his scars and traced them with her fingertip, and loved every one. She loved the way her pale skin looked against the dusky brown shade of his, and the way his black hair smelled like cinnamon and mountain air and cedar.
She had chosen fire over ice.
Warmth over cold.
She had chosen imperfection.
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