Tattward & Inkella One-Shot Contest
Title: Red Ribbon
Your pen name: MujerN aka LadyN
Disclaimer: Stephenie Meyers owns Twilight. I just own a Mini Cooper S and an FF reading device—iPhone.
To see other entries in the Tattward & Inkella Contest, please visit the C2 page:
I just want to thank my friends over at my silly lil TWChatbox for our amazing FF/Rob/Ed/Jasper/Paul/Life discussions
every morning during work hours (US time—not Croatia's or Portugal's time) and for twisting my arm and pushing me to write this. *breathes*
To Vantastic, SavMed, Beige, and Juma: If they hate it, I will close down the chatbox. I could care less. ILU my putas. *boob grab*
For all of you who will read this: Bless your heart and I'm sorry in advance.
I am a result of Boston Public School systems. Blame them.
|:::::[-]:::i):::| —Tighten your belt. It's gonna be a bumpy ride.
Sometimes I see him following me. He watches me everywhere I go just to see if I'm safe. Sometimes he hides on purpose. Sometimes he let's me see him for a brief moment, like a sign to let me know everything will be ok. When he hides I still feel him and I bet he doesn't know I can sense he's there. It's that feeling you get when someone is watching you, but when you turn to find a pair of eyes on you no one is there. I know better, though. I know he's there following me to work as he lags behind me down the street. I see him following me in my truck going to the grocery store, the gym, a friend's house or if I'm forced to go out at night when it's dark. He's especially there at night.
If anyone knew about him, they'd probably think he was a dangerous stalker or a creepy sick psychopath. He's none of these things and never will be. In fact, he's my personal hero. It's an extremely ironic thing for me to call him a hero. I contemplate this as I sit on a stool in a cozy corner of a bar rubbing this red piece of worn out ribbon I stole from the evidence room at the police station. Being Chief Swan's daughter has its advantages and this time around I abused the advantage. I notice the silky fabric is still shiny in some parts as I stare and run my thumb over it. Looking at it reminds me of the story behind it…a very ironic story.
I spent the last year searching him as a Journalist. I had his case and wrote articles of crime scenes discovered through out the city of Chicago. I wrote about the mysterious assassin who roamed the city without a trace, ending lives in dark corners of alleys and abandoned streets.
He is infamous. Everyone knows about the terrorizing murderer who leaves behind bloody scenes and dead corpses at night while everyone sleeps. No one knew how it all happened until they found victims the morning after. It is an outrage and the whole city is alert.
I wrote many articles about each crime discovered. Yet, they were always incomplete. They were missing every detail on who he is, how he looks like and why he does what he does. Everything is a mystery even the inexplicable pieces of evidence found like the one in my hand. It's his ribbon, I know this now. He would leave a red ribbon planted in every lifeless body as a signature, as a sign and as a declaration that justice has been served to an unbalanced corrupt society.
Before I knew who he was, I joked to myself that we were in a relationship…a long distance one. He just didn't know it. He probably didn't know I even existed. I felt like I knew him personally in some level, though. I had given my whole career to this one story and I gave it my all. I slept, ate, and breathed this case. I thought about it every second of the day, wondering when he would slip so I could get one speck of identification from him. But he's very skilled. So much so, no one has ever found a trace, or fingerprint, or anything that would lead to his identity.
I feared him once. I was terrified. I sometimes couldn't sleep at night wondering if he'd ever find me or knew I was following his every move I'd become another one of his targets. Maybe he'd find me in my apartment and strangle me to death in my bed after finally showing his face.
Time has passed and I don't fear him anymore. I've seen what he does and from the little I have seen, I've understood why he does them. Every life he's taken has been one that deserved their punishment and were probably better off taken from this world. He does a favor to this very rotten city run by vicious greed driven humans. To me, anyone who risks their life to take down these types of human scum deserves a medal of honor, deserves to be called a hero. I used to imagine him with his black cape flapping in the wind as he stood in rooftops of tall city buildings waiting to fight crime.
I have fallen for him.
I have shamelessly fallen for a killer and I don't care about morals or anything that has to do with righteousness. I have seen his face and seen his kindness over me. Never in my wildest, darkest, deeply disturbed dreams have I ever thought I'd empathize with an assassin. I actually find comfort in his protection.
I'm definitely insane. It must be the alcohol running through me now or the obsession I have for him—one or the other.
"What's your next poison for tonight, sweetheart? What can I get you?" I start as the bartender snaps me out of my daze. I must have been lost in thought for half an hour now.
"Um, do you have any Red bull?" I ask ignoring his annoying cute name for me. I place the ribbon on the worn out wooden bar top.
"Sure. Straight out of the bottle?" he looks at me strangely.
"Add in a shot or two of vodka, please? I'm having a tough night." It's late but I know I won't be able to sleep again tonight, might as well stay awake sans the drowsiness.
He walks away to shake up my order and I grab my cell phone out of my purse to check my messages. Nothing. I breathe a sigh of relief when I see my inbox empty. At least the boss stopped nagging me before I came in here. I can relax a bit.
I place the cell phone down over the ribbon and scan the room quickly again for the 4th time since I got here. I'm paranoid at all times. I jump at any loud noise around me. I was never like this but I lost control of my nerves just a couple months ago after a terrifying night that has scarred me and will forever haunt my dreams. It was the night I met him and it was also the night he saved me.
Satisfied at what I see around me, I focus back on my phone and the ribbon. I wonder if he's here tonight. When will I see him again?
I sigh because as pathetic and awful as it sounds, I miss him. I haven't seen him around in a while. Who knows were he is? He must be busy getting another job done. Thethought makes me chuckle without humor from its incredulousness. How can I think this without a doubt of normalcy? He's out there taking someone's life for crying out loud. That sentence isn't normal. And here I am sitting and thinking about him, wishing I could see his face. Just one more time.
I need therapy.
My drink is handed to me by the obnoxious, name-calling bartender. I stare at the brown tint of colors mixing through the clear vodka in ice. While my body is relaxed and still, my thoughts run a mile a minute through my mind. I remember that night vividly and automatically tense up.
I was making a round downtown, following a lead that would get me closer to finding more information on the previous night's crime scene. It was his 10th killing and they had become routine for the department with news like this. We were on our toes scrambling information about the new terror in the city. I'm not one to give up very easily, so I insisted on staying behind for a couple more hours. A couple turned to 4 hours and I hardly realized it was almost midnight. The streets were busy and I thought many must have witnessed something but I was getting no leads. My mind was exhausted.
I made a wrong turn at a dark street and realized I lost my way. I know this city like the back of my hand but somehow I managed to loose track. Someone must have been following me because once I stopped at a red light my truck door was swung open. In an instant I had a gun pointed at my temple and I was smashed on the side of my truck bed.
Apparently, being a journalist can get you in danger with certain people who think you've become too nosy for their liking. I was being followed because I knew too much and spilled it all over the newspapers. I was a threat and didn't know it.
After what seemed like hours of screams and threats being shouted at my face and a gun pressed to my head, I was left gasping for air in fear and tears. I couldn't scream for help nor could I move an inch. I couldn't even see who was on top of me. I struggled. Something heavy and metal hit my head.
I knew then I was probably going to die.
Everything happened in a split second. I heard a swish flashing by my head. I was pinned to the ground, but my attacker was lifeless. There was a gun shot just a few feet away. My ears were ringing. I was dazed and squinting to see what had happened.
One strong arm lifted me up from under the dead body and pulled me to my feet. Staggering, I looked up into a pair of green eyes, illuminated by headlights casting over me through the stark darkness.
He spoke, asking if I was ok. I failed to hear him. I was lost in his intense gaze. I noticed some dark marks on his skin creeping up his neck from under his leather jacket. A very intricate tattoo formed into vines that, thinking back now, could've ran endlessly over his skin for all I knew. He smelled of breeze and a faint musk.
I was curious now.
He spoke again, supporting me a bit to steady my buckling knees. I couldn't register anything, but faint sounds around me. The marks on his neck were hypnotizing.
I saw black.
I woke up in a strange room, groggy and in pain. I still had my clothes on under the blanket on top of me. Immediately, I went to touch the source of the pain I felt and found it taped up in gauze, which I tried to rip off without a thought. A hand stopped me. I heard a familiar voice—from a dream, I was sure, long ago—telling me to leave it.
I looked up to see the same pair of green eyes staring down at me. It wasn't a long time ago and it wasn't a dream. Who was he? Where was I?
He explained what had happened. "You'll be fine," he said, and I couldn't help but feel scared at the unfamiliar surroundings. I stared at him. It was the man with the tattoo—that I remembered, and the memories all came rushing back to me. I sat up too quickly out of fear and instantly went dizzy. He caught me by the shoulders, standing over me.
I saw red.
A short string of torn red ribbon was tied up to one of his belt loops—a contrast to his dark jeans, and I knew. I knew exactly who he was.
My mouth dropped. My heart sped up. I couldn't scream or move. I've been looking for him for so long and now he was right in front of me.
I must have said something out loud because he grew still. He asked me how I knew him and what I was talking about? I felt his hands tighten around my shoulders. I started to pant with the fear intensifying in my speeding heart.
He shook me a bit to get me to react and asked me again with more force in his voice. I was dead. I was gone. He was going to kill me.
"Please don't kill me. Please don't kill me," I begged with tears brimming. I repeated this because I didn't know what else to do. My nerves lost their hold on me and I was shaking.
He looked at me strangely and his eyes lit up in realization. He knew I recognized him and a lace of fear and anger flashed over his eyes. He straightened up and let go of me, pacing around the room, pulling on his hair as he cursed under his breath. All the while I was sobbing, blinded by tears.
I knew I had to do something. I had to try to find an escape. I scanned the room and saw a door at the end of the bed. I found the little strength I had in me and ran towards it.
"Fuck!" I felt his arm around me in a split second. He pulled me to him, my back against his chest, and he wrapped his arms around my waist while he backed away from the door. He wasn't hurting me and his hold on me wasn't tight. I tried to unwrap them, digging my nails for effect.
He didn't flinch in pain from my harsh grasps and he didn't let go. I heard him shushing me patiently in my ear, almost like he was handling a crying child in his arms. His soothing words didn't sound mischievous or disturbing. He was genuinely trying to calm me down.
Till this moment, I never noticed how silky his voice sounded to me. In another setting and definitely another circumstance, I would've found it attractive.
Despite my terror at that moment, I felt my heart slowing. I was breathing deeply and focusing more on his murmurs. If I wanted to do my job right, then was my only opportunity to get some answers. I had to do it. I had to look him in the eyes, like I'd dreamt so many nights doing. I had to confront him. I even had a list of questions ready, if I ever had the chance.
This was my chance.
I relaxed against him and let go of my fears.
"I'm not going to hurt you…never," he said softly while rocking me side to side in a calming rhythm.
I believed him. Everything in the atmosphere told me he wouldn't. I felt it and it calmed me.
"Are you done?" I jolted back to reality from my daydream. I stare at the bartender in front of me and didn't hear him.
"Excuse me?" I ask apologetically.
"I said are you done? Do you want anything else, honey?"
I finished my energized vodka and didn't realize it. "No, thank you. I think I've had enough for tonight…pumpkin," I answer with a wink while handing him my empty glass. He noticed my annoyance and chuckled, walking away.
I look down at the ribbon under my phone and pick it up. I think back on that night, I remember facing my fear when I met him. I had wiped my tears and after a long while, asked him everything I wanted to ask him.
His name is Edward Masen. He is paid to get these jobs done. I learned he isn't as dangerous as this city portrays him to be. He is just a guy finding purpose and peace in this unfair world. I don't entirely agree or understand his way of dealing with this injustice but I can't find it in me to stop him. We were all better off without any of the people he had killed.
I can't change him and he'll never change for anyone.
All I want is to see him again.
I pick up my things from the stool next to me and stand to leave. I wave to the bartender and he waves back with a "Goodnight, munchkin." I proceed to finish my wave by flashing him the finger. This only makes him laugh out loud.
My cab drops me off at my apartment and I walk up to my door grabbing my keys from my purse. I'm tempted to go to bed and see if a deep sleep will take over me.
I turn the knob and flick on the lights. I nearly jump out of my shoes as I yelp from a scare. Edward has taken the liberty to lounge on my sofa in the dark.
"What the…" I breathe while covering my mouth and chest, "Jesus…"
Edward just smirks slightly. I notice he is drenched from head to toe in what looks like dirt and blood. His clothes are tattered and scratched. He's holding onto his arm.
"Sorry to scare you," he says with a sheepish grin.
"What the hell happened to you?" I ask horrified. I walk deeper into the room.
"Nothing," he shrugs, "I had a bit of a struggle today at work." He says this as if it's nothing out of the ordinary. "Do you have a bit of rubbing alcohol I can borrow?" he asks while struggling to get up off the sofa. Blood begins to leak down his arm under his sleeve.
"I think you need more than alcohol," I say pointing at it in concern. "You have to go to the hospital."
"No," he says calmly, "I'll be fine." We stand there staring at each other for a long moment. He looks to be in pain when he interrupts awkwardly, "…alcohol, please?"
"Oh! Of course." I run off to the bathroom and take everything I think I'll need from the aid box Charlie insisted I have in my apartment at all times. Never have I wanted to thank him like now.
I turn back to head towards him when I see him sitting at the kitchen table. He's pealing his arms out of his jacket.
I freeze in the hallway when I see him. God, he's gorgeous. Just looking at him in his black worn out shirt makes my heart skip a beat. I could only imagine him without it. His tattoo is more visible like this. I was right in my assumptions, the design runs down his chest. I only get a glimpse through the opening of his unbuttoned collar. My new goal is to see it in its full form someday, if not tonight. I am impatiently curious.
I snap out of my daze and walk into the kitchen. He almost catches me staring by a fraction of a second. That would've been mortifying.
"Where…Where have you been? I haven't seen you in so long. I thought…" I trail off in a whisper while setting down the supplies down on the table. I look at him.
He sighs and shakes his head slightly. If I hadn't been looking closely I would've missed it.
He grabs packets with his good hand and starts opening them with his teeth. I help him open the alcohol bottle and pour a bit over the gauze pad in his hand. He dabs at the biggest wound and hisses at the contact. I wince.
I lean on the counter by his side and look down at him. His hair is disheveled and dirty but I can't help wanting to run my fingers through it. I watch him skillfully clean his arm off like he's done this thousands of times before…and he probably has. His arm muscles flex as he moves swiftly without hesitation. I stare.
Silence falls between us and I have nothing to say to him. Before I know it, he's taping up the wound with one hand while holding the roll of tape in his mouth, juggling back and forth as he wraps it in circles. He's growing tired and I can see it in his movements. I hesitantly step in and grab his hand gingerly holding the roll of tape. I don't know what came over me but I have to help in some way. Seeing him struggle frustrates me.
He freezes at my touch and looks at my hand.
"Please? You're exhausted," I offer as I move my hand tighter over his.
He lets go after a moment, never looking up, and I continue what he was doing. I move in front of him to better reach his arm. His skin in my hands feels glorious. I feel tingles running up my fingers, up my arms, straight to my speeding heart. After a long while I sense him slowly look up at me, holding his gaze. I squirm between him, hoping he can't hear my heart pounding.
When I finish, I avoid his eyes and scan his chest for other cuts. They're everywhere.
"May I?" I ask slowly grabbing a gauze pad dipped in alcohol, "You might not be able to get to all of them." He nods.
I get busy moving over all the visible scratches I see around his arms, neck and exposed chest. I blush every shade of pink when I reach his chest. His stubble on his face brushes on my knuckles as I wipe under his jaw. More tingles. He turns his head to give me better access as he looks at my flushed face.
I reach a deep gash under his throat and stop. I can't see the end of it because it reaches under his collar. How do I do this? My fingers begin to tremble at the thought of going any further. I can't, this is too much. I nervously turn to the supplies and pretend to get more pads. This should give me time to think on what I should do next.
I hear him moving behind me and I turn to see what he's doing. Is he leaving?! Did I do something wrong? Don't leave. Don't leave. Don't leave!
I'm surprised at my own thoughts of wanting him to stay, but I am shockingly surprised when I see he has taken off his shirt.
I turn back in a flash towards the supplies. Breathe…breathe…breathe! Get a grip you idiot!
After a throat clearing in my part and a mentally abusive pep talk to myself, I turn to get this over with.
He's still staring.
Dammit. At this point I'm as red as the blood seeping through his clothes and I can't hide it.
He is absolutely, positively, appetizingly gorgeous…and he's sitting in my kitchen. I see the full length of his tattoo and scan my eyes over it subtly. It spreads over his shoulder, down his shoulder blade, touches his neck, runs over his right peck and down his arm. It's a masterpiece. In all my life I have never seen such an intricate tattoo. I instantly want to know its meaning.
It suits him well. It suits his life style and his rugged looks. It looks mysterious just as he is. His abs are toned, yet not overly sculpt. They define in creases through every breath he takes. I imagine he would have to keep himself fit to run around the way he does.
He lazily rests his arms on either side of his legs, fisting both his hands lightly. The arms I scratched and bruised the day I met him in fear. The arms that gently calmed me and never faltered when I felt weak from pain. They were never harsh, never hurtful…as promised. They haven't touched me since.
He follows me with his eyes as I walk to stand before him. I gulp and bend slightly to begin cleaning the gash. I'm so close to his face I feel his warm breathing floating down my face and neck. If I just move an inch to the left...I sigh internally. He will be the death of me—not intentionally, but accidentally. And he promises he'd never hurt me. Little does he know…
Silence stretches between us and I continue dabbing, feeling his gaze on me. I feel my lips dry and out of nerves and habit, I run my tongue over them. I linger on a small scab that has formed from tearing once I feel it. Why didn't I fix my make-up today? Out of all days…
I never do anything right when it comes to looking my best as any other female does. My hair is a mess around my shoulders and the clothes I chose to pick out this morning hardly looks thought through—dark jeans and my old v-neck white tee. I hardly care because I was barely taught to care, seeing as Charlie never knew how. I'm always alone anyway. Yet, all the rules of femininity want to kick me in the ass at this very moment. I just want to run to my room to shower and slip on something a woman would wear if a gorgeous man was sitting in her kitchen, bloody and expectant—waiting for healing.
I suddenly feel and hear his breath hitch slightly, interrupting the piercing silence between us. I look up quickly thinking I've hurt him but his expression is nothing close to expressing pain. His green eyes have moved to my lips to where I'm tugging on my scab. I feel his breathing deepen quickly and I feel mine match his.
Heat shoots up my spine and warms my limbs, down to my toes when I feel him touch me. It is almost a light feathery touch—anyone would've missed it. I feel it. His thumbs rub against me where our legs meet. I didn't realize it but I had drifted and stood between his knees. I feel his thumbs twitch again and this time they have inched higher up my legs. He is touching me.
"Bella?" he faintly whispers. I feel his warm breath float much stronger over my cheeks.
He has never said my name. I freeze. Say it again…I want to hear it again.
"Bella…I…" he says, as if he heard my hope.
"What…" I breathe. I can't even speak. He looks up at my eyes. The inches between us are thick with need.
"I need…" he continues, "I need…your permission," he pauses for a few seconds and inhales. I feel his thumbs still, slightly twitching again.
I'm confused as to what he means. I hold my breath and wait when I notice he's not finished speaking.
"I'm…a bad person. I don't deserve anything," he says blinking quickly, "much less you."
If my heart wasn't beating fast before, it is now running at the speed of a humming bird's wings.
"I take anything I want and when I want it, because I can. I'm a greedy bastard who was taught to never think twice," he says with shameful eyes, "but I need your permission because I don't deserve what I want from you."
I stare. He wants something from me. He wants something…from me. I exhale."What do you want?" I finally ask moving a centimeter closer to him, butterflies fluttering in my stomach.
"All of you," he whispers, looking back to my lips, "but I'd start with your lips."
My skin pricks in goose bumps and the feeling is so intense my hearing goes slightly mute as it fills with sounds of my deep crashing heartbeat. Almost like the sounds your heart makes under water, rushing through your eardrums. It forces me to exhale as my eyes flutter closed. A shiver rushes next. "You will always have my permission," I answer back.
Before I have the chance to finish, he runs his hands up my thighs to my waist, stopping at the top of my jeans. My shirt drapes around his wrists as he continues inching up my waist, grazing his thumbs over my bare abdomen. He pulls me deeper between his legs.
I toss the gauze from my hand to the side and, finally, run my fingers through his hair. The feel of slick pieces of bronze strands sliding between each of my fingers caresses and tickles my skin. I could care less about the filth. Dirty or clean, I wouldn't change a thing.
He kisses me then with hungry lips. Warm and wet—our sighs unite. He doesn't waste time parting his lips and touching his tongue to mine. I could certainly care less. He warned me…he's a greedy bastard.
Hesitation and awkwardness…all out the window. Every moral right and wrong…all out the window. Criminal or innocent...all out the window. Charlie's insistence to never talk to strangers, much less kiss them…all out the window. The taste of danger is oh so sweet. I moan.
Our kiss deepens as we tilt our heads to the side. He's grabbing on my waist tightly with desperation and he moves his hands higher over my ribs, his fingers around my back. They rise and fall with each pant of my breathing. I rest my hands on his neck, fingers still tangled in a mess of his hair in the back of his head. His swirling tongue on mine is weakening my knees and I don't know how much longer I can stand. I lean in almost limply on his bare chest. He sighs.
He feels me shift and my limp hands on his neck and senses I'm likely to cave. Quickly, he pushes me back a step and firmly grips my torso. His thumbs slip under my bra from the effort.
His thumbs. This all began with his thumbs.
In the same motion he stands and lifts me off my feet while turning to place me on my counter. He hisses and breaks our kiss. He forgot about his wound with all the distractions. I gasp remembering.
"Your arm!" I say wincing as I look down. I hover my hand over the patch not wanting to add to the pain. He keeps his forehead resting on my temple as he grins at my unnecessary concern.
"It's fine. I've had worse," he says, "It doesn't hurt much."
I turn to look at him for a second—keeping our foreheads connected—and I remember the gash on his throat that I never finished cleaning. "Does this one hurt?" I ask bringing my finger to it and touching it lightly.
He shakes his head and breathes deeply at my touch. "No," he whispers.
I can't help but lean in and kiss the skin around the gash. His breathing hitches and he tilts his head back for me. I plant a kiss for every inch of its length and back again. I continue up his neck where his tattoo weaves up, pointing towards his jaw…almost leading the way. The stubble there tickles my nose.
He begins to pant and his chest heaves with every breath. "Oh, Bella…"
He can't wait any longer and crashes his lips to mine to resume our previous state. Our moans and sighs mingle as he grazes his thumbs under my bra. They slip underneath sending tingles through my chest. He continues crawling them underneath until he reaches my nipples. I gasp on his lips when he runs warm circles over them.
I become frantic and pull him closer with my legs wrapped around his waist. His movements speed up with mine. I let go of his shoulders and grab his hands, pulling them out of my bra and out of my shirt. I place them on the hem.
"Take it off…you have my permission," I say raising my arms as I look into his intense darkened eyes. Without a slight hesitation, he pulls it over my face taking my bra with it. My breasts bounce from the pull and his face is already on them before I'm detached from inside my tangled shirt. I feel his mouth over my left nipple as he pulls it with his lips and tongue. All wet.
I finally escape from under my shirt and bra with the help of his guiding hands. I stare at his greed on me and I can't hold back the gasps and moans coming out of me. He moves to my right breast before my shirt even touches the kitchen floor—tumbling off the counter on the way down.
I grab onto his hair—by far my favorite spot—and bask in his warm mouth as I happily wait for his lips to crawl back up to mine. I look up at the ceiling as he takes his time warming every erect goose bump on my skin from the sudden chill in the kitchen.
I whisper his name and pull at his hair gaining his attention back to my lips. I need his lips again.
He keeps his hands on me and rubs his palms on the sides of my breasts as I loose myself in his sweet taste. Our panting makes my nipples graze his bare chest before he pulls me tighter to him. Skin to skin…both sharing each others heat.
Suddenly, he grabs at the fly of my jeans and unbuttons it with a quick stroke. He shoves his hand inside my panties. The zipper opens from the movement of his hand going deeper. He moves his lips down to my neck, licking and nibbling down to my collar. He could have used any of his perfect fingers to find my center, but he chose the one that has gained a mind of its own since this all began—his thumb.
He slips between my folds and grazes from the very bottom all the way to the top, stopping at my clit. My gasps force a loud moan out of me and I could care less…I could certainly care less.
These hands that had no mercy on others are gentle on me.
He rubs circles on my clit and I feel myself slip to complete oblivion. My fingers grow tight on his scalp. He's leaving a trail of cool wet moisture from his tongue as he licks from collar to collar. He keeps my favorite thumb firmly on me. I let go of his hair with one hand to brace myself on the edge of the counter and I writhe…shamelessly.
He feels my willingness and removes his thumb to pull at the sides of my jeans and panties. He slips them down my hips, thighs and legs. Before the jeans even hit the floor completely, he slides me back a few inches by the hips over the counter. I partly realize/partly didn't care to notice how convenient it is not having a cabinet behind me for what he's about to do.
He grabs my ankles and rests my heels on the edge of the counter, spreading me in front of him. My cheeks blush in every shade of red at the exposure. I open my eyes and realize the man I've been dreaming about for months is really in front of me…gorgeous and hungry. I want to cover my face in mortification.
"Shh, shh…" he calms me, looking into my eyes. He notices my blush and slight discomfort. "Don't, Bella. You're beautiful. Please…" he pauses, reaching over to caress my cheek, "let me?"
I stare at his pleading eyes and listen to his soothing voice and as always, he finds a way to calm my nerves. I'm still too flushed and incoherent to feel my full shame at this point. I nod. He reaches to hold my thigh. A breath escapes my lips and I hold on to his forearm, avoiding his wound.
He kisses me while still rubbing his thumb over my cheekbone. Once again I'm lost in his sweet taste. I feel my self relax under him and gasp when his thumb finds me again. He's gentle but strong, mixing into one movement. I can't help but writhe at his touch. I pant.
He leaves my lips and continues down my neck, over my breasts, and grazes his lips over my stomach. I feel his hot breath beneath my navel and soon enough he hovers over my center. I grab at the edge of the counter holding my breath when I feel him blow a cool puff of air from his mouth over my hot core. I whimper.
Before I can recover I feel his tongue on me. He mimics his movement from earlier with his thumb—from the very bottom all the way to the top, stopping at my clit. I moan loudly. I'm sure my neighbors heard me. I could care less…I could certainly care less.
My head hits the backsplash behind me as I brace myself with one elbow. I cover my mouth with my other hand. He continues licking off all of my wetness and nibbling at my clit when he finishes each stroke. I moan uncontrollably at this point and I can't stop.
He adds in his glorious thumb—it owns me now—and I bite my hand feeling him slide it in me after rubbing my entrance. He slips it out, only to slip it inside quickly. He repeats.
My legs tremble making his hand on my thigh move with it. I focus on it and watch as his fingers tighten on my thigh, making his forearm flex. He feels me coming to my edge and loosens his grip to begin caressing my thigh gently. He reaches the crease that connects my hip to my thigh and strokes back up to my knee. He's aware of every single touch on me.
I come as I let go of my own bitten and mangled hand. I moan his name. He hungrily basks on the result of his doing on me. I feel my heart slowing and grow slightly limp as one of my heels slips off the counter. He catches it in his hand and brings it around his waist as he straightens from his position. He grabs my other heel and does the same. I feel my own wetness on his thumb as it wipes off my ankle.
He grins slightly looking at my face and grabs my wrist, pulling me up and placing my arms around his shoulders. We kiss as he lifts me off the counter. I know he's likely ignoring the sharp pain in his arm. I tighten my grip on his waist and hold on tightly around his neck, hoping to relieve the weight off his arm.
I don't know how he knows his way around my apartment but he finds my room and enters without hesitating. He pushes the door from behind me. I've never told him which door leads to my room, let alone how to find the light switch. For a month now, I've had to walk into my room and turn on my lamp by my bed since the overhead light blew out. I never paid to fix it.
I look down at him and smile. He shows me his crooked grin that, I'm sure, will always be my favorite out of all of his beautiful smiles. I shake my head keeping my smile in place, letting him know I've figured out exactly where he's been the times I never see him. He must have watched from my window and I know this now as he widens his grin in confirmation.
He crawls on the bed with me still around him and lays me flat over my pillows. For a moment, he rests his weight over me and I sigh in enjoyment.
"You're beautiful," I say, caressing his cheek as he looks down at me.
He shakes his head and slightly furrows his eyebrows. "No, Bella. You're beautiful for permitting me to be like this…right here."
I suddenly feel a rush of emotion flow through me at his words. It's the way he said it that caught me. "Thank you for saving me or we wouldn't be here," I add. He sighs.
He brings his lips to mine and we continue what his thumb started. I shall have to thank it later in whichever way I can. He lifts his weight from me and lifts himself onto his knees. I watch him unbuckle his belt. I lift my foot to his abdomen to feel his muscles move under my toes from his movements. Tight and hard.
He pushes his pants down revealing his length, ready and willing. He quickly knees his pants off, kicking it off the edge of the bed. He grabs my foot from his chest and rubs it over his abdomen, up his chest and over his tattooed shoulder. Amazing…
He leans in to brace himself on his hand by my head. He hovers over me making my knee bend at his shoulder. Without any warning, he thrusts into me and I gasp.
He stills his movement and moves to my ear. "You keep the pills on the top drawer of your night stand to the right. You never miss a dose," he whispers grinning.
Holy shit…he even knows my schedule when I take the pill.
If I wasn't so out of it from feeling him in me, I would've probably been concerned at the amount of detail he knows about me. But this all faded into nothing once I felt him move in me.
I watch as his shoulder muscles move with each thrust. He's aggressive yet gentle, mixing into one movement.
I watch him because I can't take my eyes away from him, even when it gets too much to bear. My eyes resist from fluttering closed. He's perfect. This sends a rush of emotions over me again and I reach up to caress his chest, slightly digging my nails into his flesh.
We pant together with his movement and I'm falling over my edge again. He quickens his thrusts and tightly grabs my leg. He leans in to kiss the inside of my thigh with sloppy wet kisses. He lingers, leaving his mouth on me, parting his lips as his breathing deepens and quickens with every thrust. His eyes squeeze shut. I moan.
I slide my hand all the way down his torso to where we meet. I want to feel him. I want to encrust this memory into my brain and feel how real this is. He's really here. I'm not dreaming. He looks down at me when he feels my hand and speeds his movements from the contact. He moans.
Keeping his gaze on mine, he moves his hand from my thigh to join my hand with his. Our moans fill the room. We are one and I know from this moment we will never be two.
As he caresses my hand in his, and I caress him moving in me, I feel myself tighten around him and I let go. He slows and dips his head forward as he releases right after me. My leg slides off his shoulder and I slow my frantic beating heart. I know he can hear every one of my heartbeats when he collapses over me. He rests his head on my chest and slows his own breathing. He turns to my breast and plants open mouth kisses on me lazily, sending shivers through me.
He looks up at me. His hot breath is still over my nipple. "I promise I know nothing more of your personal whereabouts while you're alone in your apartment." He swallows visibly hard through his defense. "I only watch you when you sleep for an hour or two…to make sure you're safe and… I always see when you take your pill before bed…" he pauses, "after you munch on those Oreos you keep in the bottom drawer while you read in bed. They're your favorite."
I chuckle feeling the blush rising up my neck. Oh my god, he knows about the Oreos. Kill me now. I run my fingers through his hair and pull it hard making him wince a bit. "Don't you ever mention the Oreos if you want to see me again," I say with a smile on my face, hiding my mortification.
"That's too bad because Oreos sound great right about now," he says showing me my favorite grin. "In fact…" he reaches over the nightstand and attempts to find the pack of cookies.
"Don't you dare!" I squeal and pull him back by attacking his neck with my hands, avoiding his bad arm. "Greedy bastard!"
He melts in laughter at my use of his own words and moves back over to me. "Ok, ok. Fine," he says looking at me.
He grabs at the covers under me and settles us under them. He places his arm under my head and gathers me against him. We sigh simultaneously…completely spent.
At that moment I realized I have fallen hard for him. A man who has a dark side to him, yet a gentle and sweet side he only shows me. How will this work out? I ask myself in a deep worry. I want him. I never want to let him go. I hug him tighter at the thought. He responds.
Yet, before I drift to sleep I decide it doesn't matter. We all can't help who we fall for. I could care less…I could certainly care less.