Title: A Touch…and I Fall Apart

Pen Name: tellingmelies

Sense: Touch

Genre: All-human

Characters: Edward & Bella

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Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight

*****

A Touch…and I Fall Apart

Whoever said seeing is believing was wrong.

Your eyes can betray you, make you see things that were never there. A casual glance in the hallway that to you seems to last longer than most. The hesitation in his step you see as he walks away. The flicker of emotion behind his green eyes. Were they really there or is it your eyes playing tricks on you? It's almost the same as the old saying, 'Don't judge a book by its cover'. You think you are seeing everything when in reality you are seeing nothing.

I guess in truth, the majority of your senses lie to you. It's just, are you smart enough to know which ones?

"Good morning." His husky morning greeting I feel is only meant for my ears.

"Good morning, Mr. Cullen." I respond along with the others.

Out of the corner of my eye I see him turn and walk over to my desk in the corner, the one desk between the door and his office. His hand runs over the dividers separating the desks, feeling his way almost like a blind man.

I keep my eyes cast downward and let the silky sound of his voice flow through me reverberating right to my core, warming me in this stark cold office. He was speaking only to me, touching me in places only he can reach.

"I trust that all the meetings have been arranged per my instructions?" he asks, dropping a folder in front of my lowered eyes. There's writing on the front that is blurred. I blink quickly and look down again. Seeing.

My office. 6pm.

I look up.

He is gone.

My morning passes in a monotone dreariness as it does most mornings. A repetitive cycle of pick up the phone, type on computer, hang up the phone, file, repeat. My fingertips are numb from the relentless pounding of the keys. I lose track of time, getting lost in the cycle as I realize my contact list is checked off. Complete.

"Lunchtime, Bella." a voice calls. It's not the voice I want to hear but I oblige anyway. I look towards the closed door at my right. A shadow lurks behind the drawn blinds. A dark spot against white.

I blink.

It's gone.

Was it ever there?

I eat my lunch in silence not even tasting the food. My only clue that it's there is the thin pressure touching the walls of my throat as I swallow. I clean up my area in the break room and make my way back to my desk. The blinds are still closed.

My afternoon routine varies from day to day. Today I am sent on mission of delivering faxes to other departments in the company. I take my time, but am also eager to be done. I exchange pleasantries with the people I come in contact with, even a polite hand shake every now and then. Warm, cold, clammy, hairy…all the different textures that rub against my skin, not one even comes close to the one I want.

A sense of urgency comes over the office. I sit at my desk and watch the others as they count down the minutes until they are free, but at the same time they are frantic to finish today's work. My eyes drift to the clock but for another reason. At 6 o'clock I won't be free, I will be alive.

5:55

Rustling of paper fills the air.

5:56

File cabinets are being closed and locked.

5:57

Electronic whirls as computers are shut down.

5:58

Scraping as chairs are being pushed back, their occupants standing.

5:59

A chorus a farewells.

6:00

My heart is beating, blood pumping through my body as I make my way to the closed door. I pause outside, one hand on the door, the other on the handle.

"Come in, Miss. Swan."

How he knows I'm there, I'll never know.

I slowly turn the knob and step inside. What's waiting for me is nothing short of perfection. I close the door behind me and lean against it. Watching. Waiting.

He unfolds himself from the leather chair, standing full height and I gasp at the beauty of him. From his untidy head of bronze hair to the five o'clock shadow that is coming through on his jaw to the black slacks over long legs, a crisp button down white shirt with a tie hung loosely around his neck. I let my gaze travel to his face.

Green meets brown.

He's in front of me before I can speak and I breathe in his scent, tasting him on my tongue. I sigh with the knowledge of what's to come. He captures my sigh with his lips. They delicately move against mine as his arms circle my waist, pulling me closer. The moment his skin comes in contact with mine I awaken.

This is the touch I was waiting for.

His touch.

I move my hands up his arms, over his shoulders until they are entwined in his hair. Hair so soft and fine, it slips through my fingers as I grasp. His tongue darts out and brushes against my lips silently asking permission to enter. It's granted, there was never a doubt. He pushes me into the door as I open my mouth to him, finally tasting him. He tastes of spearmint and cinnamon. Our tongues touch, dance around each other in a lovers embrace. Hands are moving, roaming as clothes are discarded and then it's just us. Nothing between.

He pulls back and I am suddenly cold, missing the warmth that radiates from him. Waves of goose bumps break out over my body, a physical reaction. As if he can read my thoughts he reaches one hand out and grazes my cheek. Just a feather of a touch, velvety smooth and I am on fire. I feel it blaze through me and for a second I am afraid I will combust. His fingers slide down my cheek, my collarbone until they are brushing against my breast. I moan. I can't help it. The heat is too much. The trail of fire that follows his touch is too consuming.

He leans over and places kisses on my neck. Lightly at first as his fingers start to massage my breast. His kisses grow to nips and suddenly his lips are following the path of his fingers. His tongue leaves a streak of wetness like lava flow and I let out a gasp as his tongue rolls over my nipple. He pays equal attention to both before meeting me back at mouth. I reach out and run my palms against his chest, feeling the contours of his body. My fingertips tingle, awakening from their prior numbness as I explore the marble perfection. I feel him shiver under my touch, ripples in his fine armor and I wonder if I could possibly affect him the way he affects me. I slide my palms down the curves of his hips and I lightly run my fingers over the hardness of him.

"Bella." He breathes out.

His hand encircles mine as he leads me over to couch against the far wall. He sits, leaving me standing between his legs. He reaches up, running his fingers from my neck down the valley between my breasts and came to a stop on my abdomen. Tracing light circles over my stomach he then grips my hips and pulls me onto his lap, straddling, open.

"So beautiful." He murmurs into my neck, positioning my hips to where they need to be.

And then he's in me and there's no other feeling in the world. Every sense is heightened but only I grab onto one.

"Edward." I moan.

I close my eyes and let the sensation overtake me. Rocking. Sliding. Moving.

I feel the world tilt sideways and when I open my eyes all I see is green hovering above me. I feel the leather of the couch in each thrust, molding to my body, adding to the heat. Beads of sweat break out on his brow and I know that they mirror my own.

His movements speed up and I can tell he's close. My hips move, matching the tempo he's set. Our foreheads press together, sweat mixing together and a feel as a stray bead escapes and slides down my cheek. He breathes out and it touches the path of moisture, a cool breeze, a calm before the storm. I feel the fire growing in the pit of my stomach. Higher and higher until I can't contain it anymore and it bursts forth, fire released from every pore. My back arches pushing myself closer to him. His hand reaches out and grabs my wrist, forcing it above my head. Then slowly, ever gently, he slides his hand up my arm and into mine.

We clasp our hands together and the electricity that's ignites forces me to explode again with him coming right after.

As we lay there, our hands still entwined, forehead to forehead, he whispers my name. He doesn't say more, he doesn't need to. I know it all from the way the electricity keeps our hands bound and the way he delicately rubs his thumbs over my brow. His lips touch mine, a butterfly touch, and I know he is mine.

My eyes don't see as he slips the gold band back on his finger. They don't see as he brushes the wrinkles from his pants or straightens his tie or adds extra cologne. I only feel.

A touch.

It's a secret between two people.

His touch.

A touch never lies.