The "AwkWard" Contest
Story Title: Strapped
Pen name: queenofgrey & bananapancakes7 (collab)
Disclaimer: Rated M for cringe-worthy situations, inappropriate language, and sex that is all kinds of weird. Like, really. This isn't fluff. Don't say we didn't warn you.
To see other entries in the "AwkWard" contest, please visit the C2:
Thanks to IntheSubtext & Feisty Y. Beden for beta'ing. And for not judging us.
It all started, and ended, with black leather.
Hidden beneath the burgundy tablecloth, the tip of Edward's ebony leather shoe brushed my bare leg, distracting me from my last bite of filet mignon. I chewed slowly, my lips curling in a surreptitious manner, and as I reached for my wine glass, I slid off my stiletto pump and returned his gesture, sliding my toes against his firm, cotton-covered calf. Edward mirrored my flirtatious grin, sipping his water with a lusty finesse. It was downright unfair what the man's lips could do; whether they touched the rim of a glass, pads of his own fingertips, or the nape of my neck, they were full and on fire with rapture, always.
"Is this a preview of what's to come?" I asked, sipping my Cabernet Sauvignon.
Edward reached under the table, his eager fingers seizing my ankle, and pulled my foot into his lap, smoothing my skin with his thumb. "Among other things, I hope."
He granted me another secretive purse of his supple, ruby lips, continuing to trace sweeping circles up to my shin, and I could feel his leg shaking-perhaps his foot was tapping. He'd been so mysterious the whole evening; even at home, he'd paced the foyer, fussed over his hair more than I ever cared to mess with mine, and had sped to the restaurant as if the fifteen-minute drive was an hour away. He'd even knocked his menu into his water glass, spilling half of its contents before our order was taken. If there hadn't already been an engagement ring on my finger, I would have thought he was proposing. Thankfully, after two glasses of Merlot, he'd calmed… a bit.
"What's gotten into you tonight?" I pondered aloud, raising my eyebrows into a curious arch. "You're acting like you're hiding a secret. Did you shrink one of my sweaters again? Or did you use our vacation money to buy another guitar, or something?"
Edward chuckled, patting my leg. "No, I didn't buy a guitar. But I suppose you could call it an instrument."
I wrinkled my nose apprehensively, thinking of the countless, possible macho-man types of machinery that could be hidden away in our house at the moment. Edward wasn't an impulse buyer; normally, whatever he purchased was something we both could use, except for that one time when he'd bought a humongous, stuffed mountain lion from a hunter, because he thought it would look "cool" next to the fireplace.
"Am I going to hate it?" I asked hesitantly. "Because, if I will, you should tell me before I have dessert-that way I can coat my disappointment in chocolate. And order another glass of wine."
"I'm not sure if you'll like it or not," he said honestly, continuing to rub my leg nervously. "You'll either be excited, or freaked out."
"You're scaring me," I said, anxiously swallowing another mouthful of wine, wondering if he booked us some kind of weird nature excursion, where we'd run around naked, worship a pile of bear carcasses, and drink our own pee.
Edward released my foot and folded his hands on the table, sucking on his lower lip. "Well, since it's our anniversary, I wanted to do something special tonight."
"You brought me here," I said lightly, gesturing to the candlelit dining room. "I told you we didn't have to do anything too big, or-"
He cleared his throat, seeming timid as he picked up his own wine glass. "Well, like I said, I did buy something. For… later."
Okaaay. I raised my eyebrows in interest.
"You know, Bella," he continued, tracing the collar of his oxford shirt with his fingertips and lowering his voice to a hushed whisper. "Later activities."
Later activities? Oh, he means-
"Oh," I breathed, a warm wash of blood shading my cheeks rosy pink, and I giggled without restraint, despite my surroundings. "I didn't know you were thinking so in depth."
Honestly, I figured Edward and I would go home after dinner, pour ourselves another glass of Pinot Noir, each, and fondle each other in the foyer before stripping off a few layers of clothes in the hall, then finally retreat to the bedroom, where we would tumble onto our blueberry-hued sheets and pleasure each other senseless. I had no idea that would somehow include a purchase of some kind.
"Edward Cullen," I hissed playfully under my breath. "Did you visit the Love Craft?"
He choked out a small laugh before taking a gulp of wine, and I smiled widely as his face turned the color of the ruddy tablecloth.
"What did you get us?" I asked, roguishly kicking him under the table. "What are we going to do?"
"Shh," he said, placing his finger on his lips. "Not here."
"Yes, here," I said under a stream of semi-quiet giggles. "Now you've got me excited and turned on."
"I really think it would be best to wait until we're home," he said, strategically placing his silverware on his finished plate.
"You got us furry handcuffs and a whip, didn't you?" I asked, sensing the erotic curiosity and untamed excitement that was suddenly rushing through my body. I folded my leg over my opposite knee, feeling an instant pulse between my legs. "Oh my God… you got us a swing, right? I had no idea you ever wanted to do this kind of-"
"Bella," Edward interrupted softly, reaching his hand across the table, and I eagerly took it, practically bouncing in my chair like a child going to Disneyworld. "I just think we should wait until we can properly discuss-I mean-" He cracked a grin, finally, and shook his head in amusement, probably at my enthusiasm. "Honestly, I can't believe you're not disgusted with me."
"Not at all," I reassured him, squeezing his hand. "I'd played with the idea of, you know, toys in my head, but I figured you wouldn't be into that kind of stuff."
He still seemed a bit nervous, and even his ears were tinged pink, but he sighed and locked my gaze with his vivid green eyes. "So, you're… open to the idea, then?"
"Oh, I'll be open." Edward shook his head with an amused, yet embarrassed grin, and I giggled again, giving him a sly wink. I let go of his hand to pick up my wine. "So, what did you get? Please, tell me now?"
He was reluctant, discreetly glancing at the diners around us, who were either engaged in conversation or stuffing their faces. "Come on, Edward, no one can hear us," I added, keeping my voice low.
After yet another nervous puff of breath, he murmured, "If I tell you, will you promise to hear me out?"
Silently pointing to my ears, I pretended to zip my lips.
"Okay," he said, peeking once more to the side to make sure no one was listening in. "I bought something different. Something… to kind of…"
I waited, all ears.
"Reverse our roles, for a change," he whispered, then proceeded to quickly gulp his wine.
Reverse our roles? I looked at him with a furrowed brow, lips puckered in confusion. What was he talking about?
"You mean, you want to dominate me, or something?" The idea was different, for sure, and my thoughts swirled at the possibilities of what that kind of role would bring to our bedroom. "But, what do you mean, role reversal? It's not like we've done that before-"
The look on his face told me I was wrong, and I stared. Edward was like an undercover spy, shrinking into his chair, furtively sneaking glances around the restaurant as if searching for exits; he continued fidgeting and swallowing almost convulsively until I snapped my fingers in front of his face. "Edward? What's wrong?"
He leaned over the table, still aflush, and started speaking in a low, anxious tone. "Emmett was telling me about something that he and Rose tried once, and I thought it might be exciting to take a stab at it. They bought a harness of sorts… it kind of straps on."
I blinked, my mouth dropping a bit. "You bought a strap-on penis?" I said, whispering. "Honey, there's nothing wrong with yours. Why would you want to put something like that on?"
"I wouldn't be the one putting it on."
"Well, then who-"My mouth dropped, jaw practically unhinged, as everything suddenly became clear. "You want me to be in your ass?" I exclaimed.
The twenty-plus voices around us went stunningly soundless, and I could feel the eyes of strangers burning into our backs. I didn't want to look, but I couldn't help but glance up as a glimpse of something white flashed in my periphery. With scorching, magenta cheeks, I turned my head and came face to face with our wide-eyed waiter.
"Dessert menus?" he offered, after a painful few seconds of screaming dead-silence.
I reached for one immediately, only wanting it so I could hide my face, and did just that. I didn't know whether or not I should laugh hysterically, or start to cry from the scarring mental image in my head, or simply vomit and run away.
He wanted me to put on a strap-on. He wanted me to put on a fake dick.
"In case you're interested, we have a three-layer, devil's food cockolate cake with a raspberry-"
"I'm sorry-really? Cockolate?" I exclaimed, staring daggers at Edward and the waiter. "How much did he pay you to say that?"
"Jesus Christ, Bella, he said chocolate," Edward muttered, sliding a hand over his eyes, turning just as red as I doubtlessly was. "Can we-can we just have the check, please?"
The waiter disappeared as quickly as my dignity, and I fixed my eyes on the tablecloth, wishing that the floor would swallow me. After awhile, the voices around us began to pick up again, and the blood in my cheeks returned to the rest of my body.
Peeling my fierce gaze off the table, I peeked at Edward. He looked at me, eyes heavy with apology and embarrassment, and I sighed. "I really hope you have an explanation. A good one." He opened his mouth, but I clutched the knife by my plate. "Not here, Edward. If I would have known you were going to say that, I would have gotten another bottle of wine." I tapped my wine glass with the knife, and I suppose the sight of me, flame-cheeked and holding a sharp object, was enough to keep him quiet.
I allowed Edward to help me into my coat as we stood up to leave. Normally, the brush of his fingers on my neck would send me into a heat-driven flurry of excitement, especially after so much wine, but instead, all I felt was the scrape of wool, and was left with lukewarm butterflies in my stomach-the beginnings of nausea, probably.
"Happy Anniversary," he hummed in my ear, and I murmured incoherently under my breath, shrugging my shoulders. Since I hadn't "heard him out" as he had asked, I slipped my fingers around his hand, silently letting him know that the night wasn't a waste, and I wasn't too upset. As we neared the front of the foyer, a startling crash made us both stop in our tracks; one of the busboys had spilled an entire tray of dishes, littering broken porcelain, glass, and globs of half-eaten food across the floor. Between many gasps and rude chuckles of other patrons, a hostess turned around, whispering a curse before glancing at us with apologetic eyes.
"I'm sorry, sir, ma'am," the flustered hostess said, gesturing to the debris-covered floor. "There's broken glass everywhere. Would you mind using the rear entrance?"
My mouth hung agape for a few embarrassing seconds before I inadvertently glared at her, then violently squeezed Edward's hand, pulling him to the back of the restaurant before he could comment.
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