Texts from Last Night Contest
account name: grayandyellow
(a collaboration by AmelieGray and YellowGlue)
Title: Fred Flintstone, Meet Mr. Cullen
Word Count including A/N: 9,228
To read more entries in the contest please visit: http://www(dot)fanfiction(dot)net/community/texts_from_last_night_contest/79665
TFLN prompt: "I fucking hate vegan toaster pastries. You don't fuck with poptarts. It's like baseball... it's the backbone of American sports, and you don't change it. Poptarts are the backbone of American fatasses, and you don't just go changing them."
Disclaimer: Rated M for language and citrusy situations. You've been warned. Also, Stephenie Meyer owns all things Twilight.
A/N: We've every intention of corrupting the most important meal of the day, one item at a time. Which is our way of saying that this collaboration was so fun and fantastic to write together, that we created an account because there will definitely be more in the future. Miss Amelie and I, we've got... chemistry :)
Whole wheat? Cranberry-walnut?
Whole wheat and orange juice?
Cranberry-walnut and white tea?
Sometimes, when he smiles in that crooked way... God, his teeth are so white.
His teeth, in my shoulders, hot kisses on the back of my neck...
Oy vey Bella Marie get your shit together. It's only breakfast.
I pulled my hands from where I'd shoved them into my jacket pockets and gathered my hair up into a ponytail.
Is it hot in here?
So, apparently, I have this problem. With eleventh grade Basic Bio.
My problem being that I understood osmosis up and down, backwards and forwards. My grades had always been more than fine.
I used to even be able to put coherent sentences together, believe it or not.
But, then my teacher, Miss Whateverhernamewasbecausetherewasnothingbeforehim, yeah, her, it'd finally been nine months and that baby she'd been carrying was finally due. So, she was going to be gone for two months. And I was stuck; googly-eyed and mentally paralyzed with...
God it even feels good just to think his name.
Oh, that devastatingly sexy, I-wear-a-pinkie-ring-just-to-tease-you, Mr. Cullen...
I unzipped my jacket and fanned the open sides, blinking wide-eyed down at the row of organic muffins before me.
Whole wheat? Cranberry-walnut?
My A-average in the class dropped swiftly and significantly, and not because of any change in comprehension of the subject material in my mind.
But because there was pretty much only one thing on my mind lately.
A painfully simple mathematic equation:
My back against, well, any wall really, would do just fine, as long as he was pushing me so hard into it.
Muffins Bella Marie! Pick out some fucking muffins already!
It was obvious after about a week of almost completely incoherent homework assignments and two failed quizzes that I was in need of tutoring.
"Bella, love, I can't help but think you need a little more..." His pauses killed me, every time, like he was editing what he really wanted to say, what I really wanted to hear him say.
He'd quirked an eyebrow up along with the side of his mouth as he spoke.
It was a question he knew the answer to.
And those too, killed me every time.
We started getting together; just he and I, every morning in the Forks High library for one hour of studying before school started. Charlie was already gone to work when Mr. Cullen arrived to pick me up, and we got to school before anyone else, so it was kind of like our little secret.
Secret springtime romance.
A sway pulled through my hips at the thought, and I smiled as I picked out two wrapped-in-recycled-paper, organic cranberry-walnut muffins.
We'd taken turns bringing breakfast and that man had brought nothing but sickeningly sweet...crap, so far. A healthy dose of whole grains was way past due.
After almost three weeks, our completely opposed nutritional choices had become a kind of inside joke between us.
"Really? Why does any person, anywhere, need this much bran? Do you realize there's absolutely no sugar at all in this... this..."
He waggled the baked breakfast good in my general direction.
"Scone," I tried not to laugh. "It's a chai-spice, all natural, breakfast scone. And it's good for your body."
I attempted to explain my reasoning as I took it from him and broke it in half. He chuckled, his mind going to a place that had become very familiar over the course of the last couple weeks. Very familiar and very... hot.
I was 17. My mind belonged in the sticky, swelteringly humid gutter.
I didn't know how old he was; not too many years my senior, but his mind was drawn to that same percolating place just as naturally and just as often as mine was.
If not more so.
"I'm pretty sure..." he paused to practice the mind-jello-ing-art of picking his honest and more brazen words apart to speak more facetious ones. "I know what's good for your body."
I felt all of my already overheated skin blush hotter. I couldn't look at him. If I looked at him, I wouldn't be able to look away, and that would be staring, and staring was so rude after all.
He breathed another laugh and I raised my eyes from my workbook, allowed his profile into my peripherals only after I felt his own gaze lift from me.
It is hot in here, epidermis doesn't lie.
Last week, he was driving me to school for our study session, like normal, but instead of turning into the parking lot, he drove right past it.
"Ummm?" I asked, holding up my hand which held an individually wrapped Oatmeal Cream Pie, gesturing questioningly back toward school.
He laughed coolly, leaning back in his seat. He pulled one of his hands from the steering wheel and held it in my direction, palm up. "Open that won't you, and hand it to me? The English department's having a meeting in the library this morning. I completely forgot about it till I saw all the cars there just now."
I tore the wrapper and handed him the corn syrup enriched and bleached-flour-addled confection. That sorbic acid "to retain freshness" was going to destroy his stomach lining inside and pile pounds on the outside.
He took half of the soft cookie between his teeth, and into his mouth in one bite.
He swallowed before he spoke again. "But we've still got an hour and internal cellular structures to go over, right?"
"Well yeah, but where?" I asked.
He shrugged nonchalantly.
"Your place is closer, we'd have more time."
I had to force myself not to picture him standing all cocky and confident in my bedroom doorway, on top of me in my bed, deep inside me between my sheets.
Jesus, Bella, you speak English fluently. Act like it a little.
"My house is fine. I won't have to eat this... disgusting thing."
I held up the other Oatmeal Cream Pie.
"You're not going to eat that? Bella, that is a delicious piece of Americana you're holding in your hand!"
"Gross," I grumbled.
"Fucking delicious," he crooned, slipping the other half of his into his mouth.
He only said that word sometimes, and I was pretty sure that every time was quite intentional, and ohhhh the butterflies in my breadbasket went crazy when he did.
My house wasn't far from school at all, the ride back was only a few short minutes. But it was so quiet.
We're going back to my house.
I tried not to linger on the thoughts it brought, and to instead decide what I would make for breakfast since I didn't have to ingest the snack-cake anymore.
Minutes later, I was shuffling around my kitchen, trying to scramble organic egg whites while he seemed determined to be in my way no matter what. Opening drawers, raiding cabinets, picking things up, putting them back down again haphazardly, asking questions about all of it.
I had just flipped the eggs over and was ready to add the tiniest dash of lemon pepper, but when I turned to my left to reach into the cabinet above me for it, there he was, reading the back of the very container I wanted.
"Steenbergs Organic is a wonderfully simple, all-purpose, organic pepper seasoning and it's salt free. The bittersweet tartness... this is absolutely ludicrous," he laughed.
I reached to grab the shaker but he pulled it away from me, holding it a little above and behind his head. I narrowed my eyebrows, and gave him my best Mr. Cullen! Really? Keep away? How old are we? look.
He only smirked, that dimple that I loved coming out to play in his cheek. "I bet you paid... entirely too much for this. Don't you know this whole 'go organic' thing is bullshit? It's just a scam to get your money..."
I tightened my lips and reached toward the seasoning again.
"Vitamins aren't bullshit," I countered as he held it even higher. "Give it to me!" I demanded, meeting his eyes.
His smile sharpened and he licked his lips. I smelled my breakfast behind us, asking for my attention, but getting that essential final ingredient from his hands was pretty much impossible at this point.
"What'd you say, I couldn't quite hear you?" he asked. The green of his eyes was a little darker than I recalled, and they were sparkling mischief. "I think you should maybe say it once more."
I turned my head, frustrated, and stood on my tip toes to reach up again.
"Isn't there a magic word... that you're supposed to say when you want something?"
Part of me wanted to refuse to play the game, but that part was smaller than small compared to all the other parts of me that wanted nothing more than to say the magic word over and over and over again.
I took a single step forward, bringing our bodies that much closer, and reached upward again. We weren't touching, but there could not have been more than an inch between my chest and his. He smelled so good, all soap and clean laundry and after shave.
"Please Mr. Cullen..." I asked in a quiet voice, too shyfeeling to speak it any louder than I did.
His lids closed just a little over his eyes as he looked down into mine and when he still didn't lower his hand, I moved onto my tiptoes once more, reaching the slightest bit closer.
A sudden pop-sound commanded my attention. It startled my balance and I brushed against him without intending to. He brought his free hand around and grazed the small of my back gently to steady me.
His hand was only there for a second or two before I leaned backward, and he slid it away again. But it was there. He'd touched me. And there wasn't a single cell in my whole body that wasn't electrically aware of it, that wasn't downright desperately stimulated by it.
I turned back to the skillet and he placed the shaker on the counter between us. My breakfast wasn't burnt, but it was way past being any good.
He cleared his throat, coughing a little to try to disguise his snicker. My feelings were slightly hurt; I was embarrassed enough as it was, and I thought he was laughing at me.
But when he spoke, his words were far from derisive, and much closer to comforting.
"Well, seeing as you've got a faulty stove, I think perhaps we'd be better off making breakfast at my place next time there's a staff meeting."
It had been days.
Five days and five fitfully slept through nights.
His finger, on my chin.
I groaned uncomfortably into my pillows. Would I ever be able to sleep again? Would my body ever unwind itself now that he'd touched me so purposefully?
I opened and closed my eyes in the half-darkness, glancing at my alarm clock. It was fifteen past two and I couldn't sleep to save my life.
Two days after that morning in my kitchen, there actually was another early morning meeting that kept us from the library again. He'd remembered it this time though, and we went straight back to his place after he picked me up.
That sneak, he'd almost tricked me into drinking what might as well have been heavy cream.
"What is THIS?!" I demanded.
He jumped, nearly spilling the cereal he was pouring into his bowl, all over the table. If I wasn't so bothered his stumbling would have made me laugh.
"What? What's wrong?"
"This is WHOLE MILK," I replied, shaking the offensive carton at him.
He looked at me blankly, clearly confused.
"Whole milk, Mr. Cullen... you know, like... complete? Unstrained? Full of fat that's going to curdle up rolls on that 'All-American' ass of yours?"
His blank look pulled into one that implied a lack of sanity, on my part.
"Bella," he said slowly, "it's Lactaid."
I turned from his stare to look at his refrigerator, his cabinets and counters.
"Whatever. It's fine. Just, don't say I didn't warn you when you can't see your feet anymore, and you start getting the urge to chew the cud," I chided, embarrassed by my slight outburst.
I heard him snort from where he stood behind me, putting the box of Kellogg's back into the pantry. The sound made me cringe a little. I was trying to lighten the mood, but I wasn't exactly ready to be laughed at. I stared down into the bowl of soggy Fruit Loops; circles of red, orange, and green swirling through the offensively creamy, white.
I'd taken a bite without thinking and could still taste the milk on my tongue, still feel it on my teeth and the roof of my mouth. I couldn't help thinking it was going to make me sick, such a shock of abnormality to my system.
Great, I'm going to be sick now because of some supposedly, FDA-approved dairy. Awesome.
I stirred the bright little loops with my spoon, and heard his feet scuffling across the floor in my direction, slowly. He came to stand next to me and brought a single, warm and calloused finger to my chin, raising my head so that our eyes met.
"It's just milk, love," he said, enunciating each word carefully as his green eyes started to smolder.
I felt muscles deep in my stomach clench tightly.
I tried to keep it light.
"It's fat-filled, more than potentially harmful, milk."
"It doesn't make a difference," he insisted more firmly. "Skim, low fat, whole... it doesn't really matter."
The clenched up muscles fluttered and felt fuzzy.
"Besides," his light voice and the odd look in his eyes while he studied my own brought a blush up to my cheeks.
"Besides," he repeated in a soft, dangerous voice that made my whole body tingle at the mere implications of the promises made by that sound, "sometimes it's the unhealthier things that are the most... pleasurable."
I tossed myself against my bed and turned over onto my back.
"The most pleasurable" ?!
The sound of his voice still echoed between my ears, made my whole body tingle with warmth.
How am I ever supposed to sleep again after that?
I reclosed my eyes.
Earlier this morning when he'd picked me up, the top button of his shirt was undone. His tie was resting in the passenger seat when I opened the door.
"I was running late," he explained, reaching for it.
Late-shmate. Like the reason even matters.
That open top button, that extra bit of exposed skin sat me on pins and needles for sixty fucking minutes.
Later, over peeled oranges and apple juice boxes, he was listing off something about ribosomes and endoplastic reticulums but I was only half-hearing him.
Really, how much attention do you expect me to pay to cell biology when your fingers are twisting at that tie, knotting it so perfectly?
The man made me want things that had never even occurred to my imagination before he came along.
And I wanted all of them to come from his hands, his long fingers...
I tossed the sheets off myself and felt the toofamiliar pull of muscles in the pit of my stomach. My windows were open and the spring breeze was blowing in, but it was hot like a fucking furnace in my room.
Did the man have any idea of the long term effects of artificial flavors and hydrogenated vegetable oil, at all? Any clue or care, whatsoever?
"Fruity Pebbles?" I asked, like maybe if I asked if he was serious, he'd say he was just kidding and pull some Kashi Heart to Heart Raisin Spice Oatmeal out of hiding.
He pulled the gallon of whole milk and the smaller carton of soy milk from his fridge, and sauntered back over to the marble kitchen island.
I examined the side of the cereal box, studying the pathetic excuse for vitamin content, the minimal organic percentages and all the other crap that Post Cereals manufacturers churned out to convince parents of their nutritional value. And suddenly, I couldn't keep from smiling.
I was trying to put together a didactic, you-should-know-better sentence, but my own giggles were making it difficult.
I stole another glance at Fred Flintstone as I poured the soy milk over my bowl, and I couldn't keep a straight face.
"Are you... trying to tell me something here, love?" he asked.
I looked up and he was half-smiling, the dimple forming in the side of his cheek. His mind was undoubtedly in the gutter, again. And mine was right there with it.
I poked at the rainbow coloured flakes with my spoon.
"I don't know what you're talking about Mr. Cullen," I replied innocently, raising an eyebrow.
That could have been true. I didn't really have any idea what he was referring to, but knowing his humor, it had to be something dirty enough to make my toes curl until they nearly broke off.
Fruity Pebbles meant Flintstones. Flintstones meant cavemen. And cavemen meant Mr. Cullen, bare-chested and glorious in a leopard pelt, throwing me over his shoulder and dragging me back to his cave to have his dirty way with me.
Jesus, Bella, there has got to be something wrong with you if you're corrupting 60's children's cartoons.
He just smiled, leaning back in his chair all preponderant and playful, the look in his eyes almost primal as he lazily stirred his spoon.
Apparently the close of the year involved more departmental meetings than I was aware of. We were back in his kitchen four days later.
"Are you sure this is going to work?" I asked skeptically.
He didn't answer, just continued to carefully pour thick batter into the Lean Mean Grilling Machine. Who knew how these would-be-waffles were going to turn out considering he didn't have an actual waffle maker; they'd probably end up more like misshapen pancakes.
Of course he doesn't have a waffle iron.
Frozen Eggos are so much more preferable than hearty whole-wheat mix after all. Duh Bella, don't you know anything?
I was trying to change that this morning though. It was technically his turn, I had just suggested we home-make the waffles instead of toasting frozen pre-made ones.
He turned from the messy machine to face me.
"So, while that's at work, we can get started on the whipped cream," he said finally. He brought his hands together as his lips rose in that familiar, preoccupied smirk that made me want to beg him to have my babies.
Or... for me to have his. Yeah... whatever.
Stirring one cup of cream, a third of a cup of sugar, and a teaspoon vanilla didn't seem like that hard of a job. It was nice, he'd even gotten organic whipping cream instead of that condensed shit, and I had enjoyed mixing the bowl of bubbly white liquid - for the first ten minutes.
But my arm was cramping up.
Really, how long do you have to spend mixing some cream?
"You're not supposed to stir it," he cut in as I looked up, ready to throw the spoon at him. "Look, do it this way."
Then, simply smooth as could be, his hands were covering mine.
Oh God. He's so warm.
And he smelled like vanilla and waffle mix. He was close, and I couldn't keep from leaning back into his chest, pressing against his hard stomach while he helped me whisk the contents of the bowl.
My hair was pulled over my shoulder and I could feel his breath tickling the back of my neck. Every nerve ending felt like it was on fire where we touched.
"There," he mumbled, his voice slightly huskier. My heart thrilled at the sound.
Does he feel it too?
Does he feel this too?
I watched as the liquid I had been mixing all wrong, whipped into cream like magic with help from his hands.
"Here." He lifted the coated utensil, not moving from behind me. "You can lick the spoon."
I leaned forward, away from the tempting warmth of his embrace and gave the spoon a tentative lick.
It might have been my imagination, but I was sure I heard him moan.
I couldn't be completely sure though, because I moaned too.
"Mm... this is... this is amazing," I mumbled, licking across my lips, trying to taste another drop of sugary vanilla cream, too tempted to care even a little bit about the effect it might have on my hips.
He was quiet behind me. I turned around slowly to ask if he wanted the rest, but then -
The look in his eyes, I couldn't quite comprehend it. It was, well, nearly bestial.
He was staring, looking like he wanted to take me, right then and there, all passionate Harlequin style on the countertop.
God. Yes, please.
Then, his eyes cleared again and he was smiling mischievously.
"You missed a spot," he said, and then his thumb was sliding carefully along my bottom lip. I watched, my heart thundering up into my throat as he raised his thumb back to his own mouth. Without breaking eye contact, he slowly sucked the pad of skin, that fucking smirk still curling his lips. It made me feel snared.
Utterly, completely caught.
And I loved it.
I was supposed to be on my way to the grocery store.
I was supposed to be at Whole Foods, deciding between blackberry delight and plum-peachy all natural jam for the English muffins I'd offered to bring tomorrow.
I was supposed to probably not be thinking about my fucking Biology teacher.
I was probably, definitely not supposed to be thinking about fucking my Biology teacher.
Right there on his counter, three days ago, his attempt at eating healthy homemade waffles instead of frozen junk food be damned.
That darkness in his eyes; at first I thought it was beginning to happen more often.
That darkness that said "I want to fucking eat you alive and suck your bones clean..."
That darkness that made my legs shake and ache to part for him....
After a long day of mind-blanding classes, a nearly hour long cold shower immediately upon arriving home, and further, slightly clearer-headed introspection, I realized, to my intensely deep, down-low pleasure, that the darkness had been appearing there all along. It was just that I was finally mustering the courage to actually look in his eyes.
I closed my own eyes where I stood in my closet.
The way he looked at me, the way his chest and stomach felt pressed up against my back; he made me feel pliant, supple, deliciously led by and held down under his thumb.
I'd let him eat me alive.
God, I wouldn't mind in the least. I'd enjoy every second of it.
I had to be better for him than all those synthetic vitamins, bleached flour and sprinkles and all the other awful things he put in his mouth.
I opened my eyes back up, looking at the turquoise, pleated skirt in my left hand and the light-lavender jumper in my right.
It wasn't even sunset, yet. I had more than enough time to pick out my clothes for tomorrow, run to the grocery store, finish my homework and still climb into bed at a decent hour.
But I didn't get any of that done.
When I woke the next morning, I still hadn't decided what to wear and hadn't even touched my workbook.
I did what I could. Since I hadn't made it to the store, I spread the strawberry-kiwi jam we already had on hand across the muffins, reminding myself multiple times to keep my cool. To just play it cool.
I showered quickly and pulled on a pastel yellow dress I'd bought last summer. It felt a little shorter than I remembered; the last of it's five or six gauzy layers hitting just slightly more than an inch above my knee. More cute than coquettish. It was perfect; it complimented and concentrated all the sweetsoft things he made me feel.
Sleeping was a lost cause, breakfast was taken care of, and I was dressed and ready; three out of four problems, for all intents and purposes, were solved. My homework on the other hand...
His jaw hung, his lips parted but silent as I slid into the passenger seat.
"What?" I asked, raising a brow as I dropped my book bag in his back seat.
He reunited his bottom lip with his top, and pouted it out innocently, shaking his head slowly back and forth. He opened his mouth again to speak when his cellphone buzzed between us.
He spent the whole ride to school on the phone with Mike Newton's mom. Apparently he was in need of tutoring too.
I giggled a little under my breath, wondering if it was for the same reason I did.
I reached to unhook my seat belt once he'd parked and pocketed his phone again.
"Just wait, just a second," he finally spoke to me, for the first time all morning.
I glanced up, but couldn't keep from biting the side of my bottom lip.
He licked his own lips, and dragged out his pause, obviously trying to mentally edit his words before he spoke them aloud.
"I'm sure you've brought something very... wholesome, for breakfast," he began, as he shifted in his seat so that his body was turned toward mine. That familiar hint of a mischievous grin played at the corners of his mouth as he continued.
I shrugged, feigning cool composure as I got ready to reply, but he held up his hand for me to wait.
"Knowing that..." he paused, chose carefully once more, whatever thoughts he was revising making his grin crack into a cocky smile. "I ask, before you force granola and whole grains on me, that you allow me one small... little morsel of sweetness."
I crinkled my eyebrows.
The hand he'd held up just a moment ago he raised once again, like he was offering a boy scout's promise of honor.
"Just the smallest, single daily serving of decadence," he explained, dropping his voice an octave. As he did so, he moved his hand slowly toward me, and gently touched my left knee.
The heat seared and burned so good.
I'd ever given much thought to angels, but somewhere bathed in springtime sunshine, choirs were belting out refrains of pure joy.
He locked his eyes on mine, held my gaze prisoner as he touched my skin with first just the tips of his fingers and then closed his hand tenderly over my entire kneecap.
You know words.
I heard a quiet, tenor-pitched sound, and realized that was as close to words as I could come.
He drew his thumb all the way back and then all the way forward, his eyes watching mine with such intent, gauging my reaction as he did so.
I fought just to remember how to breathe.
The dark greenblack hues swirled about his pupils and I felt the snare; the trapped feeling. Loved it. Wanted more of it.
His smile stretched into that toosexy smirk, the one with the dimple, and he pulled his hand back casually, carding it through his consistently messed-up hair.
"So, last night's assignment?" he asked, opening his door.
By the time we made it from his car and into the second floor library, I could form words again and explained/fibbed that I hadn't completed the workbook page because I hadn't... quite understood... the concepts.
Turned out that my imagination-distracted indecisiveness last night had served me only too well this morning.
He shook his head at me. His tone switched from playful to authoritative as he scratched his pen across the top margin of my open notebook.
"Bella, love, next time you're having... trouble, don't be afraid to ask for my help."
He pulled his hand back, and I looked down at the black ink scrawled across the white paper.
My heart flip-flopped like a fish out of water.
He snickered quietly, causing me to look back up. He was picking the English muffin to pieces, using his pointer finger and teeth to eat more of the ruddy-coloured jam than the muffin itself.
"Especially if it's in regards to picking out breakfast."
Apple Cinnamon? Wild berry Acai?
Apple Cinnamon and milk? Wild berry Acai and juice boxes?
He did give you his number... and you are having trouble...
Sweet, sugary, love. Savage. Uncontrolled.
All over my body.
I shoved my hands deeper into my jean pockets in an effort to stop their shivering.
Okay, aisle eleven has become way too privy to some serious night-before-breakfast jitters. Get a grip Bella Marie.
"...don't be afraid to ask for my help."
I took a step back from the would-be-Pop-Tarts I was eyeing, and pulled my phone out of my pocket. For a second, my finger hovered nervously over the letters I'd saved and the numbers still unused.
Two seconds, three...
Apple Cinnamon or Wild berry? -Bella
I slipped my phone back into my hoodie pocket, and continued my amble down the breakfast aisle.
Four seconds, five, six...
My phone buzzed.
Sweeter please. -E
I all but fucking fell the fuck over.
Without realizing it, I had lowered my cell and was pressing the screen hard against the outside of my thigh. I was thrilled inside by ten zillion fast-fluttering butterflies.
The thought of looking down at the screen again flashed through my mind and rocked me hard once more.
I took in a deep breath, forced myself to wait seven seconds, eight, nine, ten before I could finally think the word without my entire existence dripping down and away in a hot puddle on the floor of Whole Foods.
Not nineteen seconds ago my hands; all of me, had felt chilled-cool in this store but I was suddenly sweltering under my clothes.
I unzipped and tugged off my thin, grey cotton hoodie, and fanned my tee-shirt lightly. I could feel the weight of my phone in my hand as I slowly brought it back up, trying to brace myself for impact again.
Sweeter please. -E
My ankles and knees felt wobblier than razzle-dazzle-ribbons. I could barely stand, barely breathe.
Like just that one letter, E, was going to bring me to climax, right there.
Goosebumpy chills raced across my shoulders and the back of my neck.
Don't you get enough sweets? -Bella
I tried not to count the seconds.
Bella, there is no such thing. -E
I was going to lose it, right there, next to the grits and muffin mix.
I had to reach deep for control.
Those things make you fat y'know. -Bella
A small price for something so delicious. -E
I coughed out loud and dropped my phone to my leg again as I moseyed back over to the row of brightly coloured, Nature's Path Organic Toaster Pastries.
Pop-tarts: Apple Cinnamon or Wild berry Acai? Or blueberry, I guess, whichever. Pick one. -Bella
No. Because I know you're going to bring some awful, organic, unsweetened, unfrosted nonsense. I refuse to validate such an offer by answering. -E
I laughed. I could see his smirk in my mind.
I typed a correction.
Okay, they're vegan toaster pastries. But they're good and good for you! -Bella
He replied almost immediately.
I fucking hate vegan toaster pastries. You don't fuck with poptarts. -E
He's doing it on purpose.
I was typing out a response about how all that sugar was going to ruin his thighs, as well as his heart, when another text from him popped up on the screen.
It's like baseball... it's the backbone of American sports, and you don't change it. Poptarts are the backbone of American fatasses, and you don't just go changing them. -E
I laughed under my breath, unable to keep my eyes from rolling.
So he wants pure, sugarysweet Americana? Fine. There's got to be something better than Pop-Tarts...
I swayed down to the end of the aisle and turned down the adjacent one.
I'll show him.
You and your sweet-tooth. -Bella
I pocketed my phone then, and went to work picking out individually perfect, fresh strawberries. I inspected each one with care, wanting to be sure of it's ripe readiness before adding it to the bag. My phone didn't buzz again until two or three minutes later, when I was grabbing a basket to gather more ingredients.
You and your sweetness. -E
My thoughts immediately raced to his teeth.
In my skin.
His lips, his tongue, his mouth on my skin...
I fanned my face with my freehand as I picked up a box of whole grain baking mix and added it to the basket. I couldn't keep the images from flooding my imagination. I remembered the way he took that soft oatmeal cookie almost all in one bite, devouring it almost whole...
God help me I was jealous of a Little Debbie snack cake.
And what's worse? I've never been so jealous of anything, ever.
I wanted his mouth, his lips, and tongue all warm and wet and wanton on my neck; his teeth sinking in, holding me still, marking me the way lovers did...
We'd made plans yesterday to show up an hour earlier this morning. We usually arrived at school around 7:00, and the bell for first period rang at 8:00. Our final exam was today though, and I still felt so far behind. When he suggested arriving at 6:00 instead of 7:00, I was more than glad to agree.
I was up extra early; showering and clipping the tags of my new dress. Not only had I splurged a little on breakfast last night after we'd texted, but I'd also stopped by Forks' pathetic excuse for a mall on the way home and picked up a pale pink sun dress to go with it.
The heels of my white sandals clacked on the floor as I crossed the kitchen to get a covering of some sort. I was just putting the finishing touches on the plate of two strawberry shortcakes I'd arranged and rearranged a hundred times, when I heard his car pull into the driveway.
The sun was just beginning to rise in the blue sky so light it looked almost white as I opened the front door. I waved from where I stood and turned back around to get my backpack and the plate of breakfastdessert from the kitchen table.
I hitched my bag over my left shoulder, and carried the covered dish carefully, not realizing until I approached the doorway that he was walking toward the porch steps.
I quirked an eyebrow.
He held out his hands expectantly, gesturing for the plate.
"Well, look who's being all gentlemanly this morning," I said with a smile as I handed over the goods.
He pulled the left side of his lips up in a half smile all his own as he looked me up and down suggestively, then back halfway down again, letting his eyes linger for a second on the thin straps of pastel pink cotton on my shoulders.
He laughed softly. "Bella, I'm always a gentleman."
It was hard to tell in the springtime warmth, but I thought for sure I felt the blush of blood in my cheeks.
"So, what's in this thing?" he asked, as we made our way to his car, and he opened the door for me.
He. just. opened. the. door. for. me.
I shook my head, and playfully curled my smile. "Mr. Cullen, if I told you, it wouldn't be a surprise."
His quiet laugh caught in his throat then, and he coughed to clear it. "Yes. Yes, I guess that's true."
He closed my door, and came around to open his own. "So," he asked, starting the car, and backing out onto the street. "Are you going to give me any hints about this surprise?"
Just that I want you to "accidentally" spill it all over and suck the strawberries off my breasts and stomach... but no... other than that...
"Just that..." I was picking my way to say "it's closer to dessert than breakfast", when I remembered.
"Shit," I breathed, sitting up straighter, glancing out the window to see how far we'd gone.
"I forgot spoons."
"Do we really need spoons?"
I chastised myself for smiling at his I-can-eat-a-cookie-in-one-bite-and-don't-need-a-fucking-utensil-to-eat-my-breakfast-ways.
I was suddenly aware that I could smell Fruity Pebbles in the air, could almost taste them on my tongue.
Fred Flintstone, meet Mr. Cullen. He's the guy who's giving you a major run for your money.
I cleared my throat then, trying to focus. We didn't really need spoons...
I mean who really *needs* spoons for anything, anyways?
We've each got 10 perfectly working fingers.
To eat with.
Dip for extra cream with.
Pull sweetness to bite-sized-pieces with...
Breakfast of course. We're just talking about breakfast here.
I felt his eyes on me, could see him glancing back and forth between me and the road through my peripherals. He cocked his head, still waiting for my answer.
He just says "Love" like it's so cool. So just fine.
So totally acceptable, and normal, and yet, it's so perfect-sounding at the same time.
"Do we? Really need spoons?"
His eyes were soft, his tone warm like the sun that was peeking brighter on the horizon, warming my bare arms and legs under the glass of his windshield and windows. The tone, the words were promising, like he really would backtrack the blocks we'd already driven if I said we needed to.
No, no need for that.
"I mean, spoons would be proper, or whatever. But you don't really need them. I guess. You could eat it with just your fingers."
He chuckled under his breath, running his right hand around the side of the steering wheel. I looked over with inquiring eyes.
What had I said?
"With just my fingers?" he asked, tapping four of them, long and skillful, teasingly on the wheel.
And back to the gutter we go so gladly.
"Well, I mean... not just... you could... umm..." I felt incredibly ridiculous, but wholly unable to stop my stammering.
"Right," he interrupted, saving me from my stumbling self. His fingers continued their drumming, their movements no less than completely hypnotic.
I pushed the small button on my door that brought my window down, needing suddenly to feel the cool breeze. We pulled into the parking lot minutes later, and I got out quickly, eager to feel the wind against my fevered-feeling legs.
It wasn't until we were in the small library, surrounded by nothing but bookshelves and empty tables that I finally moved to uncover the plate he carried in.
"Wow." His voice was low as I pulled the cover off to reveal the red juice and white cream covered cakes; each split-down-the-middle-strawberry carefully placed amongst the fluffy pastries.
I smiled, simultaneously sheepish and proud.
"Those are certainly not, vegan Pop-Tarts," he continued, reaching his hand without the slightest hesitation to the edge of one of the cakes, and breaking a bit of it off.
He swirled the piece through strawberry syrup, and dipped it into the whipped cream that I'd taken care to mix properly, not stir, just how he'd taught me. He scooped a piece of dripping fruit onto the bite as well, and brought it quickly to his mouth before it could dribble juice anywhere.
'Wow' is right.
That was WAY more erotic than it should have been.
I picked up a strawberry and ate it slowly, concentrating on the sweet taste to keep my mind from wandering too far out of reach.
We cracked textbooks and reviewed flash cards. He continued to eat with his hands; sucking the tip of his thumb and pointer finger every now and then for good measure. I was too nervous about making a mess to do more than pick at the edges of mine.
I thought I was being attentive enough to avoid dripping anything, anywhere.
Yeah, right. As if, Bella Marie.
There was absolutely no explanation in the entire universe; no reason at all as to why I dropped the strawberry, no clear cause, whatsoever.
But I did, and it landed just a few inches above my knee; in the middle of my thigh, mere centimeters from the hem of my dress.
At first all I could think was Thank fuck! I just bought this thing; I can't have stained it already.
Then, I felt his eyes. His gaze practically seared heat on the surface of my skin.
I reached to grab the pulpy piece of fruit from where it had fallen; from where a translucent drop of red was sliding down the inside of my leg. He caught my hand a halfsecond before contact, and gently nudged it back.
Not just my cheeks, but all of me, from head to toe blushed a few degrees hotter.
Taking the shallowest of breaths, I watched as he plucked up the soaked strawberry, his rough fingertips grazing my smooth skin.
I may, or may not, have whimpered like prey.
He slipped the strawberry slowly past his lips, once again sucking the pad of his thumb and pointer finger clean. His jaw didn't move though, he hadn't yet bitten down into the fruit as he brought his eyes back up to mine, while at the same time bringing his hands to my hips.
He held my stare as he easily lifted me from where I'd sat in the chair facing him, onto the top of the table. I felt shy in the new position, like I wanted to look away, but I couldn't. His eyes were like greenblack magnets.
I couldn't see the dripdrop of juice that was still sliding so slowly down my leg, but I felt it.
It tickled, demanded attention.
The lines of his jaw flexed as he bit down into the strawberry his mouth had been holding, chewing and swallowing slowly.
Oh. My. God.
Still without taking his eyes off mine, he dragged his thumb over the stickytickle and brought it to his lips as well.
I glanced down to where he'd touched, unable to maintain eye contact any longer without going mad as a fucking hatter.
He'd gotten most of it, but there was still the slightest streak of scarlet syrup sliding down the curve of my skin. Again, my hand moved toward it, and again, he caught it.
His own hand was unbelievably warm as it swallowed up my own.
"You should really... let me take care of it," he breathed. His gruff whisper made my backbone tingle.
Adrenaline coursed hard through my veins as he placed his hands flat on each of my legs, nudging them open a bit wider. I leaned back on my palms, feeling unable to support the suddenly very heavyfeeling weight of my own body. He brought his finger back to the slowlysliding droplet and then pulled it away.
Please for the love of all things sacred, please don't stop now.
He hesitated for less than a second, and then moved his whole body forward, lowered his head, and brought his mouth all warm and wet and wonderful, down to my leg.
That's good too.
I mewled at the contact, the sound of my own voice surprising me, but I was too elated to care. He must have heard it though, or must have been just as thrilled as I, because he moaned too, the sound quiet and muffled by my skin. It sounded like an almost growl. He was sucking gently, his tongue all soft and hot as he lapped up what was left of the liquid.
And then just my flesh.
My eyelids sagged almost closed, laden heavy by lust, and I felt myself lean back a little more as he brought his kiss a little higher up my thigh.
More sounds I couldn't hold onto slipped out. I ached, was more desperate than ever to feel his perfect teeth.
I felt myself sliding back further, and the leg he was attatched to moved a little. He brought his hand up to hold me in place, groaning as he pressed my leg more firmly to his mouth.
His teeth nipped me in warning and I cried out louder as I felt them against my skin. My whole body shuddered under his touch; giving in, submitting, wanting so badly. And like it was completely a natural response, he pressed his teeth harder, biting down and nibbling and sucking and oh Jesus...
He shifted himself closer, and brought both of his hands up to my each of my hips, pulling me forward to the very edge of the table top. I yielded completely to him as one of his hands then moved to the center of my chest, and pushed possessively, lulling me back onto my elbows.
I blinked up at the ceiling, unable to keep my eyes open as he slid his hands back to the outsides of my thighs, pushing my sun dress up with them. He kissed softly at the inside of my knee, and just above it, and I heard a familiar chuckle rumble in his chest as I squirmed and giggled. But I couldn't help it, I was so ticklish right there.
Apparently, this delighted him.
He tightened his grip in an effort to hold me still, his deep laugh echoing in my ears as he swirled the tip of his tongue teasingly across my sensitive skin, eliciting higher-pitched laughter and shallow gasps for air.
I was grinning so wide I could feel the muscles in my cheeks straining and pulling tight, overworked and overjoyed.
He smoothed the hand that wasn't holding me captive up my other leg, trailing his fingers slowly up my thigh, then teasing me further by tapping out the rhythm from earlier in the car. His fingers swept higher and higher, until the roughened tips traced along the edge of my panties.
I instinctively bucked toward his hand as my giggling began to give way to panting. I was desperate and eager for his touch and for his promise to "take care of it".
I pressed my lips tightly together in an effort to keep from screaming my desire too loudly. Not that anyone was in the building to hear, but I thought for sure if I did that people down the block would be able to hear me.
I heard him hum against my skin, feeling the vibrations of it before he broke away to speak.
His voice was huskier, it was coming from somewhere deeper inside him than I was yet familiar with.
"Hmmm?" I mumbled in response, unable to remember what words were, or how to make them.
He thrummed his fingers against me through the fabric, and I felt my whole body start to shake. I was so wet, soaking for him. I was practically in pain with the need to feel relief at his hand.
He pressed his fingers more firmly against me, slid them up, then down, then up again, before hooking them under the seam.
"Open your eyes, Bella."
I could hear his voice, his quiet order but it was far away. I felt far away, too wrapped up in a dream come true to comprehend and comply.
He pulled the thin material he'd grasped aside, and I felt cool air. All of the sudden I was hyperaware I was laying there bare in front of him, and it made my whole body squirm. Toward, or away from him, I couldn't quite tell, just that I needed to move, and he wasn't letting me.
I moaned in protest, greedily rocking my hips forward.
He pulled the fabric farther to the side, his hard knuckles barely sliding against my folds. When I still hadn't done as he asked I felt it: him, blowing air entirely too gently across where I was dripping desperately for him.
I whimpered louder, felt two shakes from clinically insane as his mouth hovered closer. I could feel the warmth of his breath, the nearness of his lips, and I was teetering, so close.
"Open your eyes..." he coaxed, rubbing my hip persuasively with his other hand.
"I can't!" I breathed back. I wanted to. I wanted so much to look at him, but felt so taken over, so overcome with delirious desire I thought I'd topple over the brink of sanity itself if I did.
"I can't. I'll scream. I'll fucking lose it if I open my eyes..."
"That's right, love. You will."
He breathed kisses across my skin, along the bend at the top of my leg just where inner thigh met wet heat, his tongue and teeth demanding what he wanted.
My eyes shot open wide, the fluorescent lights on the ceiling nearly blinding me.
"Look at me, Bella," he ordered.
It took every ounce of strength I could muster to angle my elbows, and raise my head just enough to see his face between my legs. There was that dimple in his cheek, and his lips pulled up on one side in that half smile - half smirk that was all victory and dominance. And there was the dark green almost blackness clouding his irises; primal and predatory. Pure and carnal. Possessiveness.
Whatever reaction he saw on my own face tugged the other side of his mouth up into a grin that was utterly deviant.
"Are you ready, love?"
I didn't know what for, but I nodded my head yes eagerly.
"Not until I say. Understand?"
I nodded once more, then let my head fall back again, trusting him without even bothering to think twice.
Our satisfied sounds; all deep and dark, harmonized in the air around me as he brought his hand from my hip to between my legs. I felt his thumb, and each of his four fingers circling my clit, tracing my wet outlines, and teasing me, taunting louder cries from deeper within my chest.
He may have only just begun to touch me, but I was close, so close, and I had wanted this so much and for so long.
I wriggled in his grip, and he tugged me closer, my ass nearly off the table as his fingers pressed harder against me.
"Mmmmm... Mr... M-Mr... mmmm..."
I tried, but I couldn't make the hard C-sound to save my life.
Softly, he padded his thumb softly over my clit and then, ever so slowly, he pushed his middle finger inside me.
I was there. I was right there.
Fuck. Please. Please give me permission; I can't even make the words to ask you, please... so close...
I struggled, feeling warm tears welling up behind my eyelids as I cried out louder, trying so hard to communicate my want.
I felt his lips, his tongue and teeth as he kissed at my thigh while he angled his finger, and pushed deeper, in and out, torturously slow.
His breath tickled my skin as he granted his permission like a demand.
"Now, love, right now..."
My hands curled into tight fists, clenching and unclenching as I lost all control, feeling like all of myself was unraveling under his fingers. I slid off my elbows, as my lungs laboured to breathe, the smoothness of the library table top cool against my back and shoulders through the cotton of my dress.
There were clouds all around, but I was aware of him all around me too, whispering things that were sweet, and stroking me softly, swaying me back toward the ecstasy I'd barely just come down from.
I stretched my arms out across the smooth table, enjoying the coolness it offered my sweltering skin, cooing as he drew his fingers away to let my panties slide back into place. I was still breathless as he moved each of his hands under me; one on the small of my back, and the other at the base of my neck, pulling me forward slowly, sitting me back up, and supporting my still shivering shape in his strong hands.
"So..." His voice was steady and sure, and still slightly huskier than usual. I blinked my eyes to bring him into focus as he lowered his head, and kissed across my kneecaps. The tenderness in the way he was touching and holding me made me tingle. "I was thinking I should cook you breakfast tomorrow..."
I trembled as he pressed his hand more firmly against my back, and pulled me down off the table, and into his lap, my legs dangling on either side of his. I nodded my head yes, happy to fold myself into him as he cradled me closer.
Yes. Yes, today was mine, and tomorrow your turn.
Wait just a second...
I raised my head from his shoulder and swallowed a breath of air; putting the words together took a second in my still fuzzy state of consciousness, but eventually I got them out.
"But... tomorrow's Saturday."
He wrapped his arm tighter around my waist, effectively pushing me against the incredibly hard part in his jeans, while his other hand cupped my cheek so delicately.
There was a smile playing at the corners of his lips.
"I know. But believe me when I say that my own kitchen table is a place ten times more suitable than this for..." he gave a familiar pause to carefully pick and choose his words while squeezing me tighter against him.
I raised an eyebrow, insanely curious as to the things he wasn't saying. "For...?"
"Breakfast," he grinned, lowering his eyes from my mine and down to my slightly parted lips as he licked his own, hungrily.
A/N ~ MAJOR thanks and big huge hugs to Gabes (SweetP-1) for her madsick beta-ing skills. She makes me better AND she makes me smile. Love her. LOVE her :)