Disclaimer: Twilight belongs to Stephanie Meyer. This story belongs to me, and I'm not making any money from it – I wish! My sincere thanks goes out to Project Team Beta, and especially to hyacinthgirl18 and jessica0306, who beta'd this.
It was as if a dam had opened. Maybe all the years that she denied herself this had been building up inside her, and when Edward came along and released it – her – there had been so much that it had all come out in a rush, and now it wouldn't stop, like a tap when the washer had broken.
It had taken a while, of course, for her to burst at all, having neglected everything to do with that, but after the first couple of times – when Edward decided that was it, that he would make it happen for her – then the dam had burst alright.
And now she couldn't get enough of it, of Edward. She hated any moment when they couldn't touch, when Edward couldn't slide his hand, or his tongue or his-
School was a nightmare.
She had taken to dragging him off, at lunch, to any secluded place they could find, and kissing and rubbing and groping until everything was swollen and hot and slick and Edward was groaning into their kiss, and she had her legs wrapped around his waist and he was pushing her against the wall, desperate. Only they couldn't, not really, not here.
And then the bell would ring, and she would whimper, because she was so close, it was right there, and Edward would have to tear himself away from her and dash to the nearest bathroom before anyone saw him, and she would be left to fix herself up as best she could, and she knew everyone knew anyway, but somehow she didn't care, because school was almost over anyway and who cared if Lauren Mallory called her a slut behind her back when Edward could do the things he could with his tongue?
And when she passed Edward in the hall, sauntering out of the bathroom looking relaxed and happy, he would catch her hand and promise to make it up to her after school - she knew he would, he always did. And sometimes, although she hated to admit it, it was better when she had to wait.
Because she would have to sit through class, watching the clock, and she could squeeze her thighs together and clench just so, and that feeling would shoot out and radiate across her body, and she could see Mike and Tyler staring at her, but she didn't care, and maybe, in a tiny secret part of her, she liked it, liked the way it made her feel, because they weren't looking at her with disgust, no – they looked at her the way Edward looked at her in Biology, or when they passed each other on the way to classes. They wanted her, and that made that tiny secret part of her feel powerful, heady, drunk with this new thing that was happening to her.
And when the final bell rang and they could all escape to their respective lives, she could slowly make her way to her locker, and Edward would be there, leaning against it, all long, lean limbs and tousled hair, and he would take her bag and her hand and they would go to her truck, and he would kiss her up against the side of the truck, in the middle of the parking lot, with his fingers in her hair, and then someone would catcall and yell at them to get a room, and they would reluctantly separate, Edward stepping away to get in his car, stiffly.
And she would enjoy the rumbling vibrations of her truck beneath her as she idled, waiting for the other cars to clear, and in her rear-view mirror she would watch Edward watch her, flushed and shifting in her seat.
And then they go to the meadow, or his house, or hers, depending on the day and what their parents were doing. And he would kiss her, and push her up against the wall, and they would make their way, stumbling, barely coming up for air, to the bedroom, or to the couch, or to the spot under the trees – or to any flat surface (the kitchen bench, once, but she had felt guilty about that afterward) and Edward would use his fingers and his tongue to make it up to her. And then, and only then, would he slide into her, and they would get there together. And it was amazing, what he could do to her, the way he could play her body, and she was learning, too, how to make his body do things, and she loved it, all of it, how he responded, and how her body responded, and how they responded to each other, and often she was so distracted by this, or by that, they could go again before Charlie, or Carlisle, or Emmet came home, or it rained – whichever of the many things that disrupted their time together happened.
And they always made sure that they were ready so that their families didn't know, because it was one thing not to care what Lauren or Mike or Tyler thought, but it was another if Charlie ever suspected anything, because that would mean the end of everything.
And so Bella would be at home, in the kitchen (trying not to think about that time), busying herself with making dinner when Charlie got home from his shift, and he would always stop for a moment and stare at her flushed face before shaking his head and wandering into the lounge to turn on the game. And Bella would always breathe a sigh of relief, because it meant that there was one more day to steal kisses at lunchtime.
And Bella knew that soon, so soon, she and Edward would have all the time in the world to press themselves together into one person, because they'd both been accepted to Dartmouth, and they had a plan, a plan that meant her working at Newton's and him spending his precious weekends washing his Dad's car and raking leaves, but it also meant being able to scrape together enough money to get a little place of their own, and not having to depend on university dorms with lax policies and accommodating roommates. And that meant that Bella could fantasize about all the things that Edward could do to her, that she could do to Edward, once they had plenty of time and privacy, instead of the rushed, slick fumbling they had to sneak away to do.
And if they still hadn't figured out how to tell Charlie, or Edward's parents, then that was OK, because they had a long, golden summer stretching out in front of them, a whole summer of Edward's body between her thighs, pressing her against a wall, grinding together –
Yeah, Bella was OK with that.