Title: The Sun Came Out from the Clouds
Word Count: 3,934
Summary: Victoria sees Bella, and immediately she wants her.
She yearns to take her, to have her, in a way that she's
never wanted anyone before. Bella makes Victoria burn with need,
and Victoria has a plan. But will Bella succumb?
The sun came out from the clouds, and I wanted her. The need was fierce and immediate: I saw her, and my whole body flushed with heat, my breathing sped and labored, my nipples hardened, I throbbed. She was just sitting on a bench, reading a book, nothing special. Walking my usual route through the park, ear buds blasting, I probably passed her four or five times that morning without even noticing. But then the sun made an appearance, and her russet hair warmed and glowed in a burst of heat, setting me aflame. I saw her, and she was beautiful. I saw her, and I had to have her.
Fucking other women wasn't new to me, of course. James was a fan of threesomes, and we had brought so many others to our bed-men and women, over and over again. He loved watching me with other people, which I guess was a clue about how he really saw me, but I loved him. I loved him so much more than I should have, so much more than he loved me. So I fucked them all, while he watched. Laurent, Riley, Mary, Bree, Charlotte and Peter, even more whose names I didn't catch-I gave it all to every one of them, over and over again, for him. But I never wanted them, not really. The girls were soft and pliant and different than the men, and sure, I enjoyed touching and feeling and tasting them, but I never really wanted them. I never needed them, physically or otherwise: It was just fucking. And it was all for him, always.
But this, this was different. I wanted her, needed to have her. This time, it was all for me.
"What are you reading?" I asked, dropping myself onto the bench next to her, tilting my head back and taking a pull from my water bottle.
She looked up then, obviously startled to have company, and I saw her eyes for the first time. My God, I thought…oh my fucking God, those eyes. They were so wide, so expressive. Deep and dark and warm-friendly, inviting, draw-you-right-in eyes. But with something else, a hint of something else. Those tiny flecks of gold amidst the brown, hinting at something heated and forbidden—those flecks gave me hope. Those flecks told me what my body had already screamed in the sun, that she could be mine for the taking.
"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't see you there," she said, smiling at me in welcome. "When I'm reading, I just get lost, you know? My mom always says that a bomb could go off next right next to my head without me even noticing, if I have a book in my hand." She set her book in her lap, folding her pretty little hands over the top and turning her body towards me. "It's a beautiful day now that the sun's out, isn't it?" she smiled, ducking and tilting her head slightly, looking up at me through those long, curling lashes.
"Beautiful," I agreed, knowing that I meant something so much more than the day. "I'm Victoria," I said, holding out my hand for her to shake.
"Bella," she stated, taking my hand in hers. I held it just a beat too long, although I could already tell this beautiful girl had no idea of her own allure, no clue how she was affecting me. I held that dainty little hand, with the smoothest, palest skin, just a beat too long to be polite, and I rubbed my thumb along the back of hers with the lightest of touches. Her skin was like satin, and I couldn't help myself.
"Well, Bella, I'm sorry to interrupt, but it's a habit of mine, I suppose," I grinned at her, opening my eyes wide in an attempt to make her comfortable, to ease her into trusting me. "I'm in publishing, so whenever I see someone reading, I simply must find out what the book is. Occupational hazard, I guess?" I widened my smile, tilting my head right back, giving her my best look of sheepish innocence.
And she smiled in response. A wide, open, gorgeous smile, one that made her eyes shine and her face relax completely. She reached for me then, her hand touching my arm, an unconscious gesture of acceptance. "You're in publishing?" she asked, her hand burning me, burning right through my skin, without her knowing. "I would love to work with books for a living! I'm majoring in English Literature, which I know is pretty much useless, but there's just nothing else I want to study. Did you study English? How did you get into publishing?" she rushed and flushed, beautifully pink in her excitement.
Fixing my smile, I waited a moment before responding, staring and smiling at her in silence. She looked slightly embarrassed at her enthusiasm, and I knew it was time to strike. "No, Marketing," I declared, still fixing her with my older-woman-experienced smile. "I'm in the business side of things, I'm afraid. But I do love books, and I did minor in English, so I know what you mean. What are you reading right now?"
"Oh, just some Austen," she answered, still looking embarrassed, her cheeks even more flushed. "Persuasion. Not very modern, I know, but on a sunny day like this, I like to go to Bath, parasol in hand, in my mind." And she tilted her head again, gazing up at me. My breath caught, and I prayed she didn't notice. Slow, Victoria, slow, I thought. Need to take it easy with this one.
"Not at all, Bella—I love Jane Austen. Is there a female booklover in the world who doesn't?" I laughed, covering. "Don't men always make fun of us for it?" I continued, planting a seed, planting. "No one understands people as well, in my opinion. No one writes relationships better."
"Exactly," she exclaimed, excited again, "the back-and-forth, the dance between the sexes, it's just so real, I think. Nothing really changes when it comes to romance, that's why she's still so popular," Bella nodded, sure that I'll agree.
"Well, maybe some things," I added, smiling to myself. "But you're right, of course. Her observations are timeless." And I moved closer to her on the bench, just a little closer. She smiled at me then, her wide-open smile, and I knew it was time to retreat. Enough for today, I thought. Pulling my business card out of my bag, I held it out to her.
"Bella, I've enjoyed talking with you, and we're always on the lookout for fresh talent at my company," I said. "Why don't you give me a call—maybe we can grab coffee sometime, and talk some more?"
"I would love to!" Bella cried, flushing pink again, torturing me with that skin. "Thank you so much, Victoria! I've really enjoyed talking with you, too, and I would love to pick your brain some more. You are so kind to offer."
Oh, sweetness, you have no idea what I'm offering, I think. "Not at all, Bella, not at all," I affirmed, flashing my older-woman smile. "Please call me anytime." Then I left, walking briskly to my car, never looking back. I went home and got myself off three times, to thoughts of Bella—her hair wound around my fist, pulled tight; her mouth, open and panting as I suck her nipples; her eyes, blinking up from between my thighs; that skin, satin all over, even smoother over her stomach, my hands all over it. I came hard and fast, my vibrator barely on the first setting, my pussy dripping and throbbing in want. Then, I waited. I waited for her call, and I avoided the park. She had to come to me, I knew, if I was to have a chance at taking her the way I so desperately wanted.
Bella called two days later; I sent her call to voicemail, to avoid looking too eager. I returned the call the next day, and we met at a little coffee shop close to my office. We chatted about books and her classes and my job, and we drank cup after cup of coffee-mine hot, hers iced. We sat and talked with ease for hours, until she caught a glimpse of the clock over the door and started to apologize for taking so much of my time. I told her that it had been my pleasure, truly, and that I would love to meet with her again. She smiled, eyes wide open and shining. She said she would like that, very much.
Over the next two months, we got together several times a week. We became, and proclaimed ourselves, friends. She told me of her hopes for the future, and the pain in her past. She missed her mother; she worried about her dad. And she regretted the ending of her relationship with Jake, agonized over the loss of her best friend. There was just no passion, she told me, no flame. She loved him, but she couldn't go on as they were. She wanted passion in her life, she said.
I finished yet another package of batteries that night, my poor Rabbit exhausted from overuse.
As our friendship deepened, the locations changed. We went from coffee to drinks; from drinks to dinners; from restaurants to our apartments, late nights spent talking on couches, curled up beside each other, wine glasses in hand. Sometimes we'd watch a movie, and she would always fall asleep in the middle, her head drifting into my lap. Those nights were torturous for me as I ran my fingers through her hair, watching her pink lips parted in repose, her breath soaking into my thighs. I wanted her so badly, wanted to place my lips all over her, but by then, I knew for certain that she'd never been with another woman. I had to be slow, careful. I had to take my time, although I burned for her, even more than I had at the first.
What surprised me was how much I revealed. I told her about growing up poor, my mom working two jobs just to pay the bills, my clothes bought at Goodwill, my shame when someone noticed. I spoke of always being taller than the boys, with red hair and freckles to boot, and the mortification of being gangly and awkward until my twenties. And I told her about James, the whole sordid truth. I even cried, and she held me, staying with me until morning. I wanted her; I burned to take her, yes, but I also liked her. Bella was good, and I found myself basking in her glow. It was confusing, to say the least.
One night, about halfway through our second bottle, the movie forgotten, Bella started to giggle. When I asked her what was funny, she flushed and looked away. "Tell me," I demanded, scooting closer to her on the sofa. She blinked up at me, biting her bottom lip, flushing even darker: she shook her head and looked away again. "Bella," I said, putting my hand on her knee. "Bella, you know you can tell me anything."
She turned her head, and her eyes widened at my close proximity. Her tongue darted out, and she moistened her lips; I followed that tongue as it moved. "I had a dream about you last night," she revealed, quietly. Her breathing sped as we stared into each other's eyes, both questioning.
I inched closer, moving my hand ever so slightly up her thigh. "What kind of a dream, Bella?" I asked, tilting my head toward her.
Her eyes widened further, her breathing became labored. "An erotic dream," she whispered.
Finally, my head screamed. FINALLY! "Oh, Bella," I sighed, as I moved toward her. "Beautiful Bella," I breathed against her lips. Then I kissed her, softly. I pulled back, ever so slightly, and gazed into her eyes. Her lips parted, and she smiled, just a tiny little smile, but that's all I needed. I went back for her lips, ghosting my hand higher on her thigh, weaving my other hand into her gorgeous hair. I pressed myself harder against those soft lips, and they opened. I thrust my tongue into her sweet, sweet mouth, and she moved her tongue against mine. The taste of her, dear God—she tasted of wine and cake and promises, and I almost lost control, thinking of how she must taste everywhere. Easy, I thought, slowly. I stood then, holding my hand out to her, rejoicing when she placed her dainty fingers into mine. I led her to my bedroom, and I shut the door.
The picture of trepidation, she stood, muscles clenched, with her back to the door; her eyes were cast downward, her hands intertwined in front of her. "Bella," I said, rubbing my hands up and down her arms, "we'll take this slow, o.k.? I want you, so very much, but I won't do anything to make you uncomfortable. You can trust me." And I meant it; I wanted her, but for the first time, I needed her to want me back. "Please, Bella," I whispered, embracing her fully, rubbing her back gently, "please let me take care of you. Can I have you, Bella, please?" I nearly pleaded, holding her head to my chest with one hand, her body close to mine with the other.
I felt her nod, and I drew back. Holding her gaze with my eyes, planting small kisses on her forehead, her cheeks, her nose, I unbuttoned her blouse, letting it fall down her arms to the floor. I kissed her then, running the tip of my finger along the tops of her breasts, gently tracing the swells above the lace of her bra. I drew circles on her lower back with my other hand, lazily circling the satin of her skin. She surprised me then: I felt her hands come up and unbutton my top, removing it in the same way I had hers, then her fingers cupped my breast, squeezing and caressing. Her other hand mapped from my forehead to my jaw, a route of gentle fire, up and down, over and over. I held her to me as I kissed her harder, licking all around her lips, walking backward to the bed. I laid down and moved back, holding her tight on top of me, driving my tongue deeper into her sweet mouth. Then I turned us and hovered over her and watched my hand go from her cheek, down between her breasts, and over her stomach, which was even softer than I had imagined. I kissed her again, then I pulled off her yoga pants, running my hands down the outside of her legs, then up again until I was kneading her hips. Putting both arms around her, I unhooked her bra and threw it across the room; I laid on top of her now, placing my leg firmly between hers, fisting her hair into my hand and thrusting my tongue rhythmically into her mouth. I began to move my leg against her sex in time with my tongue's thrusts, and she arched her back and moaned.
Taking her nipple in my mouth, I teased it with my tongue. I flicked it over and over, and I watched her chest rise and fall more quickly. Then I sucked hard, rolling my tongue around the peak, feeling it tighten. I bit down. "Victoria," she cried out, and I kissed her again, hard, as I pinched her other nipple between my fingers.
Her flush ran all the way down her chest as I took her nipple back into my mouth and ran my hand down, down, down, into her lacy slip of panties. She was warm and wet, and I relished in her as I traced my finger up and down, up and down. Her eyes were closed, her head thrown back, her chin lifted—I leant down and kissed from her ear to her collarbone, gentle kisses, down then back up until I took her earlobe into my mouth and sucked, all the while keeping a slow and steady rhythm over her pussy with just one finger. She turned her head just a little, nuzzling me with her cheek, and breathed into my ear, "Please, Victoria, please."
I kissed her again, still rhythmically stroking, and said against her lips, "What, Bella? What do you need?"
She opened her eyes then, and they were heavy with want, half-lidded and lovely. "I want to feel you. Please, I need to feel you."
Kneeling astride her, I slowly pulled her panties down her legs. I stood then, and I removed my clothing, bit by bit, as she stared. Then I lay over her, my leg back between hers, my breasts rubbing against her chest as I moved up and down, up and down, kissing and licking and nibbling at her lips, running my tongue along hers, holding the back of her head firmly against mine. My other hand ran down her back to the curve of her ass, and I squeezed, pulling her up, lifting her into my thigh, pulling her up and down, our bodies creating a delicious friction. She bent her knee, and I thrust against her, feeling the pressure build against her soft, soft skin.
Pulling up, I gently spread her legs further and began to circle her clit. She gasped, and her hips rose; her knees drew up, and I leant down and kissed her, hard and fast, pinning her back down with my body as a grabbed another fistful of her hair. She moaned and panted, and I rubbed harder. Her hands ran down my back, and she started clutching my ass, trying to pull me further into her. Oh, not yet, I thought, as I lifted myself up. She looked up at me in confusion, and I told her the same. "Not yet, beautiful," I said, as I took her hands in mine and raised them over her head, hooking her fingers into the bars of my headboard. I smoothed my hands down her arms, watching myself savor that gorgeous expanse of creamy skin—down over her breasts, around the curve of her hips, across her thighs, until I gripped her firm calves and placed them over my shoulders. Then I lowered myself between her legs, licking and nipping the inside of her thighs, up one, then down the other until I sucked that spot right behind her knee.
She thrust her hips, urging me closer. I parted her with my thumbs and plunged my tongue into her as she arched and moaned. I felt myself start to throb and yearn—her taste, her responses setting me aflame. I rubbed her clit with my thumb as I tasted her, harder, faster, until her legs began to shake. Slowly I pushed one finger into her, in and out, in and out, and her hips began to move. Two fingers thrusting, frenzied, as she moved faster, faster, her head shaking back-and-forth on the pillow, her voice panting out a guttural oh, oh, oh as she trembled. I curled my fingers in and took her clit in my mouth, sucking and pulling and tracing it with my tongue, and she came apart. I looked up as she tightened around my hand, that magnificent flush spreading across her chest, her mouth open in a gasp for air, her eyes burning down at me, those yellow flecks on fire. I slowed, then I gave her pussy one more kiss and shifted up the bed to lay beside her, my hand lazily stroking her skin.
She reached up and pulled me down to her lips; she kissed me tenderly, almost reverently. "You're beautiful," she said, and then she kissed me again, tilting her head to take me in deeper, running her tongue along my bottom lip. "Can I take care of you now?" Bella asked as she ghosted her little fingers down my body with feather-light touches. I joined my hand to hers, and I showed her how to touch me. She was perfect.
The next several months, we were practically inseparable. We went out, we stayed in, we laughed and talked and drank, and we made love, all the time. Bella was the beneficiary of my previous experiences, but it was never just fucking with her, even when we played. And we played hard sometimes—my Bella was adventurous, and I still had that need to take her, make her mine. There was passion and heat and sweat and lust and fun, but eventually I realized that underneath it all, there was love. I fell in love with Bella. But I never told her.
I knew, you see, that it couldn't last. I had taken Bella, and she was mine, but I couldn't keep her, not for long. Bella wanted me, needed me, loved me—but she was never in love with me. I wasn't the passion she was searching for.
And I knew when she had found it. Ironically, we were having coffee in that same little shop. The door chimed, and she looked up, and her face…I had seen an echo of that look on occasion, a glimpse of how Bella-in-love would appear, but this was a full-on assault. This was the real Bella, the person she was at her very core, her soul on display for all to see.
For him to see. So beautiful.
I felt his presence behind me as Bella smiled up at him, beaming and glowing like I'd never seen before. "Edward, what are you doing here?" she asked, her voice bright and smiling.
I turned, and there it was—the same look on his face, another soul on display. It was over; I was over. "Bella," he exhaled, gazing down at her. "How are you?" he asked with longing, his hunger for her palpable in the air.
She made the introductions ("My friend Victoria," she called me), and I invited him to join us. He was a medical student at Bella's university; they had met on the quad a few days' prior, when Bella tripped over his bag. They laughed about her clumsiness, and he apologized again for leaving his bag in her path. Their eyes never wandered from each other's, and their bodies unconsciously moved at the same time, in perfect synchronicity. I manufactured an urgent appointment and fled. They didn't notice.
Bella came to me that night, and I let her go. Just like that—no harsh words, no recriminations, no accusations. I wished her every happiness, and I actually meant it. With false promises to keep in touch and one last kiss, she was gone.
She had given me so much more than she had taken, you see. She taught me that I was worth more than what James had stolen, that I could love freely and without restraint, and that I was worthy of being loved in return. Bella brought the sun out from behind the clouds for me, and for that, I was eternally grateful. So I sent her to him, with no regrets.
I did hear from her once more, though. Apparently she had come clean to Edward about the true nature of our relationship, and he reacted…well, like a man, really. "We were wondering…" she trailed off, letting the question hang over the phone lines. I wasn't seeing anyone at the time, so I thought, Why not?
But that's a story for another time.